Hadrian's Villa, Tivoli

--From a journal entry earlier today, when we visited two villas. This is from the first, where the first hour was spent in silence and solitude (I actually squeaked out even longer...) Happy Wednesday!--

Hadrian's Villa, Tivoli

We have spent an hour in silence with no media or even picture taking (I think some skipped that part, but I held resolutely). I have wandered around in the quiet and grandeur and had time by myself to think. I dreaded it a bit at first, but a minute or two in I wished we had two hours of silence. It is a gift.

Hadrian's Villa has some impressive ruins. Most impressing to me was perhaps the canal that was part of the “Egyptian” portion. It was a a very warm walk in the sun from one end of it to the other. Reaching the terminus, though, with its structure and the shade that it created, was like walking into Grandma's house on a summer day in South Georgia. Air conditioning blasting. Hot to cold in an instant; and in this case dry to moist as well. The smells and feel of the air changed to dampness and there was a cool breeze. I cannot believe the engineering expertise of 2000 years ago that makes such things possible…even in the ruins.

Aside from that section, my favorite part has been the old-growth olive trees. While they are interspersed throughout, over on one side of the site there runs a grove. I spent quite awhile here at the end of my hour, sitting in the shade, feeling the breeze, smelling the grass. We have been so urban for a while now that these things stand out to me. Not only because of how they bless my senses, but also because of this idea: that Hadrian in all of his glory has been gone for centuries and these yellow flowers, thistles, and olive trees keep falling to the ground that new life will come. I wonder whether these same sorts of flowers grew when the villa was at the height of its splendor. It has been a good morning to “consider the lilies, how they toil not neither do they spin, and yet Solomon [or Hadrian] in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. And if he cares for the birds and the flowers of the filed, how much more does he care for his flock? (Luke 12)

One of the most striking things about the morning thus far has been e sounds. Apart from the rural sounds that you would expect–birds, bees and wind in the trees–we have had a (near) lack of sirens and city noises, although from where I am on the side of the hill I could hear distant church bells strike eleven. But the most striking difference has been that here I can hear my own footsteps, whether crunching on gravel or padding on stone or disrupting the grass. In the city, my steps on the ubiquitous cobblestones are quiet and drowned out by everything else. For someone thinking so much about pilgrimage, the difference in what those sounds mean for walking is kind of a big deal. In this place the sound of steps announce presence. But if no one can hear them, as in the city, do my steps matter? Do they exist? How do I fit in or matter or leave anything behind? How can I tell whether I am going anywhere? 

Rome is too-much, in an eternal city sort of way. While it is easy to lose ourselves there, we can also be part of her story--as co-inheritors of Western civilization--and see her as constantly in motion instead of trying to capture all of the chronological stages separately (as our guide Francesca encouraged us to do). Sitting here outside of Tivoli, alone and quiet, it helps to remember that even Hadrian wanted to retreat from Rome, and that this was as good a spot then as it is now. From what I can gather, he took a lot of walks here, too. It has been a refreshing morning of peace amidst the storm.

A Tale of Two Days

Last Friday and Saturday, to be exact.

Friday we took a long day trip to Pompeii. After a month of ruins I had expectations for Pompeii which were inaccurate. This was no reconstructing in our imagination, a la Greece and the Colosseum. Pompeii is so intact that you can see the individual apartments in a block of buildings (something I can envision more clearly after a month of living in such connected-yet-distinct buildings). The roads are laid out clearly and walking the ruined city is much like walking a modern one: go to the corner and turn, three blocks more and...

Inside some of the buildings there are frescoes still on the wall. Painted as if wallpaper, brilliant colors and patterns, and faces. Sad and ancient faces. Unlike other ruins, the ones in Pompeii felt still alive, and that if the plumbing problem could be solved one could return and build the top two stories back onto the buildings (those floors were originally wooden, and are no more) and move in. I would have liked to have wandered quietly around in there all day; but we had a guide and the tour lasted three hours. Three. Hours. The kids made it through the tour in spite of the fact that our guide's accent was just unfamiliar enough that they had a hard time following. And by the end William wasn't attending the tour but hanging out with Maddie and pretending to spy on us without being seen. Maddie has wisely figured out that games where he keeps himself hidden are a big improvement over some other ones he may play when worn out and frustrated.

Still, after three hours we only saw a fraction of the site. I took a kazillion photos and at the end almost wished I hadn't brought my camera. I may change my mind once I look at the images, but I left feeling like I still hadn't really been in Pompeii.

We had dinner in Naples--where pizza was supposedly invented--and had, of course, pizza. We ate down on the waterfront. The house white was sparkling. Here's Charlie's opinion. (We thought it was golden).



Saturday morning rolled around and we intentionally had a late start after our late return. The only program activity was optional play in the Borghese gardens.

For that, I am happy to report that I don't have a single photo. I intentionally left everything at home--even my phone--and only carried the backpack with the frisbee and the soccer ball.

We met the students (about 20 turned out!) and hiked to the Gardens. It took about half an hour--a nice warm up--and I was thinking that it would be a good time to see more of the city, my experience of which has been limited to the track between our apartment and the students' convent (where they lodge and we have class and Vespers) and walking to the Colosseum. And church.

Instead of looking around, I had some great conversations and walked out in front of more than one car (so far I've not lost the game of chicken Roman drivers play with pedestrians). We made it to the gardens and after looking around found an open-ish area with no picnickers. A small part of the group broke off to play frisbee, but I stayed with the group of women students who played a soccer game. Carmen and Charlie were team captains and chose teams old-school schoolyard style. We were fairly evenly matched and played hard for a good long while. Some people sat and watched. Others played hard (I can barely move today). Charlie took several hard hits and kept going. We cheered for one another, apologized for fouling one another, and headed the ball. William handed out verbal yellow and red cards. It was fantastic. Who knew how therapeutic play could be? In theory, yes. In practice, the opportunities come so rarely.

Later the two groups joined again for two rounds of capture the flag. I always play conservatively so I don't get tagged, but this time decided instead to try to play aggressively. Perhaps a continuation of practicing being out of my comfort zone? Sure, I wound up in jail a few times, but I also tagged people out of jail a couple of times, too. It was one of the happiest times together as group.

Although Jesse and I worked hard all Saturday afternoon with Maddie's help to hold the household together, we were still able to salvage an hour of date time before the students came over to watch...the NOTRE DAME GAME! We did spend half of that hour buying refreshments for the game, but I'm still counting it as date time. We invited the students for the first half, since it started at 9:30 here...About half of them came and hung out while Notre Dame vied with Michigan State. There was something about the normalcy and the homeyness of having people on our couch and lying on our floor with pillows that was the perfect finish to the day. It felt like a family atmosphere, especially coming on the heels of many of us also playing hard together that morning. Splendid. I know that our experience of Rome is very different in many ways than that of the students, but there is some lovely overlap and I am again reminded of the privilege it is to be spending this time with them.

We would like to do it again, and as one of the students said to Jesse: "You have all week to recover!"

And because I left my camera, I don't have any snapshots with one third of the soccer pitch and four of the players at once, but instead have in my mind's eye the whole field (I was a defender) and all sixteen playing and the movement and give-and-take and the smell of the grass and the give of the soft earth under my running shoes. And the group of people sitting and taking pictures of us playing (turns out we were the subject of a photography class). It was a delicious day.

And tomorrow is William's 6th birthday! We are trying to juggle schedules so as to spend as much time with him as possible on a "teaching day." I went and bought his cake this afternoon--the chocolatiest chocolate cake to be had from the bakery across from the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore. Unfortunately they only had pink candles--but I thought I packed some somewhere...

Arrival in Rome

Our arrival in Rome on Saturday was smoother and less dramatic, logistically, than our arrival in Athens. That was for the best as the emotional transition has been more difficult. It was good for me to remember a few days ago that we had warned the students of the usual emotional arc of a trip like this, and that we were now right around the projected low point of the semester. I guess I am not immune and should have paid more attention in orientation. 

Before we left, Rome was the city I was most looking forward to. Upon arrival it seemed hard and too-much. Part of this is probably due to some logistical issues with our apartment. Still, non-functioning appliances can't bear the full blame for how I have resisted the city and wished to return to Mahon or Athens. I feel a bit like Rome and I have mutual friends who told me we'd hit it off, but when we finally met we found we didn't have much to say to each other. 

Sunday night during Vespers different students shared how they had seen God at work either in their time in Athens or during their independent travel. I found their stories--and that they noticed them enough to mark and then share them--surprisingly encouraging. 

There  have also been moments of magic besides Vespers: watching Meggie hop from one pavement stone to another on the Roman road through the forum (same stones that were under Caesar Augustus' feet). Finally getting to N.T. Wright on pilgrimage in my class. Having 30 people in our apartment packing sack lunches for our trip to Pompeii tomorrow and playing a game together. Setting out on a walk with the kids to find the Colosseum and celebrating with a gelato for us all.

I am not the only one having difficulty transitioning; I've talked with others who share, to some extent, my experience. I think we are starting to pull out of it. What a gift it is to be here long enough to turn the corner! Today when I was walking home from the convent where our classroom is, I rounded a corner and felt, for the first time since arriving, that Rome and I may get to be good friends after all. 

Highlight Reel: Athens

As is said in the Princess Bride, "It is too much. Let me sum up." So here are some of the more outwardly-oriented travel highlights...and a favorite photo (or so) from each.

Mt. Lycabettus: We climbed to the highest point within Athens on our first full morning in town. The views from the top were spectacular and gave us a good orientation to the city and where things were in relation to one another. By the end of our time there we could look at Mt. Lycebettus or (especially) the Acropolis and know which way was home. The orienting was so helpful that we took our students up on their first full morning, as well. Unfortunately it was quite a bit hotter and they had something of a hard time. On our family hike, the kids had also been tired and a little whiney and we bribed them with future treats. At the top in a cafe we got ice cream and honey dumplings. Let that sink in...Honey. Dumplings.      At one point during our snack Margaret said, "I need to get down so I can dance." And she did.

OK, for this I'm sharing a photo and a video:

View across Athens towards the port of Piraeus from Mt. Lycabettus

National Garden: That this was such a short walk from our apartment demonstrates what a great location we were in. The garden runs between the Temple of Zeus and Syntagma Square. We played soccer there a couple of times as a family, and on another occasion found a playground (where local children came up and gave Carmen some crafty little necklaces they had made). Maddie also took the kids several times while we were teaching. From what I understand they found a small pond and played Indiana Jones there, and also enjoyed the turtle population. We never got over there again as a family for Carmen to show me the ponds as she had wished to do. This was a disappointment for both of us. I just have to say, "maybe next time" about things like that. In the same category, there are probably about a dozen shots that we wanted for our city photo essay that we never got--things like the ponds, the dogs sleeping in doorways in our street, and the church where John Werner met his wife. Also Victoria Station. I am sad to not have them. However, 11 years ago Jesse and I returned from our 3-week backpacking trip and rushed to get our film developed; I remember now that after we had the pictures back I had a real sense of loss as we looked through the photos for the first time. Even in the moment I could feel the largeness, the completeness of my memories of events shrinking to fit the frames of the photos and it made me sad. That is something of a comfort now, although I still wish I had those shots!

Although Jesse took a picture or two of our soccer game in the National Garden, upon looking now I see that I don't have any, so there's that, too.

Sharing Meggie's Juice

Delphi: While many of us expected Sounion or the island of Agistri to be idyllic, I think Delphi took us all by surprise. It was our farthest-out day trip and it was for my class, so I was a little concerned that everyone might think it was a waste of time. As it turns out it is an incredibly beautiful place perched on the side of a mountain and overlooking a valley with over a million olive trees. It was also a bit cooler than Athens, which certainly didn't hurt. We had lunch in a cafe that extended out over the edge and had telescopes for viewing the valley. You could see all the way to the Gulf of Corinth and the food was delicious and the service so friendly. A husband and wife were working; their kid was running around and coloring with markers and playing with our kids while we waited. Grandpa was there, too. The Delphi olives have spoiled all other olives for me forever (sorry, California). As it turned out, we would have liked to have stayed longer, which is almost always a good feeling. Our guide was great at helping us imagine Delphi as it was 2500 years ago (give or take) and more recently. The museum held the Charioteer; it was riveting in person.

As a side note, at Delphi the wasp family and I ended our 31-year-old cease-fire agreement when a yellow jacket stung me with no provocation. I was really angry to be proven wrong in my "If you don't bother them, they won't bother you, so don't swat at them" advice and immediately exclaimed, "That is IT! You broke our pact! This means War!" in front of the whole group. Nice. Plus it turns out that it does really hurt. I tried not to be a wimp about it, given that my almost-3-at-the-time niece had recently taken 15 stings at once and was a trooper about it.

Ancient Corinth: Probably this was the day trip I was most looking forward to. We were going to Ancient Corinth and in addition to visiting the museum and ruins, we were planning to sit among the ruins and read selections from Paul's letter to the church there. It turns out that there's not much going on in Ancient Corinth; our bus actually drove through a neighborhood, made a turn, and there we were in the parking lot of the museum adjacent to the site. For a city that was the economic hub that it was, the remaining ruins (we had seen so many) are comparatively unimpressive. Maybe I had "ruins fatigue." I just expected more and bigger; or perhaps more well-preserved. The columns were impressive, but much of the ruins looked like piles of rubble.

The Impressive Monolithic Columns of Corinth

We sat in a group with interested students and read aloud by turns. I read early, and all we had been learning of the art and philosophy and history of the Ancient Greeks stood in sharp relief as I read:  

"²⁰ Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? ²¹ For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach^[b] to save those who believe. ²² For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, ²³ but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, ²⁴ but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. ²⁵ For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.

"The Greeks" was no longer a generic term but very specifically attached to the people we'd been learning so much about and in whose history we were steeped.

The rest of the time, I looked around and listened instead of reading along. So I was looking at a heap of stone when I heard this:

^2:6 Yet among the mature we do impart wisdom, although it is not a wisdom of this age or of the rulers of this age, who are doomed to pass away. 

Three-quarters of a million people; decadence, art, and commerce; crowds and tourists and merchants. And now? A small archaeological site with grass growing between the stones and relative quiet all around.

^3:11 For no one can lay a foundation other than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ. ¹² Now if anyone builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw— ¹³ each one's work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done. 

And then we finally came to the glory of chapter 15 and resurrection. After sitting among the ruins of Corinth and thinking, "I never realized that Paul was this kind of a prophet"-- After physically experiencing the ruin of the glories of the earth at the time of his writing--and being brought low along with them, we heard this:

⁴² So is it with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable. ⁴³ It is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power. ⁴⁴ It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body. 

We finished that chapter with reading how we will all be changed in a twinkling of an eye. And I thought, these stones may or may not ever be made into anything but what they appear now to be: but to those in Christ there is resurrection hope. Not just a theoretical cerebral hope, but a physical awareness contrasted with our physical surroundings. That was the gift of Corinth. 

A young olive tree growing among the ruins

Mycenae: I knew we were going to Mycenae in large part because it was very, very old. [I just went to get dates from Wikipedia (around 2000BC) and am suddenly overwhelmed that all of the photos on that page are place I have seen, sung, walked, photographed. I cannot believe we are doing this.] All of the archaeological treasures we had already seen at a museum in Athens. When we went we had been in Greece long enough to know the tales that connected this site with others: An ancient king was the brother of Helen of Troy's abandoned husband, and this was the region from which the armies gathered to go to Troy and retrieve her.

The mountain-top citadel was a dizzying height above the valley floor: a fertile region stretching out to the visible coast. It was backed by two mountains. While Elizabeth Bennett my not have seen a house more happily situated than Pemberley, I can't imagine a snugger citadel. It was fantastic.

We visited an ancient grave whose stone walls were still intact. It was like the inside of a small pryamid buried within a hill. The echoing acoustics were incredible inside; some of the group sang the Doxology and it was hauntingly beautiful. As we visited immediately post-Ancient-Corinth, there was an air of consecration to our music.

Crescendo the bakery: I have mentioned this bakery before. It was downstairs, and we smelled the delicious bread baking every morning as we woke up. We often had it for breakfast; they also made pizza and sandwiches, so we had it other times as well. Our names were known and we waved and greeted coming in and out. It is one of the places Charlie wants to return to if he ever comes back to Greece; he also wants to see our apartment, and his bedroom and living room. And drink orange Loux soda. And eat a "hamboat' from Crescendo...that's his Greece agenda.

The Parthenon: We were amazingly blessed to have an apartment with views of the Parthenon. It was actually the last thing I saw at night, as it was illuminated and shone through the window even after the lights were out. In the morning, the sun caught it and once it had passed through its "rosy-fingered-dawn" stage--where the sun temporarily pinked the edifice--I knew it was time to get up. (No, really, get up).

The day of our actual tour of the Acropolis was blisteringly hot; we didn't spend much time on the acropolis. I actually used my umbrella for shade. We went up, listened to our guide, snapped a photo, and headed down.

I'm a little grateful my tourist experience was no great shakes, and that instead I got to have the Parthenon all to myself, in a way, as part of my regular routine. Such a gift to be there long enough for routine and to have a part of it--in this case, about 5 minutes of every morning--be mine.

Almost Time to Say Goodbye

It is perhaps telling that I have more unfinished drafts for this blog than I have posts. The days have been sliding by so fast that trying to grab and hang onto them gives me mental rope burn. As we've articulated in our goals for students, we too have been trying to be present where we are instead of mentally off somewhere else. And now we are preparing to not be present anymore. It's almost time to go.

Actually being here has meant just a little of getting to know our neighbors (in this case, the shopkeepers on the ground floor who work incredibly long hours). They see us coming, they see us going, with the kids and without the kids, early in the morning and late at night. 

Getting to know our neighbors means that I will miss much more than the view from our window. I will miss the people who have been the most beautiful part of Greece. We went to say goodbye to Sofia today, a woman the children befriended their second day here who always chats to us when we walk by...as we have been doing for weeks now. She had asked us to come by today to be sure she didn't miss us on our last day tomorrow. She gave each of the kids gifts and hugs, and me a powerful sense of the welcome we have received here. I could barely get out of there without weeping, which I later did leaning against the fence of the Acropolis Museum.

After watching the sunset from Mars Hill, we were at dinner and Charlie was reflecting on the people who have welcomed us. "People here love children so much!" was one comment. And then: "Mom, we should learn a bunch of other languages, so that when people from other countries come on Europe Semesters except for they come to the United States, we can make them feel welcome like people have done for us here. Don't you think so?" Bless him. Yes. And bless the Lord for the many kindnesses shown to us in this place at this time. After dinner, our hosts gave the kids balloons.

We will have more goodbyes to say tomorrow; the people at the bakery downstairs, for one (when we walked by early Sunday they checked about when we were leaving, and later slipped extra goodies for free into our purchase--a chocolate croissant for Meggie, no less, because they heard her asking for it.)

We'll see how tomorrow goes. Wherever we go, we will carry a piece of The Hellenic Republic in our hearts, as we have been carried in the open ones here. 

Agistri: Treasuring Photographs and Children

On Friday, we took the students out to Agistri--a small, unpretentious island with about a thousand permanent residents. Instead of booking a "3 Greek Islands in 1 Day" tour, we simply bought regular ferry tickets each way and figured everyone could explore. Most of us ate lunch locally and spent the rest of the day at the beach.

On the way over we took a conventional ferry, with the cars and motorcycles down below and fixed chairs on the top deck for people. It took us about an hour and a half to reach Agistri from Piraeus. For a solid chunk of that time Margaret snuggled with me next to the rail, and we watched the foaming water move down the side of the ship as we listened to a sound like roaring carbonation. The sun was shining. The water was turquoise. Margaret's little head was snuggled perfectly beneath my chin. I found myself longing for a camera to try to seize the moment, but even as I considered it I knew there was no way to fit everything in the frame. It defied capture and after a bit I decided to try to save it without any technological aid. We just sat together.

A few hours later, I was snorkeling with Carmen and on the way back into shore I had the same overwhelming desire to capture and own the moment so as to be able to return to it at will. There is no underwater camera that also records emotions or the taste of salt water or the actual presence of a person, though. So I swam back in with my eyes on Carmen and Charlie swimming ahead of me rather than watching the fish around me. And I was overwhelmed with gratitude for this time with them while already missing them when they are not small and 'ours' any longer.

I love our children. I do not always feel as affectionately toward them as I have been feeling the past few days. Lately I sometimes feel like I could just scoop them up and eat them. Maybe I'm a little emotionally raw because of the strain we've been under (I hear it now: "Yes, a real strain to have to go to a Greek island for the day!" In the context of fabulous circumstances, though, I have been working harder and have been more stretched than perhaps ever in my life, and we are in for about sixteen weeks of it.) I think perhaps there's more to it than that, though; I think that maybe a streak of Greek culture may be wearing off on me.

We have lived here for almost three weeks and we have NEVER gone out into town as a family without people interacting with our children and with us about our children. People feel free to comment on our children and the size of our family in ways we would never hear at home.



On the Metro and around town, Margaret usually hitches a ride in a backpack. Invariably in the crowd someone reaches out and strokes her cheek or shakes her hand--or even gives her a kiss. While this would have bugged me if she were my first little baby, I have come to love it here. William and Charlie get their hair tussled. Carmen gets engaged in conversation. Jesse and I get affirmed in ways that have never happened at home.

For example, when we walked into an art shop, the proprietor counted the kids in thickly accented English:"1-2-3-4..." then added, "...Fantastic!" (He also told us to not worry about the kids breaking anything). In the meat market a man walking by pointed to the four of them and then kisses his five fingers in the universal sign language for "delicious." The cook at the kebab counter asked how many children we have and then worked for the English to say "God bless you!...it is hard, but good." My personal favorite took place our first week here, when a woman stopped us on the street emphatically asking us something in Greek and waving at everyone. After a minute and some gestures, I realized she was asking whether they were all ours. When we gave the affirmative, she clapped. And shouted "Bravo!" at us as we walked away down the street. I am not making this up. This kind of thing happens every time we go out. It's almost enough to make me feel like a minor rock star.

The difference between the cultural view of children here and that in California is astonishing. While shopping in stores we have been working hard to keep the kids away from breakables and such--"Look with your eyes and not your hands!"--and recently I could feel the frustration of the shopkeepers growing. Finally I went to hold something for William so he could see it without touching. The keeper came over and took the carved olive wood item out of my hands--and handed it to William. She then engaged him in conversation about its uses, shape, etc. and encouraged him to try it himself. Turns out the frustration was with me and my hyper-controlling ways. Have I perhaps become a bit too culturally embedded and comfortable in my home country's view of children? I wouldn't have thought so, but it's a bit startling for strangers to outdo me in welcoming my children.

Here in Athens they are welcomed and somehow treasured--not because of who they are, but just because they are children. Parents who have lots of them are welcomed, encouraged and applauded by total strangers. This makes the contrast with home all the starker. No one is shouting "Bravo!" for children down the street at total strangers back where I come from. 

I have taken many photos while here--at Corinth, Delphi, Nafplio--but if I could take one piece of Greece back home with me to have captured in order to revisit and experience again and again--it would be this sense of welcome for the little ones entrusted to our care. It won't fit into any frame, but I'm hoping that I've captured some of it all the same.

Cape Sounio(n)

I didn't know what to expect about Athens; everywhere else we are going I have either already been or have formed an opinion of already. But as of our arrival, I didn't have clear expectations for Greece (except for ruins and a lot of marble statues). So perhaps it's more precise to say that the Athens of my imaginings was inanimate; a museum piece already.

We have only 10 days left in Athens, and that seems far too short. Athens has gone from being lifeless to being a city that I'm afraid will be my favorite.

So given that today Sunday has rolled around again, I thought I would use it to document a few of the things that I am grateful for here. The week has flown past on the wings of fascinating outings, very hard work, learning and teaching, and not-quite-enough sleep. One of those things has very little to do with Athens itself; yet it was such a gift that I'll give it its own space.

Last week, on the heels of days of outings, starting the program off, and the first day of class, we then boarded a coach bus to Cape Sounion in order to visit the Temple of Poseidon; this is also the location where King Aegeus threw himself to death in the sea upon seeing the black sail, giving his name to the Aegean (for those of you as into Greek mythology as our kids right now).

Maybe it's that we were tired. Maybe it's that it was so hot: "August is not the time to be in Athens," we have heard repeatedly. We had thought we would visit the site and perhaps later the beach down the hill; but by the time we got there it was unbearable up there on the rocks--and anyway, sunset's the time to visit the temple. So we headed down to the water for a few hours, giving ourselves time to get back in before sunset.

And we swam. And all took a collective sigh of relief. And swam, and floated, and played some more.

We all cooled off, physically and metaphysically,  and basked--not just in the water, but in delighted  astonishment that we were all here. The water was warm and extra saline, which made swimming that much more fun! And above us were the ruins and a promise of a spectacular sunset to come.

Jesse and I swam way out with a bunch of stduents; the water was clear but deep. We did not, however, join the group that went out to the rock. (No, not that rock--the other rock, with students on it)

 

Meggie spent almost the entire time finding another rock. And another. And another. And telling us about it. The beach was almost entirely rocks, so there was plenty of fodder for her "Mama! I found a rock!" game.

After being totally refreshed by the physical break from heat and mental break from work, we boarded the bus back up the hill to the ruins. William was beside himself with excitement. Over ruins...and, of course, the stories associated with them. We all know how vibrant stories are, and how they draw us in, but it was particularly clear to me on this day when our children were so excited to be there. I had come for the landscape, but appreciated the stories as well--including the story of how these columns were built according to an adjusted design that accounted for the wear and tear of sea and wind at their location.

We got our first family photo in Greece--both with our immediate family--

And our slightly larger one!

 As a postscript--Much of the lower part of the temple is covered with etched graffiti. One of the most famous names so inscribed is that of Lord Byron.  I looked for it for a long time, and finally had some help on which column to search. Lord Byron spent time in Greece and wrote a poem titled "The Isles of Greece" soon before the revolution where the Greeks threw off 400 years of Turkish occupation. The end references Sounion--

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,

         Where nothing, save the waves and I,

May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; 

There, swan-like, let me sing and die:

A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine—

Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!"

Last Friday, on the bus on the way to Delphi, Carmen also wrote a poem about Sounion. I leave you with it here. I will continue my gratitude list another time; it's late here now and we're early off to Corinth in the morning. Happy Sunday!