Greece

Day 1

I'm properly sick, which means the 5 hour train ride back to London Heathrow Airport consists of me snoring so loud I wake myself up every 20 minutes. I feel bad for the foreigners.

I puke after the flight (first time I've gotten motion sick from a plane), but the metro system rocks! It's easy to navigate and I feel safe. The Arion Athens hotel has a stunning rooftop view of the Acropolis. I catch a guy stealing apples from the breakfast buffet. I'm an aspiring klepto, but I need more than apples, so I visit the restaurant next door.

BEST meatballs ever. A stray cat sits on my lap. I love Greece already!

Day 2

I find out Echo is dead in the middle of Syntagma Square.

Hit by a car at 9 months.

According to a textpost, in Tibetan Buddhist theory, a pet is in bardo state - a lingering purgatory where it can communicate, but does not know it is dead - for 49 days. I have 50 days until I return home.

Day 3

After an eight-hour grief session, which comes in waves like hot tub jets, I'm back, baby! I've got a swollen face and a vendetta against the Greek merchant who charged me €7 for a pizza pastry and an extra euro for extra napkins for my tears (some people weren't raised in the Midwest and it shows). But nobody's gonna cramp my style, not even Echo. He always liked attention.

Still at the Arion Athens Hotel. It hosts a breakfast spread of spanakopita, salads, yogurt, pastries, eggs, meats, crossiants, cereal, juices, teas, and more. The food, view, and price almost make up for the hour I spent yelling at the smart lights, which aren't smart.

At noon I meet Vasillis outside of the arts district Exarchia. I was fully expecting Vasillis, a Naxian farmer, to kidnap me with his tinted-windowed minivan, but he's a chill 35yo redhead who greets me with a perfectly friendly hug. He gives me a tour of the publishing houses, graffiti, organic markets, and cafes. We run into Alex, an anarchist leader and filmmaker, but I forget his surname, so my anarchist card has been revoked. Then we meet for tea with his friend Markos, a scuba diving instructor and photographer, who has a giant dog named Paros (aka Fish).

When Vasillis and Markos worked in the farming collective, the men blindfolded Markos in the early hours of the morning, brought him to a field, instructed him to remove his shoes, formed a circle holding hands, and chanted at the full moon. For 15 minutes they performed a summoning ritual until one person cracked and they all fell to the floor laughing. Farming collectives are the Greek equivalent of fraternities.

We drove to Vasillis' home, stopping to pick up a savory vegetarian pie from his mother. His off-season house is cute and unkempt, with a huge garden, gorgeous tiles, and a spider-infested dirt-cave bathroom. Next to the door are crates of onions, oranges, sweet potatoes, and ganagal, a root that makes you shit faster than five cups of coffee. Vasillis lives on a dirt path to a stunning lookout. I hike it and gaze over the city, its white adobe buildings and terracotta roofs, churches, schools, children screaming, bells tolling. A thick, sun-tinged fog over the city, and invasive caterpillars forming chains in the dirt.

I make a salad for dinner, and Vasillis' friend Minos helps him fix the bedroom window. Vasillis is kind - he lets me take the bedroom, while he sleeps on a couch in the kitchen - but he doesn't understand why I am upset over a cat. Can't win em all.

Day 4

The tobacco packets in Greece feature images of black lungs, throat holes, and dying men. Vasillis admonishes me when I leave the wood stove open too long, but he smokes over 20 rolls of tobacco a day. Bestie has mastered hypocrisy.

Vasillis offers me a mixture of Saint John's Wort and vodka to cure my cat-induced depression. It works. By works, I mean it gives me a buzz.

I work. For six hours, I prune trees and break branches into foot-long compostable segments. I empty plastic soil containers, uncovering enormous June bugs and albino roly-polys and snails the size of my thumb. I trim and harvest the daphne tree. Vasillis says if you add the bay leaves to lentil stew, it mitigates the lentils' tendency to cause postpartum depression.

Tonight is a Greek orthodox Easter holiday where I'm supposed to eat meat before a 2-month fast. Vasillis is vegetarian, but he orders souvlaki for me, which traditionally comes with pork instead of lamb. I'm schooled on the difference between gyro - the meat - and souvlaki - the pita sandwich. Afterward, we buy chocolate and cheese, talk about gay rights and capitalism. Vasillis says gay pride should be a time for Americans to raise money and protest in Romania and Bulgaria, countries where pride isn't legal. I tell him yes, I agree, but America is a big country, it takes a lot to mobilize us. Vasillis asks about our gun problem. I say there have been 72 mass shootings in 2 months. He doesn't believe me.

Day 5

I work, and Vasillis asks me to cook dinner. He has broccoli, onions, and carrots, so I want to make stir fry. But Greeks don't have soy sauce, sesame oil, chili, limes, MSG, or anything remotely American. I do my best.

Vasillis spends his days talking. He's on the phone, negotiating and networking in Greek, more often than Hekkie. After dinnner he invites his friends Katarina and Vasillis for coffee, cigarettes, and drinks. Katarina is a housekeeper and Vasillis is a mushroom harvester who doesn't speak English. I drink Alfa Beer, an Athenian Lager. Better than Bud. My Vasillis says I should move to Samothrace Island, and I look up the for-sale properties. Later, after a strong Greek coffee, Vasillis tells me the mythology of Naxos. He tells me I will live in his home, and he will live in a cave. I tell him about Medusa tattoos. For a while, I forget Echo.

Day 6

Vasillis is preparing his Athens house for renters, so while he builds the wall around the windows, I prime the bedroom cabinets for painting. I sand the doors, cock the holes, sand again, clean them, coat with primer, and then paint them. I've painted cabinets before. Vasillis wants me to do it a different way, and we have a heated disagreement. He is funny, hospitable, and smart, but he doesn't have the proper sanding and priming equipment. He invites Vasillis over to help me work, and Vasillis sand two doors before giving up and making us coffee. The coffee self-filters. It's gritty, chocolatey, caffeinated, and the Greek word is kafés. Without Vasillis here to translate, we bond over my cool backpack, and then sit in silence.

Vasillis returns with a new bathtub and says we're having a dinner party. We make fava with pita, vegan pizza, and cauliflower with tahini. I take the worst shower of my life, nude-battling daddy long legs while the cold water floods the dirt floor. When I'm dressed, four people from Vasillis' seed collective are seated at the table. One is a quadruple PhD schooled in hapkido and gerrymandering. She can't visit the U.S. because Bush made Greenpeace a terrorist org. Another is a graphic designer with a gorgeous tooth gap and a vat of homemade kumquat liqueur. I have five glasses of wine, and learn that oral supplements of diluted hydrogen peroxide cure cancer and liver disease. Allegedly.

Day 7

Vasillis is annoyed because I woke up at 10 a.m and eyeballed, instead of measured, the amount of water going into the paint. He wants to cut costs, and I want to make the paint look good, which requires more paint than he's able to pay. This is privilege.

After work, Vasillis says I must go to Carnival in Avdi square. I arrive after they burn the puppet, but Peter Pan and his Lost Boys are still at large. They dance around the fire, along with red solo cup lobsters and cardboard stegosauruses. I'm not drunk or dressed up enough to be here.

I have crepes and red wine at an outdoor cafe. I'm the Kristen Bell of tippers: short, lovable, I have money to spare, and I'm probably doing too much. My thighs chafe. I take a taxi home. I'm sad, but I don't know why.

Day 8

Daphne tree done! Priming done! Two tile installers visit Vasillis to inspect the bathroom. It's Greek tradition to feed and water tradesmen for at least an hour. One man asks me if I know the poem "Hole." I don't. He says it's by Allen Ginsberg. I do. Howl.

He asks if I'm a painter. I say, "Nope." He says, "You are now." I don't ask his name because I'm scared it will be some version of Michael! He is kind.

Before bed, I reach over the stove to turn off the light, fall into the wood basket, and pop my shoulder out of place.

Day 9

It's a nothing day. I work, try halva, read fanfic, and call my mom. (Halva is a candy with the consistency of Reeses-flavored moss.) Katarina and Vasillis come over, but I'm exhausted. I go to sleep.

Day 10

Vasillis, bless him, gives me a lecture on greeting guests when I'm living in his home. He says I was very rude to go to bed. I apologize and he says it's okay, I'm just American.

It's my day off and Vasillis drives us 45 minutes to Drosia. On the drive over, Vasillis talks about the wildfires and his experience volunteer firefighting. I ask if they have pine beetles, and he says, "You mean pine butterflies! Pine beetles don't exist." Lol.

We arrive at an immaculate white farmhouse owned by Nicoletta, and Spiros. They have ducks, dogs, chickens, sheep, and two young boys. Another WWOOFer, Elias from Germany, is pruning olive trees and transporting lumber. I take a nap in the grass with the dogs, listening to Vasillis sell his sweet potatoes and complain about WWOOFers (I am the last of a long line of failures). Then I eat shelled peanuts with the children, and the 3yo ties a grape vine around my neck and leads me around, calling me his puppy in Greek. Nicoletta asks me if I own a gun back home, lol. I play hide-and-seek, and help Elias haul lumber.

Elias is nineteen and doing a gap year. He's worked on animal farms for five months and he is supermodel handsome. He teaches me words in Italian and French as we drink whiskey and the 3yo stuffs my pockets with pine needles.

At sundown, Vasillis and I hit the beach. The sea feels like the ALS ice bucket challenge and some bastard turned off the rinsing off shower because it's winter. Then we drive to Evia, an island connected to the mainland. Underneath the bridge, two seas meet with opposite tides. It reminds me of Marathon Key: the perfect spot for fishermen and witches.

We meet Maria, a Romani woman who owns and herb and aromatherapy shop. She makes homeopathic remedies: teas, soaps, and tinctures. It smells amazing. We stroll on the boardwalk, taking pictures of Venus meeting Jupiter in the sky, and have potato chips and beer at a cafe. We discuss herbs, ChatGPT, and kayaking.

Day 11

Vasillis says we need to talk. He's breaking up with me. It's not me - it's him. Well, the circumstances. We are supposed to go to his farm in Naxos tomorrow, but he has more work to do in Athens, and it's too late to cancel my ferry tickets. Our original agreement was to farm in Naxos, but he has more work to do in Athens, so I'll live with Yiannis who owns a marble quarry, lamp business, AirBnB, and vineyard with his girlfriend and two children. Vasillis thinks I will be happier by the ocean. He gives me a parting gift of Saint John's Wort tincture.

It's still my weekend, so I visit the Athenian Agora, including the Stoa of Attalos, the Panathenaic Way, the Water Clock, and the Temple of Hephaestus. There's a statue of Hermes with a small dick holding a baby Dionysus. Then, I hike the Acropolis! Hot take, the Parthenon is NOT AS COOL as the Panathenaic Stadium. Lord Elgin of England stole the Parthenon's marble frieze, and his ship not only was raided by pirates but also sank and half the marbles are still in the ocean. As JoJo Siwa once said, karma's a bitch.

Vasillis has more friends over. We have a grand time. The breakup was a good idea; all the tension is gone and we have serious fun.

Day 12

Yiannis is supposed to come at 8. Well, 10:30 rolls around, and he's fashionably late. There is no better word to describe Yiannis than FRAZZLED. He says his French girlfriend had a climbing accident and his sister is visiting from Paros and he doesn't have room for me until Tuesday. Yiannis leaves and Vasillis points to a tree and says get to work. I say "Yeah! Just give me a second, there's a lot of change happening." and he says "This is nothing."

So I DEMOLISH this tree with the force of a thousand pruning shears, and prime the interior of Vasillis' kitchen cabinets. I'm pissed until I realize... I'm in Athens for three days. What if I meet up with hot!Elias? (I'm gay, I'm just lonely.) We make plans for Sunday.

Vasillis gets back from his errands feeling apologetic and he proposes we visit Exarchia. His friends are having a party, and he says he won't go unless I go. At 10 pm, we drive to a private club owned by a beekeeper named Vasillis. He's high on something. Maybe life. The club has glow-in-the-dark murals painted by Vasillis' friend Panos. We get whiskey sours and hang out with 3 grad students who just got back from an Indian yoga retreat.

At 2:00 a.m, I take a taxi back to Galatsi, and Vasillis parties past 5!

Day 13

Welp, someone broke into Vasillis' car and stole all his coins while we were out, so he's in a bad mood and deeply concerned about my sleeping habits. I'm concerned about his insomnia.

Seven hours of yard work! I call Hekkie and tell him Allah cockblocked him from his one true love so he could make it safely to the U.S. That night, I grab Vasillis' favorite dessert, melopita, from a local patisserie. I think his love language is gift giving. Vasillis eats the whole thing.

Day 14

Happy Sunday! Vasillis lets me off work early to meet Elias in Monastiraki. I'm late, but you know what they say about Greek time...! Elias and I get rakimolo, a honeyed Greek spirit. We talk about German politics, languages, and hobbies. He tells me the WWOOFing tea. The tea (and rakimolo) is piping hot.

WWOOF stands for Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms, and just before Elias flew to Italy to start his WWOOFing journey, he came out to his friends and family. (This Greek God is a Baby Gay!) Then Saturday, during his weekend with Nicoletta and Spiros, Elias took the train from Drosia to Athens, where he met a rich guy on Tinder, went to his party, and stayed the night. (GET IT!) Then, that very morning, Nicoletta sent Elias a message saying "Don't bother to come back, you're lazy." None of MY business. Elias debates whether he should stay with Tinder guy, get a hostel, or repair his relationship with Nicoletta. He says she's been using him for childcare, and won't talk to him except at meals.

We walk around the ruins holding bottles of beer. A man with friendship bracelets stops us, and I say no thanks! but Elias accepts the gift. The man says a prayer for our engagement, and when Elias doesn't pay him, he takes the bracelet off his wrist. Elias gets so mad, it's funny. We smoke on the Acropolis hill and Elias teaches me to open a beer bottle with a lighter.

That night, Vasillis asks me to make a vegan American dish for tomorrow's holiday. I choose a latticed apple pie. He doesn't have cinnamon, so I use clove and grape syrup. Here's a list of things I miss: Limes. Working ovens. Dishwashers. Washing machines. Warm showers. Refrigerators. (Vasillis stores his mozzarella cheese at room temperature.) Soy sauce. Bathroom trash cans. But boy, do I love Greece!

Day 15

It's my last day in Athens: Clean Monday aka National Kite Day aka Eat Seafood Day aka End of Festival Season, which means everyone is curing their wine hangover with more wine.

We pack the car up with cauliflower, broccoli, garlic mashed sweet potatoes, fava, apple pie, and raki. Vasillis' friends Alex and Maria are hosting a Clean Monday potluck at their farm. Ana and Violetta, high school humanities teachers, give me a tour of the greenhouse, translating the names of the herbs and succulents. Violetta lived in New York so she has a lot to say about public transportation and housing. This blue flower tastes like cucumbers.

Everyone at the potluck tries my apple pie and mashed potatoes. They love the apple pie. I put so much garlic in the mashed potatoes that Vasillis says I've committed chemical warfare.

Alex plays traditional music with a bagpipe made from a sheep's body. Lina from Amsterdam twirls in wide circles. Teenagers play music in a car. Children ride scooters. The sun goes down, and I hope - even though I made ANOTHER mistake with the cabinet paint - the half-burnt pie redeemed me. :)

Ferry Day

Vasillis cooks for another dinner party, and I do three hours of dishes. He says despite my sleeping problems, he feels we have grown close, like roommates. He gives me an enormous block of hazelnut halva. I give him a poem. He drops me at the metro station.

The ferry to Naxos reminds me of Laura Van den Berg's "Find Me." The long odyssey to nowhere. Yiannis picks me up late at night in his blue Jeep. On the drive from Chora, the capital, we almost hit two suicidal jackrabbits. Yiannis says in his culture, rabbits are good luck, and he hasn't seen one for years. Two rabbits - one running behind the vehicle for hundreds of yards - is a good sign. Why, Good is my last name. Har har.