The Beauty

The following group of pictures sum up my exploits throughout Europe thus far. Unlike my nonsense, they express my journey much more eloquently than anything I could think to say. From Athens to Corfu to Rome to Venice, there isn't anything much better.

The Inspiration

Warning: This post is full of nonsense, no substance, and no meaning. I hope you enjoy.

How significant is all of this, our world? I’ve been struggling with this same question for a while now, and I’m still no closer to a definitive answer. The answer’s a snake, a massive python that I must find, but I’m stuck searching with my hands in a murky swamp during the night, worrying about the possibility of being bitten. It’s frustrating. I have no flashlight, and I’m not even sure I’m in the right swamp, but I have no choice but to stumble on. I find myself convincing me that my life is but a single grass blade in the largest field. Is it really necessary that I find “success” for an otherwise normal existence? Or that I am the best in what I do, when so many others have and will come before and after? I have trouble connecting my daily actions with the insight into how they are really helping me. I feel as if my time is being sold for less than its worth, and all I’ve been given are IOUs to be redeemed at a yet-to-be-determined future date. Maybe the answer to life is to understand your unimportance, and accept it. My only chance is flying from my grasp, and instead I’m oblivious that the only right I need is being stripped from my being, but it’s by my own doing, as I sit dumbfounded, distracted, anaesthetized, broken from head to toe, immersed in a viscous fluid that has me pasted to the wall that I’m only more than happy to stare at while every star, sun, rainbow, supernova, fusion, every strand of music, hair, beach, meaning, is flashing behind my head, but my eyes are so close to the wall that I can’t even make out the vague shadow of the fireworks on display behind me, I’m only obsessed with a dirt spot that’s become my love, my passion, my understanding, and my universe. I need a titan to force my head away from the wall and to turn around, but it’s impossible because I am the titan and even now I divert my energies to the spot, which is never-moving and always changing to be whatever I think I need, if only to keep me distracted long enough to destroy all things.

It’s difficult to feel significant when you spend your time walking around a city such as Paris. Miles of roads, people, and buildings stretch in every direction, and without a sense of where you are going, it can be quite easy to find yourself lost. Sometimes though, that’s exactly what a person needs, a chance to escape.

Already I can feel the change, the freedom that comes from a city where time moves on its own, and no one questions why it doesn’t move faster. I spent last Saturday exploring the city, and throughout the entire day, I accomplished nothing of importance, which meant absolutely everything. I found a book, a croissant, a jazz band under the Eiffel Tower, a lost Parisian on the metro, a police officer who knew I was hopping trains, and a lifetime of freedom and space, and not once did I think about what I needed to do or what I needed to learn.

School has started though, and once again the battle between work and life has commenced. It’s a natural tendency to feel overwhelmed when suddenly you have assignments, but I feel as if now, things are a bit less pressing. Unlike many international students, I have classes every day, which means my weekends are only the normal length. I’m terrified that I won’t be able to visit even a fraction of the places I would have liked to see, if only for time constraint. As a beginner to my travels though, I will spend the weekend in Paris, exploring and learning as I go. I only have to survive a few more simple classes until then.

The school itself is very nice. It’s located in the countryside in a very small town, but even though it’s a bit out of the way, I am excited to experience my very first fall. The trees are changing colors and the temperature is dropping, but everyone is beaming and we are alright. Drinking is heavily encouraged here, mainly due to the fact that there is no supervision on campus and nothing else to do in town, but it really does bring everyone together. I spend every waking hour socializing, and I anxiously grasp every minute I have to relax because it’s rare that I shift my gears to a lower setting.

In the upcoming weeks, I hope to visit more of Europe. Brussels, Prague, Vienna, Amsterdam, London, Luxembourg, Geneva, Munich, and Madrid are all on the list, but I don’t think I have the time for everything. Between travels and exploring my Paris, I barely have time for school.

Everyone is wonderfully beautiful here, both mentally and physically, international and French. It might be that I’m merely intoxicated with being in France, but I have not found any person that doesn’t positively contribute to my life. I’ve found friends from France, Brazil, Japan, China, England, Scotland, Sweden, Russia, Canada, and other states around the U.S. With so many nationalities in one place, a flavor distinctly different from what I’ve experienced is created. I’ve learned as many things about the French as I have about any other country, but I find that I don’t mind. Studying abroad is a brilliant opportunity for meeting the world and putting a toe in the water without fear of drowning.

I’m not sure what’s to come now that I’m settled, but I think it is unlikely that anything will slow down. If anything, I’ve found a clear lane with no roadblocks, and I’m preparing to floor the accelerator, with no intention of stopping, but only the desire to see, and to hear, and to touch as I pass by. There’s no need to fill my gas tank, since the sun, the stars, and Paris are all that I need.

The Transformation

Written on a train from Venice to Paris, 9/15/2009 at 10:12 p.m.

With every mile traveled and every step taken, the world slowly drips off my shoulders. How can I write myself a new beginning? I’m Atlas, but instead, I find myself taking a knee, passing the world to the next unsuspecting soul that stumbles through, and suddenly, I find my life is my own.

It’s intimidating, knowing that there is no veil between you and the world, no harness to keep you seated , no emergency break to slow you down. If you crash, it’s because you were too drunk at the wheel, too hell-bent on the destination, too paralyzed to raise a finger. Moreover, it’s releasing. I’m learning, but on my own schedule, and only about my own world, no one else’s.

Italy was amazing. Surrounded by religion, I don’t understand how someone’s faith couldn’t be restored, or strengthened, or even awakened. Even outside of the Christian tradition, a certain holiness emanates from a church such as The Vatican. Buddhist, Hindus, Muslims, Jews, and Christians alike would all be able to find a common ground within these places, where instead of hell being preached as an ultimatum, love, forgiveness, and brotherhood are the central tenets. Finding myself in the pews of these ancient churches, I couldn’t help but kneel and give my thanks for the life I’ve been given, and the world that’s been made. It was a spiritual awakening, even if I didn’t fully understand it.

Besides the churches, I saw an abundance of amazing religious art, of which the highlights were The David by Michelangelo, Madonna and Child by Leonardo Da Vinci, Laocoon, and of course, the Sistine Chapel. Other highlights included the Uffizi gallery, Titian and Tintoretto’s masterpieces in Venice, and a modern exhibit in Florence’s Galleria dell Accademia depicting the movement of the human body in a series of snapshots (not religious, but still linking the body and mind).

My favorite part about Italy though, was of course the food. Never in my life have I consumed so much pizza, pastries, pasta, or gelato, and never again in my life do I think I will again. On the average, I ate every hour, and even then, I wasn’t satisfied. With so many choices of food and flavors, I was upset that I couldn’t try each and every one. With this much trouble in Italy, I can only imagine how unrestrained I will be in France.

Overall, Italy progressed much more smoothly than Greece. Every night, I slept in a bed, and even now, as I sit on a train from Venice to Paris, I’m laying down in a sleeper coach, relaxing before I lay down to sleep, and preparing for my arrival to school tomorrow. I’m almost disappointed that not much went wrong in Italy, because at least in Greece, my frantic, physical journey matched my tumultuous, inner journey. Now I’m stuck here, writing about my feelings and my perceptions, with no action to give import to my words.

I sometimes wonder if I am one of those people who become obsessed with finding himself? I can be a proclaimed Buddhist, or social transcendentalist, who covers up his lack of success with a flow of words and a pretty turn of phrase. It’s these self doubts that make my transition so much more interesting. If I’m always questioning my own motives, then at least I’m keeping my mind in the right path, even if I’m just going in circles. I’d like to think I’m growing, as I’m so frequently encouraged to do.

In the morning, I will have reached Paris. I’m scared of the new life I am about to begin, in a school where I know almost no one, in a country where I marginally understand, much less speak, the language. Mostly, I’m worried about my habit to shy away from people. I’m nervous in front of people, subconsciously intimidated by them, and my biggest hope for the semester is to let these introversions go. However, these slight worries can’t compare to how excited I am to reach a country that holds so much promise to me.

Paris has become a dream of mine ever since I began believing that it could provide some of the answers I’ve been struggling to find. I want to find my release, my passion for life that I’m lacking, and I know that this city of dreamers and artists can at least point me in the correct direction. Without the satisfaction of a life well-justified, or even in the right pursuit, I can only remain hopeful. I doubt three months will cover the entire journey, but at least it will lay a foundation for the arduous search to branch out from. Like any person going to Paris, I’m searching for love, for myself, for the world, and for the journey itself.

So here’s to Paris, the city of light, love, and new beginnings. I hope you can give me what I’m searching for.

The Adventure

Written in the port terminal in Igoumenitsa at 11:00 p.m.

I’m sitting in a port terminal, and yet I’m still moving.

I wonder if the conjecture “Time flies when you’re having fun!” is really true. I’ve rounded the corner of the first week, and am on course for a second, and I feel as if I’ve been here forever. When you enjoy yourself, truly, boundlessly, enjoy yourself, time slows to a crawl. A day is a year, every hour a month, and each minute a wonder lived immersed in the present. Time is no longer of the essence, but instead, I am time’s essence, floating in an unparalleled, non-linear universe where everyday occurrences become the building blocks of my soul. Why endure the rat-race only to lose, when you can let go and find that not only have you won, but that there was never any race to begin with?

By any normal standard, this week has been far from spectacular, and still, unimaginable. Upon arriving in Santorini, I was whisked away to a small-crowded hotel, which was anything but notable. The next day, I explored a now-dormant volcano, swam in a hot springs, and legally visited my first bar. The views from the island were both breathtaking and indescribable; the houses of the locals are small and stacked on top of each other, the island is overrun by tourists and their vendors, but even so, its quaint nature is enthralling. Add that every house is painted a stark white, and small, pure-white, orthodox churches are scattered throughout the streets, and the island quickly transforms into a beautiful, relaxing, and soul-ravaging destination.

Leaving Santorini was where the real trouble started. The ferry ride back to Athens was 8 hours long, which was spent fitfully sleeping in an airplane seat and a bench on the deck of the boat. At around midnight, I was back in Athens, with no bed to sleep in, and five hours to kill before the bus station opened. With my traveling companions, I rode the metro until three a.m., and then sat in a small 24-hour café waiting for the day to break. Watching the teens in the square loaf around, the security guard at the café eat ice cream, and the newspaper men prepare for the following morning, I wasn’t filled with a sense of urgency, but rather a fulfillment of the day’s order.

Athens is by no means on the scale of New York’s size, but being in a city that is alive all night and day is inspiring. How many interactions occur while I waste my time sleeping? How can I be a part of the world when I don’t even catch but a miniscule fraction of its daily actions? I wonder, as even now the port I’m sitting in is as lively as if it was noon, rather than almost midnight. It’s frustrating, knowing that I can’t be everywhere and know everyone, but in a sense, relieving.

Once the first sleepless night in Athens was over, I took a bus to Delphi, to see the famous ruins of the Oracle. The ruins and the connecting museum were both extensive and interesting, but they could not compare with the ensuing pandemonium. In Greece, the bus system is very chaotic. No bus station is aware of its connecting station’s routes, and trying to find a clear route from one place to another is near impossible. Following the instructions of various bus station managers, I spent the day hopping buses, slowly making my way to Corfu. By six, I found a brick wall and was stuck in a place that had no connecting routes to any place I needed to go. Using tidbits of information from multiple Grecians, I hauled my bags over a 3-mile long bridge to wait at a truck stop in hopes a bus from Athens would stop there. The bus arrived at midnight, and from there, it was only a 5-hour ride to Corfu. After two days of not sleeping, not showering, and sitting on a crowded bus, I once again found myself wide awake on a packed bus. Thankfully, the night was rounded out by a three hour nap on the ground outside the bus station waiting for it to open.

I spent my time at the Pink Palace exploring the island on a 4-wheeler and kayaking in the Mediterranean. While the hostel is geared toward drinking, without sleep, I couldn’t find the power to be sociable. The night’s sleep was quite notable, as it was the deepest sleep I’ve ever had. I’m looking forward to the impending twelve hour ferry ride to Italy, if only for the sleep deficit it will create. My next stop is Italy, the religious pinnacle of the modern world, and I’m interested to see who I am when I finally arrive in France. A zealot, an apathetic, or quite possibly, myself.

It’s a wonder though how I remember the most miserable parts of the trip so vividly. The human condition is geared for misery, so naturally people understand and remember it best. Finding my way from one place to another through ethnic Greece was the proudest challenge I’ve faced. I was miserable then, but ecstatic now that something so genuinely worthy of comment has replaced my otherwise dull life. I can appreciate a bed, a bench, or a floor much more passionately now that I’ve been without.

To be great, you have to be miserable. No man has ever risen above his own means because he was spoiled, but rather because he had nothing, and no measure with which to compare. When you know nothing but misery, dirt, and the lucid flow of life, you can do anything. Obviously, I am far from great, but it’s still comforting to know that I have shared a similar experience with people who were. My misery was only temporary, inconvenient, and at worst, uncomfortable, but even now, I can better appreciate life and its simplest pleasures.

The Beginning

Written on the ferry to Santorini, 9/3/09 at 11:45 pm

I am alive!

Utterly, sensationally, spiritually charged! Without the fear of reproach, impedence, or obligation, my mind is free to wander, and even now it’s found nothing but an enlightened euphoria. In less than two days, the weight of the world, a flustering ball of worry, routine, and ambivalence, has drained away, and life has rushed into the gaping void. I’m a bedside convert, except I’m not longer scared of running out of time, because time has stopped and I’ve stopped with it.

After a day of visiting the ancient Athenian sites, I wound up on the roof of my hostel, sharing a drink with 30 other strangers from around the world, and admiring the fire streaked Acropolis as the sun set behind the city. As the night grew, we found ourselves at a free electronica concert by Calvin Harris (apparently a rather famous musician), jumping around and shouting in our smattering of different languages. The fact that I can use the words “Parthenon”, “foreign friends”, and “free concert” in the same sentence when describing my day makes my head reel.

Even now, I’m sitting on the deck of a ferry as it navigates through the thousands of Cycladic Islands on the way to Santorini, wondering why I’m typing on my computer instead of finding life’s answers in the starry skies. I’m afraid that if I don’t try and write when I can, I won’t have the willpower to continue documenting my journey. Besides, I like that I will be able to look back and see how important this semester abroad is going to be, even if I’m sensationalizing it for my viewing audiences.

As for Athens, I have covered the main attractions. I’ve seen the Acropolis, the Acropolis museum, the Temple of Zeus, the Olympic Stadium, the Roman Agora, and more ancient ruins than I remember. I rode the metro for the first time, seen more cabs than I could imagine, and have still yet to learn how to say even one phrase in Greek. Instead, I stupidly traipse through the city; still finding that I assume everyone speaks English, or at the very least understands me. As a tourist, I’m the worst, but as a dreamer, I’ve a chance.

Tomorrow, I’ll visit more even ancient ruins, the rumored resting place of Atlantis, and a black sand beach on the north of the island, before leaving back to the mainland to see the Oracle of Delphi. Greece has been so overwhelming, that I’m not sure I realize I am in Europe, that I’m a third of the way around the world home, or that I’ll also be visiting Italy and living in France before returning to the United States. I can’t fathom where I am, or what I’m doing, but I know I enjoy every minute of it, and I’ll finally find what I’m looking for, whatever it may be. I’m no longer holding the reins, or even pulling the carriage. Instead, I’m in a straightjacket, tied to the bottom of the train, watching the tracks fly by and reveling in their multicolor mosaic as they fill my vision.