Embedded Files
It's important to be honest. Travel isn’t all scenic vistas and unlimited moussaka. It can involve unpleasant, unglamorous experiences. The current condition of my socks best represent this.
They are resting because they've been through a lot today. In the morning, they were willingly put on in an expectation of greatness. Then, they quickly came to a stark realization. They would be asked to endure rocky climbs 500 feet straight up, extra weight due to luggage, and 17,000 steps per day…all hovering at around 100 degrees. They are now at their breaking point. I can tell because of the stink they raised when I took them off. They deserve a spa day with a caressing laundry experience of the finest fabric softener. At home, they emerge fluffy and full of optimism. Here, they are reluctantly drowned in a dirty sink with hotel soap completely foreign to them. Just when they are about to go under for the final time, they are snatched from the gray-yellow brew and squeezed to the very last inch of their life, like an American citizen on April 15th.
The explanation is my way of telling you that today was a maintenance day. There were many chores to do. I dealt with the details like flights, hotels, emails, and ticket confirmations.
One task was to continue the pursuit of the souvenir. Perhaps I should bring home something equal to the size of my love for my wife. One of these would just about do it.
I was confident that these would make her the talk of the grocery store. However, I feared that over time her lovely neck may slightly change.
Once my housekeeping duties were completed, I had time for something different. Before my father passed away, we spent time together learning about a subject he was passionate about: wine. I decided to continue the tradition with him in mind. I found a Greek expert and signed up for a group tasting experience. I had no idea what to expect. We met at a town square and then visited a quiet bar well hidden from the tourists. This was my seat.
Five bottles of wine, with five different palate cleansers (which I thought were snacks). With the first glass, she discussed the history of the industry. I listened intently. With the second glass, she detailed the different regions of Attica, Nemea, and Mantineia. I comprehended every other word. With the third glass, she described over 20 varieties of grapes. My brain could only remember “white” and “red.” With the fourth glass…blah, blah, blah. I stopped caring. By the fifth class, I think she was selling me a timeshare in Florida. It mattered no longer.
I'm still discovering amazing things about my father. He instinctively knew the same thing Euripides did over 2000 years ago. Where there is wine, there is love. I raise a glass to you, Dad.
The final result was a good time had by all. Completely unrelated, would anyone like to spend two weeks relaxing in a swamp in Tallahassee?
My final destination was a return to the Odeon of Herodes Atticus. The Athens State Orchestra played well into the night with symphonies heard by the Parthenon above. Thousands of years of history echoing through one place.
Report abuse