Yes, I Know, I'm a Terribad Blogger...

And I'm very late. Anyway, I wrote mi familia this e-mail about my time in Turkey immediately after the face, and I figured, since I'll likely never get around to writing something just for this blog, I might as well share it with you fine folks too:

"We visited some cool places. Ephessus, one of the best preserved and most massive ancient Greek/Roman cities, was particularly fascinating from a historical sense. At it's height, it rivaled Rome in size and prominence. Several of the existing artifacts (frescoes, statues, engravings, etc) contain the symbols used by several modern mega-corporations -- namely, the Nike Swoosh and Starbucks' Artemis logo. Some amusing passing-the-torch-of-power sort of symbolism there. There's also an enormous coliseum and Hadrian's Library, the 2nd or 3rd largest library in the ancient world (after Alexandria). I probably broke international law by going outside the open area, climbing an ancient tower, and meditating on top.

We spent a day in a small village nearby called Sirince. Ate lunch in this tiny authentic Turkish pancake house -- dirt floor, huge portions, very odd yogurt-based drink (we joked that it tasted as though it came from a yak's uh...nether regions), the works. The little old lady proprietor barely spoke English. Our friend Sam had recently gotten a Turkish makeover (I went too, but eschewed the haircut. Closest shave I have ever received), and she spoke to him for five minutes straight in Turkish before she realized he wasn't one of her people. The pancake joint was pretty out of the way, and so retained its unadulterated flavor, but the rest of the town is fairly touristy. They are famous for their sweet fruit wine. Sort of like fruit juice for grown-ups. I bought a bottle of the Quince (a sort of pear-like thing) flavor: 10 Turkish Lira = 6 dollars. Thank god for good exchange rates!

My favorite place by far, though, was Pamukkale -- that translates to "Cotton Castle". The name is appropriate. It's an entire mountain built out of collected calcium deposits from a hot springs coming out of the top. These amazing nested pools full of warm, milky blue water have formed on the side of the hill. We spent an hour or so just lounging in them after we saw what was on the top of the hill: Heiropolis. THE holy city of ancient Rome. Kilometers of necropolis surrounds cypress groves, a coliseum, the (supposed) entrance to the underworld (so thought because poisonous gases escape the rock in that spot from time to time -- stand too close, and you WILL enter the afterlife, whether you want to or not), a ton of huge ruins of various buildings, and a holy pool dedicated to some goddess or another. Used for proto-baptisms, apparently. They wanted 30 lira to get in, so I spent my time elsewhere.

Selcuk itself is maybe my favorite place on Earth. The whole city is built around a central hill, on which sits a crumbling Ottoman castle. Technically, we weren't supposed to go in, but there are large holes in the fence and no one really cares. So we did. Small children attempted to give us the tour before asking for 10 lira. We gave them 2. The ruins of roman aqueducts run through various neighborhoods. There are storks everywhere. They nest in the most astonishing places; somehow balancing 4 or 5 foot diameter nests on the tops of telephone poles. We spent most of the trip hanging out with one particular group of shopowners. They are all displaced Kurds, and simply the kindest people I have ever met. We were brought gallons of tea, taught to play backgammon, invited to smoke hookah, and told that should we ever return, we are welcome in any of their homes.

Of course, we did collectively spend probably several thousand lira in their half-dozen shops and tavernas (I have gifts!). So it may have all been clever marketing. I prefer to think they really liked us. "

Also, some photos from Pamukkale and Heiropolis:

We begin climbing the mountain...

The pools' blue color is a result of the massive amount of calcium in them.

There isn't enough water coming out of the top of the mountain to keep the whole of the

calcium deposited area "fresh," so they've set up a series of sluice gates and blocks to keep water

flowing around the areas people are allowed.

A close-up view of the calcium-deposit walls.

Some pools, like this one, were 'scaffolded' by the Romans with concrete and allowed to become

covered in calcium sediment, leading to this look. They believed the calcium, and hence the pools,

to have healing powers.

The Coliseum at Heiropolis, atop Pamukkale

Yeah, I climbed that.

The long arm (and huge, black hand, apparently) of the law.

Turkish soldiers out for a stroll among the Necropolis.

This ancient building was falling over, so they built some scaffolding to hold it up. Fancy.

A Long Overdue Post

Mid-afternoon. The light filters and reflects off whitewash stone walls in our communal dining hall by way of two walls pack with large, blue-trimmed windows. White particle board tables with spindling cross-shaped metal legs and black plastic chairs are strewn awkwardly, but with the spark of order. They look like packs of animals, or conversant people frozen in cliques, a slice of time in some low-budget social function.

I have been reading too long, just having finished George Crane's Bones of the Master. The cement floor, painted with zig-zagging white lines to mimic the Grecian sidewalks outside, heaves and swells if I stare too long; text's effects on vision. The book was wonderful, poetry layered sweetly into prose, and not just in the poems themselves; George writes with a simple grace that belies the wonder and deep spirituality of his work. I know him – he is one of my teachers here, on Paros. We have spoken about writing, about life, about the particulars of his. He told me that he once smuggled hashish in and out of Marrakesh in the 70s, after having dodged the draft via Canada. He has lived, and I want to follow him as he followed Tsung Tsai in Bones. He may be what other people refer to as a Role Model.

He gave me the single biggest piece of advice I have received from any writer:

Just write. Everyday. Do not wait for inspiration. Drag the Muse out.

According to him, 300 words a day is enough for him; if he can do 600, he feels like Superman; if 1000, God.

And so I have been trying. No. Not trying. Doing, or not doing. Some days I do, some I do not. But more doing than before, more writing. It is difficult sometimes – I don't know if I feel the way he does as often as he does: that is, that writing is a necessity, a grinding need, the only thin toothpick holding up a hundred-ton ceiling of insanity. Some days, sure. Mostly when things are going wrong, when, say, I've just been broken up with (or, as has happened, a year hence), or am fearing for my future, or the like. Those sorts of days aren't usually writing days, to be honest. They are drinking days, or grumpy days, or drinking-grumpy days. But if I manage to get myself before a pad and pen, or a computer, then oftentimes that need builds itself. It's odd, really: that you could need something so badly and not even know it. A microcosm of life as a whole, I suppose.

Anyway. I feel better, more balanced, than I have in months. Years, even. This place, these people, are good for me.

I know, I know, I haven't been posting much. Partly, it's the fact that I have been writing so much otherwise. Partly also that I haven't written things I consider public material.

The only major trip we've taken is to Naxos, the largest island in the Cyclades. It was good. Jarre gave his Historical Sites presentation (we all do one; I am signed up for Delos, I believe) at Apollo's Gate at sunset. The only pictures I took were analog, however, so you'll just have to do without.

A few weekends ago, we rented a variety of motor vehicles and sped across the island to a magnificent beach called Molos:



Word of advice: Never rent a moped. Ever. They are tiny two-wheeled deathtraps, and they have minds of their own. Vicious, evil little minds bent only on your murder and/or horrible injury. Robbie and I, after sunning ourselves for several hours in the warm Grecian air, decided we would detour from the others (who wanted to go get Thai food at the semi-nearby Taoist Center) and go down to the southwest side of the island. Go exploring. We end up on a high trail going -- we figure -- over the highest peak on Paros and down the other side. We miss the turnoff, if there is one, and find ourselves exploring this creepy, seemingly abandoned radio installation, built next to an ancient church:



We look for a way down the other side. It will be dark soon, and we know that we have to return the 'peds before 9:00 as the next day is Pascha (Greek Easter) and the rental place will be closed.

We see a small goat-path, which Robbie assures me is the right way. Apparently he spoke to a man on the ferry a few days prior who told him that he had made the same mistake we had and that, though the trail was hard, it was definitely doable on a moped. So we set out.

Mopeds do not like non-paved surfaces. They make them angry. Rocky, pitted trails doubly so. We decided to simply turn our engines off and guide our barely-controllable two-wheeled friends down the mountains by simple expedient of gravity and brake. It works as well as you might expect; that is, terribly. Still, better than the alternative: an accidental twist (say, to keep oneself from falling), revving the throttle and sending a rogue bike careening off the cliffs, perhaps with one of us still attached.

It gets still darker. We find ourselves in goat country; low shrubland, thick with oregano spines and rocks. This thin, rutted trail is dangerously close to a precipitous drop-off on one side as it zig-zags down. I master the art of starting my bike in-motion as we hit the few flat stretches which require some kick; leaping on, squeezing the brake, applying enough throttle to get the engine purring, and releasing the brake, all in one fluid move. I feel like a badass doing this, oblivious the fact that one false move will probably send me to an early and spikey grave. At least I'll smell like oregano.

We reach a point where things level out, only to have some farmer's pack of dogs burst into angry yelping. Off the side of the trail, his lot is peppered with them -- small, with bared teeth, in every color and variety, they seem to be leashed to every single object in the junkyard-like space. A wrecked car skeleton there, an old washing machine still covered in the remnants of scraped green paint, all surrounding a small white-washed hut with a tiny porch. Whoever owns the lot is nowhere to be seen, and so Robbie and I help each other around the barbed wire with watchful eyes. There is no other way to go but back, an impossibility with our street 'peds.

Finally, we roll out onto a perfectly paved road. My knees ache from standing up on the bike to absorb the shock from larger rocks and potholes. My hands are clutched white-knuckle on the handlebars and I know I won't be able to grip anything ever again. We could have stopped to rest, but Robbie's engine is crapping out -- the regular starter doesn't function, and the kickstarter only worked after several minutes last time. He is afraid that if he stops, he will not be able to start again. So we drive. Luckily, the road is fairly deserted and, despite our pains, we arrive back in Parikia with plenty of time to spare.

All in all, a good day. But I'm never renting one of those little bastards ever again.

Classes!

The second week of classes has begun! My schedule has changed slightly:

- Black and White Photography
Our darkroom facilities are...interesting. 5 enlargers in a space barely larger than your average closet, a loading room with a light switch ON THE OUTSIDE, a drying room full of dust....it should be fun. On the other hand, Eric (our teacher) is awesome.

- Philosophy, Life Themes
Less a philosophy class in the classical sense and more a personalized life discussion course. Barry Tagrin, the teacher and director of the whole HISA program, has led a really interesting life and is willing to open up and tell us about it. We talked today about such varied topics as underage abortion, age of consent, cheating/forgiveness, and the concept of god. Fun stuff.

- Creative Writing
Very personalized. I meet with Larry/Barry (both are poets) and George Crane, separately, once a week to discuss my work. So far, they have proven insightful and helpful. I'm hoping to get another short story written in my time here.

- Historical Sites
Don't really have a bearing on this course yet. The first and only class we have taken was essentially a "here is where we're going" sort of thing.

- Theory of Art
I'm torn on this. Its interesting, for sure, but I have been steadily growing away from 'Art' and its criticism since high school. What is interesting about it is that it's taught by a different prof each week, so we should get a fairly varied look at art as a whole.

The island remains beautiful. The sunsets here are unbelievable--they roll in over the ocean with these obscene reds and purples.

On Saturday, we visited the Myceneaen Acropolis above Naoussa as well as circumnavigated a peninsula on the north side of the island. Jarre and I summited the mountain for photos (mine are all analog, so you'll have to wait) and stood on the peak watching the sea spread out from us in turquoises and deep blues. Islands reared up on the horizon, and the sunlight glinted off whitewashed houses crowding their shores. Surprisingly, I didn't burn. A good day.

The strays here are ridiculous. One cat in our complex, once terrified of me, now bothers me constantly for food. I suspect others are feeding and sheltering it.

I walked up to the back gate at 5:30 AM or so last week and found myself face-to-face with a pack of at least 20 dogs, just staring. Back. Away. Slowly.

The island is not quite as safe as we were told, apparently. One girl on our trip was chased by a Rottweiler last week. Another was pushed into a telephone booth by a strange man. Luckily, she had pepper spray on hand (technically illegal in Greece), and fast legs. Some guys in our group took his bike after he stumbled off, clutching his face. I bet he feels silly now!

All in all, life is pretty darn good.

Elias and the Island

Made it to Paros. The island is beautiful -- whitewashed houses, cobblestone streets, little fat hob-leg stray dogs that follow you around. And the cats! They are EVERYWHERE.

Before leaving Athens, Jarre and I went to nearby Monastiraki Square to meet up with our friend Rachel Marks, who is also studying in the city. There, we met Elias:



After first asking the ubiquitous question ("American?"), he proceeded to tell me how much he loved our music. Ringing endorsements of everything from Led Zeppelin to the Beastie Boys to Slayer followed, punctuated by many an "OK!" and "No problem". He even pulled out a Joy Division CD! Here I was, thinking: Hey, this is a pretty cool dude. Also, well-dressed for the sort of guy who seems to spend his time drinking heavily in public places and not shaving for long periods of time. Smelled a bit, too.

Then he started talking about immigrants. I quote: "Now, I am not a racist, but these Arabs, these Africans...they are dirty, you know?" Smile and nod. "Athens...she was so much better 20 years ago before...you know, they started showing up."

He also went on a tirade about how much he hates the Turks. When I asked him more about it, he said, "You know much about the war?" I explained that no, I did not know the details, to which he replied, "eh, no problem. It is in the past. Long time ago." Odd, for a guy who just spent 10 or 20 minutes bashing them.

On Tuesday, we went up to the Acropolis by the Pareanaic Way, the same which the ancient Athenians used to transport their sacrifices to Athena during the annual festival in her honor. Once outside the shop district, I found myself momentarily thinking I was in a very well-manicured Southern California. The weather is near identical and, but for the olive trees, the vegetation as well. We even saw a few prickly pears along the side of the path, though how they got there is anyone's guess.

We arrived (my Lewis & Clark ID card got me half off the ticket price!) and were greeted with this:



Inside, the Parthenon loomed:



According to Cameron, our soon-to-be Historical Studies professor, the Parthenon was fine -- practically in perfect shape -- until Mussolini decided it would be a fine place to store artillery shells. Predictably, they went off, and hence the present ruined state.

As we wandered between these ancient pillars, I couldn't help but think that those stones still standing have done so for at least 10 times longer than we have even had a country. We hold ourselves up as a police force and moral compass for the entire world, and yet, as a country, we are infants compared to a place like Greece. It's sobering, and somewhat worrisome.

Leaving the A-Crop (as we took to calling it), we picked up a few adorable strays. They followed us all the way down the mountain! I wonder if they are smart enough to realize that people dressed differently than the locals are most likely wealthy tourists, and therefore more likely to give them food. They must be doing something right -- they all seem impeccably groomed and well-fed.

Spent a few hours eating lunch at a small cafe. The Greeks (and, from what I understand, Europeans in general) have no sense of hurry whatsoever. I'm reminded of Douglas Adams' maxim that "Time is an illusion, and lunchtime doubly so."

Next time: More about this paradisaical little island. Τα λέμε!

From Syntagma Square...

Since my laptop pretty much needs to be plugged in to function, I'm writing this on my iPhone...

From in front of the Greek parliament! Apparently the only place in town with free wi-fi. Pretty awesome. Apparently this joint is where the recent riots go down. The polizia have a nice habit of pepper spraying the crowds.

The trip in was pretty easy, despite the length. 20 odd hours, all told, from San Diego to Athens. Surprisingly, I slept great the first night and felt pretty awesome yesterday, but my luck did not hold last night, and I found myself staring at the ceiling of my hostel at 4 in the morning. Oh well.

Wrote this on coming in:

One gets the impression on entering Athens of descending onto a series of canyons. At first, you're on a pretty American-looking freeway, but soon these rough rock walls and graffiti covered dividers (and oh, what graffiti!) rear up on either side. The city streets wind between multi-level balconied aparment buildings. Nothing is parallel. But from the right spots, you suddenly catch a glimpse of the great rock of the acropolis, lit up in the sky like a the burning gates of heaven itself.

Anyway, this is a lame iPhone post, but Coming Up Next: the story of a delightful drunk chap named Elias I met in manistiraki square yesterday. There will be pictures!

Athens!

In Greece. Alive! Paying for internet. Big post later. YES.

To Greece!

Wow, I have left this thing rather unattended. Anyway, here we are. Hello.

I leave for my three-month long study abroad program on Paros, Greece on Saturday:


View Larger Map

I haven't really started packing -- I feel as though that would legitimize the whole thing in my head. Seeing as how my freakout quotient is already increasing at something approaching geometric with each hour ticking towards the moment, I see no need to hurry it along.

In all seriousness, though--fucking Greece. The seat of western civilization! The womb of democracy! The azure-swathed Mediterranean! Marble temples that have stood a thousand years! (Clubbing! Ouzo! Retsina! Women!)

...

(Studying!)

Hmm. I'll be taking a full courseload while I'm there, though they all look like awesome classes, so I'm not too unhappy about that:

- Analog Photography (I'll be shooting with my beautiful old eBay-gotten Nikon FM2n. Full manual forever!)

- Historic Sites of the Eastern Mediterranean (We get to travel around and look at all the cool shit in the area.)

- Creative Writing (Poetry and fiction)

- Literature in Film (An analysis of several famous novels and their transitions onto film)

It might be about time to start packing...I'll try to keep this thing updated fairly regularly with my thoughts and experiences in Greece. 'Till next time.