¶nteka

I had accumulated thousands of years of experience in a few short years, but the experience was wasted because I had no need of it. I had already been crucified and marked by the cross; I had been born free of the need to suffer - and yet I knew no other way to struggle forward than to repeat the drama. All my intelligence was against it. Suffering is futile, my intelligence told me over and over, but I went on suffering voluntarily. (Miller, 1997, p. 296)

Today, in almost every way, is exactly like yesterday. I opened my eyes to the room filled with sunlight filtered through a white curtain. From here I can see the curtain filling with air and then emptying, back and forth. The door to the balcony is open and I can hear the voices of the family across the street. A woman is calling to a little boy. A car starts and I can hear it changing gears as it travels down the road. It's as if I gradually transferred from sleeping to being completely lucid and sensitive to this small world here in Irakleon. The foot of my bed is near the open balcony so I lie at the opposite end of the mattress so that the breeze will cool my face. This bed has been so worn down. I also sleep in this position because the permanent body indentation of hundreds of travelers caused me to wake up with a sore back.

The four other beds in this room are empty now because it is probably near ten o'clock. I remember last night, two men from New Zealand arrived after midnight while I was already lying down, watching the curtain move, illuminated by the streetlight. But those two are gone now; moved on to Xenia or another city, or perhaps they went early to Knossos or some other tourist sites. I've been here for a week and I haven't left this city. Perhaps this speaks of my current emotional or psychological state, but I am also quite tired of moving from location to location. Only two other people whom I have met in this hostel have stayed for more than one night. I imagine where other people are traveling to or coming from. Most everyone who passes through is on a similar route, which involves hitting the main archaeological sites, the best beaches, a bar, and then the next town.

I suppose I'm glad there are people touring that way, choosing to experience something proven. Although for me, I like to stay in a city for a week or two if I enjoy it, so that I may have the opportunity for a more tangible experience of the place, how the

people who live there move around. I like to be more familiar with the streets and small shops. I like hearing the family across the street arguing or playing, or hearing the mother sing in the morning. It seems to me that the people who stay here in Irakleon for one night only usually miss those things because they are constantly thinking of where they will be going next or they are reminiscing over where they've been. When I move on too quickly without giving myself time to process my situation or location, I am never really present to what's around me. But, I suppose that different people want different things from life, looking to different epistemologies to promote change.

I am realizing more and more that I do not wish to be involved with those fleeting experiences that I never pay attention to or appreciate. It never seemed worth it to me to go to the fountain in the middle of the plaka, take a picture, and hurry on. Every day on my way to the library or to the farmer's market I walk by that fountain which has been shut off for years. It is important to me because it became part of my life. But, I should note that many things are part of my life and I don't recognize them. What is it about this particular fountain, or that particular tree growing alone near my street that causes pause? What is it about my thinking that calls my attention to evaluating my motivations in life? Very generally I can say that I want to be present in my life, aware of how I interact with my surroundings, aware of why I make these choices that can either create or destroy me.

The maid comes in the room and says, "oh, sygnomi." She says some more in Greek that I don't understand, but I know she wants me out of this room for the day so she can clean. This happens every day.

"Endaxi." I go upstairs to the manager who now calls me Philippos, and pay him for tonight's bed.
"How long do you stay here?"
I shrug, "not sure."
He looks up from his desk, "that's ok, come see me tomorrow morning, I'll keep a bed for you."

I go back down to the room and get my bag with my journal and translation material. I also take some water and a few dried figs I purchased at the market. The library is not far from here, and on the way there I get to pass several busy outdoor restaurants, at one of which the waiter let me leave and come back to pay later because I forgot my wallet. I pass that large circular marble fountain with the floral design carved in the sides. A small cart-like train fills with tourists for a ride around the city. A bus headed to Knossos passes by and I wonder if the driver has placed Orthodox icons on the dash or if he is listening to traditional Greek music on the radio.