The Performance The Cistern and The Patriarchy

I love bringing students to Epidauros.

Sacred to Asclepius, this site was an ancient spa that people went to in order to receive physical and spiritual healing.  It is also home to the most preserved ancient Greek theatre in existence today. Theatre was not entertainment to the Greeks. It was a chance to learn from the lessons of great men who fell great heights after demonstrating hubris. Oedipus teaches us the folly of attempting to avoid one’s fate, Orestes helps us understand the benefits of moving away from kinship wars and towards the courts of law, and Agamemnon reminds us that it is never to lie to your wife saying that you are marrying your older daughter to the hero Achilles only to sacrifice her to the gods by dashing her skull against the cliffs in order to achieve favourable winds to Troy and then staying away for ten years to fight another man’s war only to bring back a trollop half your wife’s age and ask her to clean up a room for the new guest.

You know. The simple things.

I had some of my students perform a scene from Oedipus Rex. Afterwards I told them to look around and realise that almost three thousand years ago other actors said those same lines with the theatre full of people listening with great interest. I wanted them to hear the applause they received as echoes of what once occurred in this place. Epidauros is a theatre that still produces, still embraces the audience, still performs.

Afterwards we went to Agamemnon’s city of Mycenae. Runs clinging to a high hill overlooking a lush valley, it is a harsh approach and a brutal walkabout in the afternoon heat. The refreshing lunch enjoyed only a half hour ago is long gone. The ancient cistern, a cave with ancient steps hewn into the rock from which water was plentiful, used to be a scary proposition to my students. They were tentative and unsure entering into the thick darkness. But not this group of girls. By the time I arrived to patiently escort them down the steps, they were already returning from the earth into the light.

“Cool,” a couple of them said. Then they moved on as I stood there sweating and panting. George, our guide, shrugs his shoulders and mutters something about changing times.

A few days later we went to the sacred space of Delphi. Home of the oracle of Apollo, this place was an opportunity to commune with the gods themselves as you attempted to ascertain your future. Sprawled along the steep side of Mount Parnassus, this holy place is becoming more and more closed off as the years progress. My first time here we had access to the tholos temple across the highway, the purifying baths and the stadium perched at the top. Now all of these are closed off. They are in need of repair and protection, but there is no money to do it. The ancient Greek legacy suffers along with the modern Greeks as the financial situation continues to be dire.

We have lunch that day in the lovely Arachova, one of my favourite places to visit. Then we head off to the little village of Delphi where we will spend a few nights before our stay in Mykonos.

Jackie Onassis made Mykonos famous and the LGBT community made it fabulous during the 70s and 80s. This trend has receded somewhat, but it is still a party place that is expensive, glossy and showing no signs of austerity.

My room was a tiny house in the resort in which we stayed. I had no view but I had privacy. I also had noise. If the shuttle bus didn’t distract me, the many cats fighting over my doorstep did the trick.

Lydia, my fellow teacher, and I get along really well. We laugh a lot and we seem to have the same general outlook on travel and kids. We immediately fell into a comfortable ease that I think created a sense of security and balance for our kids.  We have an easy repartee that allows us to give each other the space we need while making sure we spend quality time together. We talk of many things, including our lives and our family.

I found myself on this island still famous for its gay connections having lunch with Lydia and two of our students. It was pleasant company and the view was beautiful.  We all laughed as I made the realization that never had I been in a place so famous for being gay while feeling so very straight. It was like I was in an alternate universe.

The days we spent in Mykonos were filled with classes, work and marking, but it was also a nice respite from the bustle of the first two weeks of travel. We returned to Athens for one night and said good bye to Greece by seeing a cultural show where all the dancing happened with the men while the women seem to just shuffle in the background holding hankies. 

At one point the restaurant owner wanted to know what I wanted to drink. I said Fanta Orange and watched the usual reaction of confusion and disdain that I wasn’t ordering alcohol. He then gestured to the girls. “Soda?”  I nodded and gave a similar gesture so that he may go ask them what soda they wanted.  After a short while the man returned with a Pepsi and placed it in front of Lydia.

At first she looked bewildered and then she looked at me. “Did you just order pop for all of us?” I looked down the table as soda was being placed in front of each of the girls.

“Um..I think I did.”

The Patriarchy is still alive and well in 2016.

The Black Sail The Austerity Measures and The Hope for Inspiration

Cape Sounion is the home of the beautiful ruins of the temple of Poseidon. Two rows of columns rise over the sea from atop a cliff overlooking a beach.

When Theseus sets sail for the palace of Minos to battle the Minotaur, it is on a ship with a black sail. His father, Aegeus, tells his son to change the sail to white if he returns. This way, as Aegeus waits for the ship to crest the horizon he will immediately know his son’s fate. Black means he was vanquished, white promises a joyous reunion. Theseus is successful in his quest but forgets to change the sail. Aegeus, seeing the black fluttering in the wind is despondent and immediately jumps into the sea. From this moment on, it is called the Aegean Sea. Named for a bereaved father deceived by carelessness.

Legend has it is from this temple that Aegeus spends his last moments.

The wind is unrelenting in its salt and  vehemence as it buffets against us while we walk around the temple. The voice of our guide is often taken away by the gusts as she relates the key architectural features of the building. The girls follow her obediently as she speaks, but I can tell that their attention is more on the beach than the ruins.

While not surprised, I cannot help but be a little disappointed. I always assume that the kids that come on these trips are as enthusiastic as I am about these things. You would think I would learn by now.

My girls are sweet and kind. They are generous of spirit and love to shop. They giggle and they cluster in groups. They are reluctant to try new things, but are resolved to it when I won’t let them off the hook. As a result some of them like tzatziki, others yogourt with  honey.  All of them like Fanta Orange and not many seem to groove on dolmades.

I walked around the ruins on my own as the girls trundled on their way back to the bus. We would be seeing the Parthenon in a few days, with its bustle and frenetic energy and press of bodies in the heat. But Poseidon’s temple at Sounion is off the beaten path. Our group is essentially alone and I am left to reflect and wander by myself.

I have written before about how I feel that the ancients speak through the stones they leave behind. These sacred spaces, for me, is like a message in a bottle. Often unclear in its total meaning, but the narrative is textured and intimate. The vocabulary is in the columns and the base, the intent is in the geography, the syntax lost along with the pediments. Partial sentences consisting of marble and time, from a people lost long ago.

As the girls frolicked in the waters my colleague, Lydia, and I speak to our guide for the day. Roula is stepping in for George today. She was lovely. Our conversations take a turn towards the modern financial crisis Greece is experiencing. Roula has lost her home and her pension as she reaches an age when she needs both the most.  Her career is grudgingly extended as her retirement plans disappear in with the winds of austerity measures.

“They have stolen our lives away!” she says with glistening eyes.” Our young people cannot work and I cannot stop.”

My partner in this journey is Lydia. She is teaching photography and she has a strong enough personality to put up with me. Two strong willed creative types will either mean a life-long friendship or a battle of wills. Early indications seem to indicate the former. She makes me laugh.

We see the Acropolis a few days later. As I suspected it was crammed full of tourists who have absolutely no sense of personal space. I have already been poked and bruised by selfie sticks. I admit to jostling one held by an obnoxious man who was trying to take a picture of himself with the caryatid statues (the columns that look like women) on the Erechthion.  He kept waving it around like a sword to give him space and managed to smack three people, including me. Hearing him swear as I jostled it with  my arm gave me great satisfaction. I know it was petty. And beneath me. And unnecessary.  But it made the heat more bearable for the next six minutes.

In the last few visits of this place I have keenly watched the progress of the restoration of the buildings of the acropolis. The blocks that have been placed along the outside rim continue to dwindle in number, and the miniature railroad used to move the marble pieces has been reduced in length. The slow progress continues as the results begin to show.

I am only now beginning to decompress from a frantic and challenging June. The heat is intense and Athens is challenging in its air pollution, but as I gaze down at the Odeon I find myself becoming rejuvenated again. The ancient world has always inspired me. I need inspiration this summer.  I need to find a way to look forward toward next year as I continue my own professional and personal journey. Cape Sounion,  the Parthenon, the great museums of the world, these have always provoked me to reflect and inquire, think and dream.

I am a teacher in Europe this summer. Clearly I am also a student.

The Return, The Mask and the Whispers of Welcome

Delphi, Greece

So I find myself once again in Greece. This time I am teaching.

The ancient city of Athens welcomed me with the dry heat that defines the Mediterranean lands and the bustle found in every major airport.  The drive in reacquaints me with the stark architecture of the city; white cubes of balcony-embossed high rises with speckles of overgrown plants and miniature trees. The inner city is teeming with darting traffic and gesticulating pedestrians. The urban decay is evident in the abandoned buildings that present themselves too regularly and the all-encompassing graffiti.

This trip I am accompanied by fellow teacher Lydia (photography) and ten girls. They are sweet girls who are generous of spirit and quite sheltered. They do not see the buildings fly by the windows of our bus. The cell phones are already out.

The President Hotel is too far from the acropolis for my liking, but it is modern and clean and provides the comfort of familiarity to my students.  Wifi is 13€ for 24 hours. Apparently this nickel and diming is more common as the tourist trade becomes more desperate in the current Greek economy. I am outraged. They don’t care.

Our tour guide is George. We have met before. Back in 2002 I went on my first student travel experience as a teacher and this man was our guide. I didn’t remember him a great deal, but he remembered me. He has been doing this work for 40 years now and never plans to retire. He loves the work. And retirement is not really an option these days. He presents himself as a bit of a philosopher and sports a gigantic moustache and an Australian wide brimmed hat. The girls instantly loved him.

We visited the National Archaeological Museum and gazed into the eyes of  the death mask of Agamemnon. We would be visiting his city, Mycenae in a few days and we spoke of his role in the Trojan War. The collection of gold in this museum is breathtaking.

Afterwards we explored the Plaka. This shopping district is a feast of the senses.  George and I showed the girls how to haggle. This was somewhat ironic as I am a terrible haggler. That’s why I have Eric. He will haggle down a vendor until the cash register starts bleeding. Me…not so much. It did not take the girls long to figure out the advantages of flirtation when it came to business transactions. I chose not to notice too much.

From the Plaka I looked up to the Parthenon and felt that sense of wonder ancient ruins always give me.  She looked beautiful up there on her strategic perch. The Goddess Athene surveying the city still protects after all these years. The people, the worshippers, the spirituality behind it all now long gone. 

And yet the ancient marble still whispers across the centuries.  A quiet, gentle welcome among the cacophony of sounds amid the modern market place.