The birth of the Brothelites.

10/26 – 11/1/2009: Geneva and Lausanne

Not long ago, our days had been filled with daily trips to the beach, day drinking, and setting out as an army for a night of partying. Now, many of us spend our days sitting at a desk behind a computer pretending to do the tedious, trivial tasks required of a college intern. The wild days of 18 Rue Muzy that brought all 40+ residents together seemed lost. We were forced to become productive members of Swiss society. Not to say that all joy had been lost; regular acts of amusing debauchery were still taking place. But the survival of our one big happy family was in danger. Naturally, it took a Marine to save the day.

Zoned out in front of my computer screen trying to find the grant requirements for the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, I made my regular 5-minute email check, hoping to find something to distract me for at least an hour, if not the rest of the afternoon. Opening a message from Andrew, I found just what I was looking for. Perhaps missing his days as co-chef on the Kallisto or simply longing for the big family feel that the former brothel once possessed, Andrew was proposing a building-wide potluck dinner. Each floor would create its own dish or drink, preparing enough to be shared with all 40. It was brilliant. And apparently I was not the only one slacking off, as several enthusiastic responses were sent before I even began typing mine.

But the potluck was not the only glorious result of Andrew’s initial email, for out of the chain of emails that ensued, the residents of 18 Rue Muzy gained a title. Who coined the term, I cannot remember. As soon as one person typed it, though, its popularity took off. A new nation was unfolding before our very eyes. It was the birth of the Brothelites.

Wednesday soon rolled around and upon returning to the former brothel, the Brothelites gathered on their respective floors and prepared their own culinary masterpiece for the rest of the house. There were pastas, soups, salads, and a sweet, lemony, dirty alcoholic beverage that had been prepared in a mop bucket. An endless supply of food covered the tables of the Brothel basement and we ate, ate, and ate some more. Then, I ate some more. It was a feast that left many immobile. More important than the food, though, was the company. Nearly all of the 40+ members of the household were in attendance, returning to the days when they functioned as a single unit. The 18 Rue Muzy family was back.

The first potluck.

* * *

“Mais, c’est l’hâlloween!” After such a long day and all of the trouble we had gone through to get to that point, was this brutish Swiss bouncer really not going to let me into the club because of what I was wearing?

The day started early. Despite a late night of drinking and belting “Bohemian Rhapsody” at Spring Brother’s, many of us forced ourselves to wake up early to take a tour of CERN (the European Organization for Nuclear Research), at which our RA Phil was working. Having taken an astronomy course my first year at BU, I am not totally inept when it comes to physics. What is going on at CERN, though, is so far over my head that any effort of mine to try to understand its projects and research would surely melt my brain. As our Italian tour guide took us around the various exhibits and showed us the numerous pieces of equipment used to build the organization’s massive reactors, he spoke of particle interaction, particle acceleration, particle collision, and whole bunch of other things that he might as well have said in Italian, because I didn’t understand a single word of it. Nevertheless, I nodded my head in understanding and even threw in a question or two. I could tell that what he was saying was interesting and felt smarter for simply having heard him speak. Maybe in another life, something will actually make sense.

Something to do with particles.

After relaxing for a few hours back at the Brothel, I met up with my boss and one of her friends at the Geneva hockey game. Working on building a relationship with the team, my boss had been invited to the game by ownership. Knowing I was the only one in the office who had a high interest in sports (I didn’t let her know how little I knew about hockey), my boss made sure she brought me along, somehow thinking I would be an asset in helping her forge this new partnership. For an NGO about peace and non-violence, I didn’t exactly see how a violent sport like hockey fit in, but I wasn’t going to turn down a night of sports. Of course, little to no business was accomplished at the game. Instead, I was lucky enough to enjoy an evening of free beer, free lobster, my boss’ cougar French friend giving her best Mrs. Robinson performance, and a pretty damn exciting hockey game.

When I returned to Rue Muzy, the Halloween celebrations were well underway. Working with what they had, the Brothelites dressed up as beer girls, Bo Peeps, nerds, ski instructors, naughty teachers, and Rasta-men, filled the basement, and saturated themselves with their alcohol of choice. By the time I arrived, it seemed the saturating had been going on for quite some time. I needed to join the party as soon as possible. But first, I needed a costume.

Brothel ladies (not those kind of brothel ladies).

My options in this department were limited. Never the Halloween enthusiast, I made no effort to find a special outfit or disguise for the day. My best option was to resort to the craziest outfit I owned. Luckily, the outfit I had worn to the Prague Tiesto concert would do just the trick. So, throwing on the multi-colored green, purple, and red outfit, I rushed across the street to snag a döner kebab and grabbed a few beers before finally joining my festive housemates as the Most-Winningest High School Football Coach of All-Time.

One word: Handsome.

The plan was never to party at the Brothel all night, though, and I did my best to gather everybody for a late-night trip to Lausanne. While many others were in support of the idea, rounding up the troops proved to be a difficult task. The level of inebriation was quite high, with a certain Rasta-man struggling to stand being but one example. Nevertheless, we were finally able to make our way out of the building and began moving in the direction of the train station. Of course, the walk to the train station was no simple task. Between running wild in Le Jardin Anglais, Teeny’s friend (of a friend) grabbing asses, and taking pictures with statues, the journey to Gare Cornavin was an adventure in and of itself. When we finally did arrive, half of the group somehow managed to disappear, leaving the other half to answer Halloween questions for a pair of Swiss “film students” (in reality, most likely just two creepy dudes with a camera). When the train finally rolled up to the platform around 11:30, we hopped on, hoping the lost half would do the same. After a train ride that was every bit as entertaining as the journey to the Geneva train station, we arrived in Lausanne shortly before 12:30. Stepping off the train, the missing members of the group were found and we began our journey uphill in search of a place to properly celebrate the holiday.

Waiting for the train to Lausanne.

The bouncer at our bar of choice began letting in members of our group one-by-one… that is, until I reached the front of the line. Giving me a stern look up and down, something about my appearance displeased him. Finally, he opened the rope reserved for those who were rejected, and hit me with an emotionless, “Non.”

“Mais, c’est l’Hâlloween!,” I argued. No matter how much I pleaded, though, he was not going to let me in. Of all of the ridiculous outfits that the Brothelites were wearing, mine was simply too informal. Joining me in my misery was Steven and as the rest of the crew went to dance the night away, the Most-Winningest High School Football Coach of All-Time and the Rasta-man walked through the rejection ropes, left to fend for ourselves.

It took another hour or so before we were finally able to find a Halloween party that was friendly enough to allow the absurdly dressed to enter (and even then, only after I put to use my patented, “Mais, c’est l’Hâlloween!” argument). Paying whatever ridiculous cover charge was being asked, we entered the club and hit the dance floor. Our buzzes wearing off and separated from our friends, it wasn’t exactly the Halloween we had in mind, but we were able to salvage whatever bit was left of the night. We had another drink, danced, and even fooled a pair of gullible Swiss girls into thinking that the Rasta dreads – which I was now wearing – were real. By 5am, we were back down at the train station, meeting our friends and ready to travel back to Geneva. It may not have been the ideal Halloween party, but then again, the journey from the Brothel to Lausanne was entertainment enough for one night.

A real life fairy-tale.

10/19-25/2009: Geneva, Lausanne, and Gruyère

The first week back was rough. Not that being in Geneva was a disappointment. Despite the chilly weather, the glimmering lake and 360º view of mountains could never get old. Having to start an internship was just bad timing, though. In our hearts, we were all thrilled to have been given the opportunity to work at the various international organizations, diplomatic missions, policy groups, magazines, and NGOs we had been assigned to. Having to muster up the excitement immediately following a weeklong 21^st Century Odyssey was just a bit too much to ask for. The first day at my desk was spent reminiscing about the week that was, sending emails of remembrance to the divine dozen Greek travelers, who had, like myself, returned to mortality.

Spending hours a day making spreadsheets certainly was a stark contrast from the week of sailing bliss. Luckily, the grind of the office was broken up by the arrival of two of America’s finest. While I no longer had my family of deities by my side 24/7, the family vibe continued throughout my first week back in Geneva, as my mother and father came to visit. With them in town, I had the perfect excuse to rediscover Geneva. In addition to constant walks along the lake and allowing ourselves to be mesmerized by the mountains, we took to a tour of the United Nations (with my International Organizations class), strolled down busy Rue du Rhône, took in the passionate chess matches at Parc des Bastions, and wandered the windy cobblestone streets of Old Town, where we ate good food, drank good wine, and smiled in the delight of our reunion.

With the weekend’s arrival, the residents of 18 Rue Muzy set out to explore more of the alpine country, some heading to Zurich, others to Lugano. As for Lee, Kathleen, and me, the plan was to venture into France and pay a visit to Mont Blanc, the highest mountain in the Alps. However, having missed the early train and the next bus not leaving until later that afternoon, we had to readjust our travel plans. When in a country that constantly surrounds you with beauty, though, it is not too difficult to find an alternative. Thus, we hopped on the next train and 45 minutes later, we were in Lausanne.

Upon arrival, we were presented with two options: uphill or downhill? Opting for the ease of downhill and another visit to Lac Léman, we began descending the steep city stairs to the bottom of town. After stopping off for lunch, we reached the water, where we were greeted with an unbelievable beauty.

In Lausanne, the mountains that surround Geneva move closer together. On one side of the lake, there is Lausanne, a city that rises from the water on a steep hill. Across the lake, there are the majestic Alps, snow-capped and rising high out of the Léman to cast a serene shadow over the clear water. It was the perfect marriage of land and sea. The only thing to do was to enjoy it for as long as possible. With a cool autumn breeze at our backs and a blindingly bright sun above us, we walked along the lake, alternating between a slow stroll as we gawked at the mountains and a tiptoed dance as we tried to see the Swiss lakeside mansions behind the thick bush-lined fences. It was a near-perfect pleasure (it would have been completely perfect if not for the sometimes-cold Swiss people. Wanting a picture of the three of us, my father asked a moseying young Swiss if he would kindly take a picture. The young man declined with such an insulting smugness, that my father responded with a swift and warranted, “Va te faire foutre!”).

At a small marina, we stopped for a break. Watching the small sailboats move in and out of the dock, I was reminded of my recently developed love of sailing. A week before, I had been on the clear waters and under the sunny skies of the Aegean, sailing past and to paradisiacal islands. Now, all I wanted to do was take a small craft out onto the glistening waters of Léman and simply float under the majestic mountains that soared above me. Instead, I was left to merely sit along the shore and look out at the fantastic portrait that lay before me. How miserable.

It addition to its gorgeous landscape, Lausanne has strong connections to the international sports world. No, Lausanne does not have a powerhouse sports team or generate world-class athletes, but it is home to the International Olympic Committee and its museum located on the shores of the lake. This particular weekend brought additional sporting glory to the Swiss city in the form of the Lausanne Marathon, to be held that Sunday. The final stretch of the course would be a surreal ending to the gruesome race, as it would wind down to the lake, running past the Olympic museum and along the mountain-lined water all the way to the finish line. As if making it to the finish line won’t be enough, gutting out that final mile or so with the seemingly fictional backdrop to cheer the racers on will make those 26.2 miles well worth it.

As the afternoon transitioned into evening, we realized we had yet to even see the city itself. Thus, wrapping up our lengthy stroll along the lakefront, we made the steep climb back to the center of town. By the time we had reached the train station, the climb had become just about all we could handle after having been on our feet all afternoon. Able to muster up that last bit of energy, we began our ascent up the even steeper Rue du Petit-Chène. Along the way, the life and character of the city began to reveal itself. Reaching the top of the hill, it became clear that Lausanne in itself was a tale of two cities. Below the train station sat a quiet town with the alluring beauty of nature. Above the train station sat a quintessential European city, at the center of which sat a quintessential Swiss old town. The streets were cobblestone and the architecture authentic, bringing a simple beauty that this country seems to have perfected. And so, with renewed energy, we explored Lausanne just a little more.

Although the Old Town was certainly aesthetically pleasing, it did not offer a whole lot in terms of sightseeing. However, the main attraction was certainly enough to hold our attention. Strolling down the steady uphill streets, we bent around to the Cathedral of Notre Dame, Lausanne’s towering and spellbinding gothic cathedral. As we approached, we heard the organ from within, emitting a reverent sound that could place the hand of God on even the staunchest non-believer. Walking around the church, we became a part of an eclectic crowd; the touring family mixing with map-wielding tourists, dreadlocked hippies, young artists, elderly couples on an evening walk, and the solitary philosophers. Despite all of their superficial differences, though, they all shared an admiration of the magnificent beauty of the church that loomed over them.

With night upon us, we began to make our way back. After a final glimpse of the golden-lit cathedral from a bridge, we made our final descent toward the train station and hopped on the next train back to Geneva. Arriving in town starved and thirsty, we made our way over to Lord Nelson’s for some grub and a 5-liter tower of amber beer. As we filled our bellies and wet our palates, we smiled, laughed, and relived the day that was, as we closed out another day of blissful family reunion.

* * *

How could one study abroad in Switzerland without visiting a cheese factory? To not visit one would be blasphemous. To avoid such a travesty of travel, the majority of the residents of 18 Rue Muzy set off Sunday on an early train for Gruyère, arriving in the cheese kingdom in the early afternoon. The first stop on the visit was La Maison du Gruyère, home of the famous cheese. Here, we were hit with 40 minutes of a glorious assault on our senses. Upon entrance, we were immediately struck by the aroma of the tangy cheese. Preparing for our tour, we could see in the storage room behind the glass rows and rows of cheese blocks stacked high. Playing on the sensory motif, the audio tour – narrated by Cherry the Cow – led us through the sounds, smells, sites, and feel of both the Gruyère region and its cheese. We watched the large, loud vats mixing the dairy goodness that would be transformed into the famed fromage. At the end of the tour, we were finally allowed to exercise that final, wonderful sense: taste. Tasting the mild, semi-salty, and salty cheeses, the Gryuère Cheese experience was complete.

CHEEEEEEESE!

Leaving the factory, we walked through the pastures and headed uphill. As the land leveled out, we walked into the medieval town of Gruyères. Starved after having smelled nothing but cheese for the last hour, my parents and I stopped of for lunch at a fondue restaurant, opting for the beef and horse meet to dip in the boiling fondue broth. Following the meal, we began our exploration of the town and it quickly became clear that we had walked into a real life fairy-tale. The carless gray stone streets were lined with fused buildings that looked to be straight out of Hansel and Gretel. A large castle of the Middle Ages sits at the edge of the village, an enchanting mixture of citadel and royal residence. Walking through a stone gate, we made our way out to the town’s fortifications. Standing atop the aging wall, we looked out at the vast landscape below. Lying under a melancholy gray sky, deep green rows of evergreen trees lined the bright green grassy fields, with the deciduous trees provided dull flashes of color. This perfect combination of rich green led into the nearby mountains that rose high into the gloomy clouds. Never before had such a sullen portrait looked so beautiful.

The Gruyères landscape.

Rejoining the rest of the Rue Muzy residents, we all gathered together to take a guided tour of the charming town. Our fast-moving, heavily accented Swiss guide sped around town, showing us various houses, the cemetery, and church before leading us into the castle. The interior was a great contrast to the rather rigid exterior, displaying beautiful works of art and an intricate baroque structure. While the guide often moved too fast for me to hear all he had to say, simply walking through the medieval residence added to the fable feeling of the town. At the end of the tour, we all headed back downhill to catch our train, sadly leaving behind the fairy-tale landscape.

Riding back on the crowded train twisting through the mountains, I was glad to have experienced such a fulfilling day with my parents. While I still cherished Greece, the excitement of this past weekend and the weekends of exploration to come became the new focus.

From one dream to another.

Fall Break: Day 10 – Kea to Athens to Geneva (10/17/2009)

“[Poseidon]!,” Hephaestus screamed.

“Hmph,” responded the slumbering Sea God, passed out on the bow as rain fell heavily upon him.

“[Poseidon], it’s 5:30 and it’s storming. We gotta get goin’.”

“Yeah,” replied the delirious Sea God.

“[Poseidon], we gotta get sailing.”

“Yeah.”

“NOW!,” Hephaestus yelled while shaking his co-captain.

“YEAH!” Poseidon finally came to and jumped up, suddenly ready to take on the heavy rains, strong winds, and turbulent waters in the black early morning. Manning the wheel, Poseidon pulled the boat out of the port and took on his stormy sea.

THUMP!

“OWWW!,” cried Apollo. The Kallisto, bouncing up and down violently in the tempestuous waters of the Aegean, knocked the Sun God from the couch and slammed his head against the kitchen table. Crawling to the stairs, he looked out to see Poseidon steering the boat through the chaotic storm as lightening flashed behind him. He seemed possessed to get the divine dozen back to Athens. His sea was throwing a dangerous tantrum, though, and he soon came to realize that it was not worth risking the mortality of his immortal friends. Pulling the ship back into the port at Kea, he decided to wait out his sea’s fits of rage.

The rising sun transformed the stormy skies from a menacing black to an ominous gray. Soon enough, though, the thunder, lightning, and rain subsided enough to allow Poseidon and Hephaestus to take the Kallisto back out to sea. The waters were choppy and the winds cold, but this would not stop the Gods and Goddesses from enjoying their final day out on the Aegean. With the boat heeling heavily toward starboard and Bob Marley over the speakers, the exhausted deities sat at the stern of the boat, silently expressing nostalgia for the amazing week that was. As they grew more and more awake, they discussed a range of topics from the extraordinary vacation, to which type of alcohol each one represented (courtesy of Athena).

The trip back to Athens was not without some excitement, though. With the boat tilted heavily toward starboard and rocking up and down in the rough waters, one of the buoys managed to slide overboard and into the cold Aegean waters. Not wanting to pay the price for lost property, the Gods and Goddesses turned the ship around to fetch the floating device. The first time back, they were unable to capture the buoy. Turning back a second time, they missed again. And then again. And then again. Time after time, the Gods and Goddesses reached over the edge of the boat – trying their best to avoid falling in – and time after a time, the buoy slipped through their hands. Nearly every divinity made an attempt and all of them failed. Then, Poseidon made an attempt. Naturally, it took the God of the Sea to tame his waters enough to grab hold of the buoy and allow the deities to get back on course to Athens.

Before long, they arrived back at the Port of Lavrion and bid farewell to Kallisto, their home that was. With time before their bus to the airport, the Gods and Goddesses parted ways to grab a bite to eat, the women to find salads, and the men to find the food of Gods: döner kebab. It had been over a week since they had last indulged in this favorite treat of theirs and were willing to pay any price for it. Even they were surprised by what they found, though.

“How much are kebabs?,” Ares asked. The man behind the counter pointed at the sign above, showing the price. “€1.70?!,” Ares asked with surprise. Used to the 10CHF (about €8.10) kebabs of Geneva, the Gods weren’t quite sure how to react, looking around at each other in stunned excitement. Finally, Hermes spoke up.

“We’ll take five.”

* * *

Following the delicious lunch, the divine dozen hopped on the bus and headed out to the airport. As their week of immortality was coming to an end, it was clear that exhaustion was beginning to set in. For one amazing week, they were all Gods and Goddesses sailing in their paradise. They swam in the clear waters of the Aegean. They hiked up mountains in Syros. They took in the breathtaking beaches of Mykonos. They were the life of the party in Chora, Mykonos. They crashed (multiple times) mopeds in Mykonos. They threw a toga party atop Mt. Olympus. They tasted the Greek life of pleasure in Kea. They threw one last bash on the beaches of Kea. They took on the angry seas. And it all added up the greatest week of their lives.

Stepping off the plane in Geneva, Kevin was met with chilly autumn weather not suited for the shorts and t-shirt he still had on. Taking the train into town, he walked out of Gare Cornavin alone and silently walked down Rue du Mont-Blanc, taking in the early evening buzz of the Swiss city. It was a sharp contrast to the warm weather, small islands, and ancient landscape of Greece’s Western Cyclades. But it was no less wonderful. As he crossed the bridge where the Rhône exits the lake, he looked out at a glistening Lac Léman, ripples calmly resonating throughout the water. Looking up, he found Mt. Salève and the Alps lining the horizon of the pale blue and orange evening sky. Looking behind himself, he found the long ridge of the Jura Mountains lining that horizon.

Turning down Rue Muzy in Eaux-Vives, he entered the dorm building. As the other Gods and Goddesses were missing their train connection in Milan (they had not taken a direct flight to Geneva), he was preparing to turn in early, utterly exhausted. Lying in bead, he reminisced about the amazing week with amazing people he had just had. At times, he was even a little sad that it was over. But he took pleasure in the fact that he was back home in Geneva. At worst, he had moved from one dream to another. It may have been cold and mountainous, but he was still in paradise.

Is this love that I’m feeling?

Fall Break: Day 9 and 10 – Andros to Kea (10/16/2009)

The weeklong celebration of the resurrection of the Gods and Goddesses was beginning to take its toll on the participants. Luckily, life on a sailboat is aptly designed for the relaxation needed for recovery. After a morning to regroup, Kallisto left Andros and set sail on the calm waters of the Aegean, sailing under the cloudy skies en-route to its next destination in the Cyclades. For most of the day, they sat huddled together, discussing everything from Hemingway to which of the Seven Deadly Sins Athena felt each of them personified. “If only we had some Bob Marley,” they wished collectively.

In the early evening, with the gray autumn clouds hanging firmly overhead, the ship pulled into the small port at Kea. Again, they were hit with the quaintness of yet another beautiful Greek isles. Despite the number of boats and a crowd of cars, there was not much excitement along the port. A few shops and restaurants lined the shore, with narrow stairs of stone leading back to the crowded neighborhoods of terraced homes. At the end of this small port, up on the hill, sat a bell tower and charming little blue-domed church. It was from here that the true beauty of Kea was revealed.

Off in the distance, sprinkled in between the vast brown hills, sat villages of house on top of house, rising from sea level to the top of the mountain. At the edge of the island, alone on a hill, sat a small white church, a beautiful paradigm to churches scattered throughout Greece. After exploring their immediate surroundings together, the divinities separated for solo relaxation and exploration. Apollo wandered off alone, winding his way back through the cramped stone streets, across a lovely small cemetery, and back to the blue domed church. Climbing to the top of the bell tower, he took in the silencing view that lay before him. The sunny skies of days past had been replaced by a dark and menacing, yet tranquil gray that draped the island. Paradise comes in all shapes and colors.

With such an amazing journey through the fantasy that is the Western Cyclades, it was easy to forget that out there, a reality did exist. Unfortunately, the reality check hit in a most gruesome fashion. As the Gods and Goddesses relaxed and explored the immediate offerings of Kea, it became known that a dear friend of one of their own had passed away, a young man no older than any member of the divine dozen. To call it heartbreaking would be a gross understatement. Even when in paradise, the tragedies of the world can find their way to you.

But in paradise they were, and selfishly or not, they were going to enjoy Kea to its fullest. What good is paradise if not to help you forget your worries? And, so, with a view offering evidence of an island with much to offer, the deities rented a pair of cars to drive up into the hills of the inviting island.

* * *

“You’re not gonna believe what I found,” stated Hephaestus as Apollo, Athena, Aphrodite, and Iris climbed into the compact rental. Intrigued as to what it could be, the four of them watched curiously as Hephaestus hit eject on the CD player. As the disc slid out, he grabbed a hold of it and revealed to the others what had been left behind: Bob Marley.

The entire week, the Gods and Goddesses had been longing for the smooth sounds of the reggae legend, fully aware that his peaceful words and relaxing rhythms were made for life on the water. Other than two or three songs on various mixes, though, the traveling Gods were forced to endure a week without the sound of the dancing guitars, darting keyboards, steady bases, and smooth horns perfected by Bob Marley and the Wailers. Once again, though, Father Zeus was looking out for them all, presenting them with yet another piece to the utopia puzzle. Better late than never.

The five immortals wasted no time popping the CD back in, immediately beginning to groove to the music. Windows down, they ascended the islands twisting roads, the cool wind blowing their hair as “Is This Love?” played loudly over the speakers. As they rose higher into the hills, the splendor of the island grew more immense. Rocks of brown and fields of green lined the rural road. Approaching the top, the spellbinding blue-gray sea came into sight, fusing with the spellbinding blue-gray sky to create a vast and mystical existence, plainly signifying the infinite beauty of the world. And then Bob’s words hit home: “Is this love that I’m feeling?”

With night fast approaching, the five Gods and Goddesses stopped at the entrance to a small town at the top of the mountain. Before walking through the conspicuous entrance to the town, they took in one final view of the vast island. The island’s brown and green emptiness began to merge into a single shade of darkness, while rays of purple and pink splashed the gray sky as Apollo’s sun began its final descent into the sea.

But even darkness has its beauty, as the deities were soon reminded. Walking through the town gate, they found themselves on the car-less cobblestone streets of an enchanting Greek town. Strolling casually uphill, they were struck with a scene usually reserved for dreams. Golden lights gave a face to stacks of terraced homes rising in crowded unity toward a sky of deep purple. Above the rest sat the light of a small but bright blue cross, casting its grace over the rest of the fantasy town.

Its lure could not be resisted and after sitting in a prolonged state of trance, Aphrodite, Athena, Iris, Hephaestus, and Apollo continued uphill in search of the captivating blue cross. They climbed stares of stone, twisting and turning through the maze of slender streets. They caught the attention of the seemingly perplexed locals, who were not quite sure what this divine group was doing wandering through their quiet town. In an effort to reveal their graciousness, the Gods and Goddesses solicited the townspeople for help, but without positive results. One instance saw a group of curious children scurry away from the approaching Gods, clearly unable to handle the power the five bestowed (surely it had nothing to do with the fact that the Gods approached the children forming menacing crosses with their fingers in an effort to secure directions). The other instance was a simple case of communication incapability, as the townspeople could not speak the language of the Gods (actually, it was the Gods who couldn’t speak the language of the Gods, as the towns people were surely speaking the beautiful Greek that the Gods had once passed along to them). So they continued to wander, climbing more stairs, turning down alleys, following the light the entire way. Then, from the darkness, a bright light.

Although the church was closed to visitors at this later hour, the disappointment over not being able to enter the church that seemed to have roped them in soon passed. From the grounds of the church, the entirety of the mountaintop town came into view. Stepping out on to the roof of a building sitting a step below the church, they looked out over the quiet town, the homes cascading downhill with enough pale golden light to reveal them in the darkness of the night. Next to the church, a young couple enjoyed their evening together in their small apartment. With the soothing sound of trance music playing and glasses of wine, the man attended to his canvas, painting his personal masterpiece while his wife prepared a delicious dinner for the two of them, swaying her hips to the music. It was simple. It was romantic. It was pleasure.

As is always the case, the way back down was much quicker than the journey up and the five deities were soon at the bottom of town ready to head back to the ship. To give their legs a rest from all of the climbing, they relaxed for a few minutes on some park benches, surrounding an empty life-sized chessboard. Always one to indulge in the local delicacies, Athena entered the bakery that sat across from the small park and the rest followed. The short, stout, middle-aged woman running the small shop greeted all of them with a smile and helping hand, helping Athena, in wordless communication, pick out the best treats. Leaving the shop together, the five stopped outside the front door to have a taste of the recommended sweet. One by one, the immortals took a bite of the treat and one by one, they became considerably weak in the knees. The creamy, velvety goodness of the chocolate was unlike anything they had ever tasted. It was chocolate fit for Gods. They had to go back for more.

Following the immediate return-trip to purchase more of the divine chocolate, the five piled back into the car, turned on Bob, and made the winding descent back down to port. Deciding to give chefs Ares and Apollo the night off, the divine dozen chose to take in a family dinner at a restaurant on port. Gathering around the large table, they shared wine and delicious Greek cuisine, toasting one another with several rousing “Yiamas” and a few hearty “Hopa,” bringing joy to their final dinner together in paradise. Following dinner, in the cheesiest of fashions, the Gods and Goddesses gathered on the stern of Kallisto and took turns stating their favorite parts of the trip that was. The Greek Odyssey was quickly coming to an end.

Things were not over quite yet, though. With the reminiscing complete, the deities decided to leave their mark on one final Greek isle. A large supply of beers in hand, many of them headed down shore to find a suitable place to throw one last bash. Walking past a bar that seemed to be throwing the only party in town, the God and Goddesses took a quick peak inside. However, it was quickly decided that the establishment was not suitable enough for the godly group. So, they moved on, eventually stumbling upon a deserted patch of sand fit for Gods.

Turning up the music, the deities cracked open their beverages and in quick, godly (or American college kid) fashion, took down their drinks, just as they had done all week. But this night would not end up as all the others had. The wildness faded fast and they soon moved to the sand, where they sat in a circle talking, gazing at the stars, and listening to The Beatles. They had enjoyed paradise in just about every way possible the past week. Now, they were enjoying it the way it was meant to be enjoyed. With pleasure.

The return to Olympus.

Fall Break: Day 8 – Mykonos to Andros (10/16/2009)

She looked back to Apollo with looks of indecision and guilt. Aphrodite had enjoyed being Apollo’s riding partner the day before, despite the chunk of skin now missing from her left leg. The thought of surveying the island with someone other than the Sun God just didn’t seem right to her. Apollo insisted she ride with Hestia, though, assuring her that he would be all right without her. He explained that he did not want to injure her anymore than he already had; that riding with Hestia would be safer. The chances of another accident occurring were slim, but Apollo didn’t want to take the chance.

Exhausted and hung-over from the previous night’s antics, the Gods and Goddesses were in need of a cure. With Greek paradise at their fingertips, many chose to hop on their mopeds and explore more of Mykonos, hoping the intense beauty would act as a natural cure. They rode up from the port, climbing the hills of the island as the clouds did their best to fight off the sun. Reaching a significant height, they looked down over the vacant island, the brown land sparsely dotted with white houses before dropping off into the vast dark-blue sea. And just as had happened the day before, the gray clouds lost their grip and the sun seeped through as the radiant blue sky revealed itself. Suddenly, the hangover had disappeared.

Hypnotized longer than the others, Apollo found himself separated from the group along the ride back to port. In an effort to make up ground, he twisted the throttle all the way back and buzzed forward. The clouds had again tightened their hold on the sky, though, and brought along a light rain. Sacrificing time for safety, the God of the Sun eased his grip on the throttle and slowed to a more appropriate speed. He had not slowed down enough, though, and as he began descending a curvy, wet hill, that slim chance of another accident occurring gained weight.

VRROOO––CLUNK!

The back wheel slid out from underneath and Apollo was thrown from the bike.

SHHHHGGGRRRRHHH! CLUNK! Cl-Cl-clunk!

As if sliding into home plate, he dove headfirst along the concrete and gravel as the bike continued bouncing along the road, eventually settling on his leg like a tag from a catcher. Apollo had tried to steal home and was caught. Now he had to deal with the pain.

With a heavy groan, Apollo lifted himself up and looked at his mangled hands. Chunks of skin had been added to the soil of Mykonos and the soil of Mykonos to Apollo’s bloodstream, as the grit and gravel slowed the blood flowing from his palms. With napkins in his pocket from the previous night’s gyro feast, he wrapped his hands and surveyed the rest of the situation. Miraculously, the rest of his body was unharmed and despite a few minor scratches, the bike was also in good condition. Thus, Apollo quickly hopped back on the bike and began his search for medical supplies. Riding to the center of the island, he eventually came across a supermarket and made his way inside.

“Can you tell me where the bandages are?,” Apollo asked. The young, dark-haired girl stared at him with big eyes and an open mouth. English was clearly not a language she understood, but that was all right. The visual aids at Apollo’s disposal needed no words, so he raised his bloodied hands to the cashier. Her puzzled look quickly transformed to one of disgust and nausea as she averted her eyes in an intense cringe, pointing in the general direction of the medical supplies. After making his purchase, Apollo returned to the parking lot and began tending to his wounds. Using the water he had just purchased, he washed his hands of the grime then applied the disinfectant spray.

“AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!” The scream was akin to that of a tortured war prisoner; Apollo had not expected such an intense burn. A man walking past stopped dead in his tracks at the sound, staring in fear at the fragile Sun God. Fighting off the lingering pain with a series of hearty grunts, Apollo gave the man the “I’ll be fine” head nod and wave, endured the pain of the spray to his other hand, and began his journey back to the Kallisto.

After illegally riding through the narrow, cobblestone, pedestrian streets of the beautiful Chora section of town, Apollo dropped the bike off at the rental center and walked back to the boat, dejected and in pain. His depression was short-lived, though, as he returned to a ship full of cheery deities. There may have been a few bumps and bruises along the way, but he could not think of a better Mykonos experience than the one he’d had. He and the rest of the divine dozen had left their mark on paradise and they were sad to leave her behind. As the Kallisto began its departure, Aphrodite and Iris bid one final farewell to Mykonos, hugging the island in a way only a Goddess could.

* * *

“Hey, [Hephaestus]. Could you do me a favor and spray this stuff on my hands.”

“What’s it for?,” the Fire God asked.

“Just some disinfecting spray,” replied the Sun God. Handing over the bottle, Apollo began to cringe, the memory of the previous spray flooding his mind.

“Alright. One… Two...” Before reaching three, Hephaestus doused the hands of Apollo, who strained his screams and groans as best he could. Grimacing with his eyes shut tight and hands burning, he stood for a few minutes to regain his composure.

“Thank you,” he finally let out, feeble sounding and barely audible. Then he went down into the cabin and sat alone, staring at his hands and sulking in his miserable pain. The other deities passed in and out, asking how he was and receiving little more than a half-nod and an “I’ll be OK.” Surely, he was over-indulging in his misery. He needed something to take his mind off of the pain. Then, Demeter came in.

“Oh, are you OK [Apollo]?,” she asked with motherly concern. Apollo smiled meekly and nodded as he continued to look down. “Do you want me to make you a sandwich?,” she offered.

The Sun God looked up in grateful amazement. They were quite possibly the sweetest words he had ever heard. The key to Apollo’s heart was food, especially a good sandwich. Demeter had incidentally stumbled upon that key. Perhaps it was because she is the Goddess of Agriculture; surely she possessed an intuition for feeding her fellow Gods and Goddesses. He accepted her offer and waited with excited impatience as she prepared his meal. Then she placed the sandwich in front of him and he took a big bite out of it. And the pain was gone.

By the time Apollo finished his delicious sandwich, his good mood had returned. Preparing himself an early afternoon drink, he joined the rest of the divine dozen outside. They spent the rest of the afternoon sipping cocktails, sunbathing, taking their daily pit stop to swim in the Aegean, and entertaining themselves with music and dinghy rides as the Kallisto sailed along to its next destination in paradise.

They arrived at Andros shortly before the sun made its final descent into the sea. Pulling into a small port, they quickly began to take care of business. A few went off to restock the food and drink supply, while Athena and Apollo went off to find a small beach suitable for a partying group of Gods. Each journey was successful, as nutritional supplies were found and a nice little cove was discovered. However, as the deities sat relaxing in the Kallisto before dinner, it became apparent that the men hanging around the port were not any they wanted to be around. Pacing back and forth near the boat and making no effort to hide their mischievous stares, the suspicious bunch of characters cast a shadow of worry and doubt over the Kallisto. Leaving the boat to party on a beach was no longer an option. The solution was simple, though, and after rounding up all of the Gods and Goddesses, the Kallisto made the short trip to the middle of the harbor and dropped its anchor. The boat would be their place of refuge for the night.

* * *

“What if we spoke without verbs? Let’s just not use verbs!”

An increasingly intoxicated and toga-clad Poseidon had been throwing out ideas for how to spend the rest of the night, each more nonsensical than the one before. Following another divine meal (which an injured Apollo – who had self-appointed himself a Co-Chef of the ship – could not help prepare) and gender-specific God talk (even Gods need their bro time), the celestial beings lounged lethargically on the bow, sipping beer and waiting for something to happen. Then it came.

“You should really put on a toga,” Poseidon responded to the Gods and Goddesses admiring his fashion choice. It was a thought that had floated around the boat earlier in the evening, but seemed to had been forgotten. It made perfect sense, though. There were at least a dozen white bed-sheets that had not been used the entire week and, on top of it all, they were Gods and Goddesses in GREECE! A toga party in Greece. How could they have forgotten?

The rejuvenated bunch rushed down into the cabin and, with the help of Hestia, applied their togas. Dressed in their traditional attire, the only thing left for the twelve immortals to do was to make the ascent to Mount Olympus. Starting the party off right, they turned on the Isley Brothers’ “Shout” as loud as could be (what would a toga party be without homage to Animal House?) and danced away as the Kallisto transformed into the original home of the Gods. They had made the return to Olympus.

With the stars shining bright, the party raged on. Dance moves were busted out and Dutch beers were drunk in excess.. The only thing left to do was take a late night swim. Thus, ridding themselves of their togas, the divine dozen plunged into the black Aegean for a divine dip.

Paddling his way back to the boat, Apollo asked Poseidon to find a towel for him. Poseidon politely carried out the request and then some. Rather than laying out the towel and allowing it to wait for Apollo’s return, Poseidon launched the towel into the sea. So much for drying off.

And, thus, another day in paradise had come to an end. The Gods and Goddesses dried themselves, lied down on the bow of Olympus, and dozed off under the starlit sky.

One more surprise.

Fall Break: Day 7 – Syros to Mykonos (10/15/2009)

“HELLO (Hello, hello…)!”

Apollo tried to ignore it. It was far too early for such noise. Certainly it was just a part of his dream. But it only grew louder.

“SOMEONE COME PICK US UP (Up, up…)!”

“ALL RIIIIIGHT (Iiiight, iiiight…)!” With nothing but a tiny, wet blanket covering him, a freezing Apollo awoke. His neck was stiff. His back was killing him. Why did he choose the bow over a bed? Then, he opened his eyes to the bright morning sun breaking through a thin layer of clouds and looked around the cove. He was still in paradise. The pain was gone.

Able to loosen his back and regain some range of motion in his neck, Apollo picked himself up and grabbed Ares and the dinghy to retrieve Hephaestus and Poseidon. They lowered the small boat into the water, hopped in, and stared silently.

“Uhh… Well, I know how to steer it,” Ares said. “Do you know how to start it?”

“Yeah,” Apollo responded unsurely. “It’s just like starting a lawn mower, right?” Ares shrugged and nodded. Grabbing the cord, Apollo gave it a few yanks and the engine began revving. Ares then began steering to shore as the two smiled in self-satisfaction. By themselves, they were incompetent fools. But even two morons can start and steer a small rubber boat.

After a successful rescue mission, Ares and Apollo had a hankering for some more exploring. Thus, dropping Hephaestus and Poseidon off at “Kallisto,” the two continued navigating the small bay. Swinging around the rocky hill on which the tiny white church sat, they entered another inlet. Seeing a small beach, they decided to pull up to shore.

CLUNK!

As they approached shore, the engine smacked into a rock. Ares and Apollo sat silent and stared at each other with looks of concern.

“I think we’re close enough,” said Ares.

“Yea, I’d say so,” Apollo quickly chimed, in nervous agreement. The two hopped out of the boat and walked through the shallow water to the driftwood-filled beach. After a few minutes of mindless exploration, the two decided to head back to the ship. Walking the dinghy out to some deeper water, they hopped in and yanked on the cord. Then they yanked again. And again. And again. For the next few minutes, they took turns trying to start the engine, with nothing but a few gurgles to show for it. They sat dejected, trying to avoid eye contact, as they thought the same thing.

“Are we gonna do this?,” Apollo asked.

“We really have no other choice,” Ares responded. Nodding his head in reluctant agreement, Apollo joined his mythological counterpart in stripping down to his underwear. Throwing their clothes in a pile, they hopped into the water and began paddling back to the ship, taking turns dragging the damaged dinghy. Swimming back, though, they saw “Kallisto” pull out from behind the rocky hill and begin sailing away. Paddling faster, they screamed for their fellow Gods and Goddesses to wait for them. Echoing off the rocky hills surrounding the cove, their cries for help were heard and the “Kallisto” came to a halt, bobbing in the water as it waited for the two inept deities.

Reaching the boat, they climbed the ladder in near nudity, absorbing the playful jeers being thrown at them by the other divinities. Their incompetence in water vessel operation had become a stain on their godly statuses. Having shown a complete inability to help in the navigation of the ship, they relegated themselves to the kitchen. The least they could do was keep the crew full.

* * *

A cool, rather dull day on the Aegean, most of the sailing time was spent lounging as they warmed themselves with blankets and booze. In mid-afternoon, they approached their destination. Floating between the pale, cloud-streaked sky and the deceptively gray water was a brown, barren island with bright white buildings scattered throughout. Even with the less-than-vibrant conditions, it seemed to be a classic vision of Greece. But even the beautiful view with which they were provided upon entering the harbor did the island no justice.

After docking the boat, a few of the mythological crewmembers conducted some preliminary research around the port, finding a cheap moped rental center situated across the street. Many had never driven a motorized bike before, but how hard could it be? Plus, what better way was there to see the island? Thus, the divine dozen paired up and rented six. Following a few minutes of unsafely test-driving the sensitively accelerating vehicles, the pairs sped off to meet Mykonos.

They rode uphill in search of a beach, while Apollo’s sun fought hard to burst through the clouds. Along the way, Aphrodite, riding with Apollo, burst with joy at the surrounding beauty, telling him every 15 seconds to look and see how gorgeous everything was. He tried his best to ignore the distractions and keep his eyes on the road, but something stunning appeared before them and they pulled over with the rest to take a closer look. With a few clouds suddenly breaking apart, the bright glow of the sun shone down on Chora, Mykonos, illuminating the vividly white dream world. The definition of beauty had just evolved.

Eventually pulling their eyes from the amazing sight, the Gods and Goddesses continued their search for a beach. Eventually, they came across a small, sandy strip of shoreline that only added to their vision of paradise. As the sun continued to fight off the surrounding clouds, they spread out across the sand, lounged in the vacant chairs, and, despite its cool October temperature, splashed around and snorkeled in the clear Mediterranean water. Only the divine could have created such a perfect image.

Leaving the beach, they continued their exploration of the island, riding along streets of ancient-looking stone walls, high into the hills of the barren beauty. Winding in and out, they soon came across the sight of another small beach and took the descent down to the water. The sandy beach that lay before them was, with the exception of a few rows of beach umbrellas, deserted. The possibilities were endless. It certainly was the prefect spot to hold a private, mythological celebration from sunset to sunrise. But could they get the boat their?

“I’ll go scope it out,” Poseidon volunteered. With an energetic excitement, the God of the Sea took off at full sprint across the sand, hopped on his moped, and sped up the steep hill to investigate the surroundings. Whatever the possibilities, though, the immortal crew decided against a private beach party, opting instead for an evening of conventional raging. Thus, they paired back up and began the difficult trek back up the hill. The steepness of the road made it difficult to drive uphill with two people on the bikes, forcing many to walk a portion of the way. Apollo and Aphrodite were able to successfully reach the top without having to do so, though, and leaned against a stone wall as they waited for the others to arrive. Once everyone had finally reached the top, Apollo started the bike, revved the sensitive throttle, and…

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Over and over again, the moped bounced off of the stone wall. In a panic, Apollo pulled harder on the throttle, only making matters worse. After a few seconds, he realized that letting go would be the best option, and the bike came to a standstill. He hopped off and began assessing the damage. Miraculously, he was unscathed. No cuts, no bruises, not even a tiny scrape. However, Aphrodite had not been so lucky, as blood began pouring from her knee and racing down her leg. Apollo felt terrible, apologizing over and over to the injured Goddess. In true Goddess of Love fashion, though, Aphrodite did not blame Apollo and continued to smile. It was impossible to be angry in such a beautiful place, she explained. Thus, with an uncanny ability to forgive and a few tissues to wipe up the blood, Aphrodite hopped back on the bike with Apollo and they joined the others in further exploration of the beauty Mykonos had to offer.

* * *

Continuing their contribution to the “Kallisto,” Ares and Apollo fired up the stove and prepared another meal fit for Gods. The delicious pizzas kept coming, the wine flowed, and the beer spewed (an issue with the mini-keg created a beer geyser. The Gods had to resort to ladling beer) as the mythological crew began their celebrations of another incredible day in paradise. Sufficiently stuffed and adequately wet, they decided to take the party elsewhere, going in shifts out to the road to be taken to the center of town.

“All right, who’s coming next?,” Poseidon asked. Athena, Hephaestus, and Apollo were the only three left on ship, trading shots, dance moves, and playful derisions (mostly thrown in the direction of Athena). Ready to move on, Apollo exited the boat and hopped on the back of Poseidon’s moped. With little warning, the Sea God twisted the throttle and the bike took off. Apollo had no choice but to endure the increasing speeds and sharp turns as Poseidon took him on a joyride.

“Man, these things are fun to drive drunk,” Poseidon exclaimed as they reached the main road. Apollo thanked Zeus for letting him survive.

Reaching Chora, it became apparent that some of the divine were already falling victim to the night. This would not slow the rest of the deities, though, and they began their search for the proper establishment. Along the way, they were split up, and Athena, Hera, Iris, Hephaestus, and Apollo found themselves at “Argo.” The setting was mellow and the crowd was light, but they had come to party, and party they would. Securing beverages for themselves, they hit the dance floor. Hephaestus pulled out with his signature flowing shirt-pull, Apollo threw in a series of uncoordinated yet animated moves, and Hera delighted with her backwards worm. The crowd loved them and circled around to join in on the fun. As the God of Fire continued showcasing his dancing prowess, he drew looks of admiration and what looked like desire from the heavily male crowd. Mykonos, after all, is known for its popularity with the gay community. Such connotations were of no concern, though, and he continued to put on a show until the four decided to leave to meet with their friends.

Walking down the street, they ran into the other eight outside “Jackie O’s.” Rejoicing in reunion, they lounged on the comfortable chairs and couch outside the bar, planning their next plan of attack. They looked out at the calm, black sea that lined the street, cruise ships twinkling in the distance. With such serenity, Hephaestus, Ares, and Apollo decided that there was no better time for a swim than right that instant. Disrobing, they hopped over the wall, climbed over the rocks, and waded out into the sea for a midnight swim. Splashing around with drunken enthusiasm, they did their best to convince others (particularly the Goddesses) to join them. Unfortunately, their cries for potential partners in crime were met with threats of phone calls to the police. Thus, the late night dip was cut short and the three Gods returned to more conventional means of celebration.

While the bar had bumping music and a fair crowd, the dancing space was not quite to the liking of the divine dozen. Thus, they made due with what they were given and moved the dance party to the tables. Fighting off the initial stares of other patrons, and the occasional creepy Greek suitor, the Gods and Goddesses rocked out on the tiny white café tables for the next hour or so before deciding collectively to make a return to “Argo.” With a larger crowd, including a group of American students studying in Rome, the “Kallisto” crew continued their night of nirvana. Crazy dances were danced, drinks were drunk, and faces were eaten. What could have possibly made the night any better?

* * *

“Hold on. We have one more surprise,” Ares called out.

“What’re you talkin’ about, man?,” Apollo asked.

“We still have one more person,” the God of War answered.

Looking around, Apollo replied, “No we don’t. We’re all here. Everybody else went back,” the Sun God replied as he, Aphrodite, and Iris began to enter the taxi. But Ares shook his head.

“Follow me.”

Walking down the cobblestone street, he led them along the waterfront, past closed shops and restaurants and away from what remained of the early morning nightlife. Just before reaching the destination, he turned to the other three and made his request.

“Okay. Whatever you do, don’t laugh,” Ares asked of them. The other three turned to one another with quizzical looks, wondering what there could possibly be to laugh at. Then, turning around the slight curve, they saw what they had come to find, and burst into an uncontrollable laughter.

Perched against the wall of a seaside shop, a young lady slept with her long, light brown hair shielding her face. To her right and her left sat two family-sized bags of potato chips, their contents exhausted, much of it littered on her slumbering body. It did not seem as if the Goddess of Wisdom had exercised good judgment this time around, and once the other four Gods and Goddesses finished their hysterics, they awoke Athena and helped her to her feet. However, while the others were ready to head back to the ship, Miss Chips had other plans, and took off in the other direction, settling at a small beach nearby.

Keeping their mythological mate company, Aphrodite, Iris, Ares, and Apollo looked out at the still sea. So dark. So soothing. So serene. Just as was the case earlier in the night, the time for a swim never seemed more appropriate. The four hesitated, though. The temperature was growing chilly, and the water certainly would be much colder. So they stood and debated. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Athena came sprinting out of the background and plunged into the Aegean.

“Oh my God! It’s SO COLD!,” Athena exclaimed after she emerged. And, thus, the debate was over. Despite the confirmed frigid temperature of the water, they could not allow a fellow deity to swim alone, so the other four followed suit and raced into the sea. They treaded water, sharing laughs and stories about the day that was as they tried to stay warm. At one point, a police car came into view. And without a care, it drove right past the bathing immortals. No one would dare disturb them from enjoying the beauty of the black, empty sea and all its gorgeous surroundings.

Sobered from the cold, pre-sunrise swim, the five headed back to the taxi stop and dried off before heading back to the port. The girls headed out first, as Ares and Apollo took the time to enjoy their gyros, the brother of the kebab. Sitting on the stone wall with their feet dangling over the water, they took in a final gaze at the dark night. It was perfect. And it made sense why the Gods and Goddesses lived in Greece.