Don't Drink the Sludge
Trip Start
Jun 15, 2006
1
10
11
Trip End
Jul 09, 2006
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Mykonos,
Greece
Wednesday, July 5, 2006
I drank the sludge.
I was not aware of the sludge's existence, that is until I tasted its grittiness sliding down the back of my throat. The Greek's say the sludge holds your fortune and is suppose to be poured onto your saucer and read.
I just swallowed my fortune.
Perhaps my drinking of the sludge that lurks at the bottom of a cup of Greek coffee, a unique sand heated espresso, is a bit symbolic in itself. I am in the Greek Isles, Mykonos to be exact, and when in Mykonos one never knows what is in store. Especially when you accidently digest the answer.
Mykonos is a small Cycladic island with a big attitude. Although it is frequented by celebrities and all night party people, it is also a classic, small Greek village. With only a handful of taxis serving the island, upon arrival you have to bid for a ride. If someone outbids you with a higher paying destination, you are stuck waiting until you are the only one left. The town is a cascade of white washed houses accented with crisp blue shutters and doors on a hill, tumbling towards the cobalt blue sea.
The town is over-populated with cats. Not stray cats, but community cats that are cared for by everyone. There is also Petros the pelican, a town mascot of sorts. Imported from Germany this friendly pinkish pelican actually had a wedding ceremony presided over by the Mayor himself. And although the town is dotted with all-night raves and perfect looking people, if you look close you can see the village through the glitz.
Around Town 1
There's the mailman delivering mail to each resident individually. Since no cars are allowed in the town, there's the FedEx Vespa making deliveries. There's the elder farmer making door to door produce sales on the back of his equally as old donkey. Finally, every morning there's the old ladies sweeping their porches and the young girls sweeping out their shops.Then there's the Greek food. Mosaka and kabobs, hummus and pita bread, and lots of wine. There's the surprisingly intoxicating licorice tinted national drink of Ousa, and the goat's milk yogurt with honey. And don't even get me started on the crepes, oh the crepes. Those deliciously warmed pastries, stuffed with nutella, walnuts, bananas and strawberries. Then our favorite restaurant, La Casa, with the best Greek food in town. If you go twice, they'll even buy you shots.
The world-reknowned beaches of Mykonos are beautiful. There are no long stretches of open beaches, but reserved lounge chairs and umbrellas. You rent your spot and relax all day. You can also order drinks and food, just don't fall for the line that the chairs are free so long as you order drinks. Eventually, after having already ordered drinks and food, they'll come around demanding rent.
And of course there's 'That Night'. Enjoying sunset drinks with a view of the windmills and the sea, we reel in a kid to take our wedding anniversary picture. Finding out he is from Chicago, we end up talking to his parents about whether they were Cubs or White Sox fans (they were Sox fans, but we'll forgive them). Soon we make introductions and join them for drinks. They have been traveling for four months en route to New Zealand, where they are relocating. They quit their jobs, sold their stuff and decided to move, with no real plan in mind. Sounded like our kind of folks (he is actually a work comp attorney too, small world). We then go for dinner to watch the football game and eventually make our way back to their hilltop hotel for beers and a spectacular view of Mykonos town and the docked cruise ships.
The next day, fighting a bit of a hangover, I was finishing my Greek coffee when I saw it staring back at me: the sludge. Somewhere in that disgusting gooey mess was my fortune, the answer to what lies ahead. Yet, through my pounding temples, I have vague recollections about last night and discussions of packing up everything and taking to the road, not really knowing which road to take and only half caring. I find comfort in knowing that I'm not crazy, or at least I'm not the only crazy person out there. With that, I drank the sludge. Gulped it down with a satisfactory grimace, deciding I would rather live my life never knowing exactly where my road will lead.
Klenske, Ink.
