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Ten Moments |
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| TEN
I am standing on the deck of the ship, in the dark, alone. The moon is pale gold and gibbous, spilling its light along a seemingly infinite stretch of water. I stand there in the wind, searching the surface of the water and imagining what kind of world lives below it. But the ocean’s shell is placid and dark, and gives nothing away. The sea. I look out and it is perfectly flat… not even the wind ripples the surface. I am transfixed again and again by the green blue of the Mediterranean. Dolphins jump next to the ship… they dive ten feet down and we can still see them through the clear water. We sail past the natural whirlpools that form in the strait of Messina between Sicily and Italy proper… a phenomenon so ancient that it appears in Homer’s Odyssey, where it is called Charybdis. And I lie in bed every night thinking about the day, and letting the currents rock me to sleep.
NINE
We are in the amphitheater at Ephesus. This is a place where Saint Paul came and spoke; the newly converted who lived here were the biblical Ephesians. On the ground are the secret symbols of Christianity.. the fish, the crosses, etched in red against the pale marble. Carved out by the persecuted in a time of martyrdom and bloodthirst. The stones bring it all to life.
I am standing in the seats, imagining the stadium full of enraptured ancient people. A group of kids start to sing a two part harmony, in a language I don’t understand. Italian? Greek? It doesn’t matter for a second. Although they know every note and every word—although they may have planned for just such a moment—it feels spontaneous. Their crystalline voices carry far over the trees, and the crowd of tourists is hushed, listening. When they are done, there is a transcendent pause. Then we start to applaud.
EIGHT  It is the second to the last night. A formal dinner. It includes salmon, chilled strawberry bisque soup, a Caesar salad and shrimp cocktail. Just another dinner. Dessert is placed in front of me. There are two small swirls of mousse… one dark chocolate, one white chocolate. Each is sprinkled with chocolate flakes. I take tiny nibbles of one, then the other. The tastes complement each other perfectly. I could die of pleasure. Katie doesn’t let us stop to eat during the day, at least not for the vast majority of the cruise. We do have some wonderful Greek salads in Greece, and in Kusadasi, we have some flavorful Turkish white cheese on crispy bread. In Chivitavecchia, we have divine Nutella flavored gelato. But for the most part, we eat breakfast and dinner only. So by the time our seating comes around at 8:30, we are quite hungry, in a perfect situation to eat each one of the five dinner courses. Maybe we even try more than one selection in each course, or maybe we have seconds. Sometimes we have also had fruit or sandwiches delivered in the afternoon. Especially kiwi, which I never used to eat, but I discover I love. We’ve walked all day… the calories have no guilt attached. Not even the mousse.
SEVEN
We are in the Agora in Athens. This is the marketplace where Socrates used to come and speak almost every day. Socrates. We have passed by the message board where he surely came to read the city announcements. We have seen tiny jars in the museum that, it is speculated, were used to administer doses of hemlock. Unlike the Acropolis, this place is not crowded. In fact, there is almost nobody here. We walk through an ancient cemetery, and we walk on the Sacred Way that leads to the Parthenon, high on the hill above. At the back of the Agora sits a little temple, the temple of Hephaistus. It is small, but incredibly well preserved. The sunlight slants against the side and bathes the columns in that famous Athenian glow of gold. The birds are singing. I sit in the shade and stare at it for what seems like millennia. The ruins at
Ephesus, and Athens, and Olympia… all the great ruins of the ancient world.
It is so ridiculously easy to transport yourself thousands of years back
in time. In these spots, there’s only a thin veil separating the
past from the present, and there are moments—like this one—when you can
almost see straight through it.
SIX
Our tour guide has taken us around Istanbul… the eerie underground cisterns, the Blue Mosque, the church of Hagia Sophia. Now we’re in the bohemian district (where we will later return for drinks) sitting on the waterfront. We are drinking Turkish coffee out of tiny cups. It is served with water to counteract the muddy sediment that collects at the bottom and coats your tongue. From the minaret of the mosque next door comes a lyrical cry—the call to prayer. They no longer use the towers, but broadcast the muezzin’s cry out of loudspeakers at the top of each minaret. While the muezzin calls the faithful, there is a pause that blankets the whole city. The call seems to go on forever.. alien but somehow familiar. In this Islamic country, during this profoundly foreign moment, I have never felt closer to the concept called God.
FIVE  I am walking on Palatine Hill. Katie has ventured out on her own, and I am taking a more leisurely stroll through the ruins of this ancient place. I pass the temple of Apollo and the house of the emperor. I pass Roman baths and the houses of wealthy senators. It is peaceful and deserted… very few people bother to pay the fee and climb up this side of the hill. A bell starts to ring. Then another joins in, and another. There is the flap of wings as startled birds take to the air. There are light lilting chimes, and deep clangs. Some sound very close, while others are faint and far away. It is noon, and the church bells are marking the time. There are over seven hundred churches in Rome, and a lot of bells; their sounds fill the sky. I stand on a hill above the city and listen.
FOUR
We are riding on the top of a tourist bus in Barcelona, in the open air. We pass an apartment building made completely of curved lines and iron balustrades and it makes me gasp. It is my first glimpse of the surrealist architecture of Gaudi. As if the rest of the city is playing catch-up, I spot shabby apartment buildings fronted in spectacular mosaic. I see spires that look like they are topped with gumdrops. Every other building has a gargoyle or a marble statue or a startling façade. Around every turn is a new sight that makes me want to point and say “look at that!” or take out my camera and snap a picture. But most of them are gone too fast. I just ride around the city with wide eyes, and try to absorb it all.
THREE
We are sitting and eating lunch in a café perched high on the cliffs of Santorini island. We took a cable car to get from the bottom of the sheer cliff to the top, where the town itself is located. The weather is perfect and the skies are clear. Not even a single puff of cloud in the sky. The sky and the sea are both spectacular shades of blue… the buildings on this island are all whitewashed with blue trim. Far below, we can see our cruise ship. Santorini looks like a crescent moon with a star of land nestled in its middle… if the two ends of the island were connected, it would make the sea look like a bright blue donut. But the star in the middle is no ordinary splotch of land... it is a dormant volcano. This is the volcano that sank 75 percent of the island when it erupted millennia ago, creating the staggeringly sheer cliffs when it tore the land in half. It was the largest volcanic eruption in history, blasting away most of the island and wiping out the Minoan civilization on Crete a hundred miles away. Plato himself wrote about Santorini, because this small crescent of land is all that remains of the lost continent of Atlantis.
TWO  He is so sexy. I can’t help thinking this because I am a sucker for a guy who can sing. And my god, can he sing. This handsome boy with the resonant voice blows away everyone else on the stage, especially his female counterpart who can barely hit the high notes. They are doing medleys from a bunch of musicals… Guys and Dolls, Evita, South Pacific. He sings Sit Down, You’re Rocking The Boat and I grin like an idiot. Then the lights dim. He takes the stage alone. The opening notes take my breath away… he is Jean Valjean, and he is singing Bring Him Home. I will never forget seeing Les Miserables during the Gulf War. The actor who was playing Jean Valjean, Gary Morris, had a son overseas. At the time, we didn’t know the war would be relatively painless and quick. We didn’t know what we had on our hands, and so we were scared. And when Gary Morris sang this song, begging God not to let Marius die in the war, everyone in the audience dissolved into tears. Profoundly moved, we gave him a standing ovation. And tonight, on this ship, this remarkable boy with such passion in his voice has just brought it all back to me.
ONE
I am on the metro in Rome. It is crowded and smelly. I am worried about getting my bag stolen, as I have been warned a hundred times is bound to happen in Rome. I am worried about getting my butt pinched. I am worried about getting lost. While I am worrying, the metro comes to a halt and I am washed out on the tide of humanity. It is a grungy underground tunnel, like every grungy underground tunnel you’ve ever seen before. The stairs are right over there, grimy and utterly familiar. I trudge up the stairs, raise my head and blink into the sun. And there it is. Right in front of me. The Colosseum. I take one step forward and then another, as if hypnotized. I cross the street, never taking my eyes off the building. It is so much larger than I dreamed it would be… so much more real. So immediate. I don’t even have to strain to hear the cheers of the crowd, or to see the statues beckoning me forward. I reach a hand out and put my palm to the ancient, pitted stone. I look up, a lump in my throat, struggling not to cry. And I think, this is a moment I will never, ever forget. Even if everything goes wrong after this, and even if I see nothing else, it was all worth it just to stand here. This moment is what I came for. |
What
I'm Reading:
Entertainment Weekly (four issues) and Jane.  turquoiseJournal Quote of the Day: “And it's not like I'm some teenager who needs my Creek fix. Jack's storyline has meant something to me since the moment we learned that he's gay. I've cried many times when things happen to him because I remember when they happened to me. I wish that a show like Creek with a character like Jack had existed ten, fifteen years ago. It would have changed my life. ”Random Tidbit: Just watched the Buffy from two weeks ago. That ending sucked. Derivative much?Work Days Left: 53Days Left Including Weekends: 77 |
