The "Free Spirit In Greece" Story
October 14th, 2002 10:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shiredancerMe and my big mouth. I opened myself to the question game, and first ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
who_took asked Tell me your favorite story about yourself. Anytime, anywhere, doesn't even have to involve getting arrested or being taken for a ride by a New York cabbie., and then linaelyn asked What Happened in Greece, during your trip there with your younger brother in the 1970's? What was the most important thing you learned about life on that trip? What did you learn about yourself?
I think Linaelyn is refering to my phrase about "finding my free spirit in Greece" during my trip to Europe in 1978; although on second thought, I'm not sure if it wasn't just finding my wild, uninhibited, and undoubtedly misbehaving side for awhile, and whether this won't amount to a rather silly and self-absorbed tell-all. Be that as it may: my brother and I were really looking forward to Greece as the highlight of our trip, not just for the main tourist attractions, but for the physical beauty and the adventure of someplace so foreign to us. I'd heard about the nude beaches there, and gave my somewhat straightlaced brother fair warning that I was going to try anything. We started our adventures mildly enough: jumping off a high cliff into the ocean on Corfu, with a hard swim around the point that nearly did us in. Once we got to the island of Paros, things went rapidly downhill, if that's how you want to look at it. I became infatuated with a New York boy who literally talked me out of my bathing suit on my first day at the beach (and yes, everybody else was nude or semi-nude there) and I splashed out of the water like some very-less-than-lovely Aphrodite on the halfshell, much to my brother's dismay. Well, I had warned him. He didn't go to the beach (or anywhere else) with me after that, and spent his time exploring the island's interior, meeting elderly Greek women spinning their own yarn and selling hand knitted shawls. And me? I began to drink heavily (it helped in that heat, really), stay out until 4 a.m. or later every night, dance at the disco, and generally behave like an alley cat in heat. I'd already made love in an empty field in Athens, watching the sun rise over the Parthenon; now I did it in a monastery garden, on the rocks at the beach, and in an empty alley with grit and who knows what grinding into my backside (ouch). This last exploit ended with us dashing into the harbor waters for a moonlit swim, and then me belly dancing naked under a streetlamp in the main downtown square. Ummmmm. It was after 4 a.m., and dead deserted. There was nobody there to see. But still. To this day I alternate between being mortified by that memory, and proud.
On the last night that New York boy took me to a party at somebody's house, full of "in" people, well-dressed and cool and touristy. A very few of them spoke to me; some were nice. And I sat alone in the patio and slowly came back to my senses after those few wild days, and recovered my deeper self, and wondered what in the hell I was doing there. So I just left without saying good-bye, and found my way across several miles of meadowland and scrub hills in the moonlight, to the crummy little unfinished room where my brother was sleeping, and pulled myself together. That's what I learned about myself, Lin: to keep reaching for the deeper sense of self even when pulled and distracted by a whirlwind of craziness. That pulled me through a couple of days later, in Athens, when I was within an inch of going back to Paros to spend more time with that boy, and abandoning my brother for the rest of the trip. At the very last minute before his train pulled out I recognized the futility of that infatuation, and the rareness of this trip with my brother, and made the right choice. And the rest of our trip was great, just great, and I never regretted my choice for a moment.
What I learned about life on that trip: that there are wonderful and kind people everywhere in the world, as well as rude and unkind people, and that a city is just a city no matter where you go -- only the tourist attractions vary. That seeing a sunrise is a precious experience, and having a place to sleep at night is not a given. That the opportunity to travel with my brother was a blessing, no matter how badly I wanted to walk beside the Seine with a lover instead. That I could be silly and shallow and wild, and still come back to a place of clarity and vision.
who_took asked Tell me your favorite story about yourself. Anytime, anywhere, doesn't even have to involve getting arrested or being taken for a ride by a New York cabbie., and then linaelyn asked What Happened in Greece, during your trip there with your younger brother in the 1970's? What was the most important thing you learned about life on that trip? What did you learn about yourself?I think Linaelyn is refering to my phrase about "finding my free spirit in Greece" during my trip to Europe in 1978; although on second thought, I'm not sure if it wasn't just finding my wild, uninhibited, and undoubtedly misbehaving side for awhile, and whether this won't amount to a rather silly and self-absorbed tell-all. Be that as it may: my brother and I were really looking forward to Greece as the highlight of our trip, not just for the main tourist attractions, but for the physical beauty and the adventure of someplace so foreign to us. I'd heard about the nude beaches there, and gave my somewhat straightlaced brother fair warning that I was going to try anything. We started our adventures mildly enough: jumping off a high cliff into the ocean on Corfu, with a hard swim around the point that nearly did us in. Once we got to the island of Paros, things went rapidly downhill, if that's how you want to look at it. I became infatuated with a New York boy who literally talked me out of my bathing suit on my first day at the beach (and yes, everybody else was nude or semi-nude there) and I splashed out of the water like some very-less-than-lovely Aphrodite on the halfshell, much to my brother's dismay. Well, I had warned him. He didn't go to the beach (or anywhere else) with me after that, and spent his time exploring the island's interior, meeting elderly Greek women spinning their own yarn and selling hand knitted shawls. And me? I began to drink heavily (it helped in that heat, really), stay out until 4 a.m. or later every night, dance at the disco, and generally behave like an alley cat in heat. I'd already made love in an empty field in Athens, watching the sun rise over the Parthenon; now I did it in a monastery garden, on the rocks at the beach, and in an empty alley with grit and who knows what grinding into my backside (ouch). This last exploit ended with us dashing into the harbor waters for a moonlit swim, and then me belly dancing naked under a streetlamp in the main downtown square. Ummmmm. It was after 4 a.m., and dead deserted. There was nobody there to see. But still. To this day I alternate between being mortified by that memory, and proud.
On the last night that New York boy took me to a party at somebody's house, full of "in" people, well-dressed and cool and touristy. A very few of them spoke to me; some were nice. And I sat alone in the patio and slowly came back to my senses after those few wild days, and recovered my deeper self, and wondered what in the hell I was doing there. So I just left without saying good-bye, and found my way across several miles of meadowland and scrub hills in the moonlight, to the crummy little unfinished room where my brother was sleeping, and pulled myself together. That's what I learned about myself, Lin: to keep reaching for the deeper sense of self even when pulled and distracted by a whirlwind of craziness. That pulled me through a couple of days later, in Athens, when I was within an inch of going back to Paros to spend more time with that boy, and abandoning my brother for the rest of the trip. At the very last minute before his train pulled out I recognized the futility of that infatuation, and the rareness of this trip with my brother, and made the right choice. And the rest of our trip was great, just great, and I never regretted my choice for a moment.
What I learned about life on that trip: that there are wonderful and kind people everywhere in the world, as well as rude and unkind people, and that a city is just a city no matter where you go -- only the tourist attractions vary. That seeing a sunrise is a precious experience, and having a place to sleep at night is not a given. That the opportunity to travel with my brother was a blessing, no matter how badly I wanted to walk beside the Seine with a lover instead. That I could be silly and shallow and wild, and still come back to a place of clarity and vision.
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Powerful and beautiful memory...
Date: November 5th, 2002 10:56 pm (UTC)The inner wild-child needs her day in the sun, and in the moon and stars as well. But the wisdom to leave behind he ecstasy of hedonism and infatuation, for the deeper joys of fraternal bonds in the arc of time, well that's truly amazing, truly powerful.
And you're brought back a flood of memories for me. Of Paros, and of my forays into adventure elsewhere, and my turning back to hearth and home, and all that. But that's for a post in my own LJ.
Your post made me miss many things. But one of the most poigniant was this: the world before the AIDS virus. Damn it, I've just lost too many to that thing. And weren't you and I lucky to know the world before AIDS colored it all black.
Re: Powerful and beautiful memory...
Date: November 5th, 2002 11:40 pm (UTC)I would dearly love to see you post your memories of Paros and elsewhere, and compare notes. Wasn't it beautiful?
And yes, to the sorrow of the AIDS epidemic and what it has taken away from the spontaneity of the world. I have only personally known one person who died of AIDS, but my brother, who upon his return from our trip first realized he is gay, has lost literally dozens. I can't imagine what suffering he has seen.
Thanks again, Lin -- I'm going to watch for your posts. After November and NaNoWriMo, of course. *smooch*