Village Trip

I spent the weekend with a student and his family in the village of Riza, Greece: population 500. Riza is a quaint village in the Chalkidiki region, about one hour Southeast of Thessaloniki, and features plots of farmland and picturesque mountains as far as the eye can see. All of the homes have red tile roofs reminiscent of many Emory buildings and rural Mexican abodes. The alpine climate was significantly colder than Thessaloniki, and we entered the village by bus in a cloud of fog that obscured the road and made it feel like we were riding in a cloud. Somehow, the driver managed to see through the seemingly impenetrable mist(even though he was wearing sunglasses), and we arrived safely in Riza. After a short walk from the bus stop, we reached Chez Prassas, my home for the weekend.

The Prassas family numbers six: the parents, three daughters, and Vasilis (the AFS student). Immediately, they rolled out the red carpet. I took one step into the home and one of the daughters ushered me to the dinner table where Mama Prassas stuffed me full of amazing home-cooked delights. While I was eating, another daughter brought a pair of slippers and laid them on the ground at my feet; I felt like a Greek god. The hospitality and sumptuous feasts continued throughout the weekend, and I got to know a charming village family. The most entertaining member was the youngest daughter, 6-year old Dimitra. After a 30-minute silent and shy warming-up phase, Dimitra let loose and didn't stop talking or moving for the rest of the weekend. She loved to dance around the house, sing, and repeat any phrase uttered by her less-than-amused siblings and parents. She was unable to sit still for 5 seconds, and she often chose to perch in bizarre, unconventional places. For example, she chose to watch TV while balancing on the narrow shelf above the fireplace instead of taking a seat on the couch. Moments later, she would be sitting legs-crossed atop the kitchen table. Compared to the rest of the friendly yet composed Prassas clan, Dimitra was a spark plug - maybe Mama Prassas had a fling with the Energizer Bunny seven years ago. Who knows? I'll move along.

Vasilis is applying to colleges in the U.S. and I have been assisting him with the application process. When we arrived at his home, he had an email from the admissions office at Vassar College indicating that he had forgotten to include his street address on his application; he had only provided his name, city, and zip code. This launched a fascinating discussion about the ways of his village and their "postal service." Riza is so small that they do not have street names, nor do they have a formal postal service. Once or twice a week, a mailman delivers all of the village's mail to a cafeteria, which is popular among the older Riza men. There are no P.O. Boxes or mail slots; the mail is not alphabetized or formally sorted. The mail is literally dumped onto a table, then the old cafe patrons sift through and somehow notify residents when they have mail. In the Prassas family's case, Vasilis' grandfather spends a lot of time at the cafeteria sipping coffee and yelling with the other geezers, so he notifies the family if someone receives a letter. So it goes in Riza.

Vasilis and I walked around and he knew everybody. By the time we had walked for 10 minutes, we had reached the end of the village and had accrued a sizable posse of young Risa kids who had joined our stroll. As we walked, they lit matches then threw them on the ground -you know, just for fun - and asked me very important questions such as, "Do you throw your trash on the ground in America?" As I answered, "No," a few of them triumphantly tossed candy wrappers and other general refuse onto the ground as if to say, "This is how we roll in Riza."

That night, we went to a cafe where we ran into many of the same village folk we had seen during our stroll. The cafe was suffering from a serious identity crisis - they had a big-screen TV hooked up to a Playstation 2, a card table, and four computers. These "entertainment stations" were all full and the computers were occupied by villagers who were all independently perusing Facebook - strange scene. Vasilis and I rolled a few games of backgammon, sipped some tea, then decided to check out the scene at the other cafe in the village.

The next place was bizarre as well: the tables were neatly dressed with white table cloths and nice silverware, but nobody was eating. It also featured a large TV hooked up to PS 2 where kids were playing the same game as at the previous cafe. They had three TVs showing music videos and played loud music, but the music didn't match the videos (which reminded me of one of my favorite college hobbies of watching rap videos on mute while listening to other tunes). Most bizarre, however, was the centerpiece of the room. Amid the nice tables which gave the impression of a nice restaurant, a ping-pong table loomed on a platform. The local ping-pong aficianado stood pretentiously next to the table and Vasilis talked him into a match with me. It was like a scene out of a movie - the Wizard starring Fred Savage immediately comes to mind - where a road-weary, unassuming protagonist comes to town and challenges the cocky incumbent champ. As we warmed up, more and more onlookers gathered - including all of the people from the first cafe who had relocated to watch the showdown - and it felt like the whole village was there. We ended up playing 15 games, 11 of which I won to the spectator's disbelief. It was a good night.

Saturday was a "MAN DAY" that would have made A-Train Wilson, the innovator behind many a MAN DAY, proud. After a visit to the local butcher (a very manly activity), Vasilis' dad took us up to a park in the mountains with a manly view of Riza. We built a manly fire in the rain, roasted sausage and pork ribs, while sipping Greek wine and talking about manly things. Believe it or not, our activities were so manly that I grew a full beard over the course of the afternoon. The meal was amazing, and we watched the top local soccer team play a match afterwards. It was a great man day and the perfect end to a great weekend.

________________________________________________

We have school until Wednesday, Georges and Charlene arrive Friday, then it's up to Budapest and Prague on Sunday. I can't wait to see the 'rents and explore Eastern Europe. Kalla Xristougenna to everyone (and by everyone I mean the three people who read this blog, two of whom will be visiting on Friday).

Linguistics and Tones May Clog My Dome, But Words Will Never Hurt Me

I’ve started attending an Intermediate Greek course at Perrotis College; it’s challenging and fun. Greek represents the fourth language that I have formally studied. It’s the fifth if you count the Spanish lessons with Senora Stierlen at Saint Thomas Moore, but that was more about learning how to pester then subsequently watch an impatient teacher erupt than it was about learning. That trend pretty much sums up my career of Catholic school education—but I digress. I don’t know how much space is left in my noggin for new vocabulary, a new alphabet, and such, but I plan to stuff foreign languages into my head until it explodes.

My Greek studies thus far are difficult in that I’ve been lumped in with students who have lived in Greece and studied the language for over a year, but I have ample time to study during the day and the AFS students are more-than-happy to practice with me. That being said, speaking Greek with the high schoolers negates my primary duty of enhancing the students’ English abilities, so I tiptoe a fine line.

Grammatically, Greek poses a challenge in that all verbs in any sentence must be conjugated, whereas in English and French, all verbs (other than the first) in a clause assume the infinitive form. For example, I would say “I want to learn to speak Greek.” “Want” is conjugated to match the subject, but “to learn” and “to speak” become infinitives—pretty simple. Easier still is Chinese in which there is no such thing as conjugating verbs. The only word that deviates is the subject, and even tenses are created by adding words—not by adjusting the verb. In Greek, however, if I want to relay the above message, I would say the equivalent of “I want I learn I speak Greek.” Plus, a meaningless connector word, “na,” is added between each verb phrase. Not to mention the seemingly dozens of tenses. Not tight—again I digress.

After ruminating on the differences between the random languages that I’ve studied, I’ve come to a few conclusions. The Chinese language is brilliant because it is so pragmatic. They say as much as possible in as few syllables as possible. My only gripe with the Chinamen is that they have not adopted a simple alphabet; if you want to read Chinese, you have to memorize thousands of characters. Greek on the other hand is very complex and features many lengthy words. Take Greek names; most surnames leave me out of breath, and verbally taking attendance in class or at soccer practice takes at least 30 minutes.

One of my favorite tricks in learning new languages is to learn the literal English translations of phrases. It is entertaining and effective because the literal translations are often amusing, and understanding the logic behind the vocabulary helps to build other phrases. For example, the Greek word for hotel is “xenothocheio” which translates to “foreign person acceptance place”.

At this point, I’d like to share a few common Greek phrases and their literal translations; I’ll also throw in some noteworthy translations from other languages. Here we go:

Most Common Informal Greeting: “Hello” or “Hi.”

Greek Phrase: “Gia Sou.”

Literal Translation: “Health your.”

Comments: Already, the vocabulary grows. We learn the common greeting, the word for health, and the second person possessive. Nice start.

Chinese Phrase: “Ni hao?”

Literal translation: “You good?”

Comments: So efficient. The person is greeted and asked how they are doing all at once.

“How are you?”

Greek: “Ti caneis?”

Literal Translation: “What you do?”

Comments: Practical. Not too verbose.

Chinese: Already asked with the greeting.

French: “Ca va?”

Literal Translation: “It goes?”

Creole: “Sak t’Passe.”

Translation: The verb is reflexive, so there is no literal English translation, but it equates to,“What happens to you?”

I’m fine.

Greek: “Eimai kala.”

Literal Translation: “I am good.”

Comments: Harmless, to the point.

Chinese: “Hao.”

Literal Translation: “Good.”

Comments: Eliminate the subject—it’s understood. Practical.

French: “Ca va.”

Literal translation: “It goes.”

Comments: A snappy, snide retort…very French.

Creole: “M’ap bule.”

Translation: “I am burning [in a good way].”

Comments: Poetic and passionate. Haitians are intense.

Most Common Cuss Word

English: “Damn it.”

Literal Meaning: I condemn ‘it’ to eternity in hell.

Comments: A harsh utterance when the situation is usually trivial. For example, if I miss a shot in basketball and yell “Damn it!” Do I actually want that shot to burn in hell? Maybe if it was an airball.

Greek: “Malaka.”

Literal Translation: One who masturbates.

Comments: Greeks say “malaka” at the end of any sentence to add emphasis, whether good or bad. The high school students throw “malaka” out at every possible opportunity. It is funny to hear someone say the Greek equivalent of “That was an amazing sandwich, masturbator” or “Did you see that backgammon roll? You masturbate.”

French: “Mierde.”

Literal Translation: “Feces.”

On that note…Enjoy the holidays! I’m looking forward to a visit from my parents over Christmas break then an Eastern European adventure: Hungary and Czech Republic with Charlene and Georges, then Macedonia, Kosovo, and possibly Albania with homies from Perrotis College.

Anatolia Tournament Pics

The hooligans.

The squad.

Fall Sports Tournament

After months of training, the AFS sports teams were ready for the big tournament of the fall season. About twenty private schools from all over Greece and a few other Eastern European countries participated. We entered teams for boys and girls soccer, boys and girls basketball, and girls volleyball. It was hosted by our cross-town archrival Anatolia: the Marist to our Pius, the Wash U to our Emory, the Pepsi to our Coke, the Valley to our Bayside, the Nu to our Chi, the Ohio State to our Michigan, the Wile E. Coyote to our Road Runner, the Newman to our Jerry – you get the point. I have seen significant progress in our boys soccer team since the start of training, but I had no clue what to expect from the other teams; most are much larger schools than AFS.

Our boys soccer team won two matches and lost a tough battle to one of the premier private schools in Greece, Athens College, whose enrollment is 3500 students compared to AFS’ 250 students. The rest of the AFS teams were not as successful, but we picked up one victory in volleyball and a tie in girls soccer. Overall, the competition was a great experience, and I came away from the experience with a newfound respect for our students. Although their athletic prowess did not turn many heads, the AFS students were far and away the loudest, most spirited fans. At every match, regardless of which team was playing, throngs of students sang, chanted, cheered and pounded on a massive drum. By the end of the weekend, most students had lost their voices and most of the other spectators had impaired hearing. Even in blowout losses, the AFS cheering section belted out non-stop “We can’t hear you” chants and a catchy song that features the repetition of “AFS I love you” in Greek. Whenever our soccer team scored a goal, the AFS mob launched dozens of streamers onto the field, which forced delays in the game, but did not warrant reprimand. How can you chastise students for too much spirit.

Another area in which AFS students shined was sportsmanship. I was very proud to watch our athletes win and lose with class. Most of our students are from rural, modest homes in Greece, whereas the other teams represented distinguished international schools and elite private schools of Greece. At times, the opposing supporters criticized the AFS athletes because of their agriculture-infused curriculum. On one occasion, American students from a wealthy school in Athens pestered us while I warmed up our team. The encounter went something like this:

Obnoxious American Girl #1: “American Farm School? Do they actually go to school on a farm.”

Obnoxious American Girl #2: “No way. It’s just the name of the school.”

OAG #1: “Excuse me, is your school on a farm?”

Me: “Our school has a working farm on campus.”

[Some of the group started giggling]

OAG #2: “So do your students like learn how to drive tractors and stuff.”

[Laughter from the cronies]

Me: “Some do. We have agricultural training in addition to the standard academic curriculum.”

OAG #1: “Do you have cows?”

Me: “Yep.”

OAG #1: “Oh my God. There is no way we can lose to Farmville.”

[The hecklers cackle at which point Vasilios, one of our best players and smartest students, approaches the group]

Vasilios: “If farms and schools like ours didn’t exist, how would your butlers buy milk for you?”

The comment quieted the taunting momentarily, but they let our team have it during the match. As we rolled to a 2-0 victory, their jeers dwindled and were drowned out by the thunderous clamor of the AFS supporters.

Intimate Encounter on a Bus and the Metamorphosis of Shimosh

I love public transportation. I dream of a society in which personal automobiles are obsolete and everyone commutes via train, bus, or plane. That being said, mass transit certainly has a few downsides. In downtown Thessaloniki, the main pitfall of the bus system is overcrowding. If you plan to ride the bus anytime before 22:00 (10:00pm), expect some significant physical contact with strangers. It would be wasteful to use a heating system in the buses because body heat provides all the warmth a passenger could ever need and then some.

Last week, I took a bus downtown to sort out some passport issues. On my way home, I entered a standing-room-only bus; it was tightly packed but breathable. As we made our way through the city, more riders entered and the already limited personal space was rapidly disappearing. As fate would have it, I happened to be standing next to a Greek nun. As the bus became more and more crowded, she and I got closer and closer until we were chest to forehead (she was about 5'1'') with nowhere to go. I am still unsure who felt more violated as we bumped along the bus route, but I feel certain that she has never had such intimate experience with a man, she might be pregnant, and I like to think that my impact has inspired her to leave the nunnery to pursue more carnal encounters with men folk.

___________________________________________

Those of you who have consistently read the blog will remember Shimosh, the undersized Sifnosian laundry fiend. Since I last spoke of Shimosh, he has undergone a transformation of sorts. One Friday, I saw Shimosh lugging a suitcase away from the dormitory. My world was turned upside down. Shimosh had never left school for the weekend, even when we had a five-day vacation. As far as I know, he had never set foot off campus since the beginning of the school year. I inquired about his plans, and he explained that he was going to spend the weekend with his roommate’s family. Fighting back tears, I wished him well on his trip. I didn’t know how to react. A weekend at AFS without Shimosh was unfathomable. Out of habit, I found myself wandering down to the laundry room even though nobody requested for the door to be unlocked.

On Monday morning, I saw Shimosh strolling across campus…I must emphasize that he was strolling, not shuffling in his usual manner. Also, his look was totally different. Instead of sporting his usual conservative jacket and tight slacks, he was confidently rocking the full Canadian tuxedo: a jean jacket and blue jeans. The most extreme aspect of his new look was his hairstyle; my beloved Shimosh was parading around campus with a painstakingly-sculped mohawk. Something happened on that weekend trip that I will probably never comprehend, but when Shimosh returned he was no longer the pesky, adolescent Greek Islander—he was Mr. Cool. Since then, he has been spending time in the weight room, his mohawk has grown spikier, and I even saw him talking to a girl. I’ve even heard that his voice has evolved from its squeaky, wavering frequency into a deep bellow that would put Barry White to shame. I can neither confirm nor deny these claims because Shimosh is now too cool to talk to me, the lowly International Teaching Fellow. I miss the old Shimosh, but I am glad that he has found confidence. When I grow up, I hope to be just like him.

Thermal Springs Excursion

If there’s one thing that Greeks love, it’s yelling for no reason. Even a cordial discussion can be mistaken for a spiteful argument. If there are two things that Greeks love, they are yelling and feta cheese (but I’ve talked enough about feta). If there are three things that Greeks love, they are yelling, feta, and national holidays. Tuesday was yet another national holiday. November 17^th commemorates the day in 1973 when student protesters in Athens staged a lock-in protest, which led to the overthrow of the military dictatorship.

In honor of the national holiday, classes were cancelled and Klearchos, the student life director at the college, planned a trip to the thermal springs near Pellas, the hometown of Alexander the Great. Approximately 40 of the college students and I boarded a charter bus after lunch for the two-hour ride to the springs. Before departing, Klearchos got on the bus microphone to take attendance and make a few announcements. Klearchos is the man. He works extremely hard and does an excellent job, however patience isn’t his finest attribute. Once he started roll call, it wasn’t long before a handful of jesters got under his skin. It went something like this:

Klearchos: “Arthur?”

Arthur: “Here.”

Klearchos: “Please speak up so I can hear you. Olsy?”

Olsy: “Etho.” (Greek for ‘here’.)

Klearchos: “Shpendi?”

[Inaudible response from the back of the bus.]

At this point, Klearchos raises his voice beyond his usual yell.

Klearchos: “Where is Shpendi?!”

Ivan: “He’s here but his throat is busy.”

Laughter erupts around the bus, Ivan high fives his neighbors, Shpendi punches Ivan in the arm, and Klearchos blows a gasket.

Klearchos: “Do you want to go to the springs or not?!?!

Stella: “You don’t need to scream, Klearchos.”

Klearchos: “I scream?”

Everybody: “Ice cream!!!!”

Klearchos: "Ice cream?"

More laughter. This time even Klearchos acknowledges the humor, submits to the jokers, and completes roll call amidst a barrage of puns in broken English.

The bus ride was smooth and we arrived at the thermal springs with about two hours of daylight remaining. The natural amenities are amazing. The springs are located in a valley between two picturesque mountains and the autumn colors were in full effect. A large creek with numerous waterfalls runs between the mountains and the water is a pale greenish-white. I explored a few mountain trails and was blown away by the views.

After climbing a few hundred meters, I found myself alone on a steep precipice. In front of me was a mountain featuring trees with intense yellow, red and green leaves. Behind me was a steep mountain face with dozens of large caves. Below me was the creek. It was unreal, but before I could get swept away in a spiritual moment, a pack of eight wild goats appeared about five meters* to my right. They were ascending the steep mountain but halted when they spotted me. I was frozen in place and at their disposal. If they charged, I could attempt to run down the jagged rock path that they navigate daily but probably wouldn’t make it too far. After a thirty-second staring contest with the lead goat, he decided to mosey along and the rest of the pack followed. I decided to breathe again then headed back down the mountain to rejoin the others.

The manmade facilities at the springs include naturally heated pools, hotel rooms, and a few tavernas. We swam and relaxed in the warm outdoor pool for a few hours. It was a brisk night, so the pool felt amazing. I dominated an Albanian guy and a Romanian bird in a who-can-hold-their-breath-the-longest competition then went to check out the thermal waterfall; it was ‘the nice nice’**. Mother Nature is mystifying. Somehow there is a warm waterfall directly next to a cold waterfall, so the custom is to stand in the cold one for 5-10 seconds then rush over to the hot chute. The experience is phenomenal. The temperature change was shocking, and the water pressure felt like the world’s greatest 10-handed, untiring masseuse going to work on my entire body; I have never felt so clean and relaxed. When I win the lottery, my first purchase will be a pair of waterfalls: one hot, one cold. Does anybody know a good waterfall dealer?

So the trip was awesome and I hope to go back. If any of you schlubs*** or floozies**** ever visit me, we can definitely hit up the thermal springs.

For those of you (if anyone actually reads this other than my mommy) who are in desperate need of a Shimosh update, fear not. I promise to deliver exactly that in my next post.

Kisses,

Jacques

* 5 meters = 5.468 yards

**the nice nice : adj, informal. superlative of NICE, most pleasant, agreeable, or satisfactory, better than just nice but one notch below the ‘nice nice nice’

***schlub : noun, informal. a talentless, unattractive or boorish person.

****floozy : noun (pl. –zies) informal. a girl or woman who has a reputation for promiscuity.

Pics

The Pig Roast
The Big Blue Van
AFS Halloween
Perrotis College Costume Party

Random Events and Observations

Nothing groundbreaking has occurred in the past few weeks, so I'll just mention a few events and observations from my first 2+ months in Greece that have failed to make the blog thus far:

Event # 1

AFS hosted a pig roast for 400 donors and friends of the school. For the guests the pig roast meant a copious feast featuring several types of meat (roasted pig being the feature dish of course) plus a smorgasbord of traditional Greek side dishes and desserts. Gluttony was the theme of the party and everyone did their fair share of damage to the buffet. For me the pig roast meant approximately 12 hours of manual labor setting up and breaking down the tables and place settings. My official duty was driver of the big blue van, a circa 1975 Volkswagen Vanagon. It was a blast. The steering wheel was the size of a hoola hoop. I assumed the role of driver by passing the "Greek driver's test". The procedure went as follows:

Pig Roast Set Up Director: "Do you have an international driver's license?"

Me: "No."

PRSUD: "Do you know how to drive a manual transmission?"

Me: "I drove a stick shift in high school but it's been a while."

PRSUD: "Perfect ."

With that, I was handed the keys and started shuttling tables and chairs to the site of the pig roast with student volunteers bumping along for the ride. The van lacked A/C, radio, a functional horn, and pretty much any other amenity you can imagine, so the students entertained themselves by singing and teaching me everything there is to know about Greek profanity. It was remarkable to see how fluent they all already were in English profanity - even the students who barely know any English are fluent in American cuss words.

Event # 2

Halloween doesn't exist in Greece, so Emily and I enlightened the students about the holiday and led a trick-or-treating outing. We warned all of the faculty and staff who live on campus to expect a slew of hooligans on Saturday night, and they agreed to purchase some candy. Pressed for time and without a costume store, we were forced to be creative with our attire. Most of the 20 students who participated opted for face painting or homemade masks. Trick-or-treating turned into how-loud-can-we-all-yell-at-the-same-time/who-can-snatch-the-most-candy-from-the-bowl, but a good time was had by all.

The college hosted a costume party in honor of Halloween featuring the limbo and musical chairs; the fiesta was a lot of fun and makes me wonder why the limbo and musical chairs disappear from American parties after middle school.

Observation # 1

Greek floozies physically resemble the Jewish American Princesses that overpopulate the Northeastern United States and Emory University. The only difference is that the Greek ladies are yet to discover eating disorders.

Observation # 2

Greek bureaucracy is an absolute joke. Instead of handling the usual "red tape", Greek processes equate more to struggling through duct tape. After many hours of paperwork preparation/hospital trips/and photocopying, yesterday I went to the agency which supervises residency permits to submit the forms, photos, moneys, etc. necessary to extend my stay in Greece past the original 90 days. It was a large office building with dozens of employees, however the only person on staff "capable" of handling residency permits was sick at home. Therefore, the residency visa section of the office was closed. Apparently the other employees were too busy chain-smoking and playing solitaire on their computers to stamp a few sheets and process the visa for their ill colleague.

That's all for now. I'm looking forward to a trip to Athens in December for a Champions League match between Arsenal and Olympiakos, the Greek Champions.

Mt. Olympus Pics

Limbering up for the hike in Litohoro.

I spy two humans.

The peaks of Mount Olympus.

The tempestuous floodwater.

Stranded at the restaurant known as Prionia, Greece.

Cruisin' through Olympus National Park.

Odyssey to the Home of the Gods

School was closed Monday through Wednesday, and I was itching for a road trip. Mr. Kasapidis, my boss, recommended a two-day trip to Mount Olympus, the fabled home of the Greek gods and the highest peak in Greece. It was the last week that the mountain was open before the climbing season ends for the winter, so it was definitely "go time". My intentions were to climb as high as possible without proper shoes or gear in order to do some reconnaissance for a climb to the summit in the Spring. After some logistical research, I figured that we'd need to arrive in Litohoro, a small town which serves as the starting point for an Olympus ascent. Once there, we could either hike for five hours or take a taxi to Prionia, a tiny outpost halfway up the mountain. From there, it was a 3 hour hike to "the refuge," a large outpost/hostel which serves as a base camp for those who intend to reach the summit or don't feel like making the trip back to Litohoro for the night. My ultimate goal was to reach the refuge then see what happened in the morning. Zeus had other plans.

Emily and Vered, a lawyer from Los Angeles who is serving as a visiting professor / intern at the college, wanted to come along, so we planned to rendezvous at the bus stop at 8:00 Sunday morning to begin our voyage. Emily and I sauntered to the meeting place around 7:55, but there was no sign of Vered. Around 8:15, I jogged down to the college to make sure she was awake. She had just gotten out of the shower and was shocked that it was already 8:30. Fifteen minutes later, she arrived at the bus stop frazzled and breathless exclaiming that it was actually 7:30 - daylight savings time had gone into effect overnight. After making a few phone calls to validate her claim, we realized that we had indeed gained an hour an were an hour ahead of schedule. So it goes. At the real 8:15, we boarded a bus to the train station. We arrived at the train station with time to spare and the hour-long trip breezed by. We were at the foot of Mount Olympus and things were all good...then came the rain.

As we stepped off of the train, a few raindrops fell - nothing serious. The sky looked a bit ominous, but we had gone far enough that it would have been pointless to turn back. As we entered a taxi to take us up the mountain to Prionia, the rain increased and the fog began its descent. Legend says that Zeus controls the weather from Mount Olympus based on his mood; I don't know what we did to anger the supreme god, but apparently he was irate. As we wound up the steep mountain road, fog engulfed the taxi. The higher we got, the denser the fog. It got to a point where we literally couldn't see ten meters (I've gone totally metric) in front of us. The cab driver spoke no English, so even if we had wanted to go back to Litohoro, it was out of the question. As the fog got thicker, the rain got harder and by the time we arrived in Prionia, a torrential downpour was underway.

We sprinted with our backpacks from the cab to the drafty, wooden cabin restaurant which apparently comprises all of Prionia. There was a "Welcome to Prionia" sign and this restaurant - nothing more. The restaurant was packed with locals who were snacking on soup and ogling the drenched, stranded Americans. We had lunch and watched the rainfall somehow get stronger and evolve into a thunderstorm. Our hopes of climbing to the refuge were washed away by Zeus' crabby mood. As the hours past, sleeping in the restaurant became a more realistic prediction because there was no lodging to be found and no taxis would dare drive up to Prionia in this epic storm. Luckily, Emily struck up a conversation with the neighboring table and some Greek men offered us rides down to Litohoro. Amid steady sheets of rain, we fled into two cars: Emily and Vered with two men in one, two men and me in the other. As if the treacherous weather and unpaved, windy mountain road wasn't enough of a concern, we had watched all of the men guzzle ouzo and beers in the restaurant for hours. We didn't have any other options and as they say, "When in Prionia"... So we somehow rode / floated down to Litohoro, and I actually had an intriguing conversation with the driver of the vehicle that I was in. He grilled me on my political beliefs in flawless English, then switched into French for the last 25 minutes of the trip once he asked me about my language studies and I told him I that je parle francais. Our substantial conversation took my mind off the weather but thankfully didn't distract him, and we arrived safely at our destination. Once in Litohoro, we thanked our escorts for the ride and found a small inn where we could stay the night. I was bummed that Zeus had stymied our ascent and we weren't able to climb from Prionia.

Litohoro was a quaint village which reminded me of a ski resort town. The atmosphere was relaxed, the terrain was hilly, and the king of Greek mountains was overlooking our every move. The rain fell all night, but we still had a blast. We went to a hole-in-the-wall gyro joint for dinner. The only other customers were about ten old men who were gulping down retsina (a sweet white Greek wine) and chain smoking cigs. One of the charming grandpas even started to serenade us and bought us a bottle of retsina to enjoy with the locals. It was a unique experience and we mingled with the geezers all evening. On a small TV on the wall of the restaurant, we saw footage of the severe flooding that was happening in the region and considered ourselves lucky not to be stranded in Prionia or at the refuge.

The next day, the weather was clear and we visited Mount Olympus National Park, a fifteen minute walk from Litohoro - it was spectacular. During the hour or so in the park, we satiated our desire to hike and experienced unrivaled views of Mount Olympus. We walked along a massive canyon which was serving as the main drainage outlet for the floodwater. As we walked, the water got closer and closer to our exact altitude through a series of waterfalls and streams. At one point, we were so close to the torrent that we were showered in mist and could barely hear each other speak; we could see rocks and other debris which has been swept away by the violent floodwater. It was intimidating and humbling to stand next to such a powerful force.

After the park visit, we hopped a train back to Thessaloniki and arrived home sweet home. It turned out to be a memorable trip. If Zeus allows it, I still plan to climb Olympus in the Spring. Although I can't say that I have technically hiked Mount Olympus, I can proudly claim that I have hitchhiked Mount Olympus in a life-threatening thunderstorm - a feat much less common than simply climbing the mountain.

AFS Sports

It may be the home of the Olympic games, but my observations indicate that athletic ability does not thrive in Greece. Allow me to elaborate. In order to describe the "athletes" of AFS, this post will contain some obscure references. For those that don't understand the comparisons, please bare with me. For those that do, I hope it enhances your ability to picture the characters that I describe. Also, this post includes some immature humor about people getting hit in the testes with various objects. I hope nobody will take offense at the low-brow humor [Mom, you may want to skip the third and fifth paragraphs] and realize that I am more mature than I sometimes portray in this blog...I hope.

Among my prestigious duties at AFS, I have the privilege of helping with the daily athletic activities. My main responsibility is coaching the soccer team. After two years of full-time coaching at Emory, it is a nice change of pace to oversee an informal group of uncoordinated teenagers. I also train with the team which is fun and has helped me bond with the students. We practice two or three times a week, and I have already seen significant progress. I also coach the soccer team of the college that shares the campus with AFS. In fact, through the abscence of any governing body comparable to the NCAA, I have been appointed player-coach and will be lacing up the boots for the Perrotis College Ninja Turtles (I don't think we actually have a mascot) during the various intercollegiate tournaments and scrimmages. The college is a very unique and special place. Most of the students are internationals representing Albania, Macedonia, Kosovo, Bosnia, Kenya, Nigeria, Romania, and Moldova. They are a lively bunch and provide an ideal multi-cultural haven when I need a break from Greek high schoolers.

On the high school team, one of my favorite players is the freshman goalkeeper, Antonis Papodopoulus. He is undersized for a goalie but full of energy. His on-field mannerisms are eerily similar to a young Patrick Knight [Obscure Reference #1]. From what I have seen of Antonis off the field, his carefree antics and kamikaze-style pursuit of girls draws the comparison even closer. Antonis' best trait as a goalkeeper is his obsession to train. Any time I see him on campus, he is badgering girls. But, and this is the only difference between him and Pat "Full Court Press" Knight, he will leave the girl alone long enough to ask me if we can go train. During our training sessions, we work on footwork, hand drills, and other GK stuff, then I shoot on him. He can always tell if I am holding back and insists that I fire the ball at him as hard as I can. On one such occasion, I struck a ball with all my might. It was a rocket. It started off heading toward the right corner of the net, then swerved back central. Antonis had already leapt and fully extended to his left, leaving his mid-section exposed. The ball blasted Antonis so hard in the testicles that he immediately shriveled into the fetal position and lay motionless for several minutes. Once able to summon the courage, he slowly crawled off the field and curled into a ball. To his credit, he was ready to train again the next day and his enthusiasm remains. Bravo Antonis.

Also, we recently had a staff versus students basketball scrimmage. Before describing the game, I must introduce Coach Petras. He is a burly man whose physical bullying of students reminds me of the infamous Coach Cropper [Obscure Reference #2]. He is belligerent and hot-tempered which leads to daily tirades toward helpless students who ask him simple questions that he somehow interprets as offensive; it can be quite unpleasant.

So anyway, the staff team was assembled from various departments around campus. The average age of our team was probably around 40, and there were more knee braces present than at an Espie family reunion [OR#3]. During our pre-game shoot around, it became apparent that Greek basketballers are unfamiliar with the concept of "change", the custom of passing a ball back to a shooter if he successfully makes a basket. Through growing up with the "change" system, I have been programmed to return the ball to a shooter if he scores. Thus, I was passing balls back to these old men when they made baskets. It caught a few off guard, but I continued to do it out of habit. One middle-aged man swished a jump shot from around the free throw line and I casually tossed the ball back toward him. He wasn't expecting it and it struck him directly in the crotch. He dropped to his knees clutching his privates. I felt terrible and apologized immediately. Striking a grown man in the nuts with a basketball must be one of life's most deflating experiences. I'm still not entirely sure where he works on campus, but I have been watching my back ever since the occurence.

The student team was comprised of about 15 boys, one or two of whom had some athletic ability. A popular trend among the student squad was facial piercings and meticulously gelled hair. It could be the absence of formal coaching or a side effect of pubescence, but the boys were literally out of control on the basketball court. There movements were jerky and awkward, and our staff team achieved an easy victory. One of the highlights was when Coach Petras, who consistently brags about his basketball ability, felt that he was fouled and the student referee overlooked the call. He yelled at the alleged fouler and the ref for about thirty seconds then punted the basketball across the gym, setting an excellent example of sportsmanship for everybody present.

In conclusion, no professional scouts will be calling AFS in the near future, but the sports are a great outlet for the students and obviously help with physical fitness and social skills. I enjoy the role that I play in the high school athletic program, and I love my player-coach role for the college team.

I have been substitute teaching in English classes about once a week which has been a great experience, and contrary to the rantings in my previous post, I do tutor and help the students with their assignments. Emily and I are also in charge of putting together the student newspaper and helping the Model United Nations team with their presentations. Life is good.

School is closed Monday through Wednesday of this week for national holidays, so I am going to Mount Olympus for the weekend. I"m very excited to visit the home of the gods and do some hiking.

Holler.

Golden Beach Pics

Sunset at Golden Beach with Mount Olympus to the left.
Da Beach / Olympus

Another Day Another Euro

Autumn is officially upon us in Thessaloniki. Weatherwise, that means brisk, windy days and scattered rain every afternoon. I have settled into a daily routine which I will now share. This is my daily schedule for Monday through Thursday. I have not included laundry hours which are thrown in sporadically. I have converted fully to military time so some conversations may be necessary on your end:

7:00-8:00 WAKE UP / BREAKFAST (PROINO) - The typical cafeteria offerings are fried eggs and bread with bright orange jelly or chocolate spread. My usual proino consists of two eggs on wheat bread and the occasional piece of bread with chocolate spread. I will elaborate on food in a future post.

8:00-13:30 FREE TIME - I spend the majority of this time writing and reading in the library. I have random meetings throughout the week and sometimes teach English or sit in on classes.

13:30 LUNCH (MESSIMARIANO) - Lunch with the students is my first official duty of the day, so I guess you could say that my workday officially begins at 13:30. At first, the students were wary of having me around. I would sit with a group of kids and they would go silent. They would glance at me, speak rapid Greek with each other, laugh at the random American, hurry through their lunch, then bolt out of the cafeteria. Thus, I would be left alone at the table to eat my full tray of food. If I was the first person to sit down, nobody would join me. So it went for the first week or so. It is much better now that the students are comfortable around me, and we actually sit and converse. They teach me some Greek, I teach them some English, we all overdose on feta, and everybody wins.

14:00-16:00 FREE TIME - Greece is similar to many European countries in that the early afternoon is siesta time. Most businesses shut down after lunch and do not open again until five or six in the evening. For me, this is usually more reading time. I have a favorite bench on campus in a somewhat secluded area where I go every afternoon. It's a nice spot to read and sometimes nap a bit.

16:00-18:00 GYM - Two or three afternoons a week, we have soccer practice during this time. The other days I will open the weight room for students or play basketball, volleyball, or tennis.

19:00-22:00 STUDY HALL (MELETI) - All of the students have study hall during these hours with a thirty minute break (20:45-21:15) for supper (vrathino). Emily and I supervise study hall in the library*, work at the library circulation desk**, and help the students with homework***. We have a group of 20 kids, allegedly the best students****, who are assigned to the library for their meleti.

*By supervise study hall, I mean Emily messes around on Facebook and I play online hearts.

**By work at the library circulation desk, I mean we sit behind the desk while Emily messes around on Facebook and I play online hearts.

***By help the students with homework, I mean Emily messes around on Facebook and I was once asked to help a kid with his homework; I was in the middle of an online hearts game, so I told him to scram. I probably shot the moon - I'm just sayin'.

***The "best students" are an interesting bunch: We had to separate two students who would consistent spoon/dry hump each other in one the study rooms, one girl draws bubble letters during the entire three hours, a group of five girls always have dance parties between the book shelves, and I'm relatively certain that two Goth girls participate in voodoo rituals and are planning a meleti mutiny of some sort in the library.

22:00-22:01 Sprint from the library to my room so Shimosh doesn't ask me to open the laundry room.

22:01-23:30 Read in bed and ignore knocks on my door (it is probably Shimosh about the laundry room).

23:30-7:00 SLEEPY TIME (dream about online hearts)

So that is my typical work week. Fridays through Sundays are usually free. I discovered a beach last weekend that is about 1.5 hours away on the public bus. There were about a dozen people there and I was the only one under age 60 (I'm now in love with several elderly angels). It is appropriately named Golden Beach. The "sand" was small pebbles, but the water was clear and smooth; it is a great place to swim. The best feature was the view of Mount Olympus looming in the distance. Unfortunately the beach season is coming to an end, but I will post some pictures of the Golden Beach trip.

Word.

Shimosh!

The one and only Shimosh. He is posing in his natural environment, the laundry room, and toting his laundry bag. In Greek, his shirt reads "Somebody who loves me very much went to Crete and got me this t-shirt." God bless Shimosh. Long live Shimosh.

Athens Pics

Astir Beach, just south of Athens.

Viewing Athens from above.

The 1896 Olympic Stadium, recently renovated for the 2004 games.
The Temple of Zeus.
The Parthenon.

Athens Road Trip

The school was closed Friday and Monday for the national elections in Greece, so Emily (my fellow Teaching Fellow) and I hopped a train to Athens. It was an amazing excursion and a well needed break from campus. I enjoy my daily routine at AFS, but it was refreshing to spend a few days away from the cafeteria food, the laundry room, and the hickey epidemic that is rapidly spreading around campus.

We selected the overnight train on Thursday to maximize our time in the Greek capitol. Several of our students, returning home to Athens, were on the same train. Being our first trip to the train station, they helped significantly with the process. At the station as we waited for the train, they also contributed to the copious amounts of second-hand smoke that I inhale on a daily basis. Smoking is a serious issue in Greece. In between puffs, the school administrators try to discourage smoking among the students, and the teachers slip out back for a cig or four between classes. As I write this, cigarette smoke is wafting into the library window.

On the train, smoking is outlawed but smelling like cigarettes is a roaring trend. I was lucky enough to sit next to a hairy, obese old woman who enjoys hogging arm rests and leg room. She also "snored" throughout the duration of our seven hour train ride. Her "snoring" was unique and cyclical; after approximately five wheezes that sounded like a muffled steam whistle, she cranked out the jackhammer-esque inhales followed by the exhales, which sound like the world's largest garbage disposal grinding a load of glass. After seven glorious hours next to the world's most repulsive human alive, we arrived in Athens.

Strung out and delirious, we had six hours to kill before the hostels opened for check-in. Thankfully, one of the AFS students invited us to visit her sister's apartment for a nap and breakfast. Her sister, a nursing students at University of Athens, was a gracious host (I'm in love with an angel) and the nap was a life saver .

Like New York City, Athens is crowded and dirty in an endearing way. Unlike big cities in the States, there are no skyscrapers. Athens is built around the Acropolis, which can be viewed from almost anywhere in the city due to the lack of tall buildings. On the flip side, the view from the Acropolis is breathtaking: mountains to the South and East and the sea to the West, not to mention the actual monuments themselves. The Parthenon and other structures are massive. It is mind-boggling to think how, 2500 years ago, people constructed them without the conveniences of modern equipment. Although most of Athens is overrun with tourists and identical mind-numbing souvenir shops, it somehow maintains authenticity. On day two, I walked all over the city and saw several more historic sites: the 1896 Olympic Stadium, the Temple of Zeus, Hadrian's Arch, the national gardens, and a few others. Athens is very walkable plus the metro is easy to figure out. You can't proceed a block without running into an amazing monument; it's a bit overwhelming but a great city.

We stayed at the Hostel Zeus which is located about a mile from Ministraiki Square, a bustling area that sits at the foot of the Acropolis. At 12 euros a night, it was the best deal in town and we met some cool travellers from Australia, New Zealand, Norway, and England. After bonding at the rooftop hostel bar, we all went out to one of the bar districts and had a good time (I'm in love with several angels).

On Sunday, one of the hostel employees took a group of us to the beach. It was about 40 minutes on the bus and it was awesome. There were ancient ruins sitting in the middle of the sand and Greek trout splashing around as far as the eye could see. After a full day there, we headed back to Thessaloniki on a midnight train, sunburned and oh so content. Now it's back to the grind on campus after a perfect weekend. I must admit that I missed my routine a bit and of course I missed Shimosh.

Good Things.

Downtown Thessaloniki Pics

The board walk and the White Tower.
Emily tasting Aristotle's toe.
The square.
Church.
Not sure who this guy is, but he looks like Lenin and the pigeons dig him.

Poking Around Downtown (Plus a Shimosh Update)

After being in Greece nearly a month, life is still great. I am getting to know the students, soccer practice started last week, and I am settling into a daily routine. The presidential election is this weekend so rumors are spreading on campus about a four day weekend (it is mind-boggling that they don't announce the vacation days in advance but that's all part of the laid-back culture I suppose). If we do have the long weekend, I am going to go down to Athens or to Halkidiki, a nearby peninsula with allegedly amazing beaches. After a few weeks of clouds and rain, the weather is starting to feel like Fall. It definitely makes me miss college soccer season and UGA tailgates, but I'm not complaining. Greek Fall is ideal.

I have taken several excursions to downtown Thessaloniki. All trips have been by bus. There is a stop directly across from the school and it takes around 40 minutes to arrive downtown. The bus system has been reliable so far, and they never ask for bus tickets so it is essentially free. You are supposed to get your ticket stamped when you enter the bus, but most locals ignore the protocol and the drivers seem completely apathetic. Every aspect of life is more relaxed here. The pace of life is very slow which I enjoy.

Downtown Thessaloniki is picturesque and historic yet still feels like a modern city. There are ancient ruins, beautiful churches, and monuments amidst the grind of daily life. The main attraction is the boardwalk along the sea. Night or day, people are strolling along the water or sitting at one of the numerous cafes. Everybody here drinks frappes and smokes cigarettes. The omnipresent smoke clouds are bothersome but a law recently passed that prohibits smoking inside all businesses. It is a step in the right direction, however the police seem to be as indifferent as the bus drivers so enforcement of the law is already an issue.

Without further ado, I know that some of you are probably only reading this for an update on Shimosh so I will satiate your craving. True to form, Shimosh has kept the laundry machines busy throughout the week. He has also picked up the habit of sneaking up and poking the older kids to annoy them. Once poked, the older kids chase him around. Shimosh is quick and shifty, however they usually catch him. Most of the authority figures (myself included) allow Shimosh to receive a bit of physical abuse from the others because he has earned it; he is a pest. Thus, Shimosh has developed a defense mechanism which renders his attackers powerless. Once in their clutches (headlock and shoulder punch are popular), he starts to emit a shrill scream. It is no ordinary scream. It is a piercing, high-pitched noise that seems to originate somewhere in his soul. The older students have no option but to flee and hope that no permanent damage to their ears has occurred.

He also told me a story about life on his father's farm. The story was conveyed partly in English, partly in Greek and partly in International Body Language (luckily I am fluent). I have translated the Greek and IBL segments into English. The IBL parts will appear in brackets, so you can picture Shimosh acting out the scene. Also feel free to insert voice cracks wherever you see fit. It goes something like this:

Shimosh: On my fathaire's farm, there are many many mices. They eat holes in food bags then food [spills on the ground]. So, my fathaire has to [kill] the mices. [Laughter]

Me: How does he kill the mice?

Shimosh: Well we have many cats. Also, he uses [unrecognizable IBL. It must be some sort of new IBL slang that kids are using these days].

Me: Mouse traps with cheese?

Shimosh: No. [he starts choking himself]

Me: Poison?

Shimosh: Yes. Yes. Poison. He uses the poison and they [keel over and die a gruesome death].

Me: I see.

Shimosh: But sometimes, the mice die from the poison then the cats eat the mice, and the cats [die a death that appears to be represented by the IBL symbol for electrocution] too. [Uncontrollable laughter]

Me: Alright, get your damn clothes out of the dryer and let's get out of here.

That's all for now. I'll post some pictures of downtown Thessaloniki. I'll also try to snap a pic of Shimosh in the near future.

Love,

Jacques (or Zak as they refer to me here. Derrick Quarrels is a prophet.)

Pics

The view from Princeton Hall.
Princeton Hall - library, dining hall, offices.
The dorm.

The view from my room at dawn.

First Week with the Students

Kalimera. The students arrived last weekend; they are hilarious. Imagine 250 awkward, pubescent teenagers scurrying around in tight shirts. Cell phones are the primary means of entertainment. Popular pastimes include blaring techno from their cells and looking at pictures of motorcycles and/or body builders ("body sculpers" as they say) on their phones. After observing their behavior for a week, my personal favorite activity is when the students scream animal noises at the top of their lungs in the dormitory hallways for no apparent reason. Who needs sleep when you can hear Greek teenagers' impressions of a rabid baboon being accosted by a pack of drunk hyenas with megaphones? It's a spiritual experience.

Their English proficiency varies from absolutely no knowledge to advanced conversational. Most fall closer to the former, but many can hold simple conversations and discuss daily habits. One of my favorite conversations to date went something like this:

Me: "Hey buddy, are you going home for the weekend?"

Student: "Yo....50 Cent."

Me: [Laughter]

Student: [Blank stare]

Me: "Ok, well have a good weekend."

Student: [ Continued blank stare followed by slow pivot and full sprint away.]

I haven't seen him since, but I like to think that we now share an unbreakable bond.

One of my favorite students so far is a boy that I'll call "Shimosh". At this point, I can only guess at the phonetic spelling of his name because of the violent voice crack that occurred as he introduced himself. Shimosh is from the Greek Isle of Sifnos and his father runs a farm. He is a big fan of Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. Shimosh is the smallest student on campus, but he rocks an amazing "flavor-saver" mustache. Most of the students go home on the weekends, but a group of about 35 stayed this weekend for various reasons: they live too far away, their parents don't love them, etc. Shimosh was one of the students who stayed on campus. [Sidenote: I have the distinguished honor of guarding the laundry room key; somehow I was granted the privilege of accompanying every guy down to the laundry room to ensure that he doesn't break the machines. It is on the same level as my beloved equipment room duty whilst coaching at Emory.] Anyway, Shimosh somehow generated four loads of laundry this week. The smallest student in the entire school (I am convinced that he is yet to develop sweat glands) somehow soiled more clothes in one week than any other human being in the world. I spent several hours with Shimosh during the laundry cycles, and I got to know him pretty well between the squeaky English he was able to croak and the rudimentary Greek skills that I have acquired. Stay tuned for more on my adventures with Shimosh...the next laundry session is only six days away.

In all honesty, the students are great. They are so different yet so similar to American kids. I am loving my experiences at the school and look forward to having some free time to venture off-campus and explore Grecia.

Shants, Unibrows, and Gyros

Yassas from the land of Aristotle, the Acropolis, and hairy men in capri pants. If you are allergic to feta cheese, please stop reading as an allergic reaction will ensue. As most of you know, I am spending 10 months in Thessaloniki, Greece as an International Teaching Fellow at a boarding school. I arrived in Thessaloniki late Sunday evening after a 20-hour commute from the ATL via London and Athens. I have my own apartment in one of the dormitories furnished with a desk, a fridge, my own WC sans hot water, and bunk beds. Although my quarters lack air condish and I am puzzled as to how to maximize the usefulness of bunk beds without a roommate, the living situation is more than adequate. It certainly beats living in a closet for a year (Kay Lane) or trekking upstairs to take a shower (Greenwood Estate). So it goes.

I awoke on Monday on the bottom bunk at 3:45 AM. The 8 hour time difference is having a blast with my sleeping schedule and attentiveness during meetings. After reading and writing a bit, the sun finally showed its face around 6:30. I approached the large window in my room, excited to catch my first glimpse of Greece...Jackpot! My room overlooks the soccer field with a beautiful mountain range in the background. If I pan right, I can see the Aegean Sea and have a view of Mount Olympus when the sky is clear. Not too shabby. I will post pictures at some point.

The students are not on campus yet. This week has been full of meetings with the school staff and a bit of exploring the city; the school is actually located 10 km or so from downtown Thessaloniki and 4 km from Thermi, a quaint, historic town. Things are a bit slow, so it has allowed me some time to diddle around the surrounding areas on foot. I have come to a few conclusions:

A. Pedestrians never, ever, ever, ever, ever have the right of way. Greek drivers seem to be on an intense quest to run over as many pedestrians as possible in their tiny, gas-wise, hatchback, glorifed roller skate-looking automobiles. But don't worry Mom, most of the roads lack sidewalks. Picture a real-life game of Frogger any time I leave campus on foot; "game over" means broken bones in this version.

2. Greek fashion designers must have lost a very serious bet.

III. Kiosks are the backbone of the Greek economy. I have no idea how any other businesses stay afloat.

D. Gyro (with feta) - so good. Cucumber tomato salad with feta - so very good. Bread with feta - so good. Feta covered in olive oil - oh so good. Feta on top of feta with a side of feta - so very good. I am considering bathing in feta. Feta good.

That's all for now. The new students arrive on Sunday and the returning students come Monday. All of the people that I've met are great and helpful. Life here is great: the food, the fancy ladies, the simplicity. I'll try to post updates once every week or so. Stay in touch. Wherever and whoever you may be, keep it real. I love you.

Jacques