Greece, Final Thoughts

It’s not often that my mind can relax at 4:37 am. 4:37 ams, if I’m awake to experience them, usually involve sinking eyes, coffee, open textbooks, and a steadily decreasing speed in my typing. This 4:37am, I am sitting inside a cold, ceramic tub in a decadent bathroom. A long day of travelling and hiking around Delphi had left me so exhausted that I fell asleep before sunset. I woke up early, and figured I’d just get started with my day.

The floors are tiled with veiny marble. The lights are reminiscent of an art gallery. There are 3 towels for each person. There is complementary shoe polish.

The walls are embroidered.

It’s chilly in the room, and I’m gradually increasing the water temperature from scalding to boiling. There is no shower curtain, so I can’t drench myself in a steaming spray of water without flooding the entire room. I can’t figure out how the drain in the bathtub works either, so a warm soak is out of the question. My only option is to leave the shower head running and hold it in place (leaving it unbridled would make it spray everywhere in fervor, also leaving the bathroom floor soaked).

So here I am, sitting cross-legged in a cold bathtub, at 4:37am, my arms and back covered in goosebumps. I’ve strategically nuzzled the shower-head in the joint of my right knee, my calf and thigh holding it in place. The head is pointing towards my torso to provide maximum area of warmth. A few tiny spouts of scorching water are hitting the inside of my thigh, slowly cooking them. “Scalding…” I mutter, “just like Blanche likes her baths.”

If she can do it, I can too.

Think warm thoughts.

I’m inside an oven… basting myself in soapy water.

Ugh, gross.

I’m relaxing beach-side, sunlight flooding into my every pore.

Better…

But no matter how hard I try, I am cold. I accept my fate and begin shampooing my hair. The shampoo smells musky, like old perfume. I wouldn’t have expected anything else from such a posh facility.

Something about this doesn’t feel Greek. It’s in Greece, sure, but this isn’t Greece. Greece is graffiti and litter and grime and pollution. Greece is dust. Greece is minimal, basic. Greece is clear waters for miles, the only vivid color in the water coming from swimsuits. Greece is plain white walls, a small tv, a hard bed. This isn’t Greece… is it?

I decided to check.

This tub was made in Italy, according to the inscription near the tap. And the tap, the tap! It’s made in Germany! The glasses on the sink are made in France.

I am cold, wet, soapy and taking inventory of the conglomeration of posh items from all across Europe in this decadent bathroom.

And as I stand here, shivering in a symposium of bathroom appliances, my memories of Greece meshing together—ruins, beaches, ruins, ruins, ruins, beaches, ruins, gyros, ruins—the water trickling down my calves and pooling around my feet on this veiny marble floor, I only have one thing on my mind. 

Italy.

A presto, mio amore.

And goodbye, Greece.