An old, old post

Almost exactly four years ago, I sent the following letter as an email update to friends and family back home while I was in Greece. I thought it would be fun to see what amazed me then. I think it serves as evidence that I haven't changed much, except that I no longer where sunblock religiously (sorry, Mom). Here it goes:

I hope you will all forgive me for starting with a note that is aimed at a particular mom with particular fears about a particular daughter's particularly fair skin: no matter what I talk about in this letter, it was all done under a thick layer of protection known as SPF 30 sunblock (reapplied every 2 hours or as recommended by a physician).
Today was a wonderful field day of exploring a few spectacular sites offered by the western side of the Vourinos mountain chain. I have happily assumed responsibility for store-bought and home-packaged meals, so after packing three kilos of assorted fruit, two half-loaves of bread, and a block of feta cheese, our group of four Miamians plus Dr. Anne Rassios headed out for a day on the rocks. We ascended (in Anne's new Blazer) a small set of hills west of Vourinos to see gorgeous dikes (vertical magmatic intrusions in broken rocks). The site we chose to meander on foot was peaceful in the 23 degree Celsius weather -- the dikes were exposed by a trickling stream cutting through the igneous rocks containing the intrusions. The "river" is called "frog river" locally due to the extreme number of tadpoles (this time of year) that reside in dense clusters at every pool of water. Imagine the difficulty I had focusing solely on rocks when tadpoles were at hand! The area in which we work has only scrubby vegetation, so shade is a treasured commodity by 11 am. Playing with the tadpoles was great fun, and learning about the stress suffered by squelched little dikelettes was enlightening, but I soon found myself feigning interest in any large rock structure that had a large face heading west. Standing in the shade, I would formulate any question I could that would lead the rest of the group to studying that gloriously cool region. Fortunately, Dr. Dilek (actually, he is now Yildirim more often than not) was impressed by the "insight" of my questions, and he took the bait quickly. That is not to say that I tricked the man; I think, if anything, he was impressed by my ability to find such large areas of shade that the entire group could enjoy the place at once without giving up our very American sense of personal space. Note: this trip has demonstrated the extent to which personal space is not innate but, rather, a happy by-product of our respective cultures.
Our trip took us to continually higher elevations as the day grew hotter. I was too gross and sweaty to keep an eye on the Blazer's thermometer, but we were brutally attacked by the sun today -- and it is only the end of spring/ beginning of summer here. (Reminder: SPF 30, applied every two hours. Do not panic.) Fortunately, after a wonderful quick hike near the top of Vourinos Mountain (a single mountain in the Vourinos range), we were chased down the winding dirt-then-mud roads of Vourinos to a small truck station. Here, truck stations are like Mama's home cookin' in an MCL setting (without the buffet-style serving). I will have to mention the toilet situation, though. Ladies, if you have a good imagination, I apologize. I was rather desperate for a bathroom when we entered the gas station, for more than one reason. I quickly spotted the desired "WC" (Water Closet) sign in the corner of the large seating area that constituted most of the building, and -- in as much of a composed manner as I could muster -- wogged toward the indicated door. Too soon, I sighed with relief and opened main door only to find three more doors. One was small and as enigmatic as a door knob in the middle of a wall, and I was not in the mood for Alice-in-Wonderland games. Door number two was wide open and led to what looked like a urinal. Dashing to door number three, I was confused by the male icon upon it. Men's restroom? Where are women supposed to go?
Further inspection revealed that the urinal room was labeled as the women's room. What am I to do? There are no locks, and the restaurant is full of men. My best bet was to use the urinal (which, I will clarify now, is called a Turkish toilet). I will not describe how I used this little contraption, but going out in the field will never intimidate me again. Going at truck stops, on the other hand...
I told you that the doors didn't have locks; did I also mention that the inside of the women's restroom did not have a door knob? I wondered how much worse the situation could get. I cannot fully answer that, but I will tell you this: when Andy had to go later, he inspected both restrooms and chose the women's over the men's.
Now that I have surely gone too far with my potty story, I must tell you that the food in Greece makes up for any lacking upkeep in the restrooms. At this truck stop, the five of us were overfed with twenty euros worth of giant white beans, rice, bread, stewed beef, cappuccinos, hot chocolate, coooooool water, and horiatiki (Greek salad consisting of tomatoes, cucumber, onions, kalamata olives, whole banana peppers, and a generous slice of feta). Truck stop.
Our day ended early since everyone was tired from our 4 previous days of 9-hour tours + late night dinners. Dinner here is a sport, full of activity, noise, and great conversation. No one orders their own food -- everything is communal except the beer. We feast every night on roasted chickens or stewed red meats, lots of veggies doused in olive oil, and bread that is as plentiful as the air. Actually, fresh air is in no sense common. Everything is polluted with the overwhelming smells of cigarette smoke, goats, or burning trash. It scares me how quickly I get used to it. The best we get is out in the field when one of us finds some mint or rosemary to hack up. Oh! And roses here actually smell sweet. Now I understand all of those mushy poems that speak highly of the rose's aroma -- those authors have been to Greece.
I am sorry my letter grew so long. I have even been cutting out a lot of good stuff. This trip has been extraordinary already, and I have yet to see the best parts ( I am told). I look forward to the increased independence that this next week will bring, when Dina, Andy, and I will be studying rather than touring.
I had better let Andy have the office now. It is his bedroom. There is something really fun about living with five people and a bear/lion/dog in a two bedroom, one bathroom apartment-style house. I have my pick of couches in the living room, and Dina gets to sleep with our luggage in the bedroom qua closet qua bedroom (again). To bed!
Yasas!