I am in Greece, hanging out on one of those tiny little specks
on the map of the Aegean Sea. This place makes me woozy with sighs of
wonderment and smiles of gratitude. I smile when surrounded by the beauty of
all the red and pink blossoms of bougainvillea & oleander & hibiscus
spilling out over the tipsy, white-washed walls and bright blue doors. I smile
when wandering through the twisty ancient streets of the old town, distracted
by the ridiculously beautiful handmade wares of local silversmiths and ceramicists.
I smile when standing on top of the big ole hunks of marble that line the shore
and look out on the blue sea and the even bluer sky. I smile when the warm
nighttime breeze blows the soft smell of jasmine through the air, inviting me
to keep wandering, to keep walking, to get lost in search of another dose of
its subtle perfume. I smile when sampling yet another culinary delight- flowery
honey, thick yogourt, flaky cheese pie, or one of the fresh, local tomatoes or
cucumbers that garnish every plate of something or other stuffed with cheese,
cheese, cheese, and more cheese. I smile when sipping my second, no, third, could
it be the fourth, glass of wine, my head tipped back in laughter, my hands
flailing in explanation, my body leaned into another comfortable conversation. I
smile when reading in the potent late afternoon sun, my Audrey-inspired floppy hat
frequently threatening to fly off in a wind that tempers the hot hot heat.
All I do here, it seems, aside from eating and drinking and
napping and laughing and daydreaming and exploring and enjoying (and maybe oh
so occasionally hanging out at the hospital to get rehydrated after puking out
my internal organs), is smile, smile, and smile some more.
This trip to Greece is good- certainly- but it is actually
more than good. It is significant.
This trip is significant because I have come here to meet
some of my favourite people in the world. I am hanging out here with my dear
friends, Sarah and Jeff, and their dear family, all of whom I can’t help but
love. These people are some of the easiest people to hang out with that I know.
When I am with them, I never worry about laughing too loud or talking too much
or repeating my stories or being in the way or taking up too much space or
being too light or being too heavy or getting too excited or drinking too much
or eating too fast or sleeping too late or stepping on toes or crossing
boundaries or bringing up taboo topics. Being with them is comfortable, simple,
good. It just works! We calculated the other day that we have been friends for
fourteen years, more than ten of which have been spent living in separate, far
away cities. We can go for months at a time without talking, years without a
face to face visit, and it still just always works.
But, really, they are more than good friends. They are, in
many ways, my second family. They are people I can count on always, ready to
support, listen, advise, accept, give, and, most importantly, to just be
present, whenever necessary. In fact, a few years ago, when I left my husband,
and I had to head back to Canada from the United States because my visa was
attached to his, and I just didn’t know where to go or what to do, they invited
me to come live with them…pretty much indefinitely. They housed me and fed me
and entertained me and listened to me, and they asked for absolutely nothing in
return. They seemed to be satisfied with just my being there. Just me was
enough. What a wonderful, safe feeling. I love them and their kids and their
parents and their brothers and sisters and grandparents, as well as all the
good food and drink and laughter that always accompany our visits. So here we
are in Greece, nine people spread across four rooms in a wonderful little hotel
run by our gracious hostess Antonia, who continually fills the fridge with
homemade rice pudding, and warm cake, and cucumbers picked from her farm.
This trip is significant because it has been in the works
for a good long while. That summer three years ago when I lived with Sarah and
Jeff, they disappeared for a few weeks to this very island, and when they came
back, they said, “Next time, you’re coming with us,” and I said, “Yeah, cool.
Good idea. Let’s do it.” And, well, we’re doing it! It’s nice to have a vision,
and then to see it effortlessly unfold. It instills hope and encourages
dreaming when a faraway long ago plan becomes today’s reality.
This trip is significant because it’s really the first trip
that I am taking alone. Yes, I know that I am not really “alone” because I have
company just a few steps away, but I have my own room, my own space, and I can
come and go as I please. I can get up earlier to wander the streets by myself,
without worrying about waking anyone or leaving someone out. I can stay at the
beach later to finish up a chapter in my book, without concerns about
inconveniencing anyone. How I spend my time and my money is really only for me
to decide. How crazy is that, huh, that a girl in her mid-thirties has never
taken a trip by herself? But it’s the truth. Pretty much all the traveling I
have done has been with friends or family, which, of course, is great, but
requires an awareness of shared space and coordinating plans. I must admit that
it is refreshing and freeing to have this level of independence. I appreciate
it.
This trip is significant because it forced me to be a little
bit more assertive than I usually am, to announce what I wanted and set some
boundaries. When I was hired for the recent job I just completed, I told my
soon-to-be boss in our interview that, while I was most definitely interested
in the position, June 15th had to be my last day. No ifs, ands, or
buts. My trip was booked and I wasn’t willing to change it. In the past, I
would have given up my trip to accommodate my employer. This time, I didn’t. And
the most interesting part is that nobody seemed to mind one bit!
This trip is significant because I actually, for the first
time, have a budget. In the past, I have generally gone into debt for travel
and not paid much concern to how much I spent, largely taking an attitude of “Oh
well. I’ll just deal with it later.” While oblivious spending might be freeing
for some people, my experience is that every purchase I made, every treat that
was not really essential, was accompanied by a giant scoop of guilt. This time,
because I’ve budgeted how much I have available for food and drink and gifts, I
feel justified in stuffing my face, ordering two scoops of ice cream, and splurging
on a beach chair, because it all fits quite comfortably within my pre-set
budget. How wonderful to enjoy all this pleasure without the teensiest drop of
guilt or anxiety.
This trip is significant because I came without expectation
or urgency. I have been lucky enough to see many interesting places in this
great big world, but my approach to travel has changed over time. I remember
visiting Barcelona and Paris a decade ago, and every single day was completely
stuffed full with activity. My Lonely Planet guidebook was spilling over with
highlighter and post-it notes and scribbles in the margin. The itinerary was intense,
each hour of the day (and night) accounted for, visiting every noteworthy
church, museum, and monument. I couldn’t miss a thing, just in case we never
came back. Even when visiting my family in the Caribbean, I have had a history
of being a bit uptight about maximizing my vacation. I want to be productive in
my resting, I want to be the best rester ever, so I have actually calculated in
my head how many hours I need to spend on the beach, in order to ensure sufficient
time for napping and reading and journaling and swimming. Otherwise, it just
feels like I’m squandering my time and money if, God forbid, I am not fitting
in enough restful, vacationy activities into my vacation. Absurd, I know.
Then a few years ago, I took a two-week trip with my friend,
Michelle, wandering through the Netherlands, and we developed this beautiful
routine of waking up whenever we woke up, eating a leisurely breakfast, heading
to the train station and then picking a city that looked like an interesting place
to head to for the day. The agreement was that, in each city, we would visit
one important historical or cultural place, and then spend the rest of the day aimlessly
wandering in search of cute little shops and bakeries and cafes. This was a new
way of traveling for me, and even though I occasionally had pangs of anxiety
about having been to a city without maximizing my stay, I knew that the chances
of returning to the Netherlands were pretty high, so I could always come back
and see the things I missed. I tried to apply this newfound, more casual
approach to travel in my next few trips to the Caribbean, doing my darndest to
resist the familiar sense of urgency, changing the objective of my vacation
from forcibly “relaxing” to just being and taking it all as it comes.
So, that’s what’s happening here. I didn’t really read up
about Naxos’ history or important sights to see. I just checked the weather. I
have been to only one beach the whole time I’ve been here, and I usually only
get there around one in the afternoon, and aside from some wanderings here and
there, I haven’t really ventured too far out. And I’m totally okay with that.
I’ve even spent more than a few days sick in bed, and I’m totally okay with
that too. My plan in coming here was just to spend time with good people, to
eat well, to laugh a lot, and to simply be open to anything else. I know I have
judged people like me before, who show up at their vacation destination without
knowing anything about the place where they’re visiting, without the urge to
head off and adventurize, but I don’t really care. Different vacations have
different objectives. This one is just about being in the moment and taking it
as it comes. And I am loving the freedom that flows when the urgency is lifted
off.
Well, friends, off I go to squeeze in a few more sighs and
smiles before I head back home tomorrow.
Yammas!
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