Driving downtown is currently far beyond my skill level, so D dropped me off at the Metro on his way into work this morning so I could head to the center of Athens for some official Greek immigration business.  While waiting for my attorney in Syntagma Square, I passed the time with some killer people watching.  I have had to explain this term to my Greeks each time I use it…people watching is not a phrase that they use here in Hellas.  Honestly, when I attempt explanation it does sound a little creepy, but my act of people watching is certainly not a creepy as others…like the guy sitting across the fountain from me on the bench, for example.

One of the busiest places in Athens, Syntagma is the government headquarters of Greece, the Washington DC of Hellas, if you will.  Everyone wants to hop off the Metro here at this time in the day, but with trains running every two minutes, the ride is certainly less intimate then rush hour subway trips in other cities.  Also, Athens built their Metro for the 2006 Olympics, so the stations are essentially brand new…AKA ‘clean,’ and for a single Euro you can go just about anywhere.

After shelling out 200 Euros to translate my birth certificate and a few other pages of documents, part of the process to make myself a legal resident of Greece, I headed to a place near the square that my attorney tells me sells books in English…here I truly find the Greek Barnes and Noble!  After bathing in sexy American design books, I head upstairs for coffee.  In fact, as I write this I am sitting in a fifth floor café, sipping a cappuccino frappe, and staring across the square, the site of all the Greek strikes and protest that you hear about on Fox News.

On the other side of Syntagma Square is the Parliament Building.  The structure itself is a modern interpretation of the classic Greek orders. Upon inspection I believe that our own American capitol building makes this center of Greek politics look like it was constructed by blindfolded government workers, and that perhaps Thomas Jefferson understood classic architecture better than the modern Greeks.  I should not be so quick to judge a book by its cover however, because despite the building’s austere exterior, I can just imagine what frantic behavior is occurring inside, considering the state of Greece’s political climate.

Whatever they are scheming, it seems that the average Greek doesn’t really care.  They are not concerned with bailouts, austerity measures, or the value of the Euro; they just want someone they can blame.  While the Greek people seek an economic crisis poster child, what is completely being ignored here is that the bailout for Greece is not an attempt by the EU to help the people of Hellas, but to help the people that Hellas owes…largely other Europeans.  With the plan of action to improve Greece’s economy essentially non-existent, I can sit here sipping my frappe, close my eyes, and only fear how the future protests in Syntagma Square will unfold.

Love Rach

Sunday is my favorite day here in Greece…even though all the stores are closed…because while I can’t shop, it means my Greek always has the day off.  While the stores are closed, the Tavernas are open.  A taverna is essentially what the Greeks call a family owned restaurant, and nothing is better than spending a lazy Sunday afternoon spending 3 or 4 hours drinking wine, eating traditional Greek cuisine, and soaking in local culture.  D and I love to hit the tavernas on Sundays.

This past Sunday we traveled outside Athens to sample a little place D heard had fresh fish at an incredible price.  It was my first seafood experience here in Hellas, and boy am I glad I waited…Opa!

We drove with D’s brother and his girlfriend for about an hour, until we crossed over the bridge to the Peloponnese…which in the US is like leaving the state for lunch.  Roughly an hour from our door, we found ourselves mingling with beach goers and vacationers in a tiny taverna.  Upon entrance we were not shown to our table, but immediately directed to the back of the open-air restaurant to select our seafood.

Charging by the weight, the waitress donned rubber gloves as she pulled various fish from the cooler and onto a scale for our review.  We settled on a large silver fish, two small black fish, a pile of crawfish, and a large plate of calamari before we returned to our table to order the side dishes.

The food started coming, first our Greek salad, side of feta, potatoes, and boiled leeks.  Next came the crawfish…which were really large compared to the Cajun variety I am used to…and even more sweet.  Next the waiter delivered the calamari fried with lemon; the two black fish grilled to perfection, and of course, our second bottle of Greek white (then our third…).

Finally the large silver fish arrived, and with squeezed lemons littering the table and absolutely no more room in my stomach to spare (could have something to do with the four plates of potatoes we ordered) D and his brother ordered one more dish.  Po! Po! Po!  (can translate to woah…or wow…or my God!) These were small silver fish lightly battered and fried.  Eaten whole, they seemed somewhat like sardines, just not as salty.  Taking one bite of the tail, and afraid to eat a fish head, I passed on the rest blaming my over-stuffed belly…really I just could think of chomping on fish guts.

This is a typical meal here in Greece.  Several hours, tons of plates, and free flowing wine.  I have been working hard to loose the six or seven kilos I gained while traveling this past year with snakeman, because I REALLY want to go to the beach.  It helps that my boyfriend is a fitness trainer, but honestly, this incredible concept of “Greek Hospitality” is really getting in my way…and I hate to complain about something so wonderful (and delicious).

Wednesday we were invited to the parent’s house of a Greek girlfriend of mine.  They did not speak English, but were looking forward to hosting an American girl anyway.  I was trying not to drink wine, trying to avoid fat and carbs, but my adorable Greek girlfriend just kept piling it on my plate as her father made sure the sweet sun ripened grape concoction was always present in my glass.  I was stuffed…after cheese, meatballs, salads, rooster, pasta, and wine…I was totally and completely over fed, and miles away from my poor attempt at a diet.  Even still, with my plate clean, the traditional Greek hospitality persisted and her mother expressed disappointment in how little I ate.  All the while mom and pop grilled my Greek about weight loss information. Opa…

As I write this I am dreaming about the moussaka in the refrigerator courtesy of D’s mom and the insane olive oil cake baked for the Saint Who-Finds-Things that we were sent home with…and can eat neither.  Seriously, I have given into cultural indulgence for far too long, and need a break.  I feel a little guilty passing things up, last night at a birthday party I am sure I disappointed our hosts by turning down their repeated offers of pastries and pies.  Finally however, despite the temptations (and likely thanks to the killer work outs I get courtesy of my personal live-in fitness instructor) I am starting to lose the kilos that I had so much fun packing on.  While this Greek food is utterly amazing, I am slowly remembering that nothing tastes as good as a six pack.

Besides, when I am beach ready and able to finally have occasional indulgences, the food will still be there.  Greek hospitality has endured thousands of years…it is certainly not going anywhere now.

Love, Rach

I have been lost here the last few weeks without a camera.  This is why I prefer to buy cameras that don’t require a unique charger…because I lose them! Today’s report will be sans photo, but I have relocated my charger (thankfully before dropping the 65€ to replace it) so not to worry about our visual future.

Sporting events here in Greece are taking me a little getting used to.  When I first arrived we joined some friends to watch a football game, which I repeatedly referred to as soccer, but other than the so called mix-up of terminology and the much sexier players, it was a typical American football came full of over excited opposing fans, an endless source of beer, and way too much food.

This past Sunday we had two friends over to watch the basketball game.  Honestly, I never watched the sport back in the US, so I can’t tell you where the rules are slightly different, or notice the varying abilities of the players, but I did come to realize there is something much different about Greek sports than what I am used to back home.  Sure we still had the overflowing mugs of beer and junk food covering the table, but there was something much more exciting than anything I have ever seen in the US.

The event was a finals game between Olympiakos and Panathinaikos…or the city of Athens and town Piraeus, a port city just outside Athens.  The stadium was packed, but it is important to note that
the entire crowd was wearing green because the home team fans are the only members of the audience.  Seriously.  This is solely due to safety concerns by the Greek authorities that attend the game not in green fan jerseys, but in helmets and protective gear.

Some players had Greek names, others were written in English, which I was informed because they had played for various teams in the NBA.  Just after half-time (Greek basketball quarters are only ten minutes each…and I am not complaining) some over enthused fans began to rip out seats from the stadium, throw plastic bottles at the opposing team, and even throw flares onto the court.  Opa.

My friends were a little pissed because they wanted to see the end of the game.  They were irritated…but not surprised.  Me, I was stunned.  Can you imagine this happening during the Final Four in the US? The Greek authorities stopped the game, cleared the stadium, and resumed once the childlike fans were escorted from the stands.

We were long asleep before the final score was announced, but we learned later that Athens won 76-69, meaning that the season is over and there will be no more games.  Can’t say I am mad about that.

If basketball becomes this violent, thank goodness there is no professional hockey league…

Love Rach

Read more here

Check out the video as I sneak around the E1027 restoration: VIDEO

Today was my first weekly trip to the local open-air market…now something I will do every Thursday.  Farmer’s markets such as these are much more of a novelty in the United States than here in Voula, where many of the Greeks depend on this market for their weekly produce, eggs, seafood selections, and honey.  Unlike the markets back home, the prices here are much more competitive, and I can save a few Euros on my greens as opposed to buying overpriced organic from a Phoenix farmer.  The supermarkets here are only for the emergency tomato or the imported and out of season necessity.

I was real sad that Snakeman couldn’t come along, but I wasn’t alone.  D’s mom took me today.  I have only attempted the car once so far and the walk home carrying bags of light green Greek zucchini and ripe red cherries up hill was not so appealing, but I was also looking forward to watching the master at work.  This woman is a seasoned Greek mother who has been feeding two boys daily for the last 30 years, and I looked forward to learning a thing or two about the local produce from such a professional.

I admit, she is somewhat of a competition of mine, seeing as how every Friday she delivers her famous lentil dish, Sunday’s we receive the gift of roasted chicken, and her random spinach pies and casseroles of moussaka are often left at our doorstep, but the women does know how to cook, and she certainly knows her produce.

Today I learned that I paid way too much for cherries (but they taste like candy…), that the apricots should remain in the paper bag outside the fridge for one day to ripen perfectly, that leeks are out of season so they must be purchased at the grocery, and even though the eggs are the same price in the open air market as they are at the supermarket…she has been buying them from this local vendor for years, and they are the best.

I was also told that the onions I bought last week from the supermarket probably came from Egypt, while the bright purple specimens I selected today while standing outside in the hot sun come from Sparta.  Apparently the apple seller distracted me enough to see that I pick the worst apples from the bunch, shopping at this market is actually an incredible workout, and best of all…there is asparagus in Greece!

Love Rach

My home in Voula

We all possess different ideas of what defines ‘perfect.’  When my Greek friends speak English they use this word quite a bit…to describe things that they really like.  I find that much of their English results from a direct translation of Greek, so rather than assume my Greeks do not understand what ‘perfect’ means, I take this to mean that the Greeks use their form of the word regularly, and find much in this world to be ‘perfect.’

I do too, actually.

I think that finding perfection is all about your state of mind.  But, how do you find your ‘perfect?’ I have found mine…in a broad sense and in small doses.  My job is perfect.  My love is perfect.  My outlook is perfect.  My view of the sea is perfect. My recipe for protein pancakes…perfect!

Maybe the first step toward living a life you love, one that is ‘perfect,’ is knowing what you would define as such.

In other words, what do you want?  Begin with the simple things and then expand from there.  A successful businessman once taught me how to project goals.  He told me to begin and the end, and then work backwards.

Where do you want to be in five years, three years, and one year…write this down and then work backwards until you arrive to today.  This tool may help you create a successful road map to your ‘perfect.’

My ‘perfect’ included less dependency on material possessions, stronger personal relationships, quality time spent on my work, and finding time to appreciate simple things in life…the ability to stop and smell the lilacs…

This was the opposite of where I was in Arizona. I was caught in a Labyrinth of networking events, cocktail parties, who’s who, and what’s hot.  I knew where I wanted to be was not where I was…and so I wrote own my end goal and worked backwards in order to take the first step.

I started with one word…”freedom.”

Love, Rach

This has been an incredibly emotional week for me…currently I am sitting in my new office…crying.  Working from home here in Greece, I needed a space to spew the creativity, so Saturday D and I hit Ikea here in Athens. I may have well been in Tempe, AZ…it was exactly the same layout, sold identical products, and was all written in a language I don’t understand.  Ah…at least some things are universal!

Today is my first day in my new office.  Here I am supposed to complete my book, indoctrinate my students with architectural history, write glorious articles about luxury jewelry, and share my life through this blog.

The sleek white shelves are empty and the desk’s smooth surface is clear.  The loads of design books, fabric swatches, and colored pencils that filled several Ikea desks and book shelves at my studio in Scottsdale have not made the trip here to Voula.  I have no idea how to stock the rest of these shelves. Unfortunately I didn’t have the budget to ship more than a couple boxes of my precious books and art supplies, but here in Greece I do have a couple important devices to help get the job done.

Now I have but three tools at my disposal: my magic MacBook, my comforting Moleskine journal, and my super thin black Sharpe.

Oh, and a view of the waves of the Aegean crashing against the shores of Vouliagmeni.

Four tools at my disposal…four elements to help fuel my creativity and squeeze out some killer contributions.  I couldn’t possibly need anything else…now do you see why I am crying?

Love Rach

About a year ago, as people stopped building because of the credit crunch and no longer needed designers, and as ASU decided to hold my Master’s degree hostage over disputed student loan debt, instead of taking a leap off the top of Camelback mountain or closing the curtains and curling into a ball under my covers, I took a trip to Sedona.

I had never travelled alone before, not even on a short road trip like this, and that alone was exhilarating. I needed a clear head and wanted out of the city for some soul searching, so I dug myself out from under the depressed cloud that was beginning to smother Scottsdale and drove north shedding the endless foreclosure stories, the tears in the whiskey filled mason jars, and the Saddle Ranch bartenders that just make mimosas way too well.

Finally free…free from so many things at this point…I pulled on my dress and took myself on a date. After a southwestern steak, cheesecake, and a bottle of wine at my favorite cowboy club, I treated myself to a soak in the hot tub and a good book. Honesty, it was the best date I had had in years…the clarity was coming.

The next morning at breakfast the waitress was curious about why I was missing Obama’s speech ay my graduation and wasting my time with the red rocks. “I came to Sedona to make a decision,” I told her. I was here seeking inspiration and guidance and while Obama may consider himself to be a messiah, I was hoping to run into the one that actually does hear my prayers.

While everyone was drawn to Tempe for the grand speech, I had a different destination…I was drawn to a place I had hoped to find my answers. After every patron in the restaurant, my waitress, and the kitchen staff wished me luck; I headed to a Sedona attraction that I like to call the Wine Hike. It’s a moderate 45-minute jaunt that delivers you to a magical rock formation that offers a spectacular view of the valley, which just begs for the company of a good cabernet. My plan was to tote a bottle of red, the Good Book, and a sketchpad there in search of enlightenment, but first I stopped to fill up on a little inspiration boost.

At worst perhaps she is a con artist, maybe she is simply a good actress, or at best just someone who knows how to converse, but my detour had delivered a message that changed my life…and one I still try to live by one year later. I had hoped to receive some subtle communiqué, but what my psychic did was staple the words directly to my forehead. As I walked into her office where she waited among the card reading charts and self-help books, Madison ordered me to sit down, and said in a stern and concerning voice, “girl, you need to have faith.”

She ordered me to stop being so afraid and believe. There was a plan out there, and I needed to trust it. She warned that until I let go, lose my fears, and trust God, I couldn’t truly find happiness. “It may be difficult to find faith, but once you do,” she urged, “you will know a greatness that you could never imagine.” Wow. While I have never given psychic readings much credence, the advice Madison delivered was worth the price I paid her, and then some. I was seeking a little extra inspiration to tote up to the rock, and certainly found it here with her.

I was armed and ready for my Wine Hike. “Don’t be afraid, have faith…don’t be afraid, have faith.” I kept repeating these words over and over. “Don’t be afraid and have faith,” (especially as I drove my two-wheel drive vehicle over four-wheel drive terrain). While faith is a great concept, how does that help me make this decision? Reaching my destination I poured the vino, opened my bible, and looked towards the heavens. I was there two hours that day, and while my thoughts during that time are much a blur, I found my answer…and far from the “smog” of the city…I found God at Devil’s Bridge.

From that moment forward I put my plan into motion. Over the next several months I proceeded to sell 90% of my possessions, quit a job that I loved, let my ex commandeer possession of my precious dog, and break the news to my friends and family. I also gave up 75% of the back child support I was owed to strike a temporary new custody deal. In exchange for forgiving most of the child support debt, never requesting future child support, and agreeing that I would return my son after one year…I was granted the permission from his father that I sought. It was settled…we were heading to Europe.

The plan was to spend time living in a few European countries where we had no friends, no agenda, and no command of the language. In order to grow and shed the dark socio-political cloud consuming America, we drastically altered our surroundings and attempted to survive on faith, ancient architecture, and unfortunately…the over-valued Euro. I don’t need to rehash what unfolded during our six months abroad, you can peruse the archives of this blog for that, but what I would like to tell you is what came of it and where we are now. The trip is over…did our faith and wanderlust leave us broke and empty…or did selling all my precious belongings actually pay off?

Well…while I am broke…I am anything but empty. Opening myself up to faith brought me exactly what Madison told me it would…a life greater than I could possibly imagine. At 32, and after many years of what I will call “interesting” living (this is another several blog posts), I have arrived to the place that I had struggled so long to find, and I found it in Greece. I laugh with my family in Wisconsin and tell them that apparently Arizona was not far enough from home…and now I know I can stop moving…because I can’t get any geographically further from America than Greece, unless I want to move to India. Interestingly enough, Greece is not where my journey ends, but now, where it begins.

Richard Bach tells us that, “our true work is this voyage, this adventure,” and I feel like the last 32 years I have spent packing for the trip. Locked and loaded with a killer group of friends, some priceless experience, and a mature relationship with my family, I am now finally about to embark on my voyage, my adventure, and the beautiful (and terrifying) thing is that wherever it may lead me…I will not be alone.

This is a novel concept for me…companionship. I have chosen men in my life that, to no fault of their own, would not deliver companionship. I built up a solid brick wall of protection and I have always known that the perfect guy would be one slinging a wrecking ball…not someone who could chip away at my wall, but someone who could completely destroy it…who knew he would be Greek?

Dimitris not only carries a wrecking ball, but I believe it has “Rachel” stenciled in neon spray paint right on the front of it. Whether in an ancient Greek ruin, a beach in the south of France, or via Skype in an American cornfield, this ‘foreign’ boy can SEE me. His English is good, but his command of my native language is dead on. I had to travel almost halfway across the globe, sell everything, almost literally take a running leap off the side of a cliff in order to find him…but this is why I believe I actually deserve him. He certainly did not come easy.

So, what has our European adventure brought me? Yes…companionship, but also an expanded understanding of our world, the realization that the Earth is a very small place, that people are the same no matter what language they speak, that America is the capital of all countries…a place where these unique nations combine, there is no one as nice as a New Yorker, and most importantly…agape.

Agape is the Greek word for love and used by the bible to define love not as the passionate and physical type, but a pure and unconditional love…a love that you feel for God, family, friends, and mankind. I am not just referring to my Greek…I am also referring to you. While I have always worked hard to cultivate friendships and have felt blessed for my friends and family, there is something unique that happens to these relationships when you can no longer take them for granted. When you are forced to communicate your feelings.

Leaving for Europe has done this, and being so far away from the people I love has actually brought them closer. My true friends, my family, my parents…while I have seen places I never imagined, what I truly gained standing atop the Acropolis, the edge of the Caldera, or the top of Le Garlaban, was a deeper connection with my people, and my world. I now walk around every minute with an overwhelming feeling of agape…love exudes from me.

So, my European travels brought me agape, a type of love I have never known, and so I return home to wrap up some business, kiss some fabulous friends, and count the minutes until I can be at home with my Greek. Not only will I wake up each day staring at the Aegean sea, will continue teaching the incredible courses that I love…online…FROM GREECE! I have agape, Dimitris, the sea, and a job I adore…I wonder if I life can be any better.

Yeah, it can…I could be taking my boy with me.

Jake is not coming. As Dimitris says, I live between a river and a cliff. Where do I turn? Jake’s father and I secured a deal…I had him for a year; he has him for a year…my hands are tied. Not only this, but I would only be snatching my son to Greece if I was thinking of myself…because the boy is a preteen and belongs in America, with friends, girls, and his father. What do I do? Move to Austin, Texas where his father is leading, or home to Greece where my life will begin? While this has possibly been the most difficult decision to make in my life, the answer is clear.

Jake and I are as close as a mother and son can be. We were before our adventure, but strengthened our bond along the way. He will spend the summer here in Greece, I will make three trips home this year, and in the interim we have Skype. Video connection is not the ideal way to parent, but I think our new adventure will have other benefits that we don’t yet understand. I have learned during my time traveling that I can be close with people from far distances, and as I said before, I have actually strengthened relationships this way. I don’t see why Snakeman and I will be different. While I will miss my sidekick, and these ancient sites won’t be the same without him next to me, I believe he and I are in the right places.

Today was my first morning home, in Greece, and it is bittersweet. As I unpack, my eyes randomly well up with tears, I miss my boy. I am thrilled to be home, but I miss my boy…and you. This is the first time in more than a year that I have no flights scheduled and no suitcase open. I can for the first time in a long time…relax at home. I look forward to my life here, but certainly struggle with what I have left behind. This is an incredibly emotional place to be. I don’t know what this next year will bring, but I have learned that no matter what it will be…as long as I have faith and love…it will be glorious…and I now I won’t be navigating alone.

Before I boarded the plane I spent some time in Wisconsin where I grew up.  The lilacs were blooming, and in a subtle way they helped me find a little more peace with the decision I have made. Have you ever smelled a lilac? It might possibly be the most glorious scent on the planet…but they don’t grow everywhere. When I left my home in there in Madison twelve years ago, I gave up the lilac…these little flowers are not fond of the desert. They also don’t bloom for very long, and the occasions that my visits home fell upon such a time were few. I spent years and miles from their perfect aroma, but before leaving for Greece they were blooming in my father’s back yard; after years apart, we were together again. I realized that like my favorite wine bar in Scottsdale, like a Central Park jog, and like you, I didn’t actually give up the lilac…they have always been there, and in fact, our distance had just strengthened our connection.  I am now much more appreciative of their sweet fragrance.

My plans now are to hold on strong to the relationships I have, and work hard on the one that I am beginning. I will teach modern and historic architecture online, blog, travel, write, photograph, paint, continue to learn…and love. This blog will continue…and the opportunities that lie in front of me are incredible; I look upon them so wide-eyed I feel like an infant. I sold everything and it bought me something magical. Through much heartache, I discovered a pure love. The road isn’t always lined with Santorini sunsets or a rose in Cassis, but life is truly this beautiful for all of us…when we are willing to shed our fears and open our hearts to Faith. Stay tuned…the adventure is just beginning!

With agape, Rach

I am also attending a new American gym concept called “Snap Fitness 24-7.”  I can get my sweat on everyday, all day, no matter if it is time for a Greek nap or a French cafe, at a fraction of the price of a European gym.

Ah…American convenience.

Love, Rach

Today, as we celebrate the rebirth of Christ, I find it fitting to tell you about our visit to as Snakeman says, “the coolest church I have ever been to,” the cave (La Grotte) of Mary Magdalene, at Sainte Baume.  Mary Magdalene has had quite a reputation since the beginning of AD.  She has been called Jesus’s wife, a hooker, and the utmost sinner in the history if mankind…but those are all rumors, and as a women that was once 15, I learned to ignore rumors.

I had heard of Mary’s cave in a mountain in the South of France…but couldn’t find directions until I secured an inside track.  It was quite a hike, and while Jake wanted to die…my experienced hikers hamstrings were burning as well.  It was worth the increased heart rate, because as we finally arrived at the top of the mount and were lead to our destination via quiet wooden crosses and a steep staircase, we were rewarded by Mary’s sanctuary…La Grotte du Sainte Baume.  After a moment in awe over Christ’s Crucifixion, we ascended to the Lady’s sanctuary.  The chapel inside the rock was dripping with cave moisture, and eerily illuminated by euro paid candles and outside light forcing itself through the stained glass windows.  Jake was right…it was the coolest church I had ever been to.

Mary spent the last 30 years of her life here..but today, on the remembrance of Christ’s Resurrection, we are much more concerned about the reason she was able to…her deep relationship with Jesus himself.  See, Mary…while her reputation has been soiled by many…has also been called the Apostle to the Apostles, and Christ’s most beloved Disciple.  Some believed her to be his wife…but whether that is true or false, there is no doubt she was the closest of all the Messiah’s supporters…and not only did she witness his death and burial, she was the first to see him resurrected.

As she stood in front of the emperor to prove the Son of God had returned, she held a single white egg.  The emperor did not believe her story, and legend says that he quipped that the only way he would believe her story was if the egg in her hand would turn red…which it did at that moment.  Since then, believers have adopted the ritual of coloring eggs…however we prefer light and bright spring colors over and above the blood red hue.

Believers have also adopted the understanding and grace of Christ’s resurrection…and not only am I grateful for Him, but for the moments I spent at his most cherished Disciple’s sanctuary, in the South of France with my most cherished companion.

Love, Rach