Napkin Philosophy

Music to start and beautiful video to boot. “Heima” means home or to be at home in Icelandic. Guess how I know this. Either, a) I know Icelandic, or b) Sigur Ros told me on a documentary. Choose wisely. Whatever the case, its a beautiful video and knowing that its fall in New Orleans, snowing in Colorado, and I am readying to leave Greece makes it feel somehow fitting.

This blog and I have a strange relationship. It’s like a friend that you see in passing all the time and you say, “Wow. It’s really good to see you. We should really catch up sometime. Call me and we’ll figure something out.” Predictably, and I’m not breaking any new ground or providing any new insight into human interactions, neither person calls the other and no actual catching up ever occurs. However, on the occasion that both take some initiative and some hanging out (h-ing the o as it shall now be known) does go on, both parties have an incredible time and you are reminded of how much you truly care about the other person. At the end of h-ing the o, there is a lot of “I had a really great time,” and “It was so good to see you,” and, most importantly, “We should do this again soon.” Then, of course, it takes quite a while for any o to be h-ed for quite some time.

No problems in this. No new ground. But this sums up my relationship with this blog. I say, “I will blog soon,” or “I’ll figure something out. I’ll get it done today.” And then I don’t for a really long time, but when I finally do, I really enjoy it and it feels great and I promise I won’t wait that long again. Sometimes I even promise I will blog twice in a week (!!). You can guess how its ends. That’s okay, though.

It's also hard to blog when you have things like this to see.

All that being said, here I am. It’s hard to believe that I have less than three weeks left in Greece. While not yet in the period that CJ called “The Beauty of the Last” (which I have mentioned before), I am attempting to make the most of what time I have left in this beautiful place.

The island is changing every day. Every day, more people have left the island and those shops that haven’t completely closed yet (which a majority of them have) are closing earlier and earlier. The weather is markedly different- a topic I will talk about later. Meanwhile, I just continue to do my thing. The shop opens (no later than ten and hopefully earlier) and closes (about midnight) at the same times it has since I got here. People continue to come and go, leaving their mark on the bookshop and on my life.

Unfortunately, Sylvie is now addicted to the internet, which is totally my fault. Fortuantely, she still only has paws which helps to keep the addiction at bay.

This isn’t to say that this chapter of my time in Greece is in any way the same as anything that came before. It just doesn’t work like that. There are currently four other people at the shop, all of which love and care for the bookshop in ways that I really appreciate. Also, each of them are very creative people. In fact, all four work in the arts in some respect or another. Between being surrounded by these creative forces and great talks with John about music, creating and poetry, I am feeling inspired as of late. It’s a good feeling to make things I would have never thought of before, let alone have time to complete.

In addition to feeling artistically creative, we are also getting creative in our adventures. So creative, in fact, that we have posted a “Whimsical To-Do List” on the wall which features or has featured such things as make a super-8 short film, pool skimming, southern food feast, Atlantis Books Olympics, and beatnik night.

Here is a new section of my blog. It’s officially called “James takes a picture of a picture,” but for all intents and purposes, we will call it “POP.” All original pictures, are taken by Ali Jamalzadeh, who I am currently living with. If you have the time, I strongly recommend checking out his website. He has some great stuff.

POP! When I put out an album, this is in the lead for album cover.

Along all the creative, whimsical lines, though much more spontaneous, Debbie and Ali got everyone to create “life flow-charts” on napkins. I have included mine below because I feel like mine is pretty accurate to how I thing life will ideally flow.

As with any practical person, I like to store my important ideas on something that can also wipe my mouth.

I feel as if most important things in life could be fit somewhere in these categories, but the most important part is the interconnectedness. I have been making a concerted effort to balance all of these aspects, something I strove to do while I was in New Orleans as well.

I must admit, my time recently has been a bit heavy in the categories of experience, celebration, and enrichment, but I suppose that is the nature of a journey such as this one. Recently, I went to some friends’ housewarming party which involved a nice collection of eclectic music, beautiful Greek food, wonderful people from all over the world, and some of the best homemade wine I have ever had in my entire life. A few days later, I went to a panigiri for Santorini, which is a celebration of a name saint. This was a celebration that would have made New Orleans proud, complete with excessive meat consumption (of which I did not partake), free wine (of which I did partake), and local music which included a stand out performance by a man playing a bagpipe like instrument made from an inflated pig hide (of which I would have partook in if he would have let me play his beloved animal horn). This is not even to mention the dancing (of which I did partake) and the pool skimming that followed (of which I DEFINITELY partook). This all begs the question, what is more beneficial, a celebratory cultural experience or innocent breaking and entering under a beautiful night sky?

Music? Yes, please.

Meanwhile, back at the shop, everyone at the shop has discovered our main common interest: beautiful, delicious food. Each night is a surprise with people taking turns making dinner with two goals: do something original and/or delicious with the limited ingredients we have AND do it as cheaply as possible. Some stand out performances have been last night’s pizza night, burrito night, saganaki, chili, baked vegetables, and dakos.

This is a good time to clarify that I am not huge on cooking. I don’t mind cooking, and in some cases I enjoy it, but generally, I find it kind of stressful. That being said, I took on heading up the Southern feast. We intentionally ate cheaper all week in order to save money and then still pitched in more to make it really count. Now, understand, this is a lot of pressure, but, if I do say so myself, I not only handled the pressure but relished in it. I made baked macaroni and cheese, red beans and rice, and an apple pie filling, while Desirina, originially from North Carolina, make mashed sweet potatoes, steamed spinach, and took care of the crust. We emerged victorious and everyone emerged excessively and gluttonously full. Highlights:

Duck.

Duck.

Goose.

The weather is changing quickly and we have had almost a storm a day for the last four days or so, including one that actually would give most of the storms I saw in New Orleans a good run for its money in terms of pure intensity. It should be noted that I was driving in the midst of this storm trying to get to a local concert, listening to the band Explosions in the Sky (which added to the drama), only to decide, after literally fording rivers across the road which were lined with moving rocks and asking for directions after walking through water that came half way up my calf at points, maybe we should turn around. So, me and Tatyana found our way back to a small Greek restaurant to wait out the rest of the storm while we enjoyed fava, tomato fritters, fried cheese, and french fries

The mornings after these storms are calm, hazy, and beautiful. Because we all invested in renting a car for a few days, we drove each morning to some adventure before opening the shop. One morning, while visiting a beach that I had previously visited with Aileen, Lizn, and Tash, the grey skies brought out colors in the water that I have never seen one morning and I remember being moved by the beauty of the moment that I felt physically weak. The next day, we got up again and hiked part of the mountain only to get swallowed up by the fog around us.

POP!

Though, on the days where its not storming, its still warm enough to swim. This song is in honor of that and for this last summer.

Loudon Wainwright III- The Swimming Song (download by clicking)

In other news, basketball season has started. The Nuggets won their first game and tonight they play Portland, which always manages to add a healthy competitiveness to my relationships with Sophie and Joel (both of which have great blogs you should check out). Carmelo Anthony is awesome. Witness.

This is what Joel and I look like from inside the TV when we watch basketball. Though, this picture was unable to capture our screaming and Joel's tendenacy to pour olive oil all over himself when someone dunks. Also, don't let my shirt fool you. This was not a game against the Nuggets, so it was okay to cheer for the Trail Blazers

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So, things are good. Life is good, and I can’t help but feel that I am achieving some sort of balance in the vein of a life flowchart on a napkin. But, I’m realizing, balance is a funny thing. I’ve spent so much of the last years of my life, mainly much of my time here and the last two years in New Orleans, looking for a balance in my life- wanting to feel like a balanced, healthy person. Of course, this is a battle that is incredibly important and one that, due to my propensity for getting lost in work and take on too much at any given time, I imagine I will be fighting for the rest of my life. However, I’m learning this is only half the battle. Anyone can achieve a balance in their life in some form or another, though its admittedly harder for some than others, and I can say fairly confidently that I have found a pseudo-healthy to healthy life balance at many points in the last three years of my life. The harder part is knowing what to do when your life gets unbalanced, which inevitably happens, particularly when you are living passionately and meaningfully.

The idea that a good portion of the quality of my life depends less on the times I am striving or achieving a balance and more on the way I handle the times I am noticeably out of balance is a huge mind set shift for me. I strive so much to be in control of my life that when I fail to do so it feels somewhat like failing, though maybe, just maybe due to the inevitability of it all and the strength it takes to pull it all back together, its less like failing and more like some form of forward movement. This is something I hope to remember.

Final song. I’ve been trying to get this song on here for quite a while, but the file size is too large for my host. So, here it is on youtube. I will continue to try to get it so you can download it.

The jump

The young man in the new blue suit finished arranging the glistening luggage in tight corners of the Pullman compartment. The train had leaped at curves and bounced along straightaways, rendering balance a praiseworthy achievement and a sporadic one; and the young man had pushed and hoisted and tucked and shifted the bags with concentrated care.

Nevertheless, eight minutes for the settling of two suitcases and a hat-box is a long time.

He sat down, leaning back against bristled green plush, in the seat opposite the girl in beige. She looked as new as a peeled egg. Her hat, her fur, her frock, her gloves were glossy and stiff with novelty. On the arc of the thin, slippery sole of one beige shoe was gummed a tiny oblong of white paper, printed with the price set and paid for that slipper and its fellow, and the name of the shop that had dispensed them.

She had been staring raptly out of the windows, drinking in the big weathered signboards that extolled the phenomena of codfish without bones and screens no rust could corrupt. As the young man sat down, she turned politely from the pane, met his eyes, started a smile and got it about half done, and rested her gaze, just above his right shoulder.

“Well!” the young man said.

“Well!” she said.

“Well, here we are,” he said.

“Here we are,” she said. “Aren’t we?”

“I should say we were,” he said. “Eeyop. Here are are”

“Well!” she said.

“Well!” he said.

- Dorothy Parker, “Here we are”

Tom Waits- Long Way Home

Since my last post, my vertical leap has increased to where it is now significantly higher than the height of an average American male.

So, here we are it seems. Aileen (aka Allen, Lee Lee, Onion, Leen Green, Amber, etc.) has been in Oia for almost two weeks and leaves in two days. Having her here is similar to playing the ukulele for the first time in months (something I have done in the last few days)- it’s seamless, fills a need you weren’t completely sure you had until its been filled, and compiles everything you love about everything else into one small package. Within a few days of Aileen arriving, our long-time friend and Aileen’s current roommate Liz Newton (aka Lizn, Lynx, Liza, Lips, Leonard, etc.) arrived in Santorini. Just yesterday, I overhead Liz say to Aileen, “It’s hard to remember what my life was like before we were here.” From the moment Aileen arrived, and then later with Liz, it has felt this way. Just matter of fact-ly they arrived and it seems like they have always been here. I currently can’t imagine the shop without them.

Aileen takes things very literally, and upon hearing Bob Dylan's "Blowin' in the Wind," she stood in this position for two days hoping for "the answer."

This is not to say that their time here has been ordinary. In fact, it has been anything but. We have gone from one tip of the island to the other- south to see the lighthouse and stand in awe of the geologists wet dream that is this island, and north to swim and stand in awe of the sunset that the tourists actually CLAP for everyday.

Despite Aileen reading my blog for the last three months, she was still surprised to find the sea here. Also, if you don't find my captions informative enough, this is the south side of the island by the lighthouse.

Let’s take a second to break and reflect on the fact that HUGE groups of people clap for the sunset everyday. Now, I love beautiful things. Quite a bit. The sunset in Santorini is extraordinary. One of the highlights of everyday. I also believe strongly in being able to express yourself. But clapping at the sunset has never ceased to amaze me. Why? Some people get upset when others clap at the end of a movie. They say, “The actors aren’t here. They can’t hear you. Why are you clapping?” If you are one of those people, you should never, under any circumstances, watch the sunset within ear shot of the castle in Oia. You will implode. I, on the other hand, have given in and now clap whenever anything that is absolutely supposed to happen goes ahead, does its job, and happens. I started with the sunset (“Bravo”), moved onto to clapping every time my alarm goes off (“Great performance!”), and have ended with clapping when the water heater finally heats the shower water up (“Beautiful!”) . Its the little things, really.

In other news, Maxi got into the World Wrestling Federation (now known as WWE for some reason) with this exact move.

Meanwhile, we ate pitas, we counted, priced, alphabetized, and put away 2500 newly received books (!), swam in the sea, and took senior pictures on a cliff overlooking the water. We took a car to Kolombos beach, which was as calm and serene as I have ever seen it. We had competitions to see who could find the best passage in five minutes, the rules changing only when Vlad decided we would play the same game except the passage had to be in Italian. Thanks to Ali’s strange ability to get attractive, young, interesting, English-speaking women to hang out in the shop, we have met many new wonderful people. Accompanied by one such girl named Tash, we found our way to a beach I had never even heard of on the south side of the island which was quiet, beautiful, and calm. It was there that we found caves that, despite every Baywatch episode I have ever seen that climaxed with a tourist getting stuck in a cave with the tide rising, were begging to be explored. One particular cave, though small, was quite extraordinary and led to the other side of the rock formation, so we turned around and did it again. Aileen bravely leaped off the towering reaches of the Ammoudi church ledge- on numerous occasions.

This is the start of my photographic essay entitled, "Things that happen at the bookshop." Picture one is called, "Reading."

"Organizing books"

"Hanging out"

"Laughing heartily"

"Being a wooden doll"

Later, thanks to a successful busking performance by John, Tash, myself, and Zalina, our band manager, which resulted in 6.99 euros, and following a successful breaking into the local hostel by me and John in order to get Tash to come back out, we bought some whiskey and then sang songs that involved two chords and reading straight out of the books on the shelves. We listened to musicians play in front of the shop. We even had one of the now famous nights in the bookshop where we pretend it is the dead of winter because it is slightly chillier that usual, which this time involved drinking wine, eating glorious stew, listening to Joanna Newsom, and playing cards.

John is a secret ninja. I am pretending to not have a head. Both of these things will help us break into the local hostel.

Speaking of Joanna Newsom,

It should be noted that jumping off of the Ammoudi church ledge is no small feat. Not in my book, anyway. You walk to the swimming area from the port and you see an island immediately in front of you. If you swim out from this point of entry you can look up and see all of Oia dusting the top of the cliffs like Parmesan cheese on top of spaghetti. Delicious. It is from here that you can first see the ledge. There is a church on this island. Having a church in such a place, an island or at the bottom of a gigantic gorge, is not uncommon in Greece, a religious characteristic that, unless I have misconstrued it, is very beautiful to me. Next to the entrance of the church, which faces directly towards the middle of the caldera at the volcano, is a bell and if you walk a bit further on sideways-turned rocks, which are perilous when barefoot, you find yourself at the large semi-circle that is the ledge famous for being the jumping point into the crystal blue water below.

The first time I made this jump, I was with Mike Hurley (mention number 8). I am not afraid to admit that I remember feeling an immense fear, one that starts with “Oh no, you must be kidding me,” and ends with, “Yeah, fucking right.” It is probably 20 to 25 feet to the water, but when you stand at the ledge it seems at least 3 times that. I also remember, when feeling this fear, that I had to jump just then, because if I didn’t, surely this would not bode well for the rest of my journey. Really, it was the fear that pushed me over the edge. I had to jump because I was scared. If you have ever felt such a thing before, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I knew I would be safe, and I had nothing to prove to anyone else, but I had to jump because, quite simply, I was afraid of doing just that.

So, I jumped. Just like I had to, and since then I have jumped over and over and over. At least twenty times. Each time, it got a little easier, and each time it felt as if I was able to go deeper than the time before, though always managing to miss the treacherous rocks that line the sea floor, and soon I’m confident I will go so deep that I will be able to actually walk on the bottom.

Liz is a senior in high school. This is her senior picture.

I am a model. A model who just found a pot of gold.

Aileen is also a model. A model waiting to be struck by lightening.

This is where I’m at right now. I am at the top of this beautiful ledge next to a beautiful church looking up at the beautiful village that holds my beautiful bookshop. And I have to jump. I have long been pondering what to do after I leave the bookshop, thinking that I would be leaving in mid-November. I’ve let it stress me out and bring me down in ways that are in no way healthy and in no way abide to my goal of being present in a moment. Every idea I’ve had, I found a reason not to go through with it, and I, on some level, attribute this to fear. It could be noted that before I left for London, I was worn down and tired. But that is no longer an excuse because now I feel much better, aided by the presence of my sister, a trip to London, and constant reminders of the wonderfulness of this place.

And here I am. Here we are. Part of me feels new, like an egg or like I’m dressed in all new beige clothing, some of them still with the price tag on. Another part feels like I’m settling in, maybe taking a bit too long, but I’m settling in for something. Either way, here I am, and the tension is very real. It is time for me to jump.

So, here it is (or in more detail here). This is where I’m going for at least two weeks when I leave the shop in mid-November. I have received confirmation from the family who runs it and they are expecting me. Splash.

The life of the journey

The blues run the game- Nick Drake

Let’s take it back for a bit. Shortly after my last entry, I found myself stuck somewhere in the middle. I was still taken aback by the views of Santorini, but I was getting lost in a routine and not taking time to enjoy them. I was stuck somewhere in between feeling protective of the bookshop and spending WAY TOO MUCH time there. I wasn’t being trusting of other people and was being too hard on myself, and consequently didn’t leave the bookshop for days on end- about five to be exact. I was stuck in the middle of feeling lonely and wanting people around on one side and on the other I was growing increasingly tired of the repetition and routine of meeting new people who would just be leaving in a few days. I was well aware of how idyllic and perfect my life was, but I feel purposeless in many ways. Clearly, I had gotten myself stuck. And, more than anything, I was more homesick than I had been since I left for Greece in July.

Bookshop life featuring a handmade cat toy. Don't ask why I am holding this with no cats in sight. It was a quiet night at the shop.

For as much as I work to be in the present and enjoying moments as they last, I cherish the places I have already been, the places I am from, and the people I love and have loved long before this given moment. I always try to remind myself how much those places and people have shaped who I am. I miss them constantly and the nostalgic part of me often wishes I was still there and with them. Here are some pictures of people and things I miss:

I often miss dressing in yellow and Sophie's unapproving glare. Though, mostly I miss Sophie.

The original style family dinner at Nirvana. I miss family dinners almost as much as these people.

Equally, for as much as I cherish my memories and take time to live in the present, I am still a forward thinker, and not knowing what I am doing after Greece often stresses me out.
None of these things are extraordinary. It is natural when you have been in a place for long enough that you eventually deal with day-to-day problems, you get homesick, and your mind starts to wander to future adventures. But, it is clear that something had to chance.

That’s where London comes in.

The world's largest hamster wheel.

All for the best- Thom Yorke

I arrived in London last Tuesday on a direct flight from Santorini. Immediately upon arrival, I was taken by the city, charged by its energy, lost in its endless, winding streets, absorbed into its big grey sky, and kept on my toes by the cars moving on the other side of the street than I am accustomed. I wanted nothing more than to be swept up in the bustling crowds as they completed practical tasks, ran real-life errands, and didn’t take four hundred pictures of the building I live in, two hundred more of my cats, and then NOT come in.

The last time I was in London it was 2005 and this was the crew I was with- Danielle and Corey.

The crew in 2009: me and Jack. I made a point of having the same haircut and a similar hoodie for the sake of these pictures only.

Here is me with Big Ben in 2005

Big Ben in 2009. Turns out London has some staying power.

This is London, one of the most significant cultural and historical cities in the world. Let me give you concrete examples of this. In my first full day here, I went to the British Film Institute, which has a room called the Mediatheque that allows you to watch free films for hours that range from 1920’s documentary footage of London to post-war tea advertisements to recent independent British movies to BBC comedy specials aired a little over a month ago. Then I hopped a bus, got lost and did some letter writing at a cafe and then a pub. The night was capped by a visit to a pub with various Teach First teachers and alum. My interactions with teachers all over the place continues to inspire me.

In other news, how good is tea? The longer I am in Europe this time, the more I am enjoying tea.

Folks, I have only told you about one day in London so far and I have been here for SIX. Wow. That almost sounded like a threat.

On Thursday, I walked myself to the Tate Modern Art Museum, which, if you were wondering, was FREE, like most museums in London. Because of this, I was able to wander freely without feeling like I “need to get my money’s worth.” I could simply get lost in the ideas around me, and thats what I did.

Speaking of ideas, if you happened to be wondering what Justin “Chilly” Lamb thinks about English food, you can hear it in great and clever detail here.  Enjoy.

From there I walked to Borough Market where I had a mission to accomplish. I was going camping for the next two days with Jack, a few other teachers, and a handful of his students. My mission was to assemble a lunch at this market for the adults on the trip. Of course, before I took on such a task, I had to eat, and eat I did. A freshly-made veggie burger with fresh salsa followed by cheesecake with fresh fruit on top was just the ticket. Then I assembled what could be argued as the greatest picnic lunch in the history of teacher-chaperoned camping trips. It starred notables such as apple-tamarind chutney, fresh ciabatta bread, fresh apples, pears, and grapes, some of the best cheese in the universe from Neal’s Yard Dairy which is unarguably one of the the most renowned cheese shops in the world and has a sister shop in New Orleans, English biscuits, and sweet chili crisps. Please contact me if you would like me to plan a picnic for you because it is advisable that you do. Following this trip, I met Helen Boobis and Jack Ream for a little Atlantis Books reunion, complete with plenty of pints

The English Pub. A home away from home for the last eight hundred years and counting.

Then came the camping trip. I genuinely feel like I should devote another whole blog post to this camping trip because that is the only way to do it justice. When you work with students everyday, you sometimes lose sight of their growth from day to day. I had the opportunity to witness profound student growth in a matter of two days. Briefly, the boys in the group are who I spent the most time with, and they started the weekend not necessarily getting along and having little to no idea on how to navigate the glorious English countryside, which was their assignment. They were supposed to use their compasses and maps and find their way from one site to another. High point of the first day: happening upon a group of the girls in high spirits, feeling successful and knowing exactly where they were going. Low point of day one: The boys becoming lost for what proved to be quite a few hours.

Girls: Found.

Boys: Not found.

By the end of the weekend, the boys were getting a long, working together, and striving to achieve a common goal. There confidence was higher and their independence was noticeably higher. Hmmm….Let’s just agree that I am not going to be able to do this experience justice in this post and call it good. Rest assured, I had a wonderful time and the English country side is everything I hoped for and then some. I have been told on numerous occasions that seeing London does not mean you have seen England. You have seen London. Having seen both, I can confidently say that I am a fan of both London and England.

UPDATE: Boys now found!

Sunday was spent the way Sundays should be spent. I slept in, listened to music, and had dinner with a family. In this case, it was not my family or my best friends, but it was Dan’s, one of Jack’s roommates, parents who had come in from the Oxford area. We paid a quick visit to the Imperial War Museum and took a pretty long walk to meet some more of Jack’s friends at a pub where we stayed for a few hours and enjoyed the uncharacteristically good weather.

It is important to note that I was really, really looking forward to the grey weather of England. I wanted to be walking in the rain, be cold, and seek shelter in pubs and cafes from the cold. Strangely, most of my time has been marked by incredibly PERFECT weather, in that it is 65 to 70 degrees everyday and the sun shines bright all day. Now, I am not one to complain and I am not going to start now because for as much as I would have liked to be feeling like it was fall, this weather was too perfect to not enjoy.

Look at that sky. What is this? Santorini? Actually, it was the church where Darwin's wife was buried, for the record.

Tomorrow I return to Santorini as a refreshed person and one very much looking forward to seeing my sister.

There’s something to be said for breaking your routine and doing something out of the ordinary. I’ve had that now and been reminded of the value of enjoying the moment I am in, but I am still finding myself worrying about the future and making the right choice and missing the people I love. This is normal, of course, and okay at that.

I wanted to make a correction. I said that reading John Steinbeck was like having your first crush and this is incorrect. That feeling is far too fleeting and something you look back at with good humor, but in no way wanting more of it. Reading John Steinbeck, for me, was like eating a home cooked meal for the first time in a very long time. You can’t help but wonder what else you have been eating for all this time and you finish feeling full and resolved to never eat anything other than homecooked meals for the rest of your days.

The reason I bring this up is because at the end of “Travels with Charley,” Steinbeck talks about the way that journeys pick us and how they also pick when they end all themselves. There are times when you journey is over well before your trip is over and other times when you journey continues well beyond the end of your trip and back into real-life routines and day-to-day life. As for me, I am well aware that this journey is in control of me and where I am going, and I’ve yet been able to determine if and when my journey is or will be over. I wish it was this easy, but unlike Mr. Steinbeck, I have still have to buy a place ticket home in order to finish the trip itself. But, like Mr. Steinbeck, I know that no matter how much I see there is always more to learn and until this journey is definitely over, I need to continue to take it all in stride.

In the Night- Basia Bulat

Vacilando

I’ve been having this creeping feeling lately that something big is about to happen. In a good way. I can’t be sure what is bringing this feeling on or if it is true but the last few days have found me with this exact feeling- that something important is going to happen.

Here's whats coming, James. Checkmate.

Upon Sophie’s recommendation (which is something you should almost always follow, particularly when it comes to books), I have started reading “Travels with Charley” by John Steinbeck, which is Steinbeck’s travelogue of his trip across the US in 1960. First of all, I should reluctantly admit that this is the first time I have ever read any Steinbeck, so I am taken in the same way one is when they have their first crush. “Oh, this is what everyone has been talking about.” Or maybe, more accurately, I am taken in the same way I was when I first started listening to Bob Dylan in high school and vowed to ONLY listen to Bob Dylan for at least two weeks. I called it “musical cleansing” and I think I made it the two weeks, or at least very near. If you don’t remember this, ask Gabe, because I’m sure he does because I made him listen to more Bob Dylan in that old Le Baron of his than he could have ever wanted. I feel like a world has just opened up to me.

It doesn’t hurt that the book contains so much of Steinbeck musings about journeys, exploring, leaving home, and experiences in a way that resonate so deeply with me that I often just put the book down after a passage and walk away. There have been very few times where I have had to do this in my life. I should clarify that the themes in the book are more numerous and much deeper than I am even beginning to explain, because I am only touching on the things that immediately affect me and this blog. I should also note that I only about a third of the way through the book, so if something drastic happens and I no longer like it or something changes, I will be sure to notify you. But currently the book has been turning the way view this experience on its head.

This was the same time that I went to go see the sunset but fell asleep. True story.

Perhaps what I have been feeling is momentum, as the last week or so has felt as if I have taken a step definitively in a direction. What direction exactly, I don’t know, but it is in a direction.

This last week has had many firsts and changes. First of all, it rained here for the first time. Before that, though, it was foggy, as in fog descended over this whole end of the island and overtook everything. It started at night and we chose to go nightswimming in it. This was a good choice. But the next day, it was even more so. I welcomed the weather change, as the weather has been virtually the same from day to day for over two months. Also, I grew up in Colorado, which was incredibly distinct and pronounced seasons, and four of them, at that. So, I have come to appreciate having variety in weather and despite moving to New Orleans and then onto a Greek Island, I really love the cold and gray.

Not pictured: thousands of disappointed tourists. Also, not pictured: Me. Happy as could be.

It stayed gray and rained for a few more days. On the last day of this, Amanda and I sat in the shop as customers walked in and out virtually unphased by the change in weather. I understand this. It is their holiday and, to be very honest, it wasn’t THAT cold, just chilly. However, Amanda and I were acting like it was the dead of winter or the coldest day of the year. We holed up, read books, act popcorn, drank copious amounts of hot tea, messed around on the internet, and pretty much did the things you do in Colorado when it is a blizzard and school has been canceled.

This is an example of a real life winter day in which one might hole up, read books, and drink tea. We did not do that on this day.

Add some clouds to this and you would still not have an example of a day where you would hole up, read books, and drink tea. We did that anyway.

Also, I shaved. It was just time. It’ll grow back. Here you go. This took me no longer than a few minutes to make, so don’t judge the quality, but enjoy the product.

Although it wasn’t a first, I went to Ammoudi with Chris and Amanda one day. We swam and found a spot secluded from the mid-day crowds. It was not swelteringly hot so I just sat on this rock overlooking this beautiful place that has been so important in my time here and has seen so many chapters of my experience. I was perfectly content. Slowed down. Relaxed. This is why I came here. It felt like a first for some reason.

In case you didn't believe me, I included my foot in the shot. I was there.

There was another first. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it is the start of something that later turns into a sort of revolution. We officially founded an activity called “pool skimming,” though it has been loosely and unofficially practiced for decades by rebellious teens everywhere. It involves locating, entering, swimming in, and sharing high fives in private pools. There were five people participating so it was no small task to silently get everyone in the water at three in the morning, swim, high five, and leave, while many of the pools were immediately next to rooms of the residents of the hotels and villas where these pools could be found. We did this NINE times in a little more than an hour. There is something to be said for a group of full-grown adults (I was the second youngest to give you an idea) not being able to control their giggling as they enter a pool in the same way a ten year would do as they enter any room clearly marked “DO NOT ENTER.”

This is a picture of Oia at night where you can see some of the pools glowing bright. They were all victim to the famed pool skimmers of Oia.

I decided to take a break from shaving to go pool skimming, so I looked like this as I entered private pools.

Today marks another change in Atlantis Books personnel. Liz left a few days ago after a FULL YEAR of traveling around the world. September 9 to September 9. Read her blog when you get a chance. It’s awesome and the things she has done and seen are remarkable. Many of the pictures on this post are from her. She also gives a good description of her last night here, which had Liz, Amanda, and me “getting our America on” after a botched attempt to see “Inglorious Bastards” at an open theater. We listened to music VERY loud in the car, sang, ate popcorn, and drank beer in parking lots of strange mini-bowling alleys

Amanda left today, though with a promise of returning in a few weeks, and Rich and Chris will leave in about an hour. That means its just me and Tony for a few days.

The constants at the bookstore are me, John, a guitar, and us tuning out everything else to play music.

As a preview of things to come, I just booked a flight today to visit Jack in London. We will be going south of London for the weekend with some of his students and camping in the English countryside. More on this at another time.

The day I arrive back is the day that this one girl gets here. Her name is Aileen. She is my sister. I am somewhere between absurdly and unnecessarily excited about this happening.

She likes me more than it appears here.

Maybe I don’t feel like something big is going to happen soon, but I am just feeling forward movement. In “Travels with Charley,” Steinbeck talks about the Spanish verb “vacilar.”

If one is vacilando, he is going somewhere but doesn’t greatly care whether or not he gets there, although he has direction.

One of the many reasons that pushed me to come to Greece was knowing that there is so much more in the world that what I have experienced and what I have seen. Its humbling, for sure, but it is part of the reason I was driven to do something new. I am most definitely “vacilando.” I am heading towards something, though, unlike Steinbeck’s definition, I can’t quite tell you where, but I feel my movement in that direction. Though, at this particular moment, I can’t say I’m in a rush to get there. I can’t foresee being in a rush until I understand how I am going to manage how to experience all there is to experience.

Of course, this is a question that can’t really be answered, and surely not in a blog post. It’s more of a question of how to find meaning in one’s life, which is for another post to say the least, and a question that we all answer every day. So, I’ll just continue to love where I am, learn as much as possible, and move forward thoughtfully and meaningfully. The rest, I have faith, will follow.

Greg Brown- China

Say Yes

How ridiculously good is this song?

The Left Banke- Walk Away Renee

This blog post has been particularly hard to write. Its probably due to various factors, none more than the fact that I have waited so long and spread out the writing over a few days instead of just sitting down and doing it. And time does funny things here. Not this kind of funny. Or even this kind of funny. Not even this kind of funny. So, really maybe a better word is strange. Okay. Time does strange things here. The pace of life is slow and I am living at the slowest pace I ever have. This is healthy for me on many levels and I have reflected on numerous occasions on the value of taking time.

These grapes grow about one mile from the shop. Because I now move so slowly, it took me almost 29 hours to get there.

However, it is the way that certain things just fly by here that has been perplexing me lately. I have been here for two months now, but these two months can be dramatically broken into various chapters, all of which are profoundly different from the others. Since I last wrote, I have experienced essentially three different chapters.

Jack left last Sunday, along with Helen, who is a(nother) teacher from London who stayed at the shop for five days. Jack and I got a long famously, and I think this came down to our shared decision to spend our days intentionally seizing every opportunity that came our way. We lived this time to the fullest and did so very much on purpose. First and foremost, we worked hard in the shop to make it our own and I believe we succeeded. The recommended section featured a strong combination of our tastes (that sold many books, nonetheless), we had good communication and routines, and the shop always had a positive energy. Furthermore, I am most likely going to visit him in London in a few weeks, but thats neither here nor there.

We added a "Currently Reading" section. Jack did the artwork and the reading. I just stayed as current as possible.

Speaking of doing things on purpose, this might have been one of the times I beat Jack at chess. On purpose. Or it might be one of the times I lost to Jack. But that was also on purpose...

There is something that makes this chapter different than any of my others. I refuse to compare one segment of my time to another in terms of what is better, but what I can say is that I sped up for the last three weeks, and it all started by learning how to say, “Yes.”

I would say that often I default to “no” in new situations, or at least I have historically. This is not to say that I don’t try new things, because I would say I do, but somehow saying no, whether initially or ultimately, always allows me with a certain level of control that makes me feel comfortable.

Here are things Sylvie says yes to: 1) being disguistingly adorable, 2) terrorizing the rest of us, and 3) through some combination of the last two, getting away with it all.

Once again and to clarify, this does not mean that “no” is my final answer, but for these last three weeks I have made a concerted effort to say “yes” first and then think second (I promise it hasn’t been as dangerous as that sounds, Mom).
I’ve said yes to night swimming at 3 in the morning with people I had just met and was witness to some of the most incredible beauty I have seen here yet. Ammoudi (our regular swimming spot) was a different world at night. The stars shone proudly and brightly above us. The water was warmer than is right for 3 in the morning. And, most amazingly, the water was filled with incredible, glowing phosphorescent things that lit up the water.

Oia at night. Not the swimming spot, but you get the idea. (Pictures courtesty of Helen Boobis)

I said yes to a sunset with wine and cheese one night and beach time at a part of of the island I had yet to visit the next day with Lauren and Mary Kay, friends from high school and New Orleans, respectively, who traveled to Greece together.

I’ve become closer with new friends on the island. We’ve had numerous music nights on the terrace that last well into the morning. I’ve learned more Greek in the last three days than I have for the whole rest of my time here. Jack and I let a new friend match us to our respective energy stones at his parents’ shop and then we bought them. I still wear it actually. I’m not sure how much I believe in such things, if at all, but, if nothing else, it has come to remind me to try new things.

And these things started with yes (and good judgment, Mom). Saying yes is not always easy for me, but, somehow, it is continually bringing me wonderful things here. And with each passing yes, time somehow gets stranger and stranger, and instead of hearing “Yes,” time hears “GO!” and it moves as quickly as possible.

Just try to say no to that sweet face.

Try this on for size and tell me what you think. She is an Icelandic singer-songwriter. I think its beautiful.

Ólöf Arnalds- Vittu af mer

Whatever the case, I must admit, I like what is happening, and I think I’m going to keep doing it. Not recklessly. Not stupidly. But just here and there. At times when I wouldn’t usually do it right away.

After Jack left, I was alone at the shop for three days. I enjoyed this time with the bookshop and I got to spend some great time with John and Zalina, friends of the shop who have been very, very good to me.

Now, I am beginning another chapter. A crowded chapter, but a fun one nonetheless. There are currently five other people in the shop, but luckily they are all outstanding people. The shop is a happy place and each night has been marked by a family style dinner on the terrace, somewhat in the vein of family dinners in Nirvana in New Orleans.

I have been thinking a lot about New Orleans lately, particularly with the recent anniversary of Katrina. I will spare you of anymore of my musings on this incredible city with its incredible people, many of which I love quite dearly. I have said time and time again that I know I will never be able to understand what this disaster actually meant to New Orleans. I had never been there before the storm, and this is something that you can’t really understand unless you lived through it, but I feel like New Orleans is in my blood now, or at least somewhere deep in where I feel rooted. More than anything, I just want it out there that I am thinking of New Orleans.

Bob Dylan said in his book, Chronicles:

New Orleans, unlike a lot of those places you go back to and that don’t have the magic anymore, still has got it. Night can swallow you up, yet none of it touches you. Around any corner, there’s a promise of something daring and ideal and things are just getting going. There’s something obscenely joyful behind every door, either that or somebody crying with their head in their hands…There are a lot of places I like, but I like New Orleans better.

I know its clique, but I just couldn’t help myself

Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?

So the story goes

People do funny things when they travel. Things they wouldn’t usually do. I am no exception to this rule as I haven’t shaved in almost two months and regularly go without shoes, two basic activities that I would never have done in “real” life. I guess that’s one of the biggest draws of traveling. Being pushed out of your comfort zone. You are meeting new people, trying new things, and seeing new sights. It’s a fairly simple concept, I suppose.

Let's compare. Would I do all these things in the US? Grow my beard that long? Probably not. Write on the celing? Probably not. Smile that ridiculously for a picture? Unfortunately, probably yes. For the records, the names on the ceiling belong to all the people who have worked and lived at the shop.

Let's play one more round of "Are these things I would do in the US?" Have a nice beer with dinner? Yes. Have that beer be 80 cents? Probably not. Sell books to people from around the world? Unlikely to no. Be on the computer too much? Absolutely.

As I have mentioned before, Santorini’s economic livelihood is nearly completely dependent upon tourism. Particularly during the “season,” the crowds can be overwhelming and stifling. As Craig (one of the owners of the shop, not my dad) said, the tourists here are like the weather. Sometimes you just gotta wait it out if you want to get anything done. Now, this is touchy territory, because undoubtedly I am a tourist on my own level. Euphemistically, I like to call myself a visitor, but for all intents and purposes, I am a tourist.

Very few of the people who work on the island stay around for the full calendar year. They leave when the season is over, because there is no work to be had here. The bookshop is a special case because people live here year round and stays open for almost that whole time. The island, and in my case Oia, is a dramatically different place come winter. To give you an idea, the bookshop is located on a small street made of marble that houses more than its fair share of touristy places to spend your money, jewelry shops, and overpriced restaurants. But in the winter, this is all closed. There are no cruise boats and most of the town is left deserted until the beginning of the next season.

Hey look! It's the Greek God of tourism. The locals call him Michael Hurley (mention 7).

So, understanding the huge number of tourists that pass through this town is important when you begin to think about the out of the ordinary things people do as they travel. Naturally, we are going to be witness to a large number of strange occurrences involving tourists. Of these phenomenons, nothing has struck as the apparent loss of memory that is known to stricken some tourists. Let me be more specific. There are a remarkably high number of stray animals in Santorini, and it seems that upon arriving to the island, people completely forget they have ever seen a live, domesticated animal. Immediately upon the arrival of a stray cat, the streets of Oia are filled with approximately 57 languages saying, “I must take a picture of this strange animal that I have never seen before,” and dozens of people gather and snap pictures. When some people walk in and see our cat asleep on our lap, they say, “Oh my god, a cat! May I hold your cat?” “Yes”/Well, I guess. I mean, its asleep, but I guess/Seriously?

Okay. I’m exaggerating slightly and clearly there is bitterness in my voice. And when I got here, I was similarly taken by the strays. Proof:

Guilty!

Here’s the thing. We have a cat at the bookshop. Her name is Maxi and she likes to do two things. One, sit in the window where all passing traffic can see her, and, two, sleep in the recommended section of the book shop. We regularly just have people peeking into the shop, losing their mind because they have spotted an ever-elusive cat, taking a picture, and moving on. Perhaps you are thinking that I am being a bit hateful, but you are missing out on the most important thing. The noise. The international noise for calling cats. Everyone does it. It’s just this really abrasive, “Psssstt,” over and and over.

Psssst. Pssst. Pssst. (Snap picture) (Snap picture)

All day this is what we hear.

Who really runs this bookshop, Mr. Hamilton?

Craig and Maxi battled over this spot for the length of his time here. Craig wanted to put books here. Maxi wanted to sleep here. Maxi won.

So, Jack and I have obviously become quite tired of this noise. I really never had a problem with the pictures or the talking until the noise became too much. But lets take a break from that for a second.

First, a musical treat. This is one that we sometimes project on the ceiling of the shop.

Jack and I sometimes get up early and take swims at Ammoudi bay early in the morning. Great way to start the day. So, we did this one morning and came back to open the shop.

A crowd of onlookers gather to take a break from having their picture taken and watch Jack swim.

Upon our arrival back to the shop, we find…the smallest, feeblest, most delicate, tiniest, and most adorable kitten the world has ever seen. Right on the steps of our shop.

"The Grinch's heart grew 3 sizes that day and he began to see things in a new light."

It was so feeble, we couldn’t help but give it water. MISTAKE NUMBER ONE. Then we noticed that it was so tiny and malnourished even. So, we gave it some food. MISTAKE NUMBER TWO. Then we just started making incoherent noises and just taking photos, as if…as if we had never seen a cat before.

"What is this strange creature? I should take a picture.

Why can't I stop taking pictures?

"Oh my god, a cat! Can I hold your cat?"

Maxi didn't know what to make of the whole situation. She still doesn't.

So, the cat begins to feel at home and just walks itself into the bookstore and takes a seat on the books. We are impressed by how brave it is. We name it Rambo, which we later change to Sylvie. We named it. MISTAKE NUMBER THREE. This cat will surely leave, right? No, it goes to the back of the shop and takes a nap.

The kitten continues to stick around. It finds a permanent spot on the lap of whoever is sitting at the till. We feed it again. And then regularly. And then the unthinkable happens. I don’t know where the cat is, and I need to find it. So, I make a noise. Not just any noise, but the international noise of calling a cat.

Pssstt. Pssst.

Embarrassed, I immediately look to Jack in hopes that he didn’t hear the noise I just made. His look is a mixture of disgust and of someone who just had a small piece of them die. And while, we have since promised to never make that noise again. Things have clearly changed at Atlantis Books.

Cat naps.

Don’t worry. Not everything in Greece has been this traumatic. The other night we hosted a movie night on the terrace. The featured film? E.T. The turnout? Two awesome American girls who are sisters. While the movie was going someone had to be at the till, and while there, Jack met two Spanish women who had their violin and guitar with them. Jack, ingeniously, invited them to play on the terrace. They agreed.

Meanwhile, in traditional Greek time (a feel for time that makes New Orleanians seem like they have the regularity of the sun), all of our friends and guests showed up for the movie- when it was over. This is okay, though, because we suddenly had about twenty party guests and a band. So, we headed up to the terrace and made a fire in the fire pit. What else was there to do?

The two women played, and did so beautifully. Those in attendance were as diverse as the night was incredible. UK, America, Greece, Maritius (small island off of India), France, Canada, Russia, Serbia. I’m sure I’m missing someone, but I’m sure you get the idea. Then the guitar was passed around. It was an amazing night. So amazing, in fact, that it was suddenly four o’clock in the morning- something I would have never done in the US.

Who gave me the guitar? Seriously. Good time? Ruined.

One of those nights where the whole next day I just keep saying, "Wow, last night was great."

So, the story goes. Greece continues to present me with new experiences and I catch myself opening my mind and broadening my horizons. Here’s to hoping thats something I can always do- no matter where I am and for how long.

Sometimes its just best to say yes to new things. Just ask Maxi.

How fortunate we are

A song for your listening pleasure. Something that has been hitting the spot.

Jim Cain by Bill Callahan

It has been almost two weeks since I last posted a “Boot of Spanish Leather,” as my posts could possible one day be known. I wish this was the case, though that is neither here nor there. Much has happened in these two weeks, and many of these things have indirectly kept me from writing. This is not to say that I don’t have time to blog, because Lord knows I do, and I have even tried on many separate occasions to pull something together, but thats what it was- pulling something together. I have been at a loss of words for these last two weeks, but I am back now- with words in tow.

This is the part of the blog where you say, "Are you kidding, James?" Then you point at this sunset, courtesty of Ms. Sarah Morrison, and say, "That's what you should have been writing about!" Then you flip the screen off. You are very angry.

If that last part was not really your style, then here is your part. You are going to say, "Well James, why don't you write about some sort of Greek paradise that involves playing cards next to the sea?" Then you are going to mumble some bad words under your breath. I will not have an answer for this.

CJ once wrote about how fortunate one is to have people in their life that make saying goodbye a rambling, ongoing task. These last few months of my life, chocked full of rambling, ongoing goodbyes, have truly illustrated this principle to me. One of the most difficult of these goodbyes came when Mike and Sheena (mention number six) left two Wednesdays ago. The goodbye was not rambling at the time, as I think it was about five in the morning and I found myself quite resolute that I would not be able to express to them what I wanted, needed, to say.

The thing about the mornings in Santorini is that there are very few people out until about ten or so, and if you are around before this time you can witness the magic of the morning here. It is quiet. Strangely quiet. Beautifully quiet. It always feels like you are in on this big secret that no one else knows about, and the wind is the only sound you hear, as it whispers, “Shhhhh. This is the real Santorini.” And as I walked away from their cab that morning, I knew I had been in on a secret- having shared such a beautiful place with beautiful people I love. “Shhhhh, James. That is the real Santorini.”

Oia! All pictures in this Boot are thanks to Sarah Morrison, with the exception of one, which was from Sheena. This is because, for one, they take better pictures than I do, and, two, I can't currently find my camera cord to upload new pictures.

And the goodbye has, indeed, been rambling, because since the day they left I have been searching for words to give to Mike and Sheena about how thankful I am for them- for our time- and in my mind I have rambled on and on, unable to construct a proper goodbye. But, I realize how fortunate I am to have people in my life that make saying such a rambling task.

Quick…highlights of Mike and Sheena’s time in Santorini, featuring Sarah Morrison who quickly became one of our best friends and will stay that way forevermore. Ready, go.

This song came on while I was picking these pictures, and it fit wonderfully. So, enjoy.

Don’t be shy- Cat Stevens

Three people playing music. Three sets of eyes closed. This is not good for the people around us. We have gone to another place.

Mike, Sheena, and Sarah took a boat to another island. I used my Olympic swimming ability to beat them there.

I may not be able to read Greek, but that doesn't stop me from driving a Greek car. It just means speed-limits don't apply to me.

We probably didn't move from these spots for hours. No need.

They probably didn't move from these spots for hours. Because they couldn't.

Popular things to do at the bookstore: play backgammon, read books, sit awakwardly on igneous rocks.

This is where we said goodbye to Sarah. We are not as happy as Mike's smile and the ouzo make us seem.

So, Mike, Sheena, and Sarah have all made it back to the United States safely and are back to their lives, and thus started a new chapter in my time in Oia. For a while, it was only me and Craig (one of the owners and one of the people who helped get me here) in the shop. During this time, I stopped going to the beach as much but did some wonderful exploring of other parts of the island, which often involved eating fresh figs and fresh grapes that I found a long the way. I finished some good reading, enjoyed music, great conversation, and some sunsets with Jana (a teacher in the San Francisco area) who is a friend of one of the owners and stayed with us for a few days, and am learning how to cook in the kitchen here because I never once had to make anything while Mike, Sheena, and Sarah were here. This has proven to be quite an adventure, one that has involved burnt oatmeal, flavorless lentils, and empty gas tanks. I promise I am not this bad at cooking when I can read the labels, but simple vegetarian recipes are welcome.

Walk this way to get to where I live. If a stranger ever tells you this, don't follow them. But since you know me and this will acutally lead you to where I live, you can listen.

Tierra Jolly recently posted an article on Facebook, I believe, from the Washington Post entitled, “Why I Left Teaching Behind,” by Sarah Fine. And while I can’t say I completely agree with all of her reasons for leaving teaching, there were a few things that she wrote that resonated with me, particularly her beginning.

“This will be the first time since I trooped off to kindergarten two decades ago that I will not celebrate the new year in September, and I find that hard to imagine. Somebody else will cover the holes in the classroom’s walls with posters… Somebody else will stand at the door and greet the students — my students — on the first day.

As for me, I plan to travel, write and try not to think too much about what I have left behind.”

I am in the midst of a strange time- a sort of identity crisis, in a way. Sophie once wrote a recommendation for me, and said something along the lines of I introduce myself “as a teacher first, and everything else second,” and that I ate, slept, and breathed teaching. And, in large part, this is true. But now I am in a place where I am not a teacher and Wilson has already started school and the rest of Greater New Orleans schools are about to start or have started school. So, how then do I introduce myself? I feel as if I have left quite a significant piece of myself behind and, no matter how much I love the bookshop, have been unable to fill this hole. Time will tell what is real, though, so stay tuned.

Lesson plans? Curriculum? Bobbing for apples!!!

About a week ago, another person arrived into the shop. His name is Jack, he lives in London, and bears an uncanny resemblance to Jalls (Justin Halls). He, coincidentally, did Teach First, which is the UK equivalent of Teach for America and is still a teacher. His presence at the bookshop has been a breath of fresh air and I feel we have immediately struck a balance in the shop. We’re working on a list of things we MUST do before he leaves which I am sure will be featured in a later post, and hopefully started a healthy routine this morning by waking up early and going swimming. Also, we cleaned, reorganized, and ALPHABETIZED the Greek section over the last few days, and it looks better than I have ever seen it.

Yet again, I find myself wowed by the people that the bookshop brings in, which I believe is not coincidentally largely comprised of teachers. There is something to be said for the way teachers often appreciate the power of learning and growing, regardless of age or place. Knowing this, and knowing how difficult teaching can be, it never surprises me when another incredible person who identifies themselves as a teacher walks through the door to leave their mark on this humble bookshop.

So, all in all, things are going well. I constantly miss the places and people I am not with, and at times it can be overwhelming, but I am challenging myself to love this place while I am here. It is far too easy to love a place like this in retrospect. “Oh, those were the days,” and “Oh, that was the place.” But it is a much greater challenge to engage your own sense of place while you are present and love a place for what it truly is, for the ways it makes you feel, and the things it brings out of you. Tonight, a woman walked into the bookstore and said, “I wish I could turn back time and come to a place like this.” And, if nothing else, I will never have this wish or regret. This is why I am exploring the island, continuing to eat a pita a day, learning to cook, enjoying the light of the night in the bookshop which no picture could ever do justice, and meet new people and, at the very least, just ask, “Where are you from?,” and mean it genuinely.

“Shhhhh. This is the real Santorini.

Of this much I am sure

I will start with a song to accompany your reading. Upon much reflection, Mike, Sheena (mention number five), and I have decided that any music sounds profoundly better when listened to here. In the first few days of being here every song we heard was followed by an almost obligatory, “Oh my God, that song is incredible. Play it again.” I’m not sure if this is the widely accepted magic of the bookstore, the general beauty of Santorini, coupling music with a new experience, or something I don’t quite understand yet, but something definitely enhances listening to music here. This is a song that I recently discovered and have listened to over and over- partially because I think its very good and it hits the spot for me every time, but also because I want to determine how much of its goodness is legitimate and how much is hearing it here. I have concluded it is legitimately great.

Sleep All Summer (Crooked Fingers cover)- The National and St. Vincent

Download here.

So, time is passing. Of this much I am sure. It has almost been a month since I arrived in Oia, and I would say a month is about time to start feeling like a place is familiar, like it somehow starts to feel like where you live. And, admittedly, I feel this. I was excited to return to the bookshop from Crete, because “it will be nice to be home and settled for a bit.” Home? Interesting.

Make this place my own? My pleasure.

Now, I don’t know if I would go as far as to say this is home. Actually, I would definitely not say this is home. The “Where are you from?” question has already proven tough enough. “Uhhhhh, well…originally from Colorado but I’ve been living in New Orleans.” This answer took a while to formulate and the first time I was asked this question, I had a mini-identity crisis, but thats neither here nor there.

Just when you think you are safe, a vicious Greek monster is lurking in the bushes behind you.

I have found it interesting lately to reflect on how I familiarize myself with a place, or, more specifically, how I make it my own.

Making New Orleans my own was easy. I found places that I considered “mine” (e.g. Nirvana, Theo’s, Parkway Bakery, Bennachin, various places to eat breakfast, etc.), found people I loved (TFA friends, my roommates, Sophie, basketball friends), had an intense amount of routines that I could fall back on (Nirvana on Sunday, Canal Place Cinemas on Sunday evenings, streetcar to Cafe Envie on Saturdays, basketball games early in the week and on Saturday at KIPP Believe), worked hard, loved the work I did, and loved and was wowed by the place more than I could ever have imagined. This made making it my own easy, a big easy even, and I really considered it my home. It’s still hard to say its not.

Clearly, we feel at home in New Orleans. Hence this family photo.

Claiming Santorini (in a strictly non-colonial way) is going to prove to be very different. Meeting the people is one of the best parts, but Santorini is very transient in its nature, so you can’t necessarily root yourself there. Though, please do hear how thankful I am for the people I have met, because they have all brought something to my journey, and how thankful I am for my time with Mike and Sheena, as they have sort of transitioned me here. Of the people who were here when I arrived, only Mike and Sheena remain, and they leave in less than a week.

Living in a small town, finding your places is pretty easy but quite rewarding. We eat pitas everyday for lunch from one of two places- a gyro place by the bus stop or Polski Locale. Marykay’s (this is not how it is spelled in Greek, but how it is pronounced) is a coffeehouse by day and the only bar and club by night and is located right across the walkway from us. During the day, we have gone there to play backgammon (a newly acquired skill and hobby) and just hang out. At night,
it is a good place to get a drink and talk, and last night there was flamenco music. However, this is a love/hate relationship because I have moved out of the bed I was sleeping in before and have moved into the connected living area. This is good news because I have my own space and I don’t always have to get up when the bookshop opens. This is bad news because I am right below Marykay’s and my door opens up to the drunken chaos that can be be the outside of the bar. So, when I go there, a part of me feels like I am losing a battle that I wage every night trying to go to sleep. Anywho, the other places that we regularly visit and are making our own are the beaches- two in particularly, Ammoudi and Katharos.

This is my new space. Upgrade! The mess is not all mine. Mostly mine, but not all.

But, more than anything, it is the routines and, strangely, the new experiences that are making me feel at home. Generally, I wake up and try to do some work in the bookshop- like one good project everyday that makes the bookstore better. Sometimes it is administrative duties (I have now completed my first successful business trip into the large town of the island where I met with the accountant briefly and deposited money at the bank), but mostly it is projects in the bookshop. It is here that I feel the most comfortable- surrounded by the books. When I rearrange the shelves, I enjoy feeling the bound pages in my hands. I am surrounded by beautiful works of art, characters, and stories that mean so much to so many people. It is here I feel the best. It feels safe and overwhelmingly beautiful. And don’t forget, the beautiful music is playing the whole time.

Regular things that happen at the bookstore: 1) I sit at the till; 2) I am on the computer; 3) The cat suckles my shirt... Trust me, its even weirder in person.

Bookshops are fun! So is stealing other people's hats!

The other thing that brings me comfort has been experiencing and learning new things. I have started playing backgammon, played a few games of chess, found old pieces of marble that I plan to paint on, recorded a song, learned the Greek alphabet and a few Greek words, jumped off ledges into the sea, and created a shelter from the sun on a beach.

This was our pre-robbing a bank photo, somewhere in the vein of Bonnie and Clyde, but following the actaully robbery we realized our error in picking a crashed car as our get-away vehicle. Poor, poor planning.

I made this. How needs architecture school when you have this raw talent?

If you think this is me jumping off a high ledge, you are incorrect. This documents my incredible ability to jump out of the water like a dolphin.

Be sure to visit our new website, brosonbuoys.com

If you thought this was Mike pushing me off the buoy, you would, once again, be wrong. This photo documents my rare ability to dance on water.

More than anything, I am learning that roots grow. This simple thing has been filling my mind lately. The thing that keeps us in one place, that keeps us grounded, grows. Outward or downward or upward if you are in the swamp, and where they grow is a part of that thing forever, just as much as anything else. I will add to this my list of very important things to remember.

Here is a song brought to me with the incredibly musically-wise Justin Lamb (check out his blog for some original . Its a jam, thats for sure.

Slow Down- Jesse Dee

Download here.

Take Time

Today I did my laundry by hand for the first time in my life.  And while I can’t guarantee the cleanliness of these articles of clothing, I can say that I really enjoyed this as a task.  It was both productive and gratifying, which, ideally, all household chores would be.  This is, of course, not the case, but that must be saved for another post.

Proof that I did my laundry...by hand...by myself...and by myself I mean with minimally help from Sheena...but very minimal...so mostly by myself.

I have always had a deep appreciation of things that just make me and/or other people just stop and force us to be present in the moment we are in.  The two examples I regularly use when talking about such events are church and the ferry.  Generally speaking, church is a time when large groups of people stop the rest of their busy lives and just be in one place doing one thing.  Now, the actual enjoyment people derive from church-going is subjective, and I don’t not claim myself as a religious person in the traditional sense by any measure, but I have come to appreciate the power of church in making us slow our lives down for even just an hour.

The ferry I specifically think of is the one that goes from the end of Canal St. to Algiers Point in New Orleans.  Its no more than ten minutes if I remember correctly, but there is something about being put on a boat with nowhere to go for ten minutes at time and being surrounded by a city in every direction and the Mississippi.  At least it always helped me slow down.

This is NOT the way I remember the ferry to Algiers. But thanks to Jerry Bruckheimer, no one will ever believe me that is a pleasant experience. Seriously, the odds of it blowing up are minimal. I promise.

This is what doing my laundry, by hand nonetheless, did for me today.  I slowed down.  I felt a little more than I usually let myself feel.  I needed it.  Thank you to the social norms which required me to wash my clothes today.

That being said, I must admit I feel a bit guilty saying I needed time like this.  I am currently in the midst of what many have told me is quite close to their dream job/vacation and I just returned from five days in Crete.  A vacation from a vacation?  It sounds indulgent but its what happened and it felt great.

Crete is an incredibly geographically diverse place.  In the midst of our five days, we saw large cities, small cities, small farms, vineyards, touristy beaches, remote beaches, mountains, gorges, and a vast array of plant life.  Oia is a wonderful place but it is easy to get caught up in the bustle of a place that relies almost solely on tourism to survive.  The population swells so dramatically during tourist season that it is a completely different place.  My taxi driver from when I first arrived said it can grow by up to 10 times, but if you want to see this man’s legitimacy in terms of competence and trustworthiness, you should read the entry from when I first arrived.

While Crete is also very touristy, it provided a change of scenery and a change of pace.  Not to mention, it was probably the last time Mike, Sheena, and I would be able to travel together (Mike and Sheena reference four) away from the bookstore because most of the crowd from the bookstore has now left.

Day 1 was spent traveling from Santorini to Iraklion by ferry and then to Hania (Xania to you Greek speakers, which I am sure I have a loyal following of), where we spent the first night.  Here we walked the streets and found (read: Mike found) an awesome restaurant  where we made friends with the wait staff who brought us an extra bottle of Raki on the house.

Was Crete ready for the team now known as Team Game-Time Sensation (Team GTS)? Probably not. But it survived, though not unscathed.

The next morning symbolized the start of the best day of our trip.  We caught the first bus from Hania to the Samaria Gorge, which is a remarkable hike of about 16 km (you do the conversion if you are that curious) down a huge gorge and is one of the islands largest tourist attractions.  We missed a huge crowd because we caught the early bus.

The Samaria Gorge. As Americans, we felt it our duty to try to open a Starbucks here, but the Greeks, integrious people that they are, politely declined.

Even the water was beautiful.

Proof that Mike and Sheena hiked the gorge. Proof that I did the hike does not currently exist. You just have to take my word on this one.

Anywho, the hike was perfect and we got to the bottom where we ate some food, jumped in the sea and caught a ferry westward to Paleohora.  Upon arriving at Paleohora we found ourselves a vegetarian restaurant in the middle of town (yes, a vegetarian restaurant) and ate to our heart’s content.  At this point, we were tired but feeling like the day had already been a win, so we decided to be a bit indulgent.  And what is more indulgent that going to find the one cinema in town that just happens to play English-speaking films.  Our expectations were low, as we didn’t know what to expect in terms of venue, language, pricing, etc.

I ordered mango stir fry. I know...I still don't believe it was real.

Well, after some wandering, we found it.  Oh, did we ever find it.  It was an open air cinema with stray kittens running all about.  The silence in the movies were filled with the sounds of cicada-like bugs and the wind in the trees around the theater.  Looking up you could see thousands of stars all around.  The movie, to add to the exceptionalness of the evening was Slumdog Millionaire with Greek subtitles.  Life is good, huh?  So good in fact that we found a beach cot on the beach and just slept there, with the sounds of the waves in front of us and the lights of the city behind us.

Most likely, this is an illegal picture of Slumdog Millionaire, and it hardly depicts how beautiful the theater actually was, but at least you've know seen it.

The morning after. Do you see how appealing it was to stay another night?

Even though the next day started with Mike running around going, “Get up, get up!,” it was a perfect way to wake up.  He was doing this because the current suddenly rose to the place we were sleeping but everything was saved, so no worries.  The previous day and night had been so good that we chose to stick around for the whole next day and night.  Can’t get enough of a good thing, right?

This was a wrong assumption.  While the day was nice and relaxing, when we set up and settled into sleep in the same spot from the night before, we were greeted with a life lesson that sometimes it is good to just let good things be.  The night was just one gigantic wind storm that quickly turned into a sand storm.  Poor Mike only had a sheet, which temperature-wise was fine but the wind was much too violent.  At some stressful point in the night, I took more beach cots and built a wall of resistance against the wind, which helped with sleeping but the sand still found its way everywhere.  When I flossed last night there was still sand in my mouth.

We rose early (surprising, right) and started the track back to Iraklion (fifth largest city in Greece, mind you) where we would catch the ferry the next morning.  I will not spend much time telling you about Iraklion.  I never feel comfortable about criticizing a place, considering people live there and most likely many of them proudly call it home, and especially a place where I spent a total of about 18 hours tops.  My experience was, as I’m sure you have guessed, not the best of our journey.  However, we did find our way to a bowling alley and to the entrance of a little fair.

Greek bowling is serious. These are our game faces. And, for the record, I won. Twice.

If you can't get into the fair, why not just just dance at the entrance?

All in all, an amazing trip.  And lessons learned.  No matter where I am or what I have been doing, its always nice to have something slow you down for a moment- if even just for that moment.  Take time, as they say.

The Books- Take Time

Download here.

A perfect portion

"When you first arrive in a new city, nothing makes sense. Everythings unknown, virgin... After you've lived here, walked these streets, you'll know them inside out. You'll know these people. Once you've lived here, crossed this street 10, 20, 1000 times... it'll belong to you because you've lived there. That was about to happen to me, but I didn't know it yet." - L'augerge espagnole

The lesson I am learning is it is important to blog regularly. That avoids what has now happened, which is that I have an incredible amount of things to fill you in on but no idea where to start. The morning after arriving, I quickly became aware that this was an incredibly special place- more so than I ever could have imagined. Everyday has been filled with the richness and beauty that I hoped it would be. I am surrounded by beauty in every direction and the bookstore is full of beautiful people, creations, and art.

Perhaps I should start with a brief tour of the bookstore.

Here is Sheena at the entry to the bookstore. She is modeling what some tourists do, which is take pictures and peek in without every actually entering. Good job, Sheena- this is a very accurate depiction.

Don't be fooled. Come night time, this turns into where I sleep.

If you look up in the backroom, you will see Mike and Sheena's bed above it all. I did not volunteer this bed readily. They won it in an intense wrestling match with high stakes. What can I say? It was 2 vs 1.

These...well, these are the books. Also, known as the goods.

Most days are marked with a trip to the beach, falafel in pita for lunch, time spent behind the till talking to tourists and locals, learning the ropes of the bookstore, and sitting on the terrace of the bookstore talking and laughing. Our first week was marked with an incredible 8mm international put on by the bookstore’s very own “Splice girls,” as they became known. It is not without responsibility, though, as learning the ins and outs of a bookstore can be complicated, but is so rewarding to watch it function late into the night and bring so much joy to so many people. This bookstore, as a project and as a location, is something that people truly care about and want to be a part of, and the times we are a part of such things are times to cherish.  The days are full, but not in a way that I have ever experienced before on such a regular basis. They are full in the way that you feel after a perfectly portioned meal with good company- satisfied, not too full, by no means hungry, and reminded that life is good.

This is me behind the till. This picture also adds to the countries in which I have taken an unflattering picture, which can now be totaled at 10.

I believe a large part of the specialness of traveling and particularly of this place is the people. I am fortunate to have Mike and Sheena with me (Mike and Sheena reference number 3). Our time together is something I know I will cherish dearly for the rest of my life and they graciously let me be a third wheel regularly. I have met and played music with people from Germany who are biking to India and spend their days as statues in the main square of Oia. Ani and Justine from Montreal came in and read a whole book in French aloud with Joni Mitchell in the background. Ajay and I play cribbage. Sarah and Madeleine make incredible dinners every night. I sat on the terrace with two eleven year old Greek girls who made an art project for the bookstore, where we listened to pop music and they taught me the Greek alphabet.  Chris and Maria, who live in San Francisco and Cyprus, respectively, were part of the group of people who founded the bookstore, are both teachers, and have a love for this place they have created that inspires me to create things of my own. Not to mention, in the midst of writing this very blog entry, Kira Orange-Jones, who is the Executive Director of Teach for America in New Orleans, just walked into the bookshop. I tell you, there is something about this place. Not even the island so much as the bookshop itself. More on that as I experience it more.

As Sheena and I prove here, it is hard not to take a picture of everything. Once again, nice job Sheena on depicting my points.

There is still a lot to explore and learn.  I will have much more to read as time passes.  Tomorrow, Mike, Sheena, and I are heading to Crete for a few days to hike in the mountains, explore a new place, and experience another part of Greece.  Until then.

I must say, the road ahead is looking good.