Party on Greece!

A very random pigeon house at the Paradise? I think the pigeons were used for relaying messages to the mainland, such as "Send more bugs now!"

A nice Church on the waterfront. I couldn't find any pictures of us in the club, so bear with me during these monotonous photos.

Anna, Grant, Me. That's just a funny picture if you ask me. It lookes like Anna and I are a diablo and an angel on his shoulders- but who's who?

Our second night on Mykonos was just as buggy, but twice as exciting as the inauguaral evening. We, The Greece Crew, knew we could not last another night in our barracks if we wanted to return home to America as anything but mosquito fodder. Seeing as it was a pleasant evening, and chaisse lounges were far more enticing than the slabs of wood in our living quarters, we all opined unanimously to sleep on the beach under natural illumination with the breaking waves lulling us to sleep. We did not anticipate the extent of the unnatural illuminations, or the pulsating club beats reverberating in our ears all night, however. Not only was the Paradise Resort known for having a gay, nude beach, but also for being the party hotspot on Mykonos. Our solitary evening of choice for beach snoozing also included an all night dance party-on the beach- featuring none other than the world famous (?) Caal Kennedy! All through the night we longingly looked up at the brilliant stars and wished for Caal to go to bed, although he never did. At five in the morning we were all regrettably awake and still swatting mosquitoes that are apparently now equipped with GPS to better facilitate sucking, so we had a committe meeting to address what to do. Seeing as none of us were willing to go back to our shacks to finish off the night (the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was still affecting us, and we feared a relapse), we decided to just make the most of the rave and join in! So we danced from five until about six thirty in the AM. We were all too loopy to really know what was going on, but we were able to invent an original dance move we called the "Mosquito Swat," wherein you move your hands around your face in a chic like fashion while secretly batting bugs away and protecting your body from being violated in the club (by bugs or course). Yes, Mykonos, you never ceased to amaze or to provide endless and unexpected adventure. If you can't sleep in your bed, I guess you are just expected to dance the night away!

Greece III

Me, on a rose covered staircase in the streets of Hora. I described the picture so that my interpretation of the picture might jumpstart your own thoughts and meditation.

Grant and Kris on the Hora shora-line. I only wrote it that way so that Hora and shora would rhyme, but really it was just a shoreline.

The town of Hora on Mykonos was filled, though not to capacity, with friendly people, as a cookie box with cookies. They were very nice, but sparse like colors on a zebra. In fact, all the Greeks we met were incredibly friendly, like a dog with a peanut butter chewtoy. On more than one occasion we stopped someone to ask for directions, and found that they spoke as much English as an American teenager in South Dakota. But, they were very willing to go in search of someone who did speak our language to help us out, like an Eagle Scout at 23.00 trying to fit his good turn in before day's end. Okay, the similies have really got to stop... Downtown Hora has streets so anorexic that no motor cars can fit between the shoppes and flats. We parked our little lawnmower motors by some incredibly ineffective windmills (which showed astounding potential, if they only put the sails up) and headed into town to walk, whisper, and windowshop. I really liked the town, but not because of its anti-congestion or rising sealine slash sinking port.

I liked it because of its charismatic and fulfilling personality. I loved its meterstick streets and contiguouos buildings, welded together as affectionately as books on a shelf might be. I enjoyed the voluptuous coastline composing the Eastern border and the garrulous Greeks drying their aprons over the city walks. I ate happily on the smogless veranda and relished in the smooth air streaming in from the sea. I certainly gained a penchant both for Mykonos and its communities. The sunset that night, as seen from an ocean-battered stone housing windmills and lovers, was beautiful- as all sunsets and people should be.

Greece II

Grant deciding if the cactus would make a nice lunch (we were running out of money) in front of the ruins at Mykonos.

After a night that could only be described by the onomatopoeia 'BZZZZZ' we got out of bed, which consequently resulted in us being out of our barrack. Breakfast at the Paradise included, and was limited to:

• 1 Cup Orange Drink (Not fresh squeezed) (They explicitly stated this)
• 2 Pieces of Bread
• 1 Croissant
• 2 Butter Packets
• 1 Jam Packet
• 1 Hard Boiled Egg

The food rations were meager, but at least we had sensational thoughts of lunch at our patio cafe across the way. Day II in Mykonos included renting scooters to travel the island. The oversized and underdressed rental spokesman had just won the World's Strongest Man contest, and was celebrating by watching cartoons in his hut.* The hut barely fit him and yet was still more spacious than our sleeping quarters. He asked me to take the scooter out for a ride to test my two-wheel competency (and because I didn't want to be turned into orange juice, this time fresh squeezed). Having never ridden one before I didn't know the seat from the kickstand or the windshield from the brake. I only passed because he was distracted by Tom and Jerry. We rented two scooters and set about immediatley up the raw countryside with Paradise to our backs and felicitous shores on the horizon. Driving in any foreign commonwealth can be unsettling, but doing so with half the amount of wheels is just downright pant-wettingly unnerving. Navigating a rotary or a three way stop when you don't know how to turn off your blinkers, drive your vehicle, or see through your helmet sun visor really puts some hair on your chest. Unless you're a girl, in which case it...umm...puts length to your toenails?

The sights of the island outweighed the mental damage, however. We beach hopped the breadth of Mykonos in the morning searching for a beach more suited to our toggery tastes. Because of its piddling size Mykonos has several coves that reform Mediterranean gusts into freshening breezes. They harbour sunshine and provide tender sand that melts between your painted toes. (My toes are not painted, but I do associate painted toes with Summer.) While practically still on the beach, we dined on mellow sandwiches and savory crepes; my preference being a tomato, feta, and olive submarine drizzled with olive oil and topped with Greek spices. We felt like Greek gods/goddesses, as should be evident in the reclining photograph below.

Not only did we visit the beaches of Mykonos, but we also saw the major cities, Hora and Ano Vera, the latter being inland despite its coastal views on three sides. They were both thriving metropolises consisting of a rental scooter hut, a gyro stand, and a smoke shop. We saw an ancient ruin and looked death in the eye at every left turn. We admired the coasts, goats, airplane runway, white buildings with blue accents, and each other's company. Our conversations were pleasant and the sun regally effulgent. The old port in Hora was friendly and seemed to gaze at us methodically, just as we mirrored its views. Scooting around a graceful Grecian archipelago was indeed blissful.

*I actually don't know if he had entered any WSM contest, but he was strong enough to bend the Parthenon in half and he was in fact watching cartoons.