Alexandersmap

    Category: Travel

    • A Day in Athens

      “A Greek is alive to the fingertips; he oozes vitality, he’s effervescent, he’s ubiquitous in spirit. The Englishman is lymphatic, made for the armchair, the fireside, the dingy taverns, the didactic treadmill.” — Henry Miller, The Colossus of Maroussi

      Athens is named after Athena, the ancient goddess of wisdom, and the Parthenon is dedicated to Athena, so one surely must make a pilgrimage to the Acropolis and the Parthenon when one is in Athens. And so it was that I joined thousands of people climbing the stairs to visit these ancient sites. But a day in Athens ought to include more than a visit to a few touristy places.

      A bit of traffic, a healthy portion of delicious Greek food and wine, a few Olympic sites, and mostly, some time with the lovely Greeks is essential for one to know the place. Athens, and Greece as a whole, is an easy place to fall in love with. So too the people. Highly energetic and passionate, Greeks exude the spirit of carpe diem. One must follow their example and seize the day oneself.

      The history buff in me appreciates the historic sites. The stoic in me appreciates the sense of place. The artist, the beauty. It’s surely overcrowded and a bit crazy, but timelessly lovely just the same. To ooze vitality, to be fully alive, this is the Greek way. To experience it was extraordinary, to return is essential.

    • Santorini—Calliste (the Most Beautiful)

      There’s an ancient myth that Santorini was formed when the frisky son of Poseidon, Euphemus, got the daughter of Triton pregnant. Knowing her father would be angry she told Euphemus to collect a lump of soil from the island Anaphe and to throw it in the sea to make another island that she could hide on to give birth to their child. Euphemus named this island Calliste (“he most beautiful island”), and we now call it Santorini. One could easily stick with the original name, for Calliste surely still fits.

      Today Santorini is a tourist destination known for whitewashed buildings, black sand beaches, blue-domed churches and magnificent sunsets. This naturally brings crowds, traffic and worst of all, Instagram poser types. But the place is worth the effort to get there. If you go, it’s best to linger awhile, so book a stay. The people are lovely and gracious, and incredibly, tolerate the crush of tourists quite well.

    • Meeting Marcus Aurelius

      “Does the light of a lamp shine and keep its glow until its fuel is spent? Why shouldn’t your truth, justice, and self-control shine until you are extinguished?” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

      I met an old friend in Rome over the weekend. First in his (replica but still impressive) statue at the Palazzo dei Conservatoriin in Rome, then the next day on a walk through the Vatican. Marcus Aurelius was a big deal back in the day. Many of us feel he still is. To encounter statues of him isn’t surprising, but it was surprisingly thrilling. It was like seeing a celebrity out in public—you know they’re just people but you’re still just a wee bit starstruck. So it was for me with Marcus Aurelius.

      The thing is, I view Marcus Aurelius as a kindred spirit of sorts, and not just an ancient mentor. We share the same birthday, so I’m often receptive to what the Emperor has to say. so to go to Rome and not seek him out seemed inappropriate, if not ungrateful. The statue on the Palazzo dei Conservatoriin was an obvious choice, as was a visit to the museum to see the original (not in the cards this trip), but stumbling upon him at the Vatican was a bonus.

      Meditations was Marcus Aurelius’s diary, becoming public after his death. It’s foundational work in Stoicism, and the work that resonates most with me. So meeting a few days after our respective birthday seemed appropriate. Perhaps we’ll meet again one day, but as the Emperor would say, there are no guarantees in this lifetime. But we may shine bright today.

    • To Go to Rome

      You hear a lot about Rome from those who have been there. Nearly all agree it’s a crowded place, too full of tourists and the aggressive hawkers and pickpockets who prey on them. Rome is complicated: like all cities it’s got its share of beautiful and ugliness all right there waiting for you. The layers of history are undeniably present all around, impressing on you that you are simply just one more soul passing through this place.

      And yet we pass through. Rome would be nothing but ruins were it not for the masses of people who live here and visit in such startlingly large numbers. To visit is to feel a part of the hive of humanity. Personal space is ridiculously impossible to find when you seek out the places everyone must go to. Yet we still go, feeling the call, or perhaps simply a fear of missing out.

      If Vienna waits for you, so too does Paris and Istanbul and Amsterdam and Barcelona and yes, Rome. The great cities of Europe aren’t simply waiting for us to grace them with our presence. They’re doing just fine without us, and yet they welcome us when we finally do arrive. I know that every picture or observation I make about Rome has likely already been taken or made, to be repeated again by the soul to follow me. Yet I feel compelled to share them anyway, for having been there.

      To go to Rome is to see what all the fuss is about, and to perpetuate that fuss for those who will follow one day themselves. Rome may not be the center of the universe as it once aspired to be, but it remains an integral part of our imagination. Having been, I want to believe I’ll return again one day. That, I think, is when you know a place has you in its grip. And surely, it has me.

      The Pantheon and lots of company
      Build it and they will come

    • A Trevi Snapshot

      The Trevi Fountain (Fontana di Trevi) is named after the three roads that converge where the fountain sits. It ought to translate into something more, but it’s come to mean quite a bit to those who make the pilgrimage to it. And it is a pilgrimage for tourists. It’s one of the must-see attractions in Rome, and so we did our part as confirmed tourists to visit it first.

      According to Wikipedia, the fountain was “designed by Italian architect Nicola Salvi and completed by Giuseppe Pannini in 1762”. It’s “26.3 metres (86 ft) high and 49.15 metres (161.3 ft) wide”. And it needs to be that big to accommodate the massive crowds that converge on it every day. The Trevi is worth a visit, but be prepared to have a lot of company. Just remember to take a snapshot and throw a coin in to ensure your return one day.

      The Trevi Fountain, with its statues of Oceanus, Abundance and Health.

    • Onward, Lisbon

      “Perfection is the fulfillment implicit in art, and [James Joyce] achieved it. Imperfection is life. All forms in life are imperfect, but the function of art is to see the radiance through the imperfection.” — Joseph Campbell

      I returned to the scene of the crime today. For it was in Lisbon that I spent the last days working for a company I didn’t love, with some characters I didn’t like all that much, simply to prove to myself that I hadn’t made a mistake joining that company two years prior. The crime, as you may have guessed, was selling one’s soul for financial gain. Immediately after Lisbon we parted ways, I began blogging in earnest and choosing culture over money in my work. The rest is history (mine anyway). Lesson learned, and passions pursued.

      This time I’m not lingering in Lisbon, but I’m using the opportunity to assess where I am versus where I was. On the whole I’m better, and still a work in progress. We must never rest on our laurels or settle for something that isn’t us. I’m surprised by the blog in many ways, for it hasn’t been the journey I thought it would be, but I’m still at it, even as I’m no longer that person who departed Lisbon six years ago.

      I’ve learned to accept imperfection in my writing, But work towards improvement. Perfection is an audacious act reserved for the very best, but who says we can’t strive to get closer to it? Today, the journey continues, literally and figuratively. Onward, Lisbon. A lot has changed since we’ve been together.

    • The Places We Will Be From

      Closing time, you don’t have to go home
      But you can’t stay here
      — Semisonic, Closing Time

      There’s something comfortable about staying in place. Things feel more natural and familiar, after all, and this is where all our friends are. But life is change, and we too must embrace it. Even the farmer, seemingly always in the same place, changes with the seasons. Most of us aren’t farmers, but we ought to listen to the wind and watch the level of the sun and know our place in this world will not be what it once was. We must be change agents for progress to happen.

      Closing time, time for you to go out
      To the places you will be from

      It’s easy to think back about who we were then. It’s harder to imagine who we’ll be in the future, let alone to map the path from here to there very accurately. Surely, there will be unexpected twists and turns along the way. The future is not ours, any more than the past is us today. But we do have the present, such that it is, to do with it what we will. Someday this will be who we used to be too. So we ought to make it a great story.

      Closing time, every new beginning
      Comes from some other beginning’s end

      When one door closes, another is said to open. How many doors have closed already? No matter—not really. What matters is the door opening in front of us, and our willingness to step across the threshold to what’s next. Life is about reinvention, rebirth, renewal. It’s closing time on some older version of ourselves, isn’t it? We can’t stay here forever. But as with any great adventurer, we should develop a strong sense of what’s next.

    • To See What We See

      “The traveler sees what he sees. The tourist sees what he has come to see.”
      ― G.K. Chesterton

      I’m curious about the world, and so I wish to venture out into it to see what I might see. It’s the same reason I walk out into the backyard every morning, to see what the sky looks like, to see the progress of the garden, to feel the coolness of the breeze and realize the potential in the day. If I feel this way walking into the backyard, it follows that I’d be equally curious about any other place I might go to, don’t you think? So it is that simply traveling to check boxes is not nearly enough.

      We know the old expression; to live an interesting life, we must be interested. To be curious about the universe spinning around us is the opposite of being self-centered. Looking outward inquisitively draws the universe into our orbit, enriching us all as the walls between fall away. We rise to meet the moment in such interactions, and become something far more than an empty soul.

      In this moment, I’m standing lightly atop a stepping stone, having landed from back-to-back trips and gathering myself to launch into the next trip. By the time I’ve done the laundry I’ll be packing up once again. These are days you’ll remember, I tell myself, even as I look around at this place I’ve landed in (home) with a fresh set of eyes. Every day should offer something to remember, if we remain open to seeing what unfolds before us.

      The best way to savor anything is to realize that it’s all going to fall away one day. We may never pass this way again. So make the most of it when we’re in that moment. That goes for travel as much as parenting or gardening or eating a great meal. There is only now, and this. So what do we see?

    • Between There’s

      When we travel frequently, our sense of place is slightly askew. At the moment, fresh off a trip out west, I’m trying hard to immerse myself in the glorious spring days of home while focusing more and more attention to another big trip to come soon. It’s akin to waves rolling onto the beach: each worth of consideration on their own merit, each pulling at our feet as they recede away from us on their return to the sea. If we are to be present between there and there, we must naturally be here. Easier said than done sometimes.

      No matter how busy I feel myself to be, I stop and smell the roses. Alas, it’s not the season for roses just yet in New Hampshire, so I delight in the daffodils and purple hyacinth. My daughter used that expression when we were together on Sunday smelling roses in Los Angeles, and I thought of her as I stepped outside to smell the daffodils and hyacinth on a sunny Tuesday morning back at home. The expression fit both moments; locking in a memory of each place.

      One of the gifts to ourselves in gardening is to plant perennials that come back year-after-year. I planted those daffodils and hyacinth years ago, when the kids were home and life felt very different. Each spring I spend a few moments with each, a reunion of sorts, before moving on to the obligations of the day. Nothing is more “here” than a flower in bloom. They are forever grounded, often long after we ourselves move on to other things. We could learn a few things from them, I suppose, about the essential nature of here, and we scurry between there’s.

    • A Hike to the Hollywood Sign

      If there’s anything iconic in Los Angeles, it’s the Hollywood sign. It’s so deeply engrained in our cultural awareness that when you actually see if for the first time it doesn’t seem real. But there it is, atop Mount Lee, surrounded by chain link fencing, surveillance cameras and warning signs about trespassing. One should heed the warnings, if only to avoid the rattlesnakes and Mountain Lions said to roam the area.

      And that’s the irony of the Hollywood sign: for something so famously welcoming, it’s surrounded by signs telling you to stay the heck away from it. The neighbors don’t want you anywhere near it. The people who protect the sign from vandals take great measures to remind you to stay away from it too. What’s a hiker to do but press on in the face of all the dire warning signs? There are public trails leading to it, after all. The aim isn’t to get within arm’s length of the letters—it’s to be close enough to say you got there.

      We hiked up there early on a raw, wet Sunday morning. There were plenty of other hikers making the same trek, including a busload of tourists with umbrellas and a couple of small groups led by tour guides. The hike is roughly 5 miles round trip from the closest parking area, on terrain (access road) that is forgiving for the sneaker-wearers. Total elevation for our hike was 856 feet. So really, anyone healthy enough to walk it can make it to the summit of Mount Lee, just behind the sign. There are surely longer hikes, but in a land of mudslides those aren’t so fun in the rain.

      So why do it at all? Because it’s there, partly, but also because it’s got amazing views of Los Angeles on a clear day. And really, because it’s kind of cool to say that you’ve done it at least once. Hiking snobs may sniff at the elevation or the bands of tourists swarming around them, but who cares? Sometimes simply hiking for fun is more than enough of a reason to go.

      Los Angeles rising through the mist

      Access road signage designed to jolt the casual tourist to awareness