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.