Sunday morning, almost 5 am.
… and why am I not sleeping? Because I have to figure out how to shove four months worth of living into two suitcases.
In less than two weeks I’ll be setting off on a new journey into the unknown. I’m thrilled. I’m scared. I’m overwhelmed with emotions. I can’t wait, but yet, it seems to be creeping up so quickly that I doubt I’ll have time to do all I need to do before embarking onto that first plane.
Flying alone. Shoved into a cylindar with wings … a bunch of strangers off on their own journeys as my nameless companions.
So why am I telling you this? Because I’m not sleeping. Because I should be sleeping but I’m too excited. Because … e, because you are now my companion as I set off on this journey to a distant land full of history and sites and sounds unknown to me.
Over the course of time I’ve been told that everything I’ve been taught and believed is not reality. The time has now come to taste the true birthplace of my heritage. To explore the tiny nooks which tourists overlook. To find Hellas as an inhabitant and not as a passerby. To revel in her majesticness.
Growing up Greek in America most certainly had its advantages, and disadvantages, as well. We marched to our own drummer as traditions and customs were intertwined with a society from all walks of life.
We don’t mind celebrating the Easter holiday a week or two (or four) later than the rest of the country. We bought Easter candy and baskets at clearance prices. Ok, so maybe you ended up with a bunny with no ears or Peeps that were as hard as a rock. It was all part of the laughter.
And a humorous lot we are.
We all have at least one relative who still has plastic on their furniture to protect it … the dreaded “furniture condom” that we stick to during the hot summer months. We have all attempted to recreate the Parthenon by having columns scattered throughout our homes and have embraced the women of yesteryear by having a collection of needlepoints dotting our walls. And let’s not forget all those Greek vases whose number rival any museum collection.
But in the middle of all this, we also grew up blinded. Not through any fault of our own or of our caregivers.
There’s a world of music unknown over here. If it is known, it’s by the random chance of stumbling upon it during a ride through the world of the internet. MySpace has truly bridged a gap which an industry failed to fill in for all of us. When you think of music from Hellas … face it … you picture a bouzouki player and maybe a man with a table in his mouth as he spins on the dance floor.
Punk, goth, industrial, rock, metal, prog, and all the other genres in between have fallen by the wayside. The music industry neglected to inform us that this great land produced some of the most amazing musicians — artists — pure talents.
And I’m highly pissed about this.
Because in between all the other falsehoods I’ve been taught … I missed out on a hell of a great show.
I hope you’ll come share the journey with me and please, by all means, point me into the right directions by letting me know where to go, what to see, what to experience, and with what to tantalize my tastebuds and my eardrums. I’ve missed out on a whole world of stimulation which was silenced by the invisible walls surrounding my motherland.
I can’t wait to taste it all. 🙂