Destination, Heraklion.

Long flights have a reputation of being no fun, but mine has felt like more of an adventure! It really is quite amazing that I am sitting in Pachea Ammos right now, at 5 pm in the evening on the 18^th, after I left Phoenix at 6 am the day before. Quite a few hours have past, but it passed in the blink of an eye. From my kitchen in Gilbert to a blustery, seaside coffee house on the northeast coast of Crete. Worlds apart. The flight to New York was a familiar one, the unabashed conversations of uninhibited Americans and their penchant for giving their children noisy electronics. But the first feeling I had of leaving familiarity and diving into the unknown was while people-watching in the airport in New York. Obnoxiously loud Yankee conversations melted into softer, guttural accents-the rough yet melodic timbre of the ancient language itself-Greek. That was pretty thrilling. I was leaving! Leaving to experience a culture completely foreign to me! Not only was I fascinated by the happy chatter I couldn’t understand, but by the stereotypes I was hesitant to believe for fear of being offensive. A line of men, young and old, waited to board the flight to Athens. Apparently Greek men have no qualms about buttoning their shirts only halfway and exposing copious amounts of chest hair. Maybe it’s a competition? Whoever’s chest most resembles a rug wins the ‘Most Manly’ award. Eww. But other generalities I found true proved charming, including the woman sitting next to me on the plane, who must have been about 55, yet described with almost prurient sassiness the colorful party life she leads, accompanied by her single friends. Cheeky tales of dancing and drinking were accompanied by grandiose hand motions, reminding me of the big personalities in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Could it be true? That Greeks really are that warm and unabashedly in love with life? Yes, I think it may be true.

The only hitch, that I had feared would come true, was that our plane was delayed two and a half hours in New York City because of the weather! I thought for sure I would miss my short flight to Heraklion, but luckily I made it on in time. The short 40 minute flight flew by, and seeing the gorgeous water below us, decorated with white caps, made me anxious with excitement. This place was remote! I bounded off the plane, huge, swinging backpack in tow, and after meeting up with several other archaeology enthusiasts, drove the hour and 30 minute drive from Heraklion to Pachea Ammos. Pachea Ammos is so tiny it literally takes ten seconds to drive through. Little town blends into little town along the coast, and ours is only a five minute drive from Gournia, our excavation site. Our apartments are charmingly rustic, wanderlusty in their aged, National-Geographic design, yet so recently refurbished that their vintage charisma is unlikely to manifest itself in cold showers or unwelcome bugs. My favorite part of our romantic housing arrangement? The French doors in my bedroom, ready to be flung open after a long night’s rest, over which I will gaze upon the ancient, azure Aegean. Tonight, I am sitting in a little café where the waitresses don’t bother you til you call for them and the wind is whipping my hair into a psychotic science experiment. The beach and the water is 20 yards from me, and stands in stark contrasting beauty to the brown, harsh mountains of the island. Tomorrow, I will trudge up one of those imposing mountains to have my first experience excavating a Minoan landscape that resembles a miniature Machu Pichu, stacked up against the rugged, unforgiving hill. But for now, I need sleep. Was I really just at home this morning? Or was it yesterday morning?