Turning Dark to Light - The Art of Solo Travel

There is a particular struggle that comes in solo travel, that I think emphasizes the struggle of every day life. Everyone is solo traveling in their life. But struggle, is  apart of every day life so sometimes it doesn’t feel at all like struggling. What westerners would call “struggle” in a third world country, doesn’t necessarily feel like that there. People are just surviving the way they were raised to survive. Maybe that’s a struggle for someone unfamiliar with a third world way of life, but for many it's simply instinct and upbringing. Its just people doing what they have to do. There’s no desperation. No sense of defeat. It’s just that, everyone has a goal in mind and the struggle can come from feeling whether that goal is attainable or not. Get clean drinking water today - that’s doable. Have a hot shower today – doesn’t feel as doable. Sometimes the goal is there, and you can reach it, but it takes a hell of a lot of work to get to it. There’s always an “ah shit” moment when I realize that I’m not halfway to my goal like I might have thought. There aren’t too many ah shit moments in my day-to-day, but they’re there. Sneaking up on me. And it’s never ah shit I don’t want to do that. It’s ah shit I have to do that to make the next step.

I discovered that all of the “ah shits” seem to mesh together into one big unhappy response. That’s my negative side. Sometimes when my negative comes out, it’s hard to shut her up. Then, if or when the negative takes over completely, I become impatient, distant, bored, and albeit angry. Testy. Touchy. Tetchy.  It’s like I’m off of my drug (the drug of positive thinking). That’s when the struggle kicks in. It becomes lonely, and I’m too irritable to make friends because I don’t trust anyone (because the trusting turns off too).  I’m looking up at the mountain I have to climb to get to my goal (for me its, enlightenment, goodness, the next step), and, rather than enjoying doing it, I think, “ah shit” I still have to do all this stuff.

Where is the joy in it?

That's the struggle in solo travel, in life and for everyone - it's keeping the negative thinking inside tamed, and quiet. Otherwise, when the negative comes out from the darkness, all of the light and goodness of life goes and hides from it, waiting until its gone. Getting it gone is tough.

Usually when I am negative, The Universe sends me an omen to redirect my thinking attention. The other day, I was in the jungle enjoying a rugged bicycle adventure. 30km, in a $2 rental bike, with unpaved torn up roads, was a challenging adventure. The challenge was to enjoy it. I wasn’t. I was alone in the jungle (which adds a sense of danger and excitement) biking to a lake where there would be crocodiles and rhinoceros (otherwise which I know nothing about). There was hardly any bike cushion, and my ass was sore from riding over the rocks, so I had to stop a few times to walk it off. The bruises were there for days. Thanks to the rugged roads, I mastered balance while jackhammering by the time the day was done. I didn’t see any rhinos, or crocs. I just biked to the watering hole on the other side of the jungle, explored a little bit, took pictures, and biked back.

While I biked I thought about some things. Like:

There always seems to be a couple of Nepali guys who want to know where I’m from. And after I tell them, they always want me to repeat it. I’ve contemplated not answering at all, but isn’t that rude? It’s not like it’s the same guy every time, it’s not like he’s saying anything rude, or sexual, and I am obviously a foreigner. But then what if, because it happens all the time every day, I begin to feel harassed? Is that just the next guy’s problem? Don’t get me wrong, I know what harassment feels like and I know how to handle myself in those situations. I went to school in New York City – I have heard all kinds of catcalls, and experienced all kinds of forwards. But here in Nepal, it’s just “hello miss, what is your name?” or just “hello” or “where are you from?” My immediate thought is usually, why are you talking to me? But, isn’t that a negative way of thinking? I often respond by saying my answer and spark a conversation, or I walk away without words thinking; pretend you don’t know he’s talking to you. It does feel like harassment if the guy walks up beside me, while I am walking, and takes side steps while he asks me these questions. That’s often when I say "Hello" and keep moving, or pretend I don’t speak the language he is talking to me in. Why are you side stepping your way onto my path? No, I don’t want to buy anything from you.

In those moments I am relying on my instinct to show me the good people, and keep me away from the bad ones. It’s not my problem how they talk. It’s my problem how I deal with it. I realize that how I perceive these encounters can become very negative. But there are ways of staying safe without being negative – for sure. The best thing to do is just to walk away, and join casual conversations that come up naturally. Be honest. I can determine whether I am being presented an opportunity to create sincere and good friendships, or I can walk away because being with some people doesn’t give me the feeling of friendship. It’s just an internal judgment that I make. Trust your instincts, it's God’s voice in you.

Whatever way I handle any situation, my negative side still sneaks up on me sometimes. And when that happens, suddenly I’m closed off, and suspicious of every guy who is trying to talk to me without purpose. That’s when I get stressed. Then it’s like I’m sick – I can’t just turn it off because I hate it, it’s a sickness, I have to take care of myself to get over it - and when I’m sick I just want my mommy and that can lead to loneliness. I told myself when I began this trip, I will think of my family often but I will not dwell. Dwelling is just another negative thing to bring me down. Why is some invisible negative force always trying to bring me down!?

Partway through the first leg of my bike ride, my thinking pattern revealed an epiphany. When my first response to people or situations is the sad or unhappy part of the experience, it blocks all of my pure judgment and instinct. Trusting in my instinct guides my way more often than not. So when I’m negative, is when I feel lost. When that happens, I can’t hear my instinct and I'm making calls based on anger and fear rather than instinct. By then I can't even tell if I'm acting on fear or intuition. Then I'm completely blind.

It’s the same struggle in every life. It’s hard to hear God when my ears are clogged with negative shit. It’s hard to have confidence, trust, openness, insight, and love. That’s what the negatives take away from me. So I fight it off, because that’s my trust and my love! That’s my confidence! I will fight to the death for those. The hardest battle is internal between light and dark.

Sometimes, I am so deep in negative mode, that I forget how to fight it off. Herein lies the omen that the Universe will give me in my darkest moments. When I am that far deep, like that short period that I wasn’t fully enjoying my bike adventure, I come across an omen that helps. Today I said a few prayers and it got me through the biking so that I was able to change my attitude and really love it. I laughed at all of my pain, how bad the roads were, how my shitty bicycle could endure it. It was funny. But only after I manifested some muscle pain. Muscle pain from negativity I bet. Stress in the shoulders, negativity in the hips.

I did some yoga, and more prayers.

It helped.

But it wasn’t until I came across this amazing passage in a book I’m reading by Florence Scovel Shin called “The Power of the Spoken Word.” She showed me exactly what I was experiencing, and why, and how to change it.

“All life is vibration. You combine with what you notice, or you combine with what you vibrate to. If you are vibrating to injustice and resentment you will meet it on your pathway, at every step. You will certainly think it is a hard world and that everybody is against you. Hermes Trismegistus said several thousand years ago, “To change your mood you must change you vibrations.” I make it even stronger; I say, to change your world, you must change your vibrations. Turn on a different current in our battery of thought, and you’ll see the difference immediately.

Then, she persists to give an exciting affirmation that clicked with me immediately.

“God appreciates me, therefore every one and every thing appreciates me. I appreciate my self.”

The reason that affirmation worked for me, was not because I was having a hard time appreciating my self, but because I wasn’t appreciating the world around me, and that affects my appreciation of self. The world is very much a part of me, and I am a part of it. If I treat it negatively, I feel negative in my life – mostly because the world will get negative right back. I didn’t appreciate how my self was responding to the universe, and I could see negative patterns and experiences becoming more frequent. I thought, if every one and every thing appreciates me, than I should appreciate every one and every thing right back. Let’s turn on a happy face, world, lets have some sunshine. With that, I condemned my negative thoughts, saying that I want back my happy, trusting, open, loving self.

Then, instantly the day got brighter. Instantly. I felt all my negativity float away. I remember one of my favorite sayings, When you look at the world and think ‘this is terrible’ God says, “terrible? You haven’t seen anything yet…” but when you look at the world and think, “this is perfect” God says, “perfect? You haven’t seen anything yet…”

I just have to look at it as good and perfect. One of my moral rules, which I inherited from my friend Stephanie whom I met in Ireland, is to never complain. I catch myself when I slip up and begin to complain, but having the rule helps me. Complaining just perpetuates more negative thoughts. It’s for that reason that I love ignorance. I want to be ignorant of pain, sorrow, and negativity. If I can be ignorant to the negative things that some people focus on, then I can blissfully go about my day enjoying every second – no matter what happens.

I finished my bike ride like a rock star, loving every bit of it.

That’s how I say “bye” to the Pandora’s Box of negative thinking.

Now I’m ready, again, for every moment to be anew, and to look at the world with light and wonder.

I will put up a fight against darkness. Fight loneliness and boredom with love and trust. We are all journeying through our lives. We are alone, while never alone. Remembering that we’re never alone is a lot harder to do, since feeling alone can be so easy. Seeing the glass half full, and still asking for more, is not gratitude or love. It’s just half full, which is better than half empty or nonexistent. That’s the journey that everyone experiences solo. The internal battle between light and dark. That’s everyone’s life, isn’t it? It’s the struggle of solo travel.

My challenge is the same as everyone else’s. Have poise. Follow intuition. Be open. Be positive. Love endlessly. Meditate. Keep my personal space organized. Take care of my body. Be kind. Have patience. Follow the bright side. Be fearless and without worry. Keep silence sacred. Say “I can” all the time. Be good with the world.

Then the light will overcome the dark, and all that’s left to experience is goodness. Peace and prosperity go hand in hand. That’s the beautiful universe at work. The art of the world.

The art of solo travel.

The end of Chapter 1

This is the end of a chapter for my travels this year. Europe is done.

I spent 3 weeks with my brother, 3 weeks with my mom, 1 week with my mom and dad, 3 weeks with my dad, and some special time with friends in between. What a tremendous blessing these nearly 4 months have been! All I can do is continue to thank God and give my life to Him. It is the faintest form of gratitude that could express how I feel.

Here are some of my highlights:

The Cliffs of Moher in Galway, Ireland

Hiking in Belfast, N Ireland

Traveling with my brother

Seeing my cousin in London, England

Rocking out with all my new friends underneathe the Eiffel Tower

Eating frogs legs and snails in France

Going to every coffeeshop in Amsterdam

Seeing my buddy Christine in Athens, Greece and swimming & kayaking in the Peloponnese

Watching professional skiers practicing on the 1994 Olympic ski jump in Lillehammer, Norway

The Cathedral of the Holy Ressurrection in St Petersburg, Russia

An impromptu night at the Hungarian ballet (for $1!!)

All of the Holocaust and communism memorials in Budapest, Hungary

Hiking in Budapest, Hungary

Hiking in Bratislava, Slovakia

The Sound of Music in Salzburg, Austria

Everything about Oktoberfest in Munich

The top of Mt Titlis and Jungfraujoch in the Swiss Alps - and everything else about Switzerland

Murano glass in Venice, Italy

Hiking in the Italian Alps overlooking Lake Como

Cooking in Manzano village Italy

Time with my parents (and holding a Cobra)

Food poisoning in Morocco and Sweden

Riding a camel in the Sahara Desert

My mom

The Blue Lagoon in Camino, Malta

Seeing Fr Iakovos in Thessaloniki, Greece

My friend Maria and her Greek Village

Hot air ballooning in Cappadocia,Turkey 

Shopping in Morocco and Turkey

Pamukkale, Turkey

My dad

Last but definitely not least! Pictured are just some of the amazing friends I've met along the way! They are the phenomenal loving and outstanding people of the world! Just a little bit of love can change so much. I will always remember every kindness given to me, every moment that I have encountered the angel in someone who helped me, or I laughed and loved together with.

Now for the next chapter - Asia!

Adventure in Turkey!

At first I thought that going to Turkey from Greece would be like rewinding time back to Morocco. Greece is probably 20 years behind the United States, more or less depending on if you are in a village or a city. Morocco was like going back in time 80 years ago, and squatting to pee or poop in every toilet was definitely new and exciting. Turkey, however, is a mixed bag of magic – you never know what the magician will pull out, but you know it will awe you.

Istanbul was very Muslim (like most of Turkey), and at first I enjoyed hearing the prayer call 5 times a day, because it reminds me of devotion, loyalty, spirituality, obedience, and all of those beautiful things that go along with deeply spiritual or religious people. The prayer call is a beautiful singing of the Quran into intercoms, and it can be heard from far away. At 5am when the sun comes up, and during my naptime were the only times I did not enjoy it.

While there, I had the privilege of visiting the Hagia Sofia during the call for prayer. The Agia Sophia was once a Byzantine church. Its style is dome-shaped (Byzantine style) and it was once adorned with frescos and mosaics of saints. When the Muslims came to power, eventually turning Constantinople/Byzantium, into Istanbul, they destroyed most of Christian artifacts and places of worship, and converted the Greek Agia Sophia into a mosque – it’s now the Turkish Hagia Sofia (pronounced with a hard H). It was for this reason that I felt uncomfortable, and unhappy when I visited the ancient church – or what was left of it. Although the Virgin Mary remains above where the altar once was, there are Islamic sayings on either side looking like big black billboards. The church/mosque is very poorly preserved as well - and ancient. From what I understand, it’s highly unusual for any kind of religious service to be held in the Hagia Sofia these days. Don’t get me wrong, I have been in synagogues turned into churches and churches turned into mosques, then back into synagogues and so on – I had always found them more intriguing than sad. Those places of worship were quite beautiful and their history was powerful. The Hagia Sofia, for me, was just sad – interesting, but not beautiful. There was no powerful positive message in her history or her modern use, only destruction and emptiness.

After leaving, I stood outside facing the Blue Mosque that stands across a large park opposite of the Hagia Sofia. I felt blessed when the call to prayer rang out, and I listened for a little while. After the call was sung from Hagia Sofia, it stopped and the singing began from the Blue Mosque, and then it stopped and the Hagia Sofia sang again – back and forth, back and forth. It was the battle of the prayer calls, and it was beautiful. I wish I could understand what was being said. These days I tend to rely on body language and tones in order to understand people – it works pretty well, but not for readings of the Quran.

One of the reasons my dad and I were so excited to be visiting Turkey - aside from being in an unknown land and unknown culture - was because it was the closest either of us have ever been to our ancestral lands of Lebanon and Syria. In fact, we had the great pleasure of having a fully Lebanese night while we were in Istanbul. We went to a dinner show where attractive and talented male and female belly dancers performed, and they served courses of traditional Lebanese food. Some of it was different than the way that we prepare our food, and do our dances – but it was Lebanese with a Turkish twist.

One of the funny adventures that we had in Istanbul included stalking the Patriarch of Constantinople so that we could receive his blessing. After learning that it was unlikely for us to be granted an audience, we went to the island of Hulki to visit the old Orthodox seminary there, and we also made a pilgrimage to the Patriarchal Fenar where we stayed for an evening service. Unfortunately, we kept missing the Patriarch just as he was leaving. (In case you didn't know there are few Patriarchal leaders of the Orthodox church in the world, and meeting them is like meeting the Pope.) In our undercover hunt we became quite familiar with the back of his Mercedes and its blacked out windows. We did get to see him briefly as he left Hulki to return to Istanbul from his short vacation there. My dad and I were standing behind the church at the seminary when we heard that the Patriarch was leaving, so we ran to the front of the church where the exit road was. I did everything short of yelling “tin efhisas! Your blessing!” as I ran to where his entourage waited. He turned and waved, and then he was off. Seeing him in the flesh was just as cool as anything. I hope that some day my dad receives his blessing though, because I know that’s a desire of his heart.

After nearly a week of walking around Istanbul, getting used to eating Kebab for every meal, stalking the Patriarch, and bargaining at the Grand Bazaar  - we were more than ready to move on to Cappadocia! - the land where dreams come true.

It was like a fairly tale in Cappadocia. The people were warm, helpful, friendly, and always interesting to learn from – and the terrain was nothing like I had ever seen before. It was the Grand Canyon and the Sahara Desert in one package. Cappadocia (or Kapadokya in Turkish) looked like sand piles molded into different shapes, but when closer, it is unexpectedly hard rock. No wonder people live in caves here - thanks to the chemicals from the volcanic lava that originally made the valley thousands of years ago, its warm in the winter and cold in the summer.

We woke up our first morning, at 4:30am so that my dad could conquer his fear of heights by watching the sunrise from a hot air balloon! We floated up gently, while befriending the master driver, and laughing the whole way. Laughter is the best way to cope!

Cappadocia is the world capital for hot air balloons. We saw the skies filled with balloons, near and far, with different colors or logos. It was something I had never seen before – and unless I woke up at 5:30am and drove around the mountain that blocked the view from our hotel, I would probably not see it again.

After an exilerating ride, we had glasses of champagne to celebrate a successful landing, following by a brief nap before moving on to explore the valley.

In Cappadocia, many people live in caves, and have been living in caves since before the time of Christ. In the cave villages we explored churches from the Byzantine times – most of which are now preserved in open-air museums. In the churches were fresco (paint on plastered walls) and secco (paint directly on walls). The paintings appeared like cave drawings, and many of the icons that remained had eyes scraped off from when Islam took over the region. The icons made at that time, and even now, have eyes that appear to be following you in the room. They see everywhere. The Muslims did not like this component of Byzantine art, so during the time when Christianity was banned, the extreme Muslims scraped off the eyes of the saints. Interestingly enough, in all of the churches I went to, the eyes of Jesus and the Virgin Mary still remained.

Remember how I said that the only way I would see the hot air balloons again would be if I woke up at 5:30am and drove around the mountain that blocks the view from my hotel? Well, the day before leaving Cappadocia, my dad and I woke up early to go hiking, so that we could see the hot air balloons and the sun rising one last time before we left. I hiked to the top of a panoramic viewpoint where I faced the hot air balloons in front of me, and the sun rose from behind. Just before the sun came up, all of the hot air balloons glowed from the light of their fire, and lit the sky like 100 bright stars blinking. The sun came from behind Euclydes volcano 60km away in Kayseri, and slowly, but surely, touched every inch of the rocky volcanic terrain of the valley.

Our last day in the Cappadocia region was spent in Kayseri, Turkey. Kayseri was the birthplace of Saint Basil the Great during the time of Assyria. However, there were no remains, relics, or religious sanctuaries to pilgrim to. The city was highly developed, but quite obviously a more conservative section of the country, and the only place in Turkey where the vibe made us feel unwelcomed. That same day, we flew from Kayseri to Izmir, where locals told us that Kayseri was quite conservative and their least favorite city in Turkey. Izmir was the opposite. It was less touristic than Istanbul, better developed (similar to cities in Europe and the U.S.) and highly secular. And to put the cherry on top, the seafood was the best that I had eaten (outside of Greece and Norway). There we walked the bazaar, and sat for hours drinking Turkish coffee, smoking nargile (Turkish waterpipe) and playing toula (backgammon).

From Izmir, we drove to the ancient ruins of Ephesus, and walked about the marble town through Byzantine ruins and memorial sites, until we grew wet and tired from the rain.

Not far from Ephesus was where we were staying - through the mountains to a secluded ancient Greek village called Širençe (pronounced shee-ren-jay). Širençe is known for their local fruit wines. The entire town shut downs at 8pm - its the village life. After Ephesus, before we were too late, we walked to a wine shop. We drank flights (tastings) of fruit wine from mulberry, cherry, and raspberry, to apple, blackcurrant, and blueberry - until finally we settled on our old friend Cabernet Sauvignon. 

Since we traveled during the off-season, the village was essentially deserted. Restaurants would only stay open if people were eating in them, and the last to close was one out of dozens of wine shops. A 9pm bedtime, and plenty of rest-time was perfect after a very busy couple of months, so my dad and I enjoyed relaxing by the fireplace and playing board games.

Back in Izmir, I learned about Pamukkale/Heiropoulos, which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site near Denzli, Turkey. About a 3 hour drive from where we were stayig. The ancient Greek ruins of Heiropoulos remain from a city built on top of a travertine covered mountain. The combination of sulfur from the hot springs there, and the surrounding environment, caused the mountain to be pure white travertine. In order to preserve the travertine, shoes are not allowed on the white walking path that connects all of the hot spring baths. So on our free day, we drove there and, in cold wet rain, we hiked up the mountain with shoes in hand, and relieved ourselves from the cold every time we reached hot water – which wasn’t frequent! It was a challenge! During the summer busy season, the baths are overflowing, and the weather is hot – but during the winter many of the baths were cold, and dried out. It wasn’t until we reached the top that we relaxed our feet in Jacuzzi-hot fresh water. By then, we desperately wanted to dry off and put on wool socks.

On top of the mountain are the ruins of Heiropoulos, where Saint Phillip once resided. There we paid homage to the first burial place of St. Phillip (coincidentally we were there on the day that he was celebrated in the church), and we walked around the ruins of the original Apollo Theatre (so it was another Friday at the Apollo). Nearby, we hiked hills and saw beautiful views overlooking Denzli and Pamukkale, until finally it was time to kick off our socks and sneakers and head back down the mountain for one last night in Širençe.

Since our flight was out of Izmir, my dad and I returned to Izmir for our last night together in Turkey. The party continued when on from Izmir to the Istanbul airport until finally my dad and I shared our tearful goodbye.

After that, it was an enjoyable 8 hours (but then delayed to) 13 hours in the airport before flying to Kathmandu, Nepal.

I am so proud of my dad for overcoming his fears, and being open to new things during our trip. I became well traveled in the last three months of Europe, so he began to look to me for answers to travel questions. It made me feel smart and special for being trusted (at times), and for knowing what I’m talking about (at times). It was the most amazing experience to share all of this time with my dad. The last month was the most time we ever spent together in my life and I had him all to myself! He has come so far as a father and a person, and I basked in his loving moments, and we were able to grow together during our occasional conflicts. I left from him feeling extraordinarily grateful and blessed for our experience together. I already miss having a partner who shares love and trust with me. Inshallah we will do it all again some day soon.

Cheers.

Greek Hospitality Part Dyo (2)

There is something about coming to Greece that feels like home to me. The three main draws are; the warm loving people, the grandparents (which essentially define Greek hospitality), and of course the church – whether I attend or not, I always feel at home surrounded by the old Byzantine.

My dad and I traveled together from Morocco, to Malta, to Thessaloniki Greece. We unite on our love and yearning for understanding of spirituality and the Orthodox Church, so we both arrived in a state of excitement and homeliness. 

To understand the preface to my second visit in Greece this year, we’ll travel back to the 1980s with our mustaches and mullets and take a peak into the life of my dad. Back in the 1980s, when, my dad was studying at Hellenic College, he became friends with his neighbor in the dormitory. The friend’s name was Billy Bakos. They were fast friends, and partners in crime for life. Billy served as my dad’s best man at my parents’ wedding, which, in Greek Orthodox tradition, makes him an honorary member of the family and grants the Greek title of Koumbaro between he and my family. It’s an important title for Greeks, like the importance of godparents in some cultures. Since that wedding, Mr. Bakos traveled to a place called The Holy Mountain, also called Agio Oros in Greek.  The Holy Mountain is an island peninsula in the region of Helkidiki, an hour and a half outside of the northern capital city of Thessaloniki in Greece. The island is home to 22 different Orthodox Christian monasteries where thousands of monks live, and where pilgrims come from all over the world. I have never been since women are not allowed on The Mountain for a few different reasons, which I understand and appreciate. I want my own island anyway. When Billy Bakos traveled to the Holy Mountain for the second time in his life, he moved there and became a novice for three or four years before being tonctured (blessed as) a monk.  From then on, we would all reverently call him Father Iakovos - he is even featured on a 60 Minutes documentary discussing the Holy Mountain, if you are interested in learning more.

http://www.cbsnews.com/news/mt-athos-a-visit-to-the-holy-mountain/

Fast forward: Father Iakovos has been a monk at the monastery of Simonopetra, on the Holy Mountain, since before I was born. Over the years he maintained a connection with my family and during the last couple of years the Greek Orthodox Metropolis of Boston had the blessing of hosting Fr. Iakovos for a whole year in an effort to start a monastery in New England. A whole community of children, and families came together loving him and welcoming him, and now I am one of thousands of his spiritual children in America. He really has touched so many lives, and I feel blessed to have any relationship to him. Since he left to return to the Holy Mountain, I have missed him a great deal, and have always found his presence to be grounding for me.

The monks of the Holy Mountain are under the obedience of their spiritual leader called the Abbot, or Yeronda in Greek – just the same as priests are under the obedience of their bishop. Monks, and nuns as well, must have the permission of the Abbot to travel - or to move somewhere else - and they may be denied permission according to where the Abbot sees their services needed. It was by the Grace of God that the Abbot at Simonopetra needed to send a priest to their church in Thessaloniki, and it just so happened that Fr. Iakovos was the man that he sent.

Now to the present: Several people greeted my dad and I when we arrived in Thessaloniki – Niko & Tina (a couple whom I met in 2006), Maria and Dimitri (friends of Father Iakovos), and, of course, our beloved Father Iakovos. They all took us out to dinner the way that Greek family members welcome their out-of-town relatives – a trapezi.

The three musketeers! Fr. Iakovos, my dad, and Niko (left to right)

The following couple of days Fr. Iakovos and Niko and Tina traveled with us to revisit the convent of Orymilia where I created strong connections during my first visit to Greece in 2006 The nuns made for us a lunch that was finer than any restaurant, and the heartfelt warmth and welcomnig made me feel right at home. My old friend, Sister Prosdoki, was able to visit with me for a brief period, holding my hand and catching up with one another. Just like the first time, I wished that our visit had lasted forever!

I also had the distinct honor of meeting His Eminence Metropolitan Barnabas of Neapoli and Stavropolio. My dad is friendly with Metropolitan Barnabas, and so we were able to have two short visits with him while we were in Greece. During the first visit, I couldn’t understand the conversation between my dad, Father Iakovos, and His Eminence Barnabas, because it was all in Greek. But, I felt all of the emotions in the room. I was so moved by the warmth, the way that His Eminence was teaching through his example, and the amount of love in the room, that I was moved to tears during most of the visit. Rather than made to feel embarrassed by my tears, my expression of emotion was communication enough for Hi Eminence and we instantly connected without words. Father Iakovos simply told His Eminence that I was moved by the loving kindness of his nature. During our second visit I was far better composed and was able to communicate my feelings about love and God with the help of some translation. When my dad and I made our final goodbye before flying to Turkey, Metropolitan Barnabas hugged and kissed me, and sent me tons of blessings.

Its an amazing thing, meeting people like Sister Prosdoki, Father Iakovos, Metropolitan Barnabas, or my friend Maria who I visited later in the week. Kind people simply emanate warmth. It can’t be described as anything other than love, goodness, the Holy Spirit. I can feel the spirit full in them, it overflows, and it washes over me so that I feel filled as well.

His Eminence Barnabas and me

After some guy-time with Father Iakovos, and my dad, the men headed off to the Holy Mountain and I was left alone in Thessaloniki for four days. I absolutely loved it! I had the fantastic opportunity to spend time with my buddy Maria who I met when I studied abroad in Spain two years ago, and I also became better acquainted with some Greek American boys who came from Hellenic College in Boston to study abroad in Thessaloniki.

Greek hospitality truly is a bottomless pit of abundance, and in that way it emulates the spirit of love.

I cannot even count the hours on hours of time spent sitting around with my friends, and their friends, drinking tsiporo (Greek moonshine), and laughing together. I learned a lot of Greek, and communication was never a problem, even with Maria’s friends who didn’t speak English. Every time I went out with Maria, or the Greek Americans from the University, everyone insisted on paying for me. Being the out-of-towner, Greek hospitality designates that my local friends have a responsibility to show me a good time, make me happy, and not let me spend a cent. Of course, I don’t take advantage of that by any means, but the Greeks are just the gift that keeps on giving.

I even had the honor of going outside of Thessaloniki to visit Maria’s grandparents in their village, and see the local dance group perform original Greek dances from the region. Yiayia even played along with me when I asked her to read my fortune in my cup after drinking Greek coffee. She and I agreed that we don’t take fortune telling from coffee cups too seriously, but it was interesting to learn from her. I felt like I was welcomed like a long lost relative. I could have lived there and hiked the nearby mountains for days if I had more time. If there is anything Greek, it’s impossible for me to feel out of place.

My time in Greece was perfectly timed, and I didn’t spend more than a half of a day doing anything touristic. I enjoyed parea (companionship) with friends, tons of food, heart-to-hearts, and beautiful people. There is nothing better than going where your people are. My people are definitely Greek. There have been a few other times on my journey where I have felt ‘among my people’ like in Munich, and all over Ireland. (Coincidentally, I am a small part German, and Irish.)

But, so far in my journey, no one does it quite likes the Greeks do. Yasas!