"See, she could have told him there was a spike there. But she didn't. She let him almost fall. I think she hates her boyfriend and is hoping he'll die," Ziv said from the beach of the little island off Livadi Geranou. We – like so many tourists who want a reasonable challenge – swam from Livadi Geranou to the little island – which takes 10-20 minutes depending on the kind of swimmer you are. Ziv happens to be an expert swimmer who even has a method in which he moves in flow with the water and glides like an Israeli dolphin. It's far beyond my skills.
But after our respective elegant gliding and clumsy swimming got us to our destination, we did what everyone does – marvel at the beautiful beach, island, how fun it all is. Until the young French couple who was about to swim back had the incident that Ziv – who works in insurance – seemed to suspect might be subtle foul play. As young Jacques Cousteau stepped backward into the water wearing fins, there was a piece of rebar sticking up from the rocks – which in and if itself was odd and concerning. But his young girlfriend didn't alert him to it and Jacques almost fell backward into it. You could see the look of surprise when he realized what almost happened to him. But his girlfriend seemed unphased.
It seemed to Ziv that young Jacques' time was drawing short – one way or another and he might want to be careful of boat propellers, glass bottles and consider riding on a separate motorscooter from his girlfriend.
Was it a funny joke? Yes. Did it have a ring of truth? Possibly….
After our rest and enjoyment of the little island, Ziv and I made our way back to shore, feeling little threat.
Our day was punctuated by visits to Kampos and Livadi Geranou beaches – and a trip up to Hora for Ziv to see "the ancient city" as he calls it. He seemed more impressed with the views along the way – particularly those of the afternoon sun lighting up the sea – as we wound around hillsides on the ascent. Once in Hora – and after some photos of the island laid out below and a quick ice cream bar – Ziv was ready to see what this "ancient city" was about. Just as we were about to walk up into the heart of Hora, at least three large buses of tourists from the cruise ship at anchor pulled up unloading hoards of Minnesotans, Colombians, Senegalese and Filipinos making faithful pilgrimage to the Monastery of St John The Theologian.
These were different people from us in multiple ways ranging from the fact that we were still a little wet from our swim to the fact that for many, this was a holy experience while Ziv was just taking in the site sucking down vanilla ice cream coated in chocolate and nuts. I'm not sure if the site of the hordes motivated him further, or it was just pre-existing interest, but Ziv wanted to get to the monastery and find out what it was all about. He marched up the hill in his casual, serious-seeming but subtly bemused way to get some answers. When I said I wasn't sure we could get into the monastery dressed as we were in wet swimsuits and flip-flops, he looked around and said, "Look at these people…" I had to admit he had a point. We weren't much more casual.
Without a word and seamlessly, Ziv slipped into the single-file line of tourists going up the monastery steps to the ticket booth so I hurried to join him. As we got closer, the line stopped because of a woman who couldn't believe the monastery only took euros or cards for the 5 euro per person tickets. She wanted to pay in dollars. The conversation was going in loops wither just incredulous she couldn't use dollars. Eventually after defeat and many people losing their saintly patience behind her, the woman ponied up a 50 euro bill and was given change. Ziv had left line to take some photos of the island below while I stood behind the incredulous woman – and then quickly and effortlessly bought us entrance by handling the nice man a 10 euro bill. I was not surprised the monastery took only the currency of the country in which it is located.
Ziv and I continued to the monastery courtyard where after scanning it, his face conveyed, "So this is it? I don't get it." Maybe when you live in a land filled with ancient holy sites, it takes a high bar to impress you. I explained the building better – the location of the church, the museum, what was in the museum. He leaned on the edge of saying he had seen enough – but instead decided to at least check out the museum. We made a quick tour with the most interest around the piece of the ruins of the Ancient Greek temple that had been on site before the monastery was built. And then, with perhaps more appreciation for the building than its art or religious significance, Ziv was ready to go. I'd been several times, so it was fine with me.
We then set about exploring Hora itself, making our way to the town square, an outlook view and a few little side streets. We discussed the nature of Hora, Julia Roberts who supposedly has a house there and the Aga Khan – learning the old Aga Khan died in February and his second son is the new Aga Khan. I tried using a Chaka Khan joke that didn't land. So then we discussed Chaka Khan too. I felt for me.
Once we found our way back to our bikes outside the base of the town, we rode back – with stops for Ziv to grab a few more panoramic photos along the way. This time he led. From Thursday night's tentative start on his motorscooter, Ziv has blossomed as a rider in just two days. In fact, as of today he was zipping ahead on our way to Petra Beach with all the certainty and confidence of a local.
The evening was filled with with drinking glasses of German kombucha on the porch served with crackers and fig candy Ziv picked up at Nektar; shopping for gifts and desired items around town; an awesome dinner at Glykanisos; and dessert from the Christodolous Bakery sitting on a bench by the harbor. We laughed, shared silence, had heart-to-hearts. It's like we were packing years of hanging out into a few days – because that's kinda' what it is. There has been the joy of realizing our lives have changed, we've been through many experiences and we've grown – but in all the important ways, we're still us as individuals and friends. He's still the Ziv I met in 2002 and impressively, has aged incredibly well. Ziv is unmistakably him.
In fact, at this very moment, as I'm writing, Ziv is swimming from Petra to the small island across from the beach – again using his Israeli dolphin-like method. Far fewer people go the island across from Petra that the one off Livadi Geranou. But Ziv felt it's extremely do-able – and he does appear to be making quick work of it. Yet the most Ziv part of it is that the island has many spots one could swim to – the closest and most direct being right in my line of sight. That's not where he's headed. There is one little house and a "barn" for goats that a goat herder has on that little island. As I looked out check on Ziv, all I could think was, "Damn, he's going to visit the goat herder."
Assuming Ziv returns – with or without goats – we have until just past midnight when I turn into a pumpkin and board Blue Star 2 for Athens. It will be the first leg of the journey home to get the kids. Ziv will finish out the night and take the 6:20 am ferry to Kos where he'll catch a late morning flight back to Tel Aviv.
Whether or not one believes in Revelations and St John The Divine – which Ziv most certainly does not – believing in miracles on Patmos isn't so hard to do. The fact that Ziv was able to come after all is a small miracle. Bonds that unite us – friendships we tend for years whether or not they are convenient or easy are blessings. In life, there are only so many people who we truly understand and truly understand us. Those people are gifts.
And some people – like Greek gods – can turn themselves into dolphins and glide across the water just to see some goats because they want to.
One Response
Safe travels.