A Table, Four Chairs, and Chapels

Chapels

What is this about, and why write about it? This is about a vacation trip to Greece (summer 1997) that Fran and I made to visit our son and his family. I wrote about it because I want to remember every detail.

You, the reader, may wonder what the title means. I learned that Greeks prize sociability and religion. Wherever one goes, there are tables and chairs inviting refreshment and conversation. So it is with chapels; no matter where you are, a place of worship sits nearby. Believe me; I do not exaggerate.

The trip was memorable because Rod and Hara made it so. They catered to our whims and took us everywhere. Hara spoiled us as a loving daughter would; and I especially appreciated her relatives who welcomed us with love and generosity. We felt like family. They brought Greece alive in many unforgettable moments of kindness and hospitality.

Now, I want to give you an overview of what we did. I promise to keep it brief, informative, and fun. If you find it interesting, you will read the whole thing. If not, put it away.

Greece juts out from the southeastern corner of the European heartland into the Mediterranean Sea. It is a small country of ten million people, about half the land mass of Italy. It is made up of some 1,500 islands, of which 170 are inhabited; so no part of central Greece is more than 30 miles from the sea.

Historians acknowledge Greece as the cradle of western civilization. It is that and much, much more. People visit it today not only to study the past (history is all over the place); but also to enjoy the extraordinary beauty of the scenery, charm of its islands, and the hospitality of the people.

In traveling more than 1,100 miles by car, we toured the ancient and historical sites of Delphi, Olympia, Mycenae, and Epidaurus. We visited the islands of Evia (where Rod and Hara live), Andros, Tinos, and Mykonos (Europe's Fort Lauderdale, where swimsuits are optional). Interested yet? I hope so. There's lots more, but you will have to pay the price of reading for it.

Wait! I almost forgot. Greeks like to vary place name spellings. Also, the Greek alphabet does not exactly match the English alphabet. Names can become confusing. For instance, Rod and Hara live on Evia or Euboea, and Mycenae may appear as Mykines. As a rule, I used the spelling as I saw it signposted.

Thursday, July 31, 1997 Day #1

Even though our flight to Kennedy NY didn't depart until mid-day, we got up early to check our preparations. Are the light timers set correctly? Yes. Did we confirm that our neighbor would check the pool and pick up the mail and newspapers? Yes. Have we written all the checks that needed writing? Yes. Does the family know how to get in touch with us in an emergency? Yes. Can you think of anything else? No.

Satisfied, we relaxed and waited for our ride to George Bush International Airport (IAH). Jean Goodwin, a family friend, arrived at 9:30 a.m.; and we loaded up our two carry-on suitcases and shoulder bags. Away we went!

Happy and excited, we settled into a window seat for Fran and an aisle seat for me. Our Boeing 727 lifted off at 12:12 p.m. The first officer announced that our flying time to Kennedy would be slightly over three hours at an altitude of 33,000 feet and a ground speed of 520 mph.

At 12:30 p.m., the flight attendants served an in-flight meal of chicken breast strips, potatoes, peas and carrots with a limp salad and devil's food cake for dessert. The food was barely edible. Airline comfort has declined since Jimmy Carter deregulated the industry in 1976. Packed flights, cramped seating, poor food, and overworked and aging stewardesses have taken their toll.

Somewhere over Washington, D.C., we ran into rough air and were tossed about. Other than this uncomfortable 20-second period, the ride was smooth as whipped cream. The sky was brilliantly clear. It was deep blue above but blinding white below from reflected sunlight off the cloud cover.

To pass the time, Fran and I read our books and talked. We talked about how happy and excited we were to be taking this once-in-a-lifetime trip. We wondered about our grandsons—Sam (7) and Giotis (5). Would they like us? Has our son, Rod, changed? He is a man now with all the responsibilities and pressures that entails. What about his wife, Hara? Would our visit be fun for her, or would we be a burden to be endured?

Our plane touched down at Kennedy at 4:10 p.m. We deplaned and hurried over to gate 8 to catch Delta Flight 132 departing for Athens at 5:50 p.m. My impression of Kennedy was that it was small, cramped, and poorly laid out. I was also surprised at how few foreigners (old Anglo-Saxon term) I saw. One sees greater ethnic diversity (the current and politically correct usage) on a Houston street corner than at Kennedy.

At 5:45 p.m., we took off. We were on our way in a Boeing 767-300ER. Boeing designed this twin-engine, wide-bodied jet for long distances. At 34,000 feet, we picked up the jet stream that gave us a tailwind of 107 mph and raised our ground speed to over 650 mph. During the flight, neither of us slept despite several tries. We read, talked, watched movies, and read some more.

Friday, August 1, 1997 Day #2

After nine hours of flying, we landed in Athens stiff, tired, and slightly disoriented. The local time was 10:20 a.m. Buses took us from the plane to the terminal. There, we entered a large room with over 500 other confused travelers.

We queued up for passport control. The line moved rapidly, and our passports were stamped. We were directed to customs. Not having checked our luggage saved a long delay at Baggage Claim. The Greek customs agent glanced at our bags and waved us on. Considering the number of passengers—two international flights landed about the same time—I was astonished at how quickly we got through.

Hundreds of people were waiting beyond the fenced-off customs area to meet the arrivals. How would I ever find Rod? We agreed that Fran would wait by the American Express counter while I searched. Soon, I spotted Rod, and he saw me.

After welcoming hugs and kisses, Sam and Giotis presented us with two long-stem, red roses. We squeezed into Rod's Honda Civic and set off for their home in Psachna, about 1.5 hours away by car.

Psachna is a small farming community of 5,000 located on Euboea, Greece's second-largest island. The island is about 100 miles long by 35 miles across. The population of Euboea is listed at 165,000. The largest city is Chalkis with about 45,000. A suspension bridge connects the outskirts of Athens with Chalkis. Psachna is just a short 8 miles northeast of Chalkis.

Driving in Athens scared me. The streets are narrow and made more so by cars parked half on the sidewalks and half in the street. Moreover, they are not laid out in a checkerboard fashion but twist this way and that. Drivers ignore stop signs. They slow down, glance both ways—one hopes—and accelerate on through. Also, I saw more than one auto and motorcycle go the wrong way on a one-way street. Trucks, cars, motorcycles and buses come at you from all directions.

Forget rules of the road, forget courtesy, forget common sense and press ahead. Whether accelerating hard or standing on the brakes, don't forget to pound on the horn. If done correctly, one can snake through traffic at better than a walking speed.

I said to Rod, "If people drove like this in Houston, they would get shot."

"I know, Dad. That's the way people drive here. The problem is that the police do not enforce the law," said Rod. "Greece has the highest fatal accident rate per mile driven of all European countries." I believed him.

In due course, we arrived in Psachna about noon. Hara's father, Mr. Balais, greeted us in front of his ground floor apartment. We talked, and he showed Fran and me his flowers. He was very proud of them. At 86, Mr. Balais uses a walker and has some trouble hearing. However, with Rod translating, we were able to carry on a good conversation. I am pleased and happy that Hara and Rod look after the old man and can bring some joy to his twilight years.

Excusing herself, Hara went upstairs to their apartment where we stayed and prepared a delicious lunch. Afterwards, we took a four-hour nap.

At 7:00 PM, we drove to Chalkis to see a Greek bazaar. It reminded me of the Neshoba County fair in Mississippi. Little stalls under tents offered all kinds of cheap stuff. And there was food everywhere. Spits with goat hind quarters, whole pigs, lamb shoulders and ears of corn turned slowly over hundreds of wood fires. Our mouths watered from the smells.

I noticed that some people looked like gypsies. They were swarthy with black hair and eyes. They wouldn't look directly at you. With their eyes darting about, they appeared sly and cunning. They were also dirty and unkempt. I'll tell you more about gypsies later, if you are really interested.

Later, after eating shish-ke-bob at an outdoor cafe while the children played, we meandered along the waterfront in Chalkis. There were many young Greeks strolling by the waterside. A limpid moon hung in the sky, balmy breezes stirred the air, and music from a dozen tavernas drifted over the water. The atmosphere was romantic. Yet, other than a few calf-eyed glances, I did not see any young couples wrapped around each other as many Houston teens would be under similar circumstances. We returned home to Psachna about 12:30 A.M. for ice cream and bed.

Saturday, August 2, 1997 Day #3

Up early to watch the village come awake. The setting reminds me of the French Quarter in New Orleans with narrow streets and second-floor homes with balconies above ground level businesses. It is intimate living that takes some getting used to.

Rod, Fran, and I walked to a nearby newsstand to buy an English-language paper. We returned to the house about 10:00 A.M. to be greeted by Dimitri (Hara's oldest brother), Adonis (another brother) and Kikki (Adonis's wife) and a cousin, Vagelis. Dimitri lives in Houston. He was home on a short visit to see his dad. Vagelis lives and works in Athens while Adonis lives and works in Chalkis. We talked for an hour, catching up on family news before they left. After lunch and a two-hour nap (just about everything shuts down between 1:00 P.M. and 4:00 P.M.), we headed to the beach at Politika for an afternoon of water sports.

Unlike our sandy beaches, Greek beaches consist of small, round pebbles. Initially, I didn't like it; however, as soon as I realized that rocks do not stick to you and are cooler than sand, I became a convert. Sam and Giotis had fun playing in the water. They both swim well. I was pleased. We turned in early. We were still groggy from jet lag.

Sunday, August 3, 1997 Day #4

Sunrise is 6:29 A.M. Sunset is 8:33 P.M. It is chilly with the temperature at 67 degrees F. I have been surprised at how cool and dry the air is. I'm thirsty all the time. Even in the direct sun, one doesn't sweat; there is always a breeze blowing. Out of the sun, the air smells pure and feels air-conditioned. What a contrast to the hot and muggy climate of Houston.

I sat on the balcony watching activities below. Every Sunday, local farmers display their produce in the street fronting Rod and Hara's home. From above, the awnings shading the fruits and vegetables appeared to make up a large, brightly colored quilt laid over the street. Fran and I enjoyed wandering through the stalls buying a little of this and that.

When you're in Greece, you are experiencing something familiar yet utterly outlandish compared to what you were born into as an American. For instance, every morning an elderly waiter would deliver coffee to the police station by bicycle. He balanced a round tray holding glasses of iced coffee on his right hand while steering with the left. The bicycle weaved from side to side to maintain balance as he peddled slowly up the street. In one sense, it was comical and in another, demeaning.

A farmer cleaned his windshield by shooting a stream of water from a plastic bottle onto it while running the wipers. In America, we would press the windshield washer button to achieve the same effect or use a commercial window cleaner and paper towels. And the police would make their own damn coffee.

Adonis and Kikki invited us to their home in Chalkis for lunch. They have an impressive home on the fifth floor of a hi-rise. Kikki had prepared a superb meal. I embarrassed myself by eating so much. Afterwards, Rani, their 14-year-old daughter, played the piano. She is a talented musician and a good conversationalist able to speak and understand English easily.

As we lingered over coffee, we talked about education in Greece. Greeks lavish money and attention on their children. They are as anxious for them to succeed as we are for ours. After school, the parents pay for extra tutoring in music, foreign languages, math, and science.

The reason seems to be that high school graduates must pass a rigorous test to get accepted into one of the six universities or six other higher educational institutions. The student's grade on this exam determines their future career. The standards for a professional career are high. Once accepted into a university, the state pays all expenses. Of course, only a small percentage (18%) of students go to college.

Those students who don't make the cut settle for vocational schools and whatever job they can get or they go abroad for college. Greece, even more than the U.S., is degree-conscious. Without a college degree from a Greek university, they cannot get a government job. Everyone wants the lifetime security and ease of working for the government. And they see nothing wrong in the government sucking up their best minds to vegetate in the non-producing public sector.

Later, the men moved outside onto the large balcony patio. It was covered by an awning and decorated with outdoor furniture and flourishing potted plants. The elevated view of the city and the surrounding countryside was superb. With a drink in hand, I felt very cosmopolitan.

Dimitri talked about places he had lived while working for a shipping company. He had lived in France, Japan, and now, the U.S. He said, "In my opinion, it is no accident that the U.S. is the dominant economic and military power in the world—you have systems for everything. Americans work very hard. That's not true in most of the world." I made some comment that implied I didn't disagree.

Then, he turned to me and asked, "How do you feel about your son living and working in Greece?"

His directness could have been off-putting. But, different people have asked me this question before. I had a ready answer. I said, "Being selfish, I wish that he lived in the U.S. I would like to enjoy seeing my grandchildren growing up. Yet, I raised Rod to be independent and make his own decisions. If he chooses to live in Greece and is happy, then I'm happy."

Rod said, "Dimitri, how did your dad feel when you left Greece?" Dimitri hemmed and hawed, and the conversation shifted to another subject. This exchange illustrates many people's, even Greeks', curiosity. Why would an educated American forgo the opportunities in the U.S. for life in a—more or less—third-world country?

Afterwards, we visited a tourist center near Eretria called "Dream Island." The setting was picture-perfect, with a man-made, sandy beach, cabins to rent, tall pines and a playground for children. We sat at a refreshment stand overlooking the beach.

There were some seventy to a hundred young adults and children relaxing under beach umbrellas. Others played paddleball, a favorite pastime. Greeks playing together on a beach are well-behaved and restrained. Also, they seem very aware of their bodies and how they move about. There is none of the slapstick buffoonery one sees on our beaches.

That evening, we stopped by Thansis and Vasso's (his wife) home. They had invited us to a restaurant in Politicka. Thansis is Hara's brother closest to her in age. He is one of those rare individuals of boundless energy and goodwill who loves life and people. Thansis and Vasso have two daughters: Rania (21) and Patty (16). Rania is tall, elegant and reserved. She models and works as an engineering assistant. Patty is like her dad—strong, fun-loving, and personality-plus.

I asked her what she wanted to do when she finished school. Without hesitation she said, "I want to join the army and kill Turks." Bravo! Here's a girl who knows her own mind; but, in spite of her tough talk, there's not a mean bone in her body. We got along well.

Later, we drove to a restaurant on the beach where the branches of pine trees had been pruned to form a canopy over the outdoor tables. We dined on pizza, salad and beer. We had a grand time laughing and talking with Thansis and Vasso. They are a fun couple. The soft night, delicious food, cool breezes and the sound of waves breaking gently against the shore made a perfect end to a full day.

Monday, August 4, 1997 Day #5

Rod took me to his job site in Triada, Euboea, located SE of Psachna about 6 miles. The name is Mantas Seafood Processing. The factory is 75% complete. We toured the facility from the enormous refrigerated storage rooms to the shipping docks to the management offices. While there, Rod gave instructions (in Greek, of course) to some of the construction workers.

I'm impressed with what he has accomplished. I could not have done it. Learning the language and putting up with the prejudices against non-Greeks are formidable obstacles that take determination to overcome. Whatever Rod does later in life, the lessons he has learned in Greece will be valuable. I am proud of him.

From the plant, we drove to Chalkis to visit the Mantis office there and to purchase spark plugs, filters and other parts for his car. It needed a tune-up.

But first, we stopped by his bank to cash travelers checks. What an experience that was. Over fifty people waited in line. To withdraw money, you present your bank book, passport and identity card to a teller who verifies that you have money in your account and fills out a withdrawal slip. You present this to another teller who counts out your money. I'm told the procedure prevents defrauding the bank. Sort of a double check but a royal pain in the neck. In Greece, the customer is never right, unless he happens to be a relative.

During all this running around, Rod and I talked. We discussed: (1) Greeks having no word for privacy; (2) Older generation Greeks not wanting their sons and daughters to be educated; and (3) how the Greek system handles criminals.

Rod said, "Neither in ancient nor modern Greek is there a word for privacy. Greeks don't understand the concept of privacy. Privacy from whom? What does that mean? Privacy is a foreign concept that doesn't make sense."

I believe Rod's observations are accurate. Quoting from Alex Martin's Custom & Etiquette in Greece: "The family in Greece is much closer than in Britain or America. Families routinely ask and do favors for each other which we would regard as enormous.

Greeks think nothing of dropping in unannounced with a request or just to visit. It is as if they regard their relations as part of themselves, not as separate individuals. Parents make the heaviest sacrifices for their children such as buying them an apartment when they get married, and they do this at all levels of society without question.

I have puzzled over this need for family closeness. History tells us that when Turkey ruled Greece from 1453-1824 (over 400 years), the Turks tried to assimilate the Greeks forcibly by converting them from Christianity to Islam and stamping out the Greek culture and language. The only way they could make the Greeks into Turks—indeed, the Greeks were the only ones they could count on for help. They taught their children the Greek language and Christianity at night in secret schools. So, for these reasons, the Greeks despise and hate the Turks for what they tried to do, and I don't blame them. Wouldn't you hate someone who tried to destroy your identity?

Rod continued saying, "One of the subtle effects of the Turkish rule is the lingering feeling amongst older and less educated Greeks that women shouldn't be educated. Indeed, many older Greeks don't want their sons to receive a better education than they had. Then, the son will always submit to father's authority or so they believe."

I said, "That is unfortunate. Thank god, I'm an American. We want our sons and daughters to surpass us in everything. And if they don't, we feel let down; that, somehow, we've failed them."

Exhausting this subject, Rod told me about the Greek legal system and how they allow "a non-violent criminal" to buy off jail sentences. For example, suppose someone commits a non-violent crime such as writing bad checks and receives a sentence of two years. The court will allow the criminal to buy off one or more years of the sentence. Sounds bizarre, but one can see the logic.

The more I think about it, the Greek system may be superior to ours. In Texas, the liberal Federal Judge, William Wayne Justice, has mandated early release of violent criminals to relieve jail overcrowding. That makes no sense to me.

I had almost forgotten how much I enjoyed discussing subjects with Rod. It was like old times when we would talk and argue about politics and religion and other sensitive topics.

Later that afternoon, Sam and Giotis took Fran and me for a walk to the local church. Sam wanted to show us where Mrs. Balais (Hara's mother and his other Yah-Yah) was buried. We visited the grave site. An old woman, dressed all in black, moved from grave to grave filling small oil lamps and lighting them. I'm told this is customary.

Seeing all the little, flickering lights as dusk settled, was sad but somehow, hopeful. The dead are not forgotten. A light burns for them all night every night. Sam and Giotis were quiet and well-mannered while we were there. I liked their sense of reverence.

Returning home, we watched the world games (a tune-up for the Olympics in 2000) on TV. I had a hard time getting to sleep. I was excited. Tomorrow, we are setting out to visit Greece's famous archeological sites. Ever since I read a translation of Homer's Iliad and Odyssey at the age of twelve, I've wanted to visit Tiryns, Argos, Mycenae and Delphi. Those names have a magic that captivates me.

Tuesday, August 5, 1997 Day #6

We rushed around packing. Today, we're off on tour. This is what I'd been waiting for. We stopped for coffee in the little town of Levadia at 10:00 AM. And then we were at Delphi.

Delphi was built against the slopes of Mount Parnassus that rises 8,061 feet above the Gulf of Corinth. This is one of the most famous cult sites in the ancient world. Here is the sanctuary of Apollo and his oracle. This site began well over a thousand years before Christ with a small shrine at the Castalian spring to the Earth Mother, Ge. The Earth Mother was protected by a dragon named Python.

As the myth goes, Apollo killed the dragon and demoted the Earth Mother. Excavations bear this out. The upper (more recent) layers yielded many three-inch tall bronze, male figures of Apollo. In the lower (earlier) layers, there were small clay figures of the Earth Mother. Even though a male deity displaced the earlier goddess, a woman still played a central role in the cult of the oracle.

Stunning, awe-inspiring, and magnificent are some of the words that spring to mind. The site is arranged on large, level steps cut into the mountain. Judging from the extensive ruins that include a theater (seating over 5,000), a sports stadium and many other buildings, this city complex was of major importance.

Ancient Greeks went to great hardships to worship at Delphi. They came from all over in large numbers. Over 4,000 years ago, the Greeks were traveling extensively by ship. It was quicker, easier and safer than walking overland. Remember that no place in Greece is more than 30 miles from the sea.

The tourist literature says that Delphi was uncovered by French excavations beginning in 1892 and continuing through the present. Fran, Hara, Rod, Sam, Giotis and I walked around taking pictures and absorbing the atmosphere. There were many other tourists from all over the world doing the same thing.

Walking the grounds and looking at the wild and rugged scenery, I had the weird feeling that I was hanging in space. Slowly, I began to sense why the ancients revered and feared Delphi. There is a strange, other-worldly quality here that grips you.

Leaving Delphi, we traveled a tightly winding mountain road that quickly descended over 6,000 feet to the coastal town of Galaxidi. We lunched at a charming restaurant that extended out over the water. The water was clear. One could look down over 20 feet and see fish swimming about. We had a delicious fish dinner and continued our journey.

Boarding a ferry at Antirio, we crossed to the town of Rio Patra on the Peloponnese. This is the most southerly part of the Greek mainland, linked with the rest of the country by the Isthmus of Corinth. It has been regarded since ancient times as an island—the island of Pelops or Peloponnese.

We found accommodations for the night at Monodendri on the beach. We unloaded the car and rested on the patio. Sam and Giotis played with a kitten and some yarn. As night fell, we drove to a grocery store and bought food and bottled water—blessed water. We had covered over 170 miles on tightly winding mountain roads that left me tired and tense. I went to bed early. Falling asleep was difficult. I woke up at 6:30 A.M. feeling refreshed. I was looking forward to this day. Olympia, here we come!

Wednesday, August 6, 1997 Day #7

We were off at dawn. Our first stop was to see the ruins of Ancient Olympia. This is another of the great cult sites of the ancient world. Here, the first Olympic Games were held in 776 B.C. They were held every four years for the next 1200 years. Looking at the ruins, I imagined I could see the athletes racing and hear the roar of the crowd. One can almost feel the dawn breaking and the runners setting off down the course. My imagination revealed the varied buildings and temples and showed me the priests making sacrifices to the gods.

We spent about two hours at the site. Then, we drove to the modern city of Olympia for lunch. We ate outside at a cafe shaded by a large fig tree. One fig fell into my coffee. We finished at 1:30 P.M. and continued south to the coastal town of Pyrgos. With Fran navigating, we found the road to Katakolon, a small fishing port. This is where the cruise ships dock. We spent some time there judging the women to see which ones would be the prettiest at dawn. We joked with Rod.

That afternoon, we drove to Skafidia, a small town on a secluded beach of the Ionian Sea. The island of Zakinthos was off-shore about ten miles. The beach was uncrowded and isolated. Perfect for this stop. Giotis played in the sand. We swam and sunbathed. By this time, Fran had developed a painful sunburn that had her worried.

We returned to our lodging at 10:30 P.M. only to be greeted by a large, noisy, and uninhibited Greek wedding party. Sleeping was difficult. I woke up at 6:30 A.M. feeling refreshed, but we had to be on our way. Today was difficult. I was looking forward to it, but I dreaded the endlessly long drive (about 170 miles) on empty roads.

Wednesday, August 6, 1997 - Day #7

We set out at 9:00 A.M. for Olympia. It is near Pyrgos on the western coast of the Peloponnese between the rivers Alpheios and Kladeos.

Here was the great Panhellenic sanctuary where the Olympic Games began. From 1875 onwards, the Germans excavated the area known as the Altis (sacred grove). All of the trees had been cut down over 1500 years ago. The Germans replanted the area. Now, trees grow there again. A direct consequence of the excavations was the revival of the Olympic Games by Baron Pierre de Coubertin in 1896.

The first historical reference to the Games is in 776 B.C. when a treaty between kings Iphitos of Elis and Lykourgos of Sparta provided for an Olympic truce during the summer games. From 776 B.C. onwards, lists were kept of the winners in the foot race around the Stadium. Other events were added later—in the 7th century there was a long-distance race, boxing, athletic-racing, and other games. Originally, the Games lasted one day; by 680 B.C., they lasted two days. By 472 B.C., the Games took five days.

After their heyday in the 5th century B.C., the Games gradually declined. The religious element became less prominent. Eventually, they were contested by professional athletes. In 393 A.D., the Roman Emperor Theodosius banned them. They had existed over 1000 years.

Scholars tell us that the Games went something like this: On the first day, there was a festival and the athletes were registered. Next, a boar was sacrificed and the athletes took their oaths in front of the statue of Zeus. They would swear that they had trained for ten months and that they would compete fairly and abide by the rules. Then, the fathers, brothers, and trainers would also swear that their athletes had trained and that they had met all qualifications. Finally, the judges and referees would take their oaths to judge the Games fairly and impartially.

Later in the day, the priestess of the goddess Demeter Chamyne, the only woman who could lawfully attend the Games, announced that all was in order and then greeted the spectators. At this point, a herald would proclaim that the Games were beginning.

On the second day, the Hippodrome hosted horse races; then, the Pentathlon was held in the Stadium. These events took all day.

The third day was the most splendid. All the athletes, trainers, the lords of Elis, and delegates from all the Greek cities formed a procession to the altar of Zeus and offered 100 oxen as a sacrifice to the gods. When these religious ceremonies were completed, the track and field events took place.

On the fourth day, the more intense games began. There was wrestling, boxing, the Pankration, and the Hoplite (heavily-armored foot soldier) race. These were brutal events that sometimes resulted in death and serious injury.

On the last day, the judges awarded prizes in the entrance of the Temple of Zeus. Olive garlands made out of gold and ivory crowned the winners while the crowds cheered and showered them with flowers. After the prize-giving, the champions were honored at a feast. Everyone was invited. The celebrations continued through the next day as people left for their home cities.

The sports facilities in the Olympic complex cover an area of about 1680 yards by 1200 yards. No major US university today has facilities that match this size. Walking among the extensive ruins, one realizes how important sports were to the ancient Greeks. It’s striking to think that all the fundamentals of modern sports were in place over 2600 years ago in ancient Greece.

The ancients had training, trainers, referees, judges, rules of play, fouls, prizes for the winner, wagers, cheating, and spectators. They were all there then, just like today. Imagine all the dramas—thrilling victories, bitter defeats—that were acted out here every four years for over a thousand years.

Before leaving, we ate lunch near the museum under some trees by a water fountain. Olympia was a moving experience; I could almost feel the crowds cheering on their favorites.

We decided to shorten our journey by cutting across the Peloponnese west to east instead of following the coastal highway south, then east, and north to Nafplion. What an adventure this change in plans brought about.

The mountains in the Peloponnese are generally cone-shaped, having been eroded by the wind and rain as opposed to the Alps, which have been sliced into jagged crests and vertical sides by ice and snow.

Off we went into these mountains to cover about fifty miles, as the crow flies, to the city of Tripolis. It took us over four hours to make the trip. We arrived exhausted, car sick, and scared out of our wits.

Just out of Olympia, we began climbing up and up, reaching over 4,000 feet by switch-back after switch-back, and then back down to 500 feet. Up a mountain, over to the top, and back down again only to repeat the whole process time after time. The mountains ranged from 3000 to 4800 feet.

The roads were narrow without guardrails and, in some places, not paved. Usually, we descended faster than going up. Coming down, I tried to apply extra braking by pressing against the floorboard. Although my right foot might be embedded there, it didn’t seem to slow us down. I did achieve a sore right leg, so my efforts weren’t completely wasted.

We drove over three hours without seeing another human being, let alone a car. We passed through several small villages like Libadaki, St John, Kakouraika, Anoripsana, and Megalopoli; but they seemed to be empty. Of course, it was nap-time. That explained the deserted look. Eventually, we came upon a farmer on a tractor. He indicated the way.

The terrain in the mountain valleys was as wild, rugged, and remote as any I have ever seen. To make matters worse, it was bone dry. Nothing lived. We saw vast areas where fires had burned off the vegetation. Blackened tree trunks dotted the landscape like telephone poles, imbuing the landscape with a forbidding, sinister appearance.

We arrived in Tripolis about 5:30 P.M. and had dinner in the Plaka at "The National". Somewhat recovered, we set off for Nafplion on the coast.

Coming down from those horrific, interior mountains, the winding road offered spectacular views of the Argolic Gulf. At last, I understood what Homer meant when he wrote in the Iliad (800 B.C.) about the "wine dark sea". The air was extremely clear, the light very bright and sharp. Far below, Nafplion stood out in tiny relief against the vastness of blue-black water. The water was, truly, "wine-dark."

Nafplion is a popular tourist center because of the proximity of many famous archaeological sites and its numerous hotels. Besides this, it has a long and exciting history in its own right. It was the base of operations for the Greek War of Independence (1823-1834) and served as the first capital of Greece until 1834. Today, the old town’s streets are narrow, and the architecture reflects the Venetian, Turkish, and Greek influences of the past.

We arrived in Nafplion about 7:00 P.M. and found a hotel room for Fran and me in the Hotel Rex (room #9). Shiri, Rod, and the children stayed in another hotel nearby. The town was booked with tourists.

After dinner, we walked down 210 steps to the Plaka (town square) near the waterfront. Fran and I decided to explore on our own, providing the children with another opportunity to try out their Greek. The waiter smiled and said, “You think I can’t speak English?”

The Plaka was full of tourists and townspeople enjoying the evening. Shops were open, people strolled about, and there were actors and entertainers performing. We heard music, and soon a group of exuberant, singing Greek women, sitting as one big family, all dressed in black, seemed to delight in each other’s company.

With a group of five-year-old boys and girls nearby, a big circle of teenagers, boys and girls, gathered around them taking pictures. Then, the boys got in a line, and a girl held the ankles of the boy in front of her, forming a line and shouting playfully. We laughed as they played, a scene that could have been one we witnessed decades ago.

At about 10 P.M., we returned to our hotel. Even though the mattress was as hard as a rock, I fell asleep quickly. The mattress must have been over 100 years old! As I drifted off, dreaming of Nafplion’s historic views and architecture, I wondered what lay ahead for tomorrow.

The next morning, I awoke to strong bars of sunlight penetrating the trees just outside our balcony. Looking out at the boats in the harbor, I thought that mornings in Nafplion are beautiful. The air smells of the sea and feels cool. Even the birds seemed happy and full of energy; they sang loudly.

My sense of well-being evaporated when I could not find the switch that turned on the water heater. I hunted everywhere. Finally, I said to Fran, "We'll just have to get by without hot water. I don't know how to turn it on, and there is no one at the front desk to help us."

She said, "I can't shower in cold water. And I haven't been able to wash my hair in two days. I feel grubby, just awful."

"Honey, think of it as camping out indoors. It's better than sleeping on the ground."

Fran wasn't amused at my just-tough-it-out answer. In Alabama and Mississippi, it is well-known that Ousley girls don't wake up in a good mood under the best of circumstances. Deprived of hot water and coffee, they go berserk.

Yes, we Americans are spoiled. Maybe it is because of our recent pioneer past that we demand comfortable houses, air-conditioning, hot water, and dozens of gadgets to simplify life.

Soon, we joined up with Rod, Hara, and the boys. We departed, aiming for Mycenae, about eighteen miles north. When the first Greeks came to this land in about 2000 B.C., they established a settlement on a high hill (912 ft) overlooking a fertile plain near to a sheltered bay. They called this fort-like city Mycenae.

Mycenaeans were the heroes Homer wrote about in the Iliad. Remember the story: King Agamemnon (of Mycenae) assembled over 1,000 ships and launched an eleven-year war against the city of Troy on the Turkish coast over 400 miles away. The whole undertaking was an amazing accomplishment for a Bronze Age culture in 1200 B.C.

Government propagandists of that day said it was to rescue Helen, wife of King Menelaus of Sparta, who was stolen away by Paris, a son of Priam, king of Troy. I suspect the real reason was to plunder the great wealth of Troy. Helen's plight as a captive was used to fire up the troops.

Wait. You suspect that the ancient Greek foot-soldier would not risk his life for a woman he had never seen and probably never would. To put this in context, just suppose that the lovely and beautiful Princess Diana was kidnapped by the Chinese instead of dying in a car wreck (Sept. 1997). The press might have hyper-ventilated us into a war to get her back. My point is that soldiers really do respond to moral justification for fighting. They needed it 3,000 years ago, and they need it today. Wise leaders understand.

In any event, Mycenae is an extraordinary site; even though, today, it looks like a pile of rocks on a high hill. We often forget how important height was to a defensive position. Before the invention of gunpowder, killing was a personal thing, usually limited to 60 yards maximum range. One depended on the power of the arm to draw a bow or throw a spear to kill at a distance.

Considering those limitations, gravity offers an enormous advantage. Observing the massive stone walls that encircled the hilltop combined with the steep slopes on all sides. I wondered how any ancient army without siege engines (invented 1000 years later by the Romans) could have successfully assaulted this position.

The original builders of Mycenae chose well. It survived over 900 years. The founders arrived in 2000 B.C. Mycenae fell in about 1100 B.C. as a result of an attack by the "Sea People" according to ancient Egyptian sources. I believe it was taken because of internal dissent. No way could an army in those days take this position if it were held by committed defenders.

There is much to see: the famous Lion Gate, and beside it the First Circle of Royal Tombs; and the Acropolis, the Secret Cistern and the beautiful Treasury of Atreus. As I sat near the Lion Gate waiting for Rod and Fran who climbed to the top, I felt a profound sense of awe. We stand on the shoulders of giants and believe we're tall.

Fran, Rod and I returned to the car park to join Hara and Sam and Giotis. They had waited for us because of the danger of little boys running around steep hillsides.

Not many miles away is Epidavros. Epidavros began as a religious medical center around 5000 B.C. People came from near and far to be healed by the sacred serpent that was kept in the Sanctuary. We recognize the same serpent today in the traditional emblem of the medical profession.

The psychosomatics, hypochondriacs and geriatrics (all words the Ancient Greeks would understand) who visited Epidavros for the cure would often need entertainment during their long treatments; so a magnificent theater was constructed there in 400 B.C.

The theater seats 14,000. The acoustics are marvelous. I climbed way up near the top row seats. I could easily hear Rod who was on the stage far below and talking in a normal tone. Today, during the summer season, Greek tragedies are staged in this ancient theater. The performances are sold out months in advance.

We visited the museum and had lunch at the Cafe Xenia. Finishing our visit, we decided to return to Psachna to rest and collect clean clothes.

By 5:00 P.M., we were traveling along a six-lane, toll-way just outside Athens. We stopped for dinner in a Goody's. It reminded me of a McDonald's with beer on tap. The building was all steel and glass and looked like the interior of a spacecraft. I guess young people like space fantasies with peppy rock and roll music blasted out very loudly. Giotis danced to the music. He is a happy free-spirit.

We were glad to see Aristotelous 28 GR-34400 Psachna, Evia which is, of course, Rod and Hara's address. Thansis came over and we talked for awhile. Later, I dropped into a deep sleep.

Friday, August 8, 1997 Day #9

Rod, Hara, and I enjoyed a cup of coffee while sitting on the balcony watching the town wake up. "Dad, let's you, Mom, and I go shopping in Chalkis this morning. Would you like that?" asked Rod.

"That sounds fine to me, but what about Hara? Don't you want to go?"

Hara said, "No, Dad. There are some things here that I need to do. You go ahead."

We had a good time wandering through shops in Chalkis. Fran bought some wine glasses for Hara while Rod and I picked up some English magazines. I remembered when I was on the Forrestal homeported in Greece in 1972-74 and how I missed seeing familiar magazines. I get uncomfortable not having fresh news. We had nescafe frappe (cold coffee) in a small cafe on the waterfront and talked about Dave, our youngest son who lives in Austin, Texas, and my Dad who is in a rest home in Birmingham, Alabama.

Fran mentioned how long it takes for mail to travel to and from Greece. Rod said, "The word for Post Office in Greek is Tachydromeio. Loosely translated, it means 'speedy journey.' There is another Greek word," continued Rod, "and that is 'ennoite'. It means something only a native Greek would understand—an 'inside joke.'"

Walking back to the car, a young Greek girl overtook us on the narrow sidewalk and walked on ahead. She was wearing a simple, loose-fitting dress that came to mid-thigh. Her shoes caught my attention; they looked like old-fashioned, lace-up "Keds" with high blockish heels. Bizarre, but I suppose it is the latest fashion here. She had a confident and relaxed walk, sort of gliding along with an erect upper body and a rolling sway to her hips. American girls usually plod along flat-footed or lean slightly forward in a purposeful, athletic walk.

Back in Psachna, Hara had prepared another splendid lunch. Afterwards, Rod installed an overhead fan while Fran and I read and napped.

Later, we drove out into the countryside to visit a little chapel. It was just at the edge of a large cultivated field and nestled among some trees overlooking a creek. The location was perfect for a chapel. Hara said that families came there on special occasions for a service followed by food and dancing. Nearby, there was a barbecue pit with many fixtures for turning meat on a spit. A long table with sixty chairs sat under a metal canopy. In the same general area, there was a 20-ft in diameter concrete dance floor. We sat and talked while the boys explored.

About 8:00 P.M., we drove into Chalkis to see a movie. The theater was outdoors on top of a building with other hi-rises on three sides. It was funny watching people in the other building leaning out of their windows looking at us in the audience and trying to see what was playing. By 9:00 P.M., it was dark enough to show the picture. The movie was "Anaconda" with John Voight. We sat in lawn chairs on a crushed gravel floor. The theater was about fifty percent full. Halfway through, there was an intermission. We got Cokes and potato chips. Greeks at movies are definitely better behaved than American audiences. They don't talk during the show and they stay in their seats until intermission.

Saturday, August 9, 1997 Day #10

Underway by car to the north end of Evia to visit the famous church of St. John the Russian, located in the town of Prokopi. This church has a reputation for curing illnesses, so people come from all over Greece to seek relief.

St. John, as the story goes, was a young, educated Russian soldier who was captured in 1729 by the Turks during one of the many wars between Russia and Turkey. As a prisoner of war, the Turks took him to Evia. Turkey, as you may recall, had ruled Greece since 1453. By taking him far from Russia, the Turks believed that would discourage him from escaping while they went about converting him to Islam. He was to be an example to the Greeks.

In spite of months of torture, he would not renounce Christ. In frustration, they burned him in 1730. He died a martyr. Local Greeks who had been impressed by his courageous devotion found the grave in 1733, dug up the body, and dedicated a church to him.

Near the door, St. John is displayed in a glass coffin. The remains are dressed in a fine robe, and the face is covered with a metal mask. Parts of an arm and leg are exposed. The flesh is black and looks like charred meat, which, of course, it is. People were lined up to pay their respects. To a Protestant who never learned to venerate relics, the display is macabre. But then, I never lived in a country that suffered severe, systematic, religious persecution.

From Prokopi, we journeyed through Pefki, a popular Greek vacation spot, to Istea, and on to Edipsos, another popular seaside resort. Eventually, we arrived at Limni, where we enjoyed a fabulous dinner of veal, calamari, pork chops, cod, and pasticho with wine from the owner's barrel. Yes, this restaurant was located on the seawall—need you ask?

With full tummies and a warm glow from the wine, we played on the beach, skipping flat stones across the water. Sam and Giotis had a grand time. I marveled at their energy. I just wanted a comfortable chair to sit in and watch the sun set. Sunsets in Greece are sublime. With dark blue water and mountains as background, the clear air makes the sun seem very close and on fire.

By 10:00 P.M., we had returned to Psachna, and I crashed into bed, asleep before my head hit the pillow.

Sunday, August 10, 1997 Day #11

Up at 8:00 A.M., drinking coffee on the balcony, watching the farmers set up their stalls below. Voices were raised. I leaned over the rail to see better. Two women were arguing. They were nose to nose, shouting and making threatening gestures. A man separated them. If he had not, blood may have been spilled. Woman A's stand was about twenty feet from woman B's. Woman A wouldn't let it go. She continued speaking loudly, casting hateful looks and shaking her fist, but woman B ignored her. Hara said that they were gypsies, and gypsies argue all the time.

Rod walked out and said, "Let's see Athens today."

"Won't Athens be crowded with the World Games going on?" I asked. All the while hoping he would say no.

Rod said, "No, Dad. It won't be too bad since it is Sunday, but Hara and the boys will stay here. It would be too much to take the boys."

We left about 9:30 A.M., drove to the outskirts of Athens and took the subway at Pefki (hospital district) about 15 miles from the city. The subway (actually above ground where we took it) is clean, runs on time, and is inexpensive. Athens isn't a pleasant place. It was covered in an eye-watering, throat-tickling, gasp-inducing pollution cloud just like Los Angeles. And for the same reason, mountains on three sides shield the city from winds that would blow away the pollution.

Somewhere, I read that Athens is best enjoyed by getting up early, doing what you have to do, take a long nap during the heat of the day, and enjoy the evening hours. That is good advice. Some 4 million of the ten million Greeks live in Athens. There is no room for horizontal expansion, so they build hi-rise apartments.

I will digress for a moment and comment on modern Greek architecture. It's awful, just varying sizes of the simple concrete cube plunked one on top of the other. There is no imagination—just the same old theme repeated over and over. For the nation that practically invented architecture, it is disappointing.

And nothing looks finished. Observe closely, and you will see a corner or roof under repair. Even new construction appears old before its time. I saw no building that looked neat, fresh, and squared away. "It's good enough" seems to be the operative thought. That attitude produces aesthetically dead buildings. One might expect this of the Russians, but not the Greeks.

The Acropolis, the Agora, and the National Archaeological Museum are the main tourist attractions. Since time was limited and at my encouragement, we decided to see only the Museum. It houses the finest collection of ancient Greek art and relics that is available anywhere in the world.

Twenty-plus years ago (1972–74), when I was in the Navy and my ship, the Forrestal CVA 59, was homeported in Athens, I spent many off-duty hours wandering the halls admiring the exhibits.

Now, when we look at the statues, what we see is time-washed, white marble relics of what were once brightly painted pieces. There is on display a wonderful bronze statue of Poseidon. Originally, it had white, ivory eyeballs. How startlingly magnificent it must have been when newly created.

A particular favorite exhibit of mine is room 13, where one can see how sculpture developed from the Archaic (670–490 B.C.) to Classical times (390–330 B.C.). The Archaic sculptures are childishly stick-like. As time went by, the figures more closely resemble the human form. In the later Classic Period, the marble is so life-like that it takes your breath away.

Afterwards, drinking coffee at the Museum Garden Cafe, Rod described one of his experiences while walking to work on November 17 several years ago.

But first, a bit of recent history. On November 17, 1974, students barricaded themselves in the University to protest the military dictatorship. Their removal was so brutal that the public turned against the government. Since the U.S. supported the government, the old USA got tarred by association. Now, every November 17, the police

Up on a high hill overlooking the city, the restaurant looked like an old, abandoned, concrete block Provost Marshal's office and motor pool I once served in. Because Rod was carrying a back pack (he had a sweater in it) and looked like an American, he was stopped, searched, and questioned. He said that it wasn't a pleasant experience.

Later, back home, we decided to have dinner in the foothills near Psachna with Thanassis (Hara's brother) and Vasso (Thanassis' wife) and Soula (Vasso's fraternal twin sister) and Babis Mazarakis, Soula's husband.

High in the hills, the restaurant overlooked the town. We were served outside under a canopy of tree branches. Greeks love eating outdoors. For much of the year, the weather is delightful. People take advantage of it. We had fried eggplant, potatoes, Greek salad, home-made bread, and roast chicken.

During this leisurely dinner, we talked about: (1) Contrasting Greece today with twenty years ago when I was homeported there. I said that the people today seem to be happier than they were in the early seventies. Everyone agreed. (2) They asked what Fran and I thought about "Feminism". We took the Bill Clinton approach. That is, we waffled the issue, not wanting to offend.

Soula said, "It is the silly, faddish ploy of frustrated losers. Respect each other, recognize that men and women are different, and concentrate on making a decent life for your family." That was the best quote of the night, and Rush Limbaugh couldn't have said it better.

As we were enjoying our desert, Soula told us a family story that is officially written up as a Greek myth. It seemed to make Vasso uncomfortable, but Soula told it anyway.

Many, many years ago, their great, great, great grandfather was walking in the woods. (If one assumes a generation is thirty years, the time would be in the eighteen-seventies.) He came upon a stream. In the stream, he saw two beautiful wood-nymphs (tree spirits) bathing.

He had to have one of these beautiful creatures as his wife, so he stole one of their magic veils that was lying on a bush by the stream. She couldn't leave without her veil. She was compelled to go with him to his village. They were married. In time, she gave him two children.

With the birth of their second child, the wood-nymph pleaded with him to return her veil. "I'm your wife. I've had your children. I won't leave, but I want my veil." Seeing how unhappy she was and loving her very much, he returned the veil. As soon as she got it, she disappeared.

That night and for every night for the next six months, the baby cried because it was hungry. Yet, in the morning, the baby appeared well-fed. Apparently, the mother returned at night to suckle her child, only to disappear before daybreak.

Every descendant of that union bears a birthmark where the wood-nymph's tail was. (No, I didn't ask to see Soula's.) This story is recognized all over Greece and it has joined the country's many other myths.

What is a late twentieth-century American to think? I believe that it is a charming invention to account for something. Whereas Greeks might believe in wood-nymphs, Americans believe in space aliens or the eternal life of Elvis Presley. They are of the same piece; that is, the product of overactive imaginations and the need to explain some phenomenon.

Woke up at 3:40 A.M. to a wild storm with driving rain, loud thunder, and strong winds. By 8:15 A.M., the storm had vanished, leaving cool, clear air. Rod and I talked about visiting the islands. By 10:00 A.M., we were at the bank in Chalkis to replenish our money supply. About forty people were lined up ahead of us. The senior teller recognized Rod and ushered us to the head of the line. I felt uncomfortable at this special treatment, but apparently in Greece, line-jumping is tolerated. We completed our business quickly.

Before returning to Psachna, we stopped in the library. It was tiny for such a large city. There was a display of the weapons Greeks used in their war for independence from Turkey in the early 1800s. The kindly old librarian explained each piece to us. He was proud of the rifles and pistols that were mostly of English and French manufacture.

At 4:00 P.M., we boarded the Super Ferry II at Rafina, southeast of Athens. It would be taking us to Andros. Andros is the northernmost island of the Cyclades with a population of 10,500 and a total area of 144 sq. miles. Because of abundant water, Andros has a flourishing agricultural economy. There are several marble quarries on Mt. Petalon (3,261 ft) that were worked in ancient times.

The crew cast off, and our ship got underway at 4:15 P.M. There were about 300 people and seventy cars, trucks, etc. on board. Also, there were many gypsies who stayed below deck. They were bypassing Andros and going on to Tinos to celebrate the August 15 religious holiday. During the voyage, Hara, Sam, and Giotis played electronic games while Rod, Fran, and I played cards (Hearts) in the lounge.

We disembarked at 7:10 P.M. A short walk later and some negotiations by Hara secured us rooms in the Hotel Galaxies. After sorting ourselves out, we walked around the harbor, looking at the sights. We ate dinner at Petros. I had pizza and a large Greek salad. I couldn't eat enough of the salads. They were outstanding. Later, we had ice cream and Greek donuts dipped in honey before turning in for the night.

As I drifted off to sleep, I thought about our journey. Fran and I had traveled farther and done more in a shorter period of time (two weeks) than 90% of the world's population does in a lifetime.

Tuesday, August 12, 1997 Day #13

Up early and another battle with the plumbing. No hot water. Fran unhappy. Boarded the ferry to Tinos. Tinos is much smaller than Andros with a population of 3,400 and an area of about 75 sq. miles. We arrived at 11:00 A.M., had lunch, and decided to visit a famous church. Even in ancient times, Tinos was a major religious site with the sanctuary of Poseidon and Amphitrite.

During the war of liberation from Turkey in 1822, a nun named Pelagia, guided by a vision, found a wonder-working icon. This icon became the object of annual pilgrimages on the feasts of Annunciation (March 25) and Dormition (August 15). August 15 was only two days away, and the island was filling up with the faithful.

We climbed the hill to the church above the town. The grade was about thirty percent. That doesn't sound like much until you walk up it. Several women dressed in black were crawling up the hill on their hands and knees. I noticed that they had bound cloth around their knees to protect them, but their palms were bare and bloody.

I don't understand that kind of extreme supplication. I don't believe God requires it anymore than he demanded human sacrifices in Abraham's day. But, if it brings relief to a tortured soul, it serves a useful purpose.

At 1:00 P.M., we boarded the Nais II for the trip to Mykonos. We stood on deck and watched Tinos fade into the distance. To the ancient Greeks sailing the Aegean Sea, these islands must have seemed like strange, new worlds.

Mykonos is only 29 square miles. 4,000 people live there yearlong. It is bare and rocky and will support only limited agriculture. In ancient times, Mykonos was an important trading center in the western Aegean. Today, its beautiful beaches have made it a favorite spot of Europe's young people. It's sort of like Fort Lauderdale on spring break.

While we relaxed at a sidewalk cafe, Sam and Giotis played in the water. The chief place on the island is Chora, a charming little town of whitewashed, cube-shaped houses with numerous churches and windmills. We strolled about looking at the shops and young people. I must say that Europe's young adults are much better behaved than their counterparts in America. Certainly, they are more attractive than our grunge-worshipping, body-piercing, self-centered and spoiled brats.

We caught the 4:00 P.M. ferry back to Rafina. It was a five-hour trip, then another hour and a half drive back to Psachna. The boys napped during the voyage. Fran and I strolled about the deck admiring the islands and soaking up the magic of the Aegean. Back in Psachna by 11:15 P.M., I fell asleep immediately.

Wednesday, August 13, 1997 Day #14

Our last full day to visit. We washed clothes, organized suitcases, and collected our pictures from the local photo shop. I sat on the balcony trying to imprint everything I saw into my memory bank. I will never forget this small but comfortable balcony with its roll-up awning that shades Hara's many potted plants. I will miss seeing little old ladies with shawls wrapped around their heads walking down the street, greeting neighbors as they pass. The sight of old men sitting at tables, drinking coffee, and solving the world's problems as earnestly as diplomats in Geneva, will last a long time.

That evening, we drove to Dafni, about twelve miles away on the NW coast of Evia. Near Dafni, there is a secluded cove at the foot of a steep mountain. Greeks come there to enjoy the water and picnic. It's a favorite spot of Hara, Rod, and the children. They had saved the best for the last. I'm glad they did. We had an excellent dinner and a wonderful time.

Back home in Psachna, we visited the Platia. Every evening, beginning about 9:00 P.M. during the summer months, the town people gather there to eat, drink, and visit. Other than on a Friday or Saturday evening, I can't imagine the people of our neighborhood gathering outdoors to visit. Small groups of friends might, but not an entire community. It was the end of a lovely day.

Thursday, August 14, 1997 Day #15

Our last day began early. We occupied ourselves with busy work. If we sat down to think, we would be overcome with sadness. I tried my best to put on a happy face and smile and joke. The time had passed too quickly. The last time we said good-by to Rod and Hara, Sam was only three and Giotis just a few months old. Now, Giotis is nearly five and Sam is seven.

Will it be that long before I see them again—I wonder. I guess I'll never have the relationship with Sam and Giotis that I enjoyed with my Grandfather Calhoun (Pawdee). We had wonderful times together. Among many things, he taught me how to think and accept responsibility for my actions. Special relationships like that are forged over the years as a child is growing up.

At 11:15 A.M., we said good-by and boarded the plane. Captain Whitehouse was in command of our B-767-300ER. He said that we would cover about 4743 nautical miles from Athens to New York. The flight would take over ten hours as we would be flying against the jet stream.

At 12:20 P.M., we lifted off. Our track would take us over Rome, Belgium, London, the Isle of Man, and Nova Scotia before we landed at Kennedy. What we did would have been considered stunning and unbelievable fifty years ago. I thought about those old days of piston engine DC-4s and Constellations. There was no such thing as a non-stop flight from Athens to New York; and if there were, it would have taken over twenty hours. Air travel has made amazing progress in shrinking the world.

At Kennedy, I adjusted my watch to the local time of 3:15 P.M. We looked for a place to relax while waiting for our 6:30 P.M. flight to Houston. We were tired, bored and anxious to get home, but we had another three hours of flying ahead of us.

Fran went to the rest room. I noticed a young (thirtyish), well-dressed man and woman sitting at a table nearby. They were undoubtedly on the corporate fast-track.

She was attractive and prim in her business suit. Although his tie was loosened, he was no less proper. Her cell phone rested on the table, ready to communicate orders to some underling, no doubt. (Important people must have instant communications; otherwise, the world might stop rotating.)

He slouched back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. She talked. He listened. There was too much background noise for me to overhear what they were saying. In a few minutes, she smiled, scootched up nearer, and gazed intently into his eyes.

He relaxed and began talking. She moistened her lips, laid her hand on his arm, and cocked her head to hear better, I suppose. She laughed. He sat up, leaned forward and placed his hand over hers. In less than twenty minutes, I had witnessed a successful seduction, but who seduced whom? That's the question.

Fran returned and asked, "What are you smiling about?"
"Oh, nothing. Just people watching," I said.

We landed at Intercontinental Houston at 9:15 P.M., hired a taxi, and by 10:00 P.M. we were home, sweet home. Lying in bed trying to sleep, I could not believe our trip was over. We did much. We had a grand time experiencing new sensations of colors, smells, customs, speech, other sounds, and tastes. Now, for our next adventure…