Successful Sublimation in Greece

They say it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. But, now that I'm wallowing in the pain of separation, I have (undoubtedly as many before me) come to doubt that statement. Now that I have known Greek food in its native land, the pain of returning to the country of cream and butter bland-ness, (yes, that is my assessment of French food after three years here,) is almost unbearable. 

Coming from the land of meat in abundance and veggies far and few between, I found myself in a haven of vegetarian dishes, all cooked with an astounding medley of flavorful Mediterranean produce. We visited the morning farmer's market in Chania, (pronounced "hhhhania,") and bought raki, honey, mountain teas, a mouth watering assortment of veggies, and some excellent herbed goat and sausages. I had a traditional spanikopita for breakfast almost each morning. Holy crap, the ones in the states can't hold a candle to the ones you'll find in Greece. Oh and the yogurt and cheese! herbed pita breads and fresh, minty sauces.  Heavenly! 

Needless to say I had a wonderful, tremendous, time. I was so sad to leave and to have booked the adventure for so few days. Beth and Perry, my old middle-school teachers I was visiting, were an engaging, silly, adventurous and optimistic couple. They spoiled me with my own studio with a view of the sea in a eclectically dirty, colorful, friendly, and cat filled part of the old town. We cooked and sang and drank raki and munched olives and visited a new and titillating archeological site each day, including Knossos and Aptera. I dug up old pottery at a dig site and danced on Zorba's beach at Stavros. It truly fed my soul. 

It was so good I almost managed not to notice the photos and videos arriving on the facebook Oenopiades of students drinking, dancing, partying, puking, pasing out, and even a video of A, the boyfriend and fiance in question, crowd surfing. -On a bus. Seriously. But the sublimating, all in all, was a success. 

I returned home laden with raki, herbal teas, and nostalgia.

Going to Crete to Sublimate

Tomorrow I once again board a train to Paris, (hopefully more successfully this time) to catch a plane at Charles de Gaulle to take me to Athens. I'll stay the night there in an airport hotel, (assuming I find a bus or a taxi or something) and fly to the island of Crete the next morning. I'm doing this partially because I love to travel and my spiritual hero is Zorba the Greek, and partially because I need to get as far away from the dreaded Oenopiades as possible. The Oenopiades, happening this year in Bordeaux, is a crazy camp out that all the wine students in France participate in each year. It's three nights and 4 days of drinking, partying, puking, helicoptering, fornicating, and oh yes, the one academic redeeming factor: networking! 

Despite trying to think of it as a bachelor party or something, the thought of all that alcohol, rowdiness, and substantial number of young ladies both inebriated and undulating is enough to make me sea sick. So, the decision was made that I SHOULD NOT be at home pining and seething, but distracting myself with raki, olives, and Minoan ruins.

The unexpected opportunity arrived out of the blue with an email from some of my middle school teachers back in Hawaii; a couple who were and are somewhat radical, progressive, and.. innovative. I remember spending a whole school day which Mr. W had deemed "savage day" mostly naked in the brambles and underbrush, battling with other student tribes and fighting over scraps of beef jerky. Mr. W thought it was an important lesson on human nature in the wild. 

Needless to say, the two didn't last long in the western education system, and have spent the last 8 years or so traveling the wilds of Africa and, now, the warm islands of Greece. They sent me an email asking if I wanted to visit. It fell on the Oenopiades weekend, so I probably shocked them with an instant and enthusiastic "YES!!"

So, A and I both head out tomorrow, me at noon and he at 7 for an all night bus ride to the South West of France. What shall become of us? Only time will tell! (Though I strongly suspect a hangover is likely.)