Morning in the Plaka

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The Plaka crowds

Saturday in the Plaka ©2009 Charlene Nevill

With just five hours of sleep, I hit the streets of the Plaka. I had planned to explore this part of the city on my first day in Athens and then make my way to the Parthenon the next before heading on to Delphi on Monday. Located beneath the northern and eastern slopes of the Acropolis, the Plaka is the oldest part of Athens. I had studied several maps of the area, but finding the labyrinth of streets with names like Lysikratous and Plateia Monastirakiou overwhelming, I decided to wander and let my intuition guide me.

©2009 Charlene Nevill

©2009 Charlene Nevill

The sky was gray that first morning, it was hot and humid, and the streets were crammed with tourists. Resembling a cross between Canal Street in New York and Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco, the Plaka is filled with little shops and cafes, and in the midst of it all are ancient stone chapels and cathedrals. With graffiti covering storefronts, plate glass windows, lampposts, benches – in short, anything and everything with a surface – there’s a feeling of entropy and there’s a forlorn air about the shopkeepers, too, almost as if they’re waiting for the next chapter of Greek history to begin.

©2009 Charlene Nevill

©2009 Charlene Nevill

And then there are the dogs. I considered starting a list of ‘Things I Wasn’t Expecting to See in Athens and Wish I Hadn’t”, but not wanting to focus on the negative, I quickly put that project aside. I must tell you about the dogs, though, and the cats, too. The dogs are just lying about with their eyes closed. With no homes, they have no sense of purpose and little will to live. The cats seem to be doing a little better – at least they have the challenge of going after mice and rats. Thankfully, animal advocates with help from other countries in Europe and from Canada are working to develop a number of programs to alleviate this deplorable problem.

After wandering up and down dozens of streets, I came upon a modest taverna at the end of an alley. As is typical of such establishments, the menu is only a suggestion of what might be available on any given day. Settling on stuffed cabbage leaves, I’m told there aren’t any today, and I’m invited to walk up to the cafeteria-style display to see what’s being served. I select a stew of lamb, potatoes, onions and sweet peppers in a red wine sauce and return to my table to wait.

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis once said, “You are about to have your first experience with a Greek lunch. I will kill you if you pretend to like it.” My first Greek lunch was surprisingly good, and I silently thank Matt Barrett and his Athen’s Survival Guide for encouraging his readers to seek out restaurants serving authentic Greek food.

 

The Tests Begin

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Moon Over Athens ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Moon Over Athens ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Despite rather ominous predictions, I have returned unscathed from my journey to Delphi. As promised, there were tests. And there was an unexpected development. But I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to make the trip and I’m even more grateful to be home.

My first test was one of patience. After a ten-hour flight, I had an eight-hour layover at Heathrow. Rather than dash into London as two of my friends had suggested, I decided to get into the proper frame of mind for a pilgrimage right in the middle of Terminal 5. Feeling not unlike Tom Hanks in the movie The Terminal, I wandered up, down and around both levels several times. I ate. I read. And instead of obsessively engaging strangers in friendly chatter, I sat and calmly observed the people and the space around me and listened to my own thoughts. As daylight turned to darkness and the lights came up, the interior space that had resembled a giant gymnasium a few hours earlier took on the reverential air of a cathedral and there was a palpable hush as the travelers moved about more slowly.

The second test occurred after I arrived at my hotel in Athens. I’d had a pleasant flight from London and I’d arranged a cab to pick me up at the airport, but it was 4 a.m. and I was very tired. After checking in, I made my way to the elevator which turned out to be the size of a matchbox. I wrangled my small suitcase and my small self into the claustrophobic space and prayed as the doors slid closed barely missing my nose. So far, so good.

When I got to my room wanting nothing more than to climb out of the clothes I’d had on for what seemed like days and climb into bed, I couldn’t figure out how to turn the lights on. Just inside the door, there were the usual switches, but pressing and pushing them up and down did nothing. I parked my suitcase inside the room and headed back to the front desk. I was told to insert the room key into the slot at the top of the first switch. Back upstairs, I found the slot, slid my key in and there was light. Hallelujah! But two minutes later, the lights went out. Fumbling about in total darkness, I located the key I’d set down on the beside table and reinserted it into the slot. Lights! Two minutes later, darkness descended once again. Back at the front desk, I learned that the key needed to remain in the slot. Oh. I wondered if I might have been able to figure this out if I hadn’t been awake for over 24 hours. But no matter–I could see at last. And I had arrived at my destination without incident.

Before collapsing, I grabbed my camera and headed for the roof hoping to see the moon above the Acropolis. And there it was shining down on the Parthenon. It wasn’t a harvest moon, but it was full and it was beautiful.

 

Great Expectations

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“Man cannot discover new oceans until he has courage to lose sight of the shore.” – unknown

Delphi ©2007 Leonidtsvetkov

Delphi ©2007 Leonidtsvetkov

In anticipation of my departure, I’ve been experiencing a myriad of emotions, mostly fear and sadness. The fear no doubt is related to that chat I had with Source a while ago about being tested on this journey. And my clairvoyant friend Angelika warned me when this trip was just a fantasy that I could make all the plans all I wanted, but Spirit would have final say in the way things would unfold. And the sadness? Well, I have a premonition that nothing will be the same when I return.

But according to writer, teacher, travel leader, and documentary filmmaker Phil Cousineau who has been on the road all his life, this is exactly what can be expected when one sets out on a soulful journey. In his book, The Art of Pilgrimage, he recounts innumerable stories about pilgrims, sojourners and explorers who have traversed the globe throughout the millennia.

Siting Muriel Rukeyser’s essay, The Life of Poetry, Cousineau compares the fear of soulful travel to resistance to modern poetry. “A poem invites you to feel. More than that: it invites you to respond. And better than that: a poem invites a total response. So too with powerful and soulful travel. It seizes your imagination, but the way through to the sacred moment can also be through deep anxiety about the unknown. The possibility produces fear in many travelers, even at the threshold of their own door before leaving home.”

What am I expecting to find at Delphi? If given the choice, I would wish for a transformative experience analogous to that of Henry Miller, who was so moved by his travels through Greece that the account of his journey, The Colossus of Maroussi, “streamed from the heavens” straight into his soul. I couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

So, I am off at last. I leave today unfettered and untethered, so you won’t see anything from me until I return mid-October. In the meantime, don’t forget to look for the Harvest Moon this weekend. God willing, I will be viewing it rising above the Acropolis.

 

Tending the Garden

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“The course of human life is like that of a great river which, by the force of its own swiftness, takes quite new and unforeseen channels where before there was no current – such varied currents and unpremeditated changes are part of God’s purpose for our lives.” – Rabindranath Tagore

Maine-garden2When I lived in Nova Scotia and in Maine, I spent my summers planting and mulching and weeding and harvesting and canning every vegetable that had any chance of growing in those climates. It was a tremendous amount of work, but I loved the feel and smell of the soil and I loved nurturing the plants.

So you can imagine my horror when I started having The Neglected Garden Dreams. I would be going about my business and all of a sudden I’d remember that I hadn’t checked on the garden in a very long time. I would rush outdoors to find weeds strangling the plants and overgrown vines heavy with summer squash, beans and peas long past their prime. The garden in my dreams was so huge and the work required to bring it back was so overwhelming that despite profound feelings of loss and despair, I just gave up and walked away. It was too late.

After experiencing this dream over a period of years, it finally occurred to me that I was neglecting something in myself. But what? Looking back, I see now that I had lost my way. I was moving through life unconsciously, going from job to job searching for my true purpose. Since then, I’ve come to understand the value of the lessons inherent in every challenge and every relationship I encountered along the way. And I’ve come to believe that it’s never too late.

 

Letting Go

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Ever since I saw Julie & Julia, I’ve been shouting out random two-syllable words like CUPCAKE and BUSHTIT in a voice that somewhat resembles that of Julia Child. It’s not that I’m trying to mimic her distinctive diction – it just feels good. No, wait – let me be completely honest here – it feels GREAT! The reason behind this uncharacteristic disruptive behaviour is that I am finally finding my voice.

Anna & The September IssueAfter seeing The September Issue, R. J. Cutler’s documentary that chronicles the production of Vogue’s biggest, fattest issue ever, I think that Anna Wintour may need to look for her voice, too. Judging from the way people around her react when she moves a finger or lifts an eyebrow, it’s clear that she doesn’t really need to speak to convey her thoughts. But watching her in this film, I could almost ‘see’ steel hoops encasing her torso and her throat, and I wanted to cry out, “Break free, Anna! Let it go!”

Maybe Anna’s reserve can be attributed to the cameras that followed her around for 8-1/2 months. And for all I know, she’s a veritable chatterbox at home. But somehow I doubt it. Years ago when I worked in the public relations department at Tiffany & Co., I helped Anna pick out jewelry and accessories for her fashion spreads in New York magazine. She didn’t say much back then, either, and from her demeanor, I just assumed she was shy.

I don’t know what’s behind those sunglasses, but I feel Anna’s pain. Until recently, I didn’t talk unless it was absolutely necessary. I know my friends would discount that statement, but that’s how it felt to me. When faced with the opportunity to voice an opinion or to recount a story, I chose to remain silent. The trouble with holding back is that unexpressed thoughts and feelings get stuck in our bodies and they can manifest in illness.

According to John C. Pierrakos, M. D., author of Core Energetics: Developing the Capacity to Love and Heal, “The constrictions of energy are not isolated dysfunctions. They are blocks of stultified energy that trammel the physical body in skeletomuscular rigidities, and also disrupt the higher planes of energy, thus affecting mental attitudes.”

So, as I go about my day loudly repeating nonsensical two-syllable words and phrases, I’m thinking of Julia who was filled with joie de vivre and was so unabashedly herself. And I’m thinking of Anna with her perfectly coiffed blonde bob and her hands in her lap just so, hoping that my perception of her rigid, good-little-girl demeanor is just a reminder of the work I have yet to do.