family connections, part 1

this trip to Crete was extra special because of the two weekend days i spent with my Cretan family. back in 2007 Sophie helped me meet some of my relatives in the village of Fournes---son and grandchildren of Aristedes Pasarivaki, who was the brother of my great grandmother Anna (she's in the photo, with her husband). on this trip i was hoping to use my weekends to reconnect with them and meet more family, and this turned out to be a piece of cake thanks to my second cousin, once removed, Elvira, who found me on facebook a few months back. on the morning of Saturday, Crete day two, i called Elvira to make arrangements. (throughout the trip i was grateful for Elvira's voice and her English skills; every time i called her on the trip i was so happy to hear her voice. she blocks on a word now and then, but her English is lovely, with a melodic quality.) she sweetly offered to drive from Fournes to pick me up and take me to Chania, where we could meet her uncle and cousin.



it was wonderful being back in Chania, where i had spent several days on my last trip. Elvira and i walked around the inner harbor some, ordered frappes at a cafe, and talked about our lives. after a little while we were joined by Leonidas (Elvira's uncle, my first cousin twice removed) and his daughter Markela, both of whom i'd met on my last visit. Leonidas picked out a restaurant and ordered a feast. Leonidas speaks only a dozen words of English, Markela a few more than that, so Elvira acted as translator. even with the help it was difficult turning down the food Leonidas kept foisting onto my plate and the glasses of wine and raki. i did enjoy the long stretches of Greek conversation when i could try to pick out words and then ask Elvira what they were talking about. despite not being able to communicate directly, Leonidas bravely invited me that evening to a Cretan wedding in a nearby village, sans translator. i accepted; when else would i have a chance like this?

Elvira drove me back to the hotel where i got ready quickly and waited for Leonidas to arrive. he was about 20 minutes late and was flustered when he arrived, speaking quickly in Greek and pointing at his watch. i said "signomi?" ("sorry?" in Greek), feeling bad that picking me up would make him late to the wedding. he waved me off, and provided more Greek explanation. i figure that meant it wasn't my fault. in the car we worked out how to communicate over the temperature in the car, and Leonidas tried to teach me some other vocabulary, including "i don't understand", which has served me well. mostly it was gesturing, confusion, and frustration for both of us, but at one point i think i explained that my mom teaches high school Geometry. it may have been in the car when Leonidas began saying to me in English "speak Greek!" as though he could will it to happen.


we arrived at the church 30 minutes late and there was a big, boisterous crowd out front. i asked Leonidas "fini?" (not Greek, but it worked) and he laughed and said "no". the church was still packed, and the people were outside because there wasn't room in the church for most of the guests. we stood and watched the end of the ceremony and then moved with the throng to greet the new couple in the center of the church. Leonidas coached me to say "naziseta" to the newlyweds as we were shoved forward and sideways by the crowd.

My Big Fat Greek Wedding is funny because it's true, even the Greeks i know love it. i've been to a few big Greek family weddings in the U.S., but this took it to a new level. there must have been 800 or 900 guests, and the food kept coming for hours, most of it piles of meat. the bride and groom came out to dance on a big stage, where a man with a large video camera practically danced on stage with them, sending the video directly to the two big screens on either side of the floor for easier viewing from far-away seats. i was already amazed by the scene, and then the fireworks went off.

i wondered what the other guests at the wedding thought of the unlikely pair we made, separated by twenty years and a language barrier. Leonidas explained to whoever seemed interested that i was distant family from America, and i just smiled and shook hands without speaking. luckily i wasn't completely isolated in my English bubble; two younger guests that speak English sat across from us at dinner. while they didn't do too much translation (and i would have felt guilty enlisting them), we did chat a bit, and it was nice not to feel mute and dumb through the event. i had difficulty again fending off Leonidas's offers of food and drink; Greek hospitality can be overwhelming, but it's even tougher when you can't even explain why you're saying no. i think i ate my share---a couple plates of pilafi, some lamb and chicken, potatoes, salad, wine, and raki. he and other guests also tried to talk me into dancing on the stage, but the dance looked difficult and unfamiliar, so i just watched from my chair, with a smile on my face.

the party was going strong at midnight and set to roll for another couple hours, but i was cooked. after waiting to buy a photo taken of Leonidas and me earlier in the evening and many goodbyes, we left the reception, and Leonidas drove me back to my hotel where i crashed into my bed.

Elvira, i know that i told you already how special it was to visit, and how grateful i am for all your help, but thank you again. and if you translate this for Leonidas, please give him another big thank you from me for a very special evening out in Crete.

return to Crete

my second-ever visit to Crete began at 4am in Tel Aviv. after two hours at the airport and five different lines, i made it onto the plane just in time. i only had three hours of sleep, but i was too excited about returning to Crete to sleep on the way to Athens. i figured there were Greeks on the plane, but my real clue came when the Fasten Seatbelt light went off. Greeks are a superstitious lot, and i've been told that Greek cab drivers don't buckle up because it's considered bad luck. immediately following the ding of the Fasten light going off was a chorus of clicks all around me as half the plane unfastened.

we flew over many Greek islands and came close enough to Turkey to see it in the distance (i said "hi" for you, Okan). i got choken up as i looked down at the isles; it may seem ridiculous, but i feel a bond to Greece, like a vague feeling of coming home, even though i've only visited twice before.

from Athens i caught a flight to Heraklion, Crete. i rented a car from Thrifty at the Heraklion airport that i'll be keeping for the next nine days. after placing the on-line reservation i had received an e-mail saying that someone would be meeting me at the airport with a sign with my name on it, which sounded kind of fancy. it turns out that was necessary because Thrifty no longer has a booth or a lot at the Heraklion airport (though i remember there being one in 2007). after i walked up to the man with the sign, we turned and did the paperwork on the counter of an abandoned travel info booth, where he took the imprint of my card by rubbing a Euro across it. he didn't mention options for gassing up the car so i offered that i would refill it myself, and he informed me that it only had 1/4 a tank in it now and i could just return it empty. he walked me across the street to a little red car parked in a spot like any other, put my suitcase into the car, gave me a quick tutorial on how to open the gas tank, turn on the headlights, and put it into reverse, and reminded me that there's no right turn on red. then he pointed out the long, white scratch down the side of the car. "Some kid did that with a key. Don't worry about scratches, it's only a problem if you have a collision." he wrote down two phone numbers on the rental agreement and told me that i can call 24 hours a day if i need anything, and told me that he will meet me at the ferry terminal where i depart for Santorini in 10 days to pick the car back up. we shook hands before he left me with the car. he had been gruff, but with a softness underneath, and i realized as i drove away that i felt like i was borrowing an uncle's car, not renting one from an international chain. my Uncle Thriftos.

it was now noon, and i'd already been awake for eight hours and had only eaten a small airline meal, and i had a three-hour drive to the resort outside Chania where i am staying for two nights. despite an unfamiliar car, coping with local driving customs, and road signs in Greek, i managed to get myself to the hotel with only one U-turn. on the way i stopped to pick up a couple oranges at a road-side stand to eat in the car. the woman tried to sell me a bag of oranges, and when i said "no, two" in Greek, she handed me two bags of oranges. after some gesturing i got my two oranges, paid, and was back on my way.
the resort is lovely; i took a short nap, then sat out on the patio drinking a margarita and reading my book (The Passage, which is highly addictive). the small Greek Orthodox chapel below the pool patio and the reception hall were decorated for a wedding, and as i sat outside, i watched the parade of wedding guests arrive and listened to the band rehearsing by the pool before the ceremony started.

at sunset, i heard the chanting of the ceremony drifting up from below. i had a second dinner that night with a family friend, Sophia, the owner of the resort ("The Captain") and The Director. we ate special pilafi made for the wedding reception and several desserts, and drank too muchwine and riki. on the way back to my room, i paused to watch The Dancing of the Bride going on in the reception hall. i wished i could go down and join them.

back up to twelve

i'm running the first half of the San Francisco marathon in two weeks, and today i did my 12-mile training run, which is roughly 8 1/2 1.4-mile laps around Cesar Chavez park at the Berkeley Marina.

one of my reasons for doing this is to determine whether this is something my body can still do. only 1.1 miles short of the length of the race, i'd say, yes, it is. but i recall this being easier when i was 23. around lap 6 i really started to really notice the ache in my hamstrings. and my hips, heels, knees, and neck. it got me thinking about the nature of ignoring things. there are lots of things that are unpleasant that we ignore every day, some of which we probably shouldn't, so surely i could choose to ignore my aches instead of focusing on them as i ran. it actually worked. i just pretended they were a nagging minor personal conflict that i didn't have a solution for.

around lap 7 i had to switch from NPR to music to keep going, and i made it through the last half-lap by composing this blog post in my head. i would have quit half-way through if i hadn't had Gu gel and chomps to keep my energy up (thanks, Brooke!). on the track you can see where i swung by my car once; that was to get a couple more chomps.

i really am excited to go do it all over again on the 25th, though instead of looking across the bay at the Golden Gate bridge, i'll get to see it from the bridge deck, in both directions, and and i'll have Genevieve with me (in spirit if not in proximity, i don't know if i'll keep up with her). and i'm already committed to doing half the Big Sur marathon in November. between now and then i'd love to drop a minute off my mile. not because i want to finish the half-marathon faster but because it's taking me so frickin long to do the training runs at my speed.

why i love berkeley

i think about moving. to san francisco, to mountain view, or anywhere in between that would be closer to work. when i started working full-time i thought i'd last six months before i threw in the towel. almost three years later i'm still not ready. (and i've started acquiring heavy furniture.)

one morning last week i set out from home at 6am and ran up into the Berkeley hills. on my way down i stopped to take in the sunrise reflecting off the buildings in San Francisco. beautiful. i ran down the hill to Peet's (the original) and while in line i discovered that i had dropped my $20 bill. i muttered "darn" under my breath and started to leave the line when the woman behind me stopped me. "I'll buy it for you, whatever you want." she explained that she hadn't been running all week and this would make her feel less guilty. plus she knows what it's like to want something right after a run. i was incredulous and grateful. i got a maple scone. she never introduced herself, but i heard her give her name to the cashier for her drink. thank you, Emily. i'll pay it forward, i'm good for it.

sometimes it's little things that make me love this wacky place. after sunset tonight i went for a walk in the hills up to the rose garden, and after looking out over the last light in the cloudy sky, i headed toward home. as i walked down Shattuck, i passed the woman who sits on the sidewalk outside of Epicurious Garden chatting with the sushi chef from Kirala. i walked past the open windows of the Indian restaurant/salsa club/wine bar and briefly enjoyed the xylophone performance going on inside. then past the lively open windows of Cesar, the favorite haunt of some Berkeley professors and the place where i had a lovely martini last night. i picked up some Thai soup for a late dinner, and then i swung through the grocery store where i struck up a short conversation with the cashier while he rang me up. as i was about to leave he looked me in the eyes and said earnestly, "it was nice to see you".

i grew up an Air Force brat, moving around every few years, and now i have lived longer in Berkeley than anywhere else. maybe it's hard to leave because i really know this place, it feels familiar, and i love it for all its idiosyncrasies. it's home.

life lesson #473

don't go to the Clinique counter when you're feeling insecure. for example, after you've been looking through vacation photos of yourself for two days.

this is a corollary of the don't-go-grocery-shopping-when-hungry life lesson. (credit goes to Arti for that observation.)

i paused to buy a bottle of my usual moisturizer. then i decided to pick up a shade of foundation better suited to my winter complexion. that's how she got me into the chair. when it was all over i also had blush, a fresh tube of mascara, and two new skin creams.

on the up side, my skin is noticeably softer in the morning.

13,000 feet, part 2

13,829 feet to be more exact (Vieve's head is blocking the "4" in 4,215 meters). this is Dead Woman's Pass, the highest point on the 4-day Inka Trail hike and less than halfway through Day 2, our most grueling day of the trek. more than arriving at Machu Picchu, reaching this point still feels like the greatest accomplishment of the trip. but that's the middle, let's go back to the beginning.

Machu Picchu was one of those see-it-before-i-die things, and now i'm convinced it should be on everyone's bucket list (even if you don't get there the way we did). it's been on my mind for a couple years, and last fall i sent out a call to friends and family to join me on the trail. Arti, Genevieve, Aunt Linda, and Uncle Phil answered quickly and Arti finalized our travel and trek details a few weeks later. Quinton joined up a few weeks before the trip, completing our posse.

i didn't really think about it enough to have many expectations for the trip. generally i like it that way, which is also why i don't read movie reviews. things i knew to expect: we would see Machu Picchu. i would be with friends and family, which would be fun. we would hike 26.7 miles over four days, reaching an altitude of almost 14,000 feet. i would be sleeping in a tent for three nights. i would find out how much of my Spanish vocabulary was left from high school (no mucho).

everything else was a wonderful, amazing surprise.

i didn't expect to be so taken with Cusco and the people there. sure, i'm happy to wear a clean outfit and brush my teeth with tap water again, but part of me wants to be back there, sitting on the Plaza de Armas.

i didn't expect to find Fallen Angel, the most unique and wonderful restaurant i've ever seen, and fall in love with the art of Richard Peralta, a Cusco native.

i didn't realize how indispensable coca tea would be.

i didn't know it was going to be so grueling. the 1 1/2-hour descent from Dead Woman's Pass was twice as hard on me as the 4-hour ascent, and i arrived to camp at lunch wasted and in tears. i also didn't know that, in that state, after barely eating, i could put a 35-pound pack on my back again, start back up a mountain, and hike another 3 hours before dinner. (thank God for Gu and for Quinton.)

i didn't expect to be so taken by the story and spirit of the Incas (as told by our guide, Saul). listening to his earnest stories, i developed a reverence for the path we were walking and the places we saw along the way, and i feel gratitude toward those that destroyed the trail when the Spanish arrived in Cusco.

maybe it was delirium from the 8 1/2 hours of grueling hiking on the second day, but i had a singular moment in the Incan site before our campsite that night, standing alone, looking out through a stone-framed window at the sun sinking above a forest in a cloud. pictures can't do it justice (just as well because my camera was broken at the time).

i figured Machu Picchu would be impressive, but even in the rain and obscured by mist and clouds, it was far more beautiful than any picture i'd ever seen of it.

lastly, i didn't fully grasp how amazing it was going to be to share this experience with people dear to me (and those that became dear to me). i can't thank you all enough for your company and your humor, for celebrating with me, and for putting up with me and helping me when i was at my worst.

so, where to next?

(for the rest of my pics, go here.)

last things first

the trip to Peru was amazing (more on that in a bit). what's been on my mind most since i got home is what the experience has left in its wake. it feels elusive and precious and worthy of its own post.

a little context first. i arrange most of my life around what should be done---at work, at home, with friends, with family. during the week i leave myself little personal time outside of work, commute, and social visits. every Saturday morning i pull an envelope out of the recycling bin and make a to-do list that includes every errand and mundane task that i might need to do between social outings that weekend. it's usually enough to fill three or four days. once all the should-dos are taken care of there's little time or energy for what i think of as the could-dos. i rarely pick up my guitar. i'm learning Greek at a snail's pace. i haven't written blog posts i've been composing in my head for a year.

i'm able to break out of this rut sometimes. sometimes it's an obvious break, like taking acting lessons, jumping out of a plane, or hiking to Machu Picchu. sometimes it's something small, like reading a book on the way to work instead of reading my e-mail. strangely, the big breaks are more common for me than the small breaks, probably because they can be scheduled. call it strong obligation inertia. i admire and envy people that seem to easily follow their sense of adventure and creativity.

but in the wake of the trip i feel certain that i could be different. after nine incredible days in Peru and with two more days off, my mind is full of all of the things that i could do with my life, youth, and talents, and the world feels magical with possibilities. truly life-changing events are rare, and often the change that could follow can't happen without conscious effort. this feeling will start to fade when i return to my routine (actually, it started to with the first load of post-trip laundry), but i hope i can make this adventure and the sense of possibility left in its wake change me a little.

13,000 feet, part 1

just before Peru i jumped out of a plane, for the second time. the last time was in 1999 (roughly), so i'm on track to do this about every 10 years. that's probably a good spacing if you ask me.

i went with Genevieve and Arti, and it was a bit of a struggle for all of us. one of us was sick, another was sleep deprived, and the third was hung over. i think on the way up to Sky Dance we were all waiting and hoping for one of the others to say they weren't up for it but none of us would be the one to back out.

after we handed over our groupons (hate that word) we watched out instructional video from the inventor of tandem skydiving. we estimated it took him 2 years to grow this beard.

then we waited for an hour and physically and mentally prepared ourselves (Doritos and Sunkist). we also got to watch some guys rehearse their air routine on roller thingies. they ended up being on our jump but they went out higher and before us so we didn't get to see their aerobatics in action.

it turns out i'm not frightened of jumping out of planes, especially when i'm fastened to someone who's done this hundreds of times. i get a little nervous, though. so i cut the tension with humor, in this case by telling our instructors dirty jokes (what's the difference between jam and jelly?). they didn't see that one coming.

i didn't get any photos taken of the jump, but i do have the VHS of some random guy's 1999 jump that got switched with mine, if you're interested.

upgrading. slowly.

left to my own devices, i'm not what they call an early adopter. sure, i'll take a fancy new phone if someone gives it to me, but it's rare for me to upgrade on my own before my current device stops working. i've had the same car for 14 years and found myself getting misty-eyed when i had it towed recently, fearing it was the end (it wasn't, starter died). and there was my trusty Nokia (still miss it). but things are changing, starting with my microwave.

i rescued the microwave from a friend 8 or 9 years ago.

this microwave is big and it is heavy and it took two people to get it out of my apartment. it was manufactured in 1983, making it older than one of my ex-boyfriends.

before you start thinking that i'm whimsically tossing out appliances, you should know that it started taking 4 minutes to heat a cup of water. i guess the strange part about that is i don't yet consider that "not working".

my friend Brooke helped me load it into the car and came with me to the electronics recycling center where i only had to pay them $3 to take it from me (what a bargain!). there we found a treasure trove of discarded appliances wrapped in plastic wrap in an almost artistic fashion. i found it to be an oddly comforting place.

thanks for the new microwave, Arti. the next victim will be my television, which was made the fall after i graduated from high school. unless my car dies first.