athens.

after the most relaxing week of their lives, bryndia reluctantly boarded a boat in mykanos headed north for athens. they were accompanied by their new friend cian, a homie from florida who had been working tech for the us army in germany for the past four years. the three of them rode the gigantic ferry for five hours, sipping frappes and giggling over "stepbrothers" on india's ipod. they docked, grabbed a bus into the city and, all of a sudden, were in the heart of the capital of greece.


athens is a city that bryndia had completely underestimated. they had thought, if the greek islands were as beautiful as they were, than the capital must be a metropolis of blue skies, ancient marble ruins, strong smells of spicy foods and free ouzo flowing through the gutters. they had, in a way, been right. the city was booming with life... hordes of people everywhere... greeks, immigrants from the middle east, huge men from north africa in every bar. it was like new york in that way. a melting pot. unfortunately, many of those people seemed to actually be melting on the street... deranged, shaking, oozing at the mouth. heroin addicts everywhere. on the walk to dinner one night, bryndia and cian passed a man tying a rubber band around his elbow with a loaded needle hanging from his lips like an unlit cigarette. "wait a second, wait a second. did that really just happen? did we really just see that?"

before arriving at their hostel, cian and bryn had already had their pockets grabbed at by a bundle of burly looking men, their backpacks unsubtley pulled at. the three of them quickly dropped off their belongings, ridding themselves of the "i'm a tourist!" look. the afternoon was spent wandering around omonia, jumping over addicts, avoiding the advances of malnourished prostitutes. the three of them walked through the meat market, whole cow hides hanging from silver hooks, goats faces frozen in a final bleeting plea. chicken livers next to chicken hearts next to pigs feet. every edible mammal present with pale flesh and beet colored blood. india made a hasty exit. they kept walking to discover the flea market, fruit stands with thousands of strawberries, piles of ripe oranges, five cents each. three story townhouses packed full of everything you can imagine. old pistols, tea sets, dusty couches, wooden coat stands, refrigerator boxes overflowing with costume jewelry. cian picked out some delicate greek pornographic comic books. india found pearl covered pill boxes. that night, the three ate dinner at a cafe on a square. cian insisted on "eating like a local" and ordered a lambs head. the waiter was shocked. "are you sure, my friend? are you sure?" cian made a valiant attempt to finish the vile looking thing. india kept her head under the table, feeding pieces of tzatziki covered bread crumbs to the kittens who circled her feet.


the next morning, the three amigos took off for the acropolis. huge stone carvings, gigantic buildings. the stairs were over two feet tall. they climbed and felt tiny among it all. the rocks were slick under foot, smoothed out by the thousands of sneakers that passed over them every day. from the top, they stared out over the huge city, the sea sparkled in the distance. bryndia was, again, reminded of how young their country was. and how green their city is. in athens, things were very stark, very cream, very plain.



they wandered down through the the theater of dyonisis. india put on a show and dance. over to the olympic stadium. up through the cobblestone streets, big shops selling soaps, jewelry, scarves, linens. stopping in a super market for water and wine, bryndia witnessed a security guard wave his baton and wail at a group of young egyptian men angrily. he had seen them stuff beers down their pants. they had to leave the store now! now! now! bryndia escaped the chaos with chocolate and sweet sodas.

that night, bryndia returned to the base of the acropolis and ate greek salad at an outdoor cafe. they watched huge families kiss each others cheeks over and over again at the table next to them. cigarette after cigarette and opa! and cheers! and i love you so much! back through the curving streets packed with tourist shops and through the big open squares, passed the meat market, up into their neighborhood, dark and dangerous. they sat in the hookah bar next to their hostel, smoked mint flavored nargile with the young owner from amman who served them big pots of sugary tea and told them how much love he felt for obama and america. cian joined them. they sat on soft red sofas and watched football on the television, filled the bar with sweet smelling smoke while more middle eastern men played backgammon, throwing their dice very casually and quietly.

the next morning, bryndia awoke at four am and made the long public transport journey out to the aiport. after almost 10 weeks of traveling, the european leg of their journey was ending. springtime in europe had been lifechanging. wonderful. brand new and, yet, familiar. now, they headed into unknown territory. the middle east awaited.

Recipe for One Week in Mykanos

1. Start with a base of Paradise Beach. (Three parts thick cut white sand, two parts cool clear ocean, one part melting blended margarita. Salted rim to taste.)

2. Slowly sprinkle in a mix of International Young Adults.* Try one part South African, one part British, one part US solider stationed in Germany, two parts Nova Scotian, and two parts Oregonian for a particularly sweet batch.

*Can be substituted with oiler up, speedo-clad Grecian body builders with an affinity for backgammon and/or paddle ball.

3. Stir well.

4. Whip up a marinade of Coppertone, green bottled Greek beer, extra virgin olive oil, strawberry scented shampoo, and ouzo.

5. Paint base mixture with excess amounts of marinade and leave it, enclosed in a two sleeper beach bungalow of white concrete, to simmer in high heat for six nights. NOTE: Biter ants may infest said bungalow. Ingestion of copious amounts of cheap red wine will help exterminate. Or, at least, help in the ignorance of most.

6. After six nights, remove mixture from bungalow oven. It should be sweating a rich brown bronzed color. (The optional addition of chopped red tomatoes, pitted black olives, and feta cheese cubes to be combined here.) Roll flat into a thick patty and separate into individual sized servings. Tip: Use sea creature shaped cut outs for extra flair.

7. Smoke patties with the exhaust of a rented red Four Wheeler. Drizzle with baby goat saliva - plentiful in the rolling hills of the Greek Isles.

8. Top with a dollop of spicy tzatziki. Serve, hot, in an Australian themed bar in the center of town, frequented by vacationing midwestern sorority girls and beefy brown Greek men in combat boots.

Best when accompanied by "pink" flavored ouzo and shared on an empty dance floor with 50 Cent playing.

santorini.

bryndia arrived in santorini and was greeted at the airport by kostmos, the owner of their hotel, villa romantic, in the main town on santorini, fira. right away, they knew they had made a lucky find with this hotel. upon arrival, they met kostmos' girlfriend, mother, sister, brother in law, infant nephew and puppy dog (BOO BOO!), all of which played a role in the upkeep of the 12 room hotel. everyone was so relaxed, so sweet, so gentle, so encouraging and excited that bryndia had arrived. kostmos led them to their room: bright oranges and yellows decorating the space that led to wide french doors opening on to a balcony that overlooked the pool, then the sparkling aegean sea. heaven. after getting settled, kostmos sat with india and a map of the island and pointed out all of his favorite spots, circled all of his favorite restaurants, and hooked them up with a sweet super powered four wheeler for their stay, all before telling them that breakfast was included in the price, and served to them in bed, if they chose. oh. did they mention this hotel cost 35 euro a night? bam.

bryndia circled around fira on their ATV, hopped off in the main square, a tiny patch of cobblestone circled by hole-in-the-wall shops selling crayola colored sunglasses and white linen greecian clothing. the two wandered in and out of the tight, hilly alley ways that were walled with white washed houses with deep blue roofs. "free wine tasting! free olive oil tasting! free shots of absinthe!" by accident, the two stumbled upon kostmos' favorite restaurant in town, where they were greeted like kings. "free shots of ouzo! free dessert for you! the special guests!" they ate spicy tzatziki and stuffed peppers and drank house wine that was served in big glass pitchers.

the next morning, bryndia met up with their favorite aussies, dave and rachel, who were staying in fira as well. the four of them hopped on their ATVs and took off to check out the beaches of the small island, a little gang of vroom vrooms and "yee haws".

first, the red beach, a small bay surrounded by huge, jagged walls of maroon stone, where they lay in the sun and watched greek boys hit stones into the water with sticks. then, to perissa, the black beach, where they drove down the boardwalk, past beach bars still empty, closed until may when the tourist season started. they finally found one that was open towards the end of the beach and ordered cold beers and sweet cocktails and lay in the sun, deep charcoal colored sand beneath their feet. bryn had somehow forgotten to pack a bathing suit for the trip, so dave was a gent, and the two took turns jumping into the chilly water, sharing a single pair of swim trunks. (sharing is caring.) a second round of drinks and the waitress got all greek on them with her super hospitality. "free shots of ouzo! and apples and honey yes yes!"


a few hours and the four of them were tipsy and sunkissed. they hopped back on their atvs and took off for kamari, the black stone beach, where stray puppies ran next to bryndia's ride, tongues out, and dave got cocky with his steering skills, knocking rachel to the gravel, where she sustained some major injuries, but was, as always, a badass, who got up, hopped back on, and relished in her sweet new scars.


that night, the four rode out to oui, the northern most point on santorini, where hundreds of locals and tourists gathered on tiered white walls to watch the sun set. the four hopped a fence and found a nice flat roof to post up on, where they drank wine and talked about rachel and dave's upcoming engagement party and next years wedding, what it was like for dave to be a firefighter in sydney, and what kind of trouble rach used to get in as a teenager in the outback.


the sun set sparkled oranges and pinks and the four returned to fira for more food and more wine and more shared love. rachel and india sought out the best bar in fira, which, it turned out, was a scottish themed bar manned by muscley greek boys, and the girls danced while the boys drank until it got late and their sunburns hurt and the four went their separate ways.

their last full day in santorini was an adventure. the four took a glass bottomed boat out to the volcanic island on the west side of the island where they hiked up unsteady, fragile volcanic rock and laughed at their tour guide as he heaved rocks over his head in demonstrations on how volcanoes erupt. their tour ended with the four jumping from the side of the boat into chilly waters and swimming (what seemed like a very far distance!) to some not-so-hot springs that smelled like rotting eggs and threatened to turn india's skin a faded orange. arriving back at the old port, the four got super touristy and each mounted a donkey for the steep ride up. the race was intense, each donkey vying for its spot at first. (arguments continued into the evening who the victor was.) the afternoon was spent in travel agencies, in bikini stores, at huts selling postcards and sunscreens. that night, the four picked a restaurant with huge open windows overlooking the dramatic drop down to the sea, their volcano and hotsprings standing solid in the distance. india ate swordfish, buttery and soft. bryn slurped calamari dusted with feta.



the next morning, bryndia drank their coffee and ate their toast slowly. they didn't want to say goodbye to kostmos and his family so soon. they rode to the new port in a van with an older couple who were gushing over their hosts as much as bryndia had. ten minutes into their conversation, they discovered that the woman had grown up mere miles from where india's father had in wales, and that both husband and wife had been in portland when st. helens blew back in 1980. when they reached the port, the woman grasping at her walking cane and smiling broudly, she cooed at bryn and india: "never stop traveling. never stop going." they promised they woudln't.

rachel and dave found bryndia at the port, drinking cold coffee frappes, and the four boarded a high speed ferry north board, dave and rach hopping off at ios, all four of them depressed as hell to have to part ways, while bryndia continued on to find out what all the mykanos hype was about.