Chasing Olympus

(Or, Hot Days In Hellas, Part Alpha)

Welcome to Greece

The Greeks invented everything. This is the first thing you must understand before you can visit the land that was home to the greatest ancient civilization to ever influence the Western world. Over my travels around the Greek mainland, I would absorb many tales, lessons and reminders of this truth. Ask anyone in Greece and they'll be sure to spin a twisted yarn about how it was the Greeks who first thought of this or had the ingenuity to invent that. After your eyes stop rolling, you begin to believe that they might have a point.

You are also guaranteed to receive an earful of evidence proving that these claims are viable because it wasn't just the ancient Greek people who were smart enough to come up with something like, say, chewing gum, but that Zeus himself had a role in its creation. As if I needed to remind you that the King of Mt. Olympus had nothing better to do than create chewing gum (I'll get to this later...). With proof stretching back to such a time long before history could be properly recorded, how can you argue with that? The lightning bolt up your ass probably will convince you.

Of course, you will not actually be denied entrance to Greece without this knowledge already intact. In fact, when you arrive at Athens' Eleftherios Venizelos International Airport, the lovely folks at customs aim to get you into their fine country as soon as humanly possible.

After my connecting flight from Dubai landed at 9:00 pm, I exited the plane and inhaled my first breath of (relatively) clean(er) Mediterranean air. At customs and immigration, there were only a couple weary travelers in the queue ahead of me. Turnover was surprisingly swift. When it was my turn, I strode confidently to the large-beaked blonde woman sitting inside her glass box and handed over my passport, ready for a few questions or at least a few dramatic flips through my documents and some angry stamping here and there. Instead, she grabbed the booklet, opened to a fresh page, stamped it and handed it back to me. All without so much as a glance in my direction. It was 9:05.

I proceeded to the baggage claim to get my luggage, filled with narcotics, poached tiger penises and orphaned Chinese babies, which I planned to sell to the local Athenians and which now went fortuitously undetected by lax customs procedures. I had already fallen in love with Greece.

In the arrivals hall, I stood alone with my backpack and special suitcase, peering through the crowds of people for my uncle. My uncle Stratos -- who you can guess is not actually related to me by blood, but rather one of those older gentlemen who I refer to respectfully as an "uncle" -- is a boisterous Greek man, a proud and wise son of the island of Crete, some 200 miles south of the mainland in the Mediterranean Sea. My father was his Master's degree thesis adviser in the 70s, and they have been close friends ever since. He watched me grow and develop from cute baby to obnoxious teen, but we had not seen each other in over ten years, from the waning years of my high school career until the present. When we last met, we shared a meal in my childhood home, and as was customary, he would recount tales of Greece while I listened with rapt curiosity. He also liked to pour sambuca onto our dining table and set it on fire, the blue flames inspiring the young pyromaniac within me. I always loved him like family, which is why I flew 5,000 miles for such a momentous event: his wedding.

The last time I saw him in the 90s, he was balding, with a full beard and mustache, and, politely speaking, quite rotund. Basically like a portly Muslim cleric. So when a cleanly shaved man with wisps of black hair on the top of his head came bounding towards me, I was momentarily confused. A good twenty pounds lighter, he looked like a new man, appearing much younger than his actual half-century. With tears in his eyes, he lifted me off the ground in a crushing bear hug. This was the first time in our lives where I was taller than him.

Me and My Greek Uncle

Darting along the dark Athens road at a breakneck speed, my uncle was clearly in a hurry to get me to the hotel for a pre-dinner refresher. In the backseat sat Jose, a jovial Cuban scholar, former university colleague of my father's and my uncle's PhD mentor. I hadn't seen him since the 80s, when I would wander through chalk-dusted halls while my dad taught mechanical engineering at the University of Lowell, in a time long ago before it was absorbed into the UMass black hole.

Together with the two Yeung boys, he was the only other person to fly in from across the world (in this case, Texas) for this special occasion. In the coming days, while my uncle was off with wedding preparation, our curious little trio of non-Greek foreigners banded together to explore Athens. Surrounded by such age and wisdom, I was humbled and somewhat out of my peer group. But I've always enjoyed hanging out with older folks, so I felt privileged to lead them around town with my trusty notes and guidebook.

Eros Is In The Air

Parking at a sharp angle into a perpendicular side street that left the car's rear vulnerable to passing speedsters, my uncle bolted from his car to snatch my luggage from the trunk. Lest he fail at being a perfect Greek host, he would not let me come within 5 feet of the thing. He skipped up the steps into the charming little boutique and grabbed a key card that was waiting patiently for my arrival at the front desk. With a smile, he led me to the elevator and opened the door.

This being my first adventure in a Greek elevator, I was glad it was just the two of us. It was the smallest thing I've ever seen. Once he opened the door and we crammed into the tiny moving coffin, our bellies were nearly touching. It was about 3' x 3', barely taller than me. The door closed and the inner sliding panels slid shut, locking us in for a ride to the 5th floor. Perhaps it was the fresh sea air, but I managed to stay patient for what could have been an eternity of a minute or so. On a normal day, I would have started sweating profusely from my armpits and grundel, causing a massive wet stain on my backside to accompany the anxious panting and woozy sensation that preceded a claustrophobic panic attack. Calm though I was, I wanted nothing more than to get out of that damn death box.

Still panting and moist, we entered room 503. Immediately I was suspicious. There were a few subtle red light warning signs that I busily compiled in my head and, though I assure you I have very little experience at establishments of such rapport, I could guess the types of activities commonly practiced in a place like this.

First red light: Mirrors EVERYWHERE. Of course for someone as humble as myself, this would not matter... excuse me, what were you saying? I got distracted...

Second red light: Porn channels. FREE porn channels. This was the proverbial nail in the coffin (tee hee, no pun intended). Yet forever after, I shall always associate Wild Orchids 2 with the lovely city of Athens.

Third red light: The red lights! I shit you not, all the lamps in the room were equipped with proper mood-baiting red light bulbs. Unless this place was used for human sacrifice, my suspicions were confirmed.

This was a pay-by-the-lay love hotel.

Of course, this was only the first evening and I did not yet have the extreme pleasure of trying to fall asleep to the chorus of excited wails and moans that echoed throughout the building during the wee hours of night. Days later, as I was awkwardly trying to have a conversation with my dad in the hallway, one woman in particular was having the time of her life. She sounded like a bleating sheep getting pleasured by a hyperactive goat. Just close your eyes and imagine it, will you: "Beagh, beagh, beagh, beaaaaaggggghhhhh!" Nothing says awkward like a Chinese father and son trying to carry on a conversation while all attention was subconsciously focused on pretending that the loud groans shaking the floor boards were not sex shrieks. At least someone was satisfied that night.

With a full day of transit behind me, it was time for dinner. I set my things down in places that I deemed to be Least Likely To Be Sullied By Sprayed and/or Leaked Bodily Fluids (corner near the doorway, chair covered in a clean towel) and we headed back into the night for a quick stop at a nearby taverna.

We overestimated the situation and ordered about 9 dishes for only 3 people, including deep-fried anchovies, whipped chickpeas, cod, cuttlefish, and the best dolmades in Athens, a version of the mini grape leaf wraps from the island of Kassos. While it would not be the biggest feast I would enjoy on my week-long trip, it was indeed a sign of things to come. As I stumbled back to the hotel with a stomach that was quickly beginning to resemble that of my corpulent cohorts, I stared out towards the blinking lights of the shipping vessels returning to port. Tomorrow, day one of this adventure, I would be joined by my father. Though he would only spend half the trip with me, it would be one for the Yeung family history books. I was giddy with anticipation.

Athens, heart of classical civilization.

Sounio, southern tip of the Greek mainland.

Delphi, seat of the oracle that sparked countless wars and love affairs.

Thermopylae, site of the famous battle between Gerard Butler and the Persians.

Meteora, stunning landscape of space rocks and monasteries.

Corinth, home to the most famous canal that isn't named "Suez" or "Panama."

Nemea, spot where Heracles began his legendary journeys.

Mycenae, home to the greatest ancient culture on the Greek mainland.

This is the stuff of legend and my childhood dreams. Armed with a new camera and a stomach full of olive oil and lemon juice, I was determined to make the best of my week. I could not wait for the trip to get started. That night, I quickly fell asleep to the sweet sounds of Wild Orchids 2, itchy to catch my first glimpse of the Parthenon. Or maybe that was just the sheets...

Welcome to Greece.

Next episode: Day 1, Sacrifices To The Gods...