On the London-Athens flight, fate seats me next to two archeologists who specialize in Greek and Roman sculpture. I learn about the Christian destruction of classical art and the violence of monotheism. Then we read the day's newspaper together, and everything seems to add to our lively conversation about gender: A wounded Iraqi baby girl whose family has been killed. A 12 year old girl disappears from school and is taken by her father back to Pakistan. The Scottish mother claims her ex will force the girl into an arranged marriage. The photo of the solemn freckle-faced girl has set off a media hullabuloo. An article noting that many people would rather lose than win. The bathroom comments of TV anchor Kyra Phillips broadcast inadvertently during Bush's speech. Finally, down below, the clouds part as we cross the dark, sharp peaks of the Dolomites and float south along the Adriatic coast.
Passport control takes a long time. The professor from USC is one of the passengers called over the intercom to jump the line (presumably at the urging of his Greek colleague who had quickly passed through customs). The little boy ahead of me in line whimpers and arches backwards as his parents pass him back in forth in an effort to soothe him. Blowing in his ear makes him smile and he tries to blow back, then cries again. In the lines next to me thin, dark Pakistani men are standing with stoic faces. Several have their arms across a companion's shoulder, a contrast to the careful separations of the rest of us in line. The customs officer takes a long time with each of them; my passport gets barely a scan, then a stamp. It turns out the delay is because the luggage of each Pakistani is being searched, and a loud shouting match about discriminatory treatment has broken out.
Finally I emerge from the out-of-time out-of-space zone of air travel into a bright cloudless blue but not too hot late afternoon and the hard, dry ground. The tall young staff member who meets me at the airport, hoists my bags like they weigh nothing. The new airport is a half hour or so from Vouliagmeni, and soon he has parked in front of the school where I'll be teaching, taken me to the nearby upscale supermarket, and then up the 3 flights of stone stairs to my apartment by the sea. Despite my "elite" status, I am a "guest worker" not unlike the Pakistanis, one of the millions of workers on the move across national boundaries in search of good pay with a dash of adventure.
Friday, 1 September
Hellas!
The Greece-USA basketball game was a fitting introduction to Greece and to Alba Graduate Business School. A TV had been set up in the ampitheater classroom, and all the staff was gathered to watch and cheer. The American team melted -- they missed most of their shots, were stymied by the Greek defense, and seemed to fall back on individual brawn as their teamwork failed. The room was ecstatic with each basket the Greek team made. When they won, the players did a circle dance of victory on the court, while Alba's IT guy waved his full sized Greek flag, leading the group in a rapturous chant of "Hellas! Hellas!"
The dean welcomed me to Alba, and explained that the business school is the first non-profit private higher ed instituton in Greece. As this is the first week of classes, the staff are in overdrive mode, yet everyone has been most friendly and helpful. Many of the office staff are quite young, and the atmosphere informal. "We're American-style education not German-style", they explained, comparing themselves to the established universities in Athens.
After a day working on a clunky PC, I'm thrilled to discover a strong wireless connection in my apartment, and try out my new Skype phone -- excellent quality connection! For about 2cents a minute I can chat with anyone in the US.
Saturday, 2 September
Being here being there floating nowhere
I now have a full-blown cold plus the expected jet-lag, and slept most of the day. Scanned the Inquirer website, listened to my favorite show on WHYY radio, then made several phone calls to the US. Except for the lovely view and fresh air wafting in from the balcony, everything but my physical self is still at home in the US. I remember when traveling meant being cut off from familiar people, food, and customary routines, where you might not hear world news for a days, and it took a week or more to get family news by letter on translucent airmail paper. "Are you feeling lonely?" my father asks during our free phone call, but in this connected new world, there is no space left for loneliness.
I take a short walk up the beach road to literally touch ground. The marina is blocked off to ordinary mortals, swank restaurants set back from the road, a small patch of foundation ruins of a temple borders another public beach around the corner looking west, and at the crest of the hill, you can look down over a crumbling rocky cliff edge and see the harbor spread below. The weather and scenery remind me of coastal California -- dry hills with sparse vegetation and grey-green eucalyptus trees; stuccoed buildings shining in the sun, windows and passageways open to the air (few bugs?), cascading bougainvillea, geraniums, succulents, and other plants I often saw in Berkeley.
Sunday, 3 September
The salty sea
I am feeling better and roused myself to cross the street to the public beach for my first swim ever in the Mediterranean. They provide umbrellas and wooden chaises, and there are lots of concession stands, changing stalls, and courts for tennis and volleyball. Wooden slat walkways run the length of the tent city, across fine brown sand which is filled with cigarette butts. The water is clear with a lovely turquoise tint and because it is a harbor inlet, the slight waves are mostly from the motorboats and yachts. I was surprised by how salty the water is--it burns the lips a bit, but makes for easy floating.
Between swims, I read a synopsis of Greece's bloody history--battles, plagues, assassinations, invasions, burned cities, occupations, starvation, wave after wave. Why is it that humans have such compelling urge to expand outward, to extend control, no matter what the cost? I'd rather look out at the raw-silk blue of the sea and not think about such questions.
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