The silver tips of the olive trees at the end of the patio are straining towards the harbour. An autumnal wind is blowing over Ithaca and memories of swimming in the warm Ionian waters at Sarakiniko feel suddenly distant now the sky is covered by a layer of grey cloud. The autumnal air is bringing the rain.
Last Saturday was my birthday, the first I’ve celebrated in Greece, the country where I would’ve been born had a group of army officers not overthrown George Papandreou’s government in the early hours of 21 April 1967. My mother, three months pregnant at the time, didn’t want to live under martial law and persuaded my father to go with her to Scotland, where I was ultimately born.
Twenty-one years later I finally visited the land of my conception. Outwardly I travelled alone, but was three months pregnant and carrying my own daughter. I stayed for a week with my father in Athens. Too short a time to build a relationship but long enough to know I wanted to return again to Greece, to spend significant time getting to know my other country, the language and its people. However, it was another eighteen years until I was to find myself on Greek soil once more but, as with my first visit, only for a week.
I awoke this morning on Ithaca. The overnight storm had subsided and the air was balmy. We’re staying in a house on a hill for a few weeks and have gorgeous views over the town of Vathy which lies below. A handful of boats are moored in the harbour and a black car makes its way slowly around the harbour’s curve.
It feels good to be here after 29 months of travelling, a journey inspired by Sean’s and my shared desire to travel together. Greece is a key destination for both of us. For ages, I’ve wanted to spend considerable time in Greece, to get to know the country of my father and ancestors, and to connect with the Greek in me. Likewise Sean, who has for many years wanted to experience Greece, having studied ancient Greek and the Greek classics in graduate school. And, so, it feels particularly fitting for us to be on Ithaca, home of Odysseus and the island he took ten years to return to after the end of the Trojan war. Not only have we both held the dream and intention to come to Greece, Sean and I have been through a whole host of Odyssean trials since we began our travels in 2012.
Why We Missed Michelangelo’s Masterpiece
Images of Florence © 2014 Mufidah Kassalias
Despite his disproportionately large head and hands, Michelangelo’s David is one of the main attractions in Florence and, for some, a major reason to visit the capital city of Tuscany. Sure, his rear view is rather attractive, but after seeing the 1910 replica outside the Palazzo Vecchio, David’s original home — if not his intended one on the roofline of the Cathedral — neither of us felt moved to pay to see the real thing in the Galleria dell’Accademia. A somewhat sacrilegious decision? Not exactly.
David has become a cliché.
No, Not a Jelly Donut but a Temporary Resident of Berlin
As a digital nomad I’m firm believer in getting to the heart of wherever I happen to be, making connections that go beyond the superficial and immersing myself in whatever it is that makes each place unique. I figure places are like people. Take the time to form deep connections and they’ll forever be a part of you. Even if you never have the opportunity to meet again.