Whirled World, Part III: Athens

Negativity, Listlessness, and How I Became a Greek Man's Angel


(Part I, Part II, and further exposition)

Delphi was remarkably smooth sailing, considering that I was traveling with three of my classmates. We've seen each other for up to 12 hours every day for the past 2 years, which means that we occasionally annoy the skin off of each other. But Delphi was peachy.

Athens was the point where it started feeling slightly less than peachy.

I think that I'm actually an easier person than most to travel with. Reasons:

1. I have few things in any given place that I absolutely-positively-have-to-do (in Athens the only list item was "go to the Parthenon"). Anything I do beyond that is gravy. Which means I am more than willing to follow others around to whatever they want to do or see... or go to bed early if they're feeling weary. Whatever.

2. After facing a lifetime of challenges for being a picky eater, I can now find SOMETHING to eat at pretty much any food establishment you bring me to (e.g. if you take me to a ramen noodle place like Wagamama, I will order the passion-fruit vanilla cheesecake in lieu of lunch, and it will make me perfectly happy). Therefore, I have no issues with my travel partners choosing where we eat. I have no problem grabbing a bottle of water and a sandwich at a street vendor. I have no problem going to a super fancy restaurant (where I will be ordering one of the cheap things on the menu). I don't care. Food is not that high a priority for me.

3. As an insomniac, I am used to operating on very little sleep. As a result, going to bed late, waking up early, and having uncomfortable beds are not things that will make me grumpy all day.

4. Some people are "darters" (going directly from tourist spot to tourist spot). Some people are "meanderers" (going in every shop, striking up conversations with strangers). I have no problem doing either, or a little bit of both. I'm adaptable.

5. I have no problem going out on my own. If my travel buddies feel like taking a nap (which mine did in both Delphi and Athens), then I'll go exploring for a bit. Totally fine with me.

6. I will sleep in hostels. In dorm rooms. Sharing a bed. Sleeping on the floor. Or in a chair. Whatever. As long as it's not too loud, not too light, and there are no visible bugs, I'm cool.

7. I don't usually freak out in high stress situations. (I'm much cooler-headed in emergencies than I am in daily life. Ask my mother if you don't believe me. I may freak out about everything else in my world, but when someone faints and everyone else is freaking out, I'm the one who gets to a phone and calmly explains the situation to the 911 operator. And no, that's not a theoretical situation.) My first reaction is not to figure out what went wrong, but how to work around it.

8. In general, I'm a pretty positive person. My younger brother would disagree wholeheartedly with that statement (he thinks I'm the most negative person who ever lived), but I stand by it. I'm pretty darn positive. (Or maybe I just am in comparison to the people that I'm usually around and therefore have a tainted worldview...) And when I feel negativity around, I try to verbally accentuate the positives as much as possible, in order to balance things out.


But when other people start being negative around me while traveling and I can't do anything to change their minds, that's when I get grumpy. That's when I get headaches. That's when I get stressed out.

In Athens, I started to feel negativity from my travel partners. I don't know if they were annoyed with me, with travel, with each other, or with all of the above. But it was there. And it sucked.

When we got to Athens, our hostel (which apparently was unable to put us in a 4-person room), had put us in a 4-bedroom apartment. I had a bedroom. Two-Shots-Up had a bedroom. Killer & All-The-Way had a bedroom. And there was a whole extra bedroom with 4 beds in it that we didn't even need (and a couple more in the front hallway just for fun). There was a cavernous hall space with a table and chairs. There was a kitchen, a shower room, a toilet room (they were next door to each other so that one person could take a shower while another used the facilities... BRILLIANT), and even a room with a washing machine. And all this was only costing us 17 Euro per person per night (which was about $20.40). It was amazing. (But of course, one of the first reactions I heard from one of my roommates was a complaint that it was not air conditioned.)

I remember feeling so lonely that first night in Athens. I had tried to talk to my parents on my mobile phone (it's a British phone, hence why I use the term "mobile" and not "cell", but had woken up one of my travel buddies through the thin wall and been asked to be quiet (so when the call got cut off moments later, I didn't call them back). I found a place where I could get online with Lady MacBook (which was a garden in the main hostel building), and I began typing Phil an incredibly long e-mail venting about how frustrated I was getting. (I won't share all of that now for multiple reasons.) But while I was typing, he signed on to Skype.

His video camera was broken, but he could see me. And we could talk, for the first time in days. And he let me tell him all the silly, petty things that had begun to irritate me. He let me just talk, whine, complain. He gave me an outlet so that I didn't explode over something stupid. He just listened. And I was so grateful.

And it felt... different. I don't know how to explain it. I guess by showing a side of myself that I find to be unpleasant and unappealing, and him being okay with it... It made the concept of "us" seem more real than it had previously. Maybe we'd already gotten to this point and my memory is just cloudy... He had, after all, already complained to me plenty (and I to him, especially while going through the arduous process of travel planning). Well, at some point, things had changed. Although still in a state of twitterpation, my point-of-view on him had changed from "guy I'm obsessed with and can't stop talking about" to "guy I lean on and trust (and am still obsessed with and talk about constantly)".

It was so great to hear his voice. And flirt a little.

I realized after signing off how much I missed him. Ridiculous, I know. As of that date, I had known him for two weeks. I had seen him last three days previously. But in my mind it was all being measured in epic, exponential proportions. It seemed like I'd known him for months and had been away for weeks. I don't know how, when, or why he became such an important and irreplaceable part of my life, but he did.

And in that moment, all I wanted was to improve the world for him.

I don't think that I've ever truly wanted that before. I mean, in past dating situations, I've tried to be a caring, compassionate person. I've tried to help the other person out as much as possible. But I'm usually doing it out of some sense of obligation. I've tried to fit into what I thought I should be, or what the other person needed me to be.

But that night it felt different. I don't know how or why, and I can't explain it.

I wanted to be a good thing for Phil. I wanted to help. Make his life easier. Or better.

It was a warming feeling. Rejuvenating. Galvanizing. But simultaneously terrifying.

Do you know how upsetting it is to realize that you've -- even for 5 minutes at 2:00am when you're lonely in Greece -- lost sight of your own personal happiness and life goals because all you can think about is being a helpful sidekick in someone else's story? And can you imagine how much more heart-stopping that realization is when you account for the fact that the person you have this strong of a sense of purpose for is someone you've known for TWO WEEKS? It makes you feel certifiably insane.

So I packed up Lady MacBook and took her away from the WiFi and back to my bed. And I started typing up a list.

(Quiz time: did you read my last post?)

I didn't exactly remake the first list I had. The list that was lost with the first death of Lady MacBook. Some of the list items were the same, but some were new. And I think some that were on the first list were dropped off.

After typing the list, I couldn't turn off my brain to sleep (despite being incredibly tired physically, spiritually, and emotionally). So I laid face-down on my bed with my arms extended past my head to Lady MacBook's keyboard, and I typed whatever was crowding my brain until I fell asleep. I do this sometimes. It usually makes for a pretty hilarious read the next day.

And this case was no exception... Examples of things my subconscious brain composed in my dream-like stupor include:

- "I wonder if [high school classmate's] hair will always look grey in photographs. In my head, it does."

- "I can't take this. Orange juice in my brain. I want it drained. Fold that chair. Fold it. Fold it. This is getting ridiculous. My fingers aren't even on the right spots in the restaurant food stalls anymore, and now I can listen to Ingrid and fly in my soul. I don't remember why. Everybody wants to love."

- "I don't talk dirty. I don't act dirty. I don't even think dirty. But good clean fun can only last for so long."

- "[Erin's twins] are going to be great girls. I can't wait to meet them. Especially if I meet them around age 9 or so. When they're starting to get really interesting. Or, at least, that's when I got interesting."

- "I don't drink wine. I don't drink wine."

- "Those are not men’s pants, [Iceman]. They are now. Everybody wants to sign off at a vampire close in arm, but he would die by his own people. This is sacred group. He's letting us it? Awesome. I don't understand about the tourist stuff. I need spell check. Goodnight."


(NOTE: This is the text's original form. Yes, I really do use capitalization and punctuation even when I'm half-asleep and not looking at the keyboard. I wonder what that says about me...)


But here's the thing I read in the morning that really got to me:

"I am meant to be alone? A lone wolf? No. I'm not. I'm meant to get married. As much as I hate to admit it, there's a good chance that I'm destined to be a mother. And, though I hate to say it, I'm pretty sure that something is going to go haywire on my road to adulthood. [...*] I hate it, but it's true. I mean, I love and believe in God, but the punishment for moral sins isn't as real to me as the punishment of pregnancy."

(* Incomprehensible babble that appears to be off-topic.)

So there you (and I) have it. Straight from the mouth of my subconscious (or semi-conscious) mind. I don't know if any of my ramblings can be taken seriously (orange juice in my brain?), but I'd say there's a decent chance that I have a deep dark fear of becoming a parent. Or perhaps it's just a fear of being one when I'm not ready to be one (which would be now... and probably for a long while). The strongest reason on my long list of reasons I'm not going to have sex tomorrow? Extreme fear of pregnancy.

After reading that, my roommates and I went to the Acropolis. (Abrupt story change, I know... but that's how my life works.) It was incredible. I literally wept when I saw the Parthenon. I didn't know that it meant so much to me to see it, but it did. I found a little tiny part of myself that day that I didn't know was missing.

My roommates were exhausted and wanted to go back to the hostel to nap. We decided to cancel our plans to see any other points of historical importance in Athens beyond what we had already seen (which included a church where St. Paul attempted to convert the Greeks to Christianity). I had seen the Parthenon, so that didn't bother me in the least. But though I had gotten the least sleep of any of us, my insomniac body is used to it, and I really didn't feel like napping. I decided that while they were resting, I wanted to go out shopping.

Now, I should mention, when I use the word "shopping" (especially while traveling), I don't use it like other people use it. For me, "shopping" is not synonymous with "buying". I can spend hours in a mall and leave without spending money. But I still love it. When I'm in other countries, I think it's fascinating to go into stores. Even really tourist-y shops. It's interesting from an anthropological/sociological standpoint to see what people choose to celebrate from their own culture, and what they think is marketable to people in other cultures. Or to try on fashion from another country and see how inevitably horrible it looks on me (seriously, everything I tried on in Athens made me look pregnant... and you now know how uncomfortable I am with that image).

So I walked in and out of shops. I struck up conversations with shop workers. Some of them attempted to teach me phrases in Greek, which was fun (and I used my grad school knowledge of the International Phonetic Alphabet to nail down the pronunciations pretty darn well, if I do say so myself). I talked to two women who said they were both named Flora about their men troubles, and then told them about Phil. When I reached the next shop, the owner said that I had the most beautiful and genuine smile she'd ever seen on someone walking into her shop (which may or may not have been because I was still thinking about Phil).

I went into a shop selling linens, and the shop owner greeted me in Greek. I returned the greeting in my best Greek accent, and looked around. He then tried to strike up a conversation with me... in Greek. When I gave him a blank look and said, "I'm sorry...," he started laughing. He said that he had truly believed I was Greek.

Somehow, our conversation kept going. I found out that the Greek Man was named Stratos. And that he had once lived in my home state of Michigan. In fact, he went to college at Michigan State University (right near my home town, and where my father had taught for 20+ years).

More coincidences kept piling up in our conversation, and the words flowed like water. It was the easiest conversation I'd had since... Phil.

Of course, eventually Phil came up (as he did in all my conversations). And Stratos wanted to know the whole story. He pulled out a chair for me, used the incredibly-not-Greek phrase, "Pop a squat," and sat on the other side of the tablecloth-draped surface where his wares were being displayed.

So I told him everything. More than I had told anyone else on my journeys. More than I had told any of my classmates. I didn't know him, so it seemed like I had nothing to lose.

When I told him that I was going back to London after my Greece and Italy adventures, the first thing that Stratos said was, "Promise me something... Promise me you're not going to sleep with him."

"How do you know I haven't already," I countered.

"I just know," he said, looking me in the eye. "Don't sleep with him."

"Don't worry," I said, thinking of the list I'd typed the night before. "I don't have sex."

And that answer opened the door to my enlightenment.

You remember my stories of all those persistent Greek men in Delphi, right? Prepare to drop your mental stereotypes.

Stratos is a 31-year-old Greek man. And Stratos is a virgin.

No, I'm not joking. And no, he wasn't lying. We spoke for another hour and a half, and I can say that with the utmost certainty.

We talked about religion for awhile. He's Greek Orthodox. I'm Roman Catholic. The way I practice my faith is mostly centered around praising God. His way of practicing faith also contains a strong fear of the devil.

He told me that his present girlfriend, whom he'd been dating for two years, had started pressuring him to have sex with her. She'd had sex in previous relationships, and was sick of waiting. He looked like a big tough guy, so I was surprised when he told me that he'd been crying himself to sleep most nights with the weight of his arguments with her.

I told him that he knew what had to be done; he needed to end things with her. If he was crying himself to sleep, then she wasn't worth it. I could tell he knew I was right. I think he needed to hear it from a stranger to believe it. More than that, as crazy as it may sound, I think he needed to hear it from me. Specifically me. A virgin from Michigan whom he thought was beautiful.

He told me that he'd given up hope that girls like me were still around in the world. He called me "pure", and for perhaps the first time, it sounded like a good thing (and not like one of Rizzo's cut-downs to Sandy in Grease).

I told him about the list I'd been making the night before. He said he thought it was good to be conscious of whatever reasons I had. He said that God was betting on me making good decisions, and that I should do my best not to disappoint God.

Stratos grew up with 5 other guys who shared his moral beliefs, and all vowed to stay virgins until marriage. One of them had gotten drunk and been basically date-raped by a girl three days before, and was having a huge emotional crisis about the whole thing. Stratos warned me not to end up like that.

And he told me the story of another one of the 5... The only one who had gotten married so far.

When Gus (not the friend's actual name) married his girlfriend (whom he only refers to as "My Princess", which is so sickly sweet that I can't digest it), all the guys verbally cheered him on before the big night. The morning after, Stratos called him up to ask how things had gone.

"Man, you're not going to believe this," Gus said, "but we didn't have sex."

"What?" Stratos was shocked. "You guys have been struggling to keep your hands off each other for years. What do you mean you didn't have sex?"

"I don't know, man. We just started talking, and it was amazing. We fell asleep holding hands. It was one of the best nights we've ever spent together."

Stratos was shocked. He encouraged Gus to go ahead with it that night. Gus seemed excited to finally get to have sex with his new bride.

The next day, Stratos called back.

"We still didn't have sex, man."

"Do you have a problem or something? Are you gay?"

"No, it's not like that," Gus swore. "We got undressed... We were ready to go... But then, I don't know. It was just so sexy, and we just cuddled."

The story was the same every day. Gus and his Princess were so in love with being in love. They loved knowing that they could have each other whenever they wanted, and deciding to wait even longer. They loved how close it brought them to know that their relationship was so strong and so pure that they didn't have to rely on sex to be a couple.

They've been married for over two years now. They still haven't had sex. And Stratos says he has never seen a couple more in love with each other than they are.

The only people who know are Stratos, their priest, a couple of very close friends, and me. Their priest says that God has given them a special blessing, and that they should let it be as long as God wants it to be. They will have sex eventually (they both want children), but they're not going to rush it.

I know what you're thinking: that's f***ed up.

Or at least, that's what I was thinking when he told me this story.

In fact, I'm pretty sure I laughed.

But Stratos changed my mind. He told me that he wished he could find that kind of love. He wished that he could find a person whom he was so deeply in love with that just falling asleep next to her was the sexiest thing in the world. He wanted a love so pure and true that it didn't depend on physical acts to be bonded.

And as he said it... as nuts as this is... I understood why he wanted it. And some part of me wanted it, too.

(But I'll be honest: the idea of getting married and not getting busy just seems frustrating. If I'm going to wait that long, I won't want to wait any longer than that.)

Stratos told me many things. He told me that if this (or any other) guy broke my heart, that he had a large network of friends that could "teach him a lesson" for me (he explained in more detail and gave incriminating past examples that I won't share online). He told me that I should never settle, because I was an ideal to some people in the world for being smart, beautiful, passionate, faithful, and strong (I think he included himself in the number who idealized me, although he went out of his way not to say it). He told me he wasn't worried about me, because he could tell that I had a good head on my shoulders.

He also said he could tell that Phil isn't right for me. He said, "Baby girl, when it's right, that guy's going to knock you right out of your socks, and you're not going to know what hit you." I tried to explain that's exactly what happened with Phil, but he didn't seem convinced. But I'm at least somewhat sure that he was speaking from a place of jealousy.

After two hours of talking to the random Greek man in the linen shop, I decided I should go find my roommates and see what they wanted to do for dinner. I said goodbye, gave him my e-mail address, and thanked him for everything.



And I knew then that God had brought us together. The night after I made a list of reasons I wasn't going to have sex... The night after his girlfriend gave him a sex-based ultimatum... We found each other. We gave each other hope. We gave each other strength.

Look, I know the sex thing isn't easy for guys to get around. The vast majority of men have had sex. Men who have had sex want to keep having sex. (Most men who have not had sex seem to want to have it as soon as possible.) I'm a (debatably) sexy woman. Men want to have sex with me. When men find out that they're not going to have sex with me, they just want to have sex with me even more. That, my friends, is my understanding of the world.

And Phil, like pretty much every other warm-blooded male I've met, is no exception to that.

But after talking to Stratos, I felt good about my decision to not have sex with Phil. I mean, I had already made the decision that it wasn't going to happen when I went back to London at the end of my tour of Italy... but it wasn't until I talked to Stratos that I stopped feeling like it was something that I should apologize for or feel guilty about. (NOTE: Phil has never made me feel like it was something I should apologize for or feel guilty about. If he did, it'd send up a red flag, and he'd be gone.)

I told my travel buddies all about Stratos the Greek Man. They didn't really seem to know how to react to it. When we had issues with where to go for dinner, we ended up going back to Stratos to get a recommendation. And after we finished dinner at the place he suggested, I went back to his shop and spoke with him some more.

By that point it was dark outside, and few people were still shopping. I told him that I hadn't been able to stop thinking about our conversation. And about how everything with Phil had just become a little less certain in my head. Up until my talk with Stratos, everything with Phil had seemed so magical. I had made it all seem to be such a perfect world in my imagination. I hadn't been skeptical. I hadn't questioned his motives. I had let Phil sweep me off my feet, and suddenly I found myself in mid-air, once again afraid to fall.

Stratos comforted me, brought me back down to the earth, and got my feet firmly on the ground. He said that it was good to have been brought out of my fantasy land where Phil is perfect and back to reality where I can look at him, flaws and all. He said it was healthier, and it would save me time and heartbreak.

I talked to him for another hour or so. He closed up his shop. He drove me back to my hostel-apartment on his motorcycle (and let me tell you, I was TERRIFIED). He made me promise to tell him what happened with Phil when I got back to London. But before we parted ways, he said once again that he wasn't worried about me.

And he had a moment of revelation regarding my name that several others before him have taken as some sort of otherworldly sign: Angela contains the word "angel". (But that, in my opinion, is doing exactly what Dr. Jack Shepherd warned against on LOST: mistaking coincidence for fate.) I do think that God helped us to meet that day. But I assure you as I assured Stratos: I am no angel.


To be continued...


May you be led to the people who can help you.
May you be led to the people you can help.

~A~