Alms for the poor

One of the things I learned while in Greece is that my son is not working hard enough.

While he enjoyed a leisurely holiday, and afternoons in the pool, all around us were little kids with accordions, playing up a racket with one hand, and reaching out for coins with the other. Mark was fascinated by them, and asked what they were doing.

"They're playing for money," I told him. "That's how they earn a living."

The lesson stuck with him. He thought about it quite a bit, and I was happy that it made him think. I wanted him to realize how fortunate he is -- how fortunate we all are -- to have a happy, healthy life and to make a decent enough living that he doesn't have to spend his days in the street with an accordion.

That's what I hoped he was was thinking about, anyway. Turns out I was far too optimistic, because rather than feel sorry or compassionate for the kids, he thought they were brilliant, and wondered how much they made a day.

This became apparent when we took the boat ride from hell to the islands. Mark asked if he could get ice cream, and I said no at first (it was 9:30 a.m.!). But I relented in the afternoon, and he was so excited he could barely stand still.

I handed him a 2 Euro coin, and he took off running.

"Come back!" I shouted. "You need another Euro!"

"That's okay," he answered. "I'll get one up there."

Lori and I looked at each, confused. I motioned him back, and he reluctantly came.

"Up where?" I asked.

"By the ice cream stand," he said. "I'll just ask people for money."

And I realized that of all the things we'd seen so far, all the history, museums, historical sites....this is what he learned. How to beg strangers for money.

And it wasn't the last time he tried it, either. One evening in Santorini, as I turned the corner, I was met by this little beggar, asking for coins.


I take Mark traveling because I want him to be a citizen of the world. Turns out I'm setting my sights too high.

Mommy Camp 2010

Yesterday was one of my favorite summer time traditions—dropping my kid off for summer camp. Before you judge me a cold, heartless mother, let me tell you—it’s Mark’s favorite day of summer as well.

I was dreading a repeat of last year’s nightmare, when Mark turned into the devil himself while we waited for the buses to depart. I was especially worried because this time, I also brought along my 3-year-old nephew Johnny, who idolizes Mark. I knew if Mark acted up, Johnny would follow, and I’d end up imprisoned for a double (but justifiable) homicide.

So as I started up the car, I reminded Mark yet again about his behavior.

I started to say, “You WILL behave under penalty of—” but Mark cut me off.

“I know, I know, penalty of death,” he sighed. I was glad he’d been listening.

“Grandma told me the same thing,” he said. “She pulled me over in the hallway, like she was a traffic cop or something.”

I giggled at the thought. “Did she give you a ticket?” I asked.

“No, a lecture,” he answered. And so I knew he’d behave.

He behaved so well in fact, that I started to get a little teary. He was so playful and silly, and patient with Johnny, and I realized that he will be gone for two weeks, instead of his usual one. In the five years I’ve had him, he’s never been away that long. I started missing him before he even left.

By the time we got through the registration line, the wheel’s on Mark’s roller duffel bag were straining and twisting kinda weird. They tilted out sideways and I realized they would not last the trip, at least not with Mark carelessly dragging it across the campground.

“Mark, your bag is gonna break at camp,” I told him, pointing at the bag stuffed with his oldest, rattiest clothes. “I don’t care if you throw it away at the end of camp, but please don’t throw your clothes away until the second week! Otherwise, you won’t have anything to wear.” This is, after all, a diabetes camp, not a nudist camp.

Mark received his name tag, and promptly stuck it on his shorts where no one could see it. I made him move it up so people could see it, so he grudgingly moved it to his shoulder, and then to the bottom of his shirt. He’s just too cool for name tags.

We met his cabin counselor, Alec, and the counselor-in-training (I forgot his name). They introduced him to the other boys in his cabin, but he ignored them all, even the one kid he already knew from a previous camp. “S’up?” he said, with a slight head nod, then went back to playing with Johnny.

I couldn’t send him off on false pretenses, so I warned the counselor that this was the quietest he’d see Mark all week.

“He’s hiding it now,” I said, “but he’s really a little wild child.”

The counselor laughed and thanked me, saying he could handle any kid. I wonder if he’ll still say that when Mark returns from camp.

Because, as good as he was yesterday, he’s still Mark. And if that doesn’t mean anything to you, then this should shed some light. The boy in gray is the counselor, who was sitting in the seat in front of Mark on the bus.



And who was completely unaware that my child had found a new place to stick his name tag.

My Big, Fat Greek Vacation--Santorini

After the beauty of Mykonos, we couldn’t wait to get to Santorini. We took another ferry ride to the island, and the highlight for me was watching the morning news on the TVs scattered around the ship. The news team simply held up the newspaper, and read stories out loud. You’d stare at a picture of the paper for five minutes, then the anchors would discuss it for a couple minutes, and then the camera would pan to another article. I thought it was hilarious.

Edra’s favorite part of the trip was the potato chips. I ate some pretty weird flavors in Australia (ketchup chips—yuck!) but the ferry had oregano (pronounced “or-ay-ga-no”) which Edra loved.

We arrived in Santorini a few hours later, sailing past the volcano and into the Caldera. The caldera is a circular area of water surrounded by land masses which used to be connected, until a volcanic explosion separated them, forming a huge crater-like bay. The volcano lies smack in the middle of it all.

We took a long, windy road up the mountain, and drove across the town until we got to our home for the next four days, Fira (aka Thira). Our apartment had a beautiful balcony and a small pool overlooking the water. We immediately took to the pool, and spent the entire afternoon staring at the beautiful view. At one point, we heard bells ringing, and were thrilled to see an old Greek man (complete with a Greek fishing cap) leading 10 donkeys right past us. Turns out we were on the donkey path, and watched the scene repeat itself each evening.

I didn’t think Mark would be tire himself out in that tiny pool, but he must’ve swam a thousand laps. He exhausted himself by dinner.

Fira was the most wonderful little town. Built high on the cliffs, the houses and shops seemed to be part of the mountain, carved into and jutting out of every little crevice. There were a thousand steps to every hotel or shop, and each entry was framed by a colorful door in an archway. No matter where you turned, you got a marvelous view of the ocean, the whitewashed houses, the colorful doorways, or infinity pools that seemingly fell off the cliffs and became one with the sea.

The c ruise s hips loved Santorini, and dumped thousands of cruisers into town each day. It felt a bit crowded, but as small as the tiny town and little alleyways were, it didn’t feel impossible to navigate.

The food was as amazing as the rest of our vacation spots. The first night we tried a local specialty, pureed fava beans cooked in a little crock with cheese (and no, Mary, we did not drink chianti with them!).

Even better was breakfast, which the hotel housekeeper made for us every day. She brought out a huge tray of peaches, hardboiled eggs, grilled cheese sandwiches, fresh juice and coffee and sweet breads every morning. We’d relax on the balcony, taking in the view and the food. It was a lovely way to start each day.

The second day, the girls decided to take a boat tour of the Caldera. They purchased tickets to ride what I called a pirate ship. I was wavering about going, especially because the ship visited both the volcano and a beach, but after I heard their recap, I was glad I opted out. They hiked 45 minutes up the volcano at noon, in the middle of the summer, so to say it was hot is an understatement. They also jumped from the deck of the boat into the ocean and swam to the beach, then swam back. And to top it off, the boat dropped them at the bottom of the cliffs, and they had to hike up the mountain and back into the town. Never mind my wussy self, I’d have been doing all that with an equally wussy 10-year-old. The girls had a good time, but assured me I’d made the right choice in cancelling.

Instead, Mark and I took the bus to Oia (pronounced “Eee-ya”). It was cheap, only 2 Euros, 10 cents, because Mark’s child’s seat was half-price. It was a lovely ride across steep cliffs. We ended up in the picturesque Oia, which is famous for all its blue-domed churches.



There were about a hundred cliff-top restaurants with fantastic views, but none of them served gyros (akin to our lowly taco), so Mark had no interest and was growing hungrier and crankier by the minute. Eventually, in the most beautiful town I’d been in, I settled for the one restaurant with no view simply because they served gyros, which satiated my growling child.

We wandered the cute little village for a few hours while we waited for the girls to return from their boat ride. It was hot, and all of the Greeks disappeared for their siesta. Mark played for a while in an empty playground, and I realized the Greeks must hate their children. They had a few metal toys, like a merry-go-round, which was scalding hot in the mid-day sun, and the entire yard was covered in lava rock – good times if you fall and scrape your skin up.

About 20 minutes before the girls arrived, I gave up on our wandering and found a little pub with a phenomenal view. It had a sign outside that read “Ice cream” and I could see a full bar, so I knew both Mark and I would be happy. It was so hot and the view was so wonderful that I didn’t even hesitate when I read the menu and saw the ice cream was $10. It was even more expensive than my beer!

No one in Greece gives good directions, and that day was no exception. The barkeep sent us in the wrong direction from the actual port landing, but eventually we did meet up with the girls at the big church in the center of town.

We learned that Amber and Lori had ridden the donkeys up the path, but Vicki and Edra walked all 300 steep steps up the cliffs. We also learned Edra needed a little space, and so we have it to her.

Oia is also famous for its gorgeous sunsets. The whole town comes out to watch them, so we claimed a prime viewing spot about 90 minutes before sunset. We bought some crepes and did some serious people-watching, until the sun stole the show. The colors were fantastic, and I was glad we’d stayed.

However, the bus ride back was a bit hairy. We grabbed one of the last buses back, and I had the exact change in my palm. I handed the guy 2 Euros, 10 cents, the same price I’d paid on my way there. He barked at me “2 Euros, 80,” the full price, which threw mw off. I dug through my coins, handing him what I thought was 2, 80, but he tossed it back at me. Five people passed us getting on to the bus, so I just gave the guy three Euros and boarded.

Turns out we were the last tourists on. I stood in the aisle, and poor Mark literally stood next to the driver. There was an English mom and 20-something daughter sharing the jump seat next to us, and I whispered to Mark that he’d better not fall asleep like he did on the way there. Then I gripped him for dear life as we drove in the middle of the road, sometimes passing quad-runners, sometimes very near the cliff. I swore I was going to die on a Greek bus.

We’d finally made it town, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. The driver stopped at the first stop, but I figured no one would get on, as there was literally no space for them to stand. How wrong I was! No less than SEVEN Greek girls got on, and crammed into the space between the driver and the door! I lost sight of Mark for a minute, and panicked, until the man in the seat next to me grabbed him and pulled him safely to his seat. He stood Mark protectively in front of him, as I thanked him profusely.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, the girls started flirting with the bus driver. Who flirted back, even as he was passing slower cars, and driving with one hand. At one point, on a sharp curve, as he passed a motorcycle and flirted with a girl, his cell phone rang, and he actually answered it. I closed my eyes at that point, and just prayed to make it out alive, with my son intact.

But the rest or our week went much more smoothly. We took the bus the next day to a black sand beach, which was super rocky and made up of crushed volcanic rock. We paid 3 Euros each for our own personal palapas and chaise lounges, and I thought we were in heaven.



But Mark was the most in heaven—there were all sorts of vendors on the beach, selling DVDs, clothes, sunglasses, even binoculars! We had no interest until on guy walked by selling donuts, and then I couldn’t resist. I think that was pretty much the epitome of everything my son loves—surf, sand and donuts.

The last day we spent first in the town, and then in our little pool. Mark really wanted to go on the funicular, but there was no way I was going on that cable car to death. Luckily, he has wonderful aunties who took him down the mountain and back up again.

While they were gone, I ran into Edra, who’d been shopping in the town. It was sweltering hot, so we stopped in a café to enjoy a Greek beer. I figured it was close to lunch time, and was stunned when I found out it was only 10:45. I don’t ever drink beer that early in the morning, but it just seemed right.

We savored our last day in the pool, staring at the Caldera and the wine bar across the way. No one ever went in there, but they had a big staff, at least 5 or 6 people who somehow managed to keep busy. We enjoyed our last sunset over a savory dinner, and then ended up back at the wine bar, just because we’d been staring at it for four days and couldn’t leave without trying it out. I ordered a 12 Euro strawberry champagne (about $16!) and realized why it was always empty.

We woke early the next morning and sadly bid Santorini adieu. Lori, Mark and I hoofed it to the balcony on the other side, where we screamed “Opa!” and broke a plate. The other girls wanted nothing to do with our ritual, but I wasn’t leaving Greece until I broke a plate.

We took the ferry back to Athens, where we enjoyed one last fabulous dinner. We also enjoyed an equally impressive breakfast, not because the food was any good, but because we had one final amazing view of the Acropolis. It was a fitting way to say goodbye.

All in all, it was an incredible trip, and I will be pining for Greece, its beautiful islands, friendly people and wonderful food for quite a while. I have the memories and the photos, and that might sustain me for a bit, but not forever.

Because in my head, I’m now a little bit Greek, and in my heart, I know I’ll return again someday soon. But until then, I’ll smile every time I eat a gyro, and I’ll laugh every time I hear someone shout “Opa!” And I’ll hope that my return is not too far in the future…

My Big, Fat Greek vacation--Mykonos

Sunday we visited the Parliament in Syntagma Square to see the changing of the guard. Somehow we missed the part where they changed, but we got to see the show after as the soldiers marched en masse past us. They looked really tough and mean, although it was a bit hard to take them seriously while they were wearing skirts, tights and pom-pom shoes.


Afterwards, we visited the flea market in Monastiraki. At first I wasn’t impressed—it was mostly more souvenir and t-shirt shops. But that gave way to the flea market, where Greeks poured out all their old treasures and sold it for a few Euros.

It seemed everyone had plates, canes, glasses and old drachma to sell. But they also had knives and swords at every stall! Our favorite display was the guy who had so much stuff crammed into a little space you couldn’t even take it all in--except for the dried sting ray right next to an Army sword. Crazy!

It was an exceptionally warm day, and between Mark going low, and us melting, we stopped for lunch. We chose a restaurant that was shady and had huge fans blasting air on us. I didn’t even care what the food was like, I just needed a little cooling down.

Turns out in Athens, you’re never far from famous ruins. Our restaurant was located right next to the Agourra, which looked like a smaller, more intact Parthenon. We walked through a dry, sandy field of statues to get to it, enjoying the views of the Acropolis next door.


There was also a spiffy little museum next door. I can’t tell you one thing they had inside, though, except air conditioning. That was good enough for me.

Figuring we’d seen enough history for the day, Mark and I returned to our beloved hotel pool. Lori did some shopping.

It was Sunday, which meant our other friends Vicki, Edra and Amber were returning to Athens from their week-long Greece tour. They had no idea Lori was with us, and we were so excited to surprise them!

We all met up in front of the Acropolis museum. I hugged all the girls, and then Lori, incognito with her hat pulled down low, stepped in between us and asked me something. I yelled that I didn’t know Greek and jumped away, and suddenly Edra recognized her. The girls were totally surprised and delighted, and couldn’t believe we’d kept the secret from them for two months.

Then it was off to dinner, where the maitre’d lured us in with free shots of ouzo. (Or, as I refer to it---Ewwwww, no!) Dinner was good, but all of us being together for the second part of our island vacation was even better.

Monday morning started early, at 5:30, to be precise. At least, that's what the clock said when Mark started screaming bloody murder and woke up everyone in the hotel. (He's not much of an early riser, and I'd kept him up late the whole vacation.) We hopped on the high-speed ferry and headed for Mykonos.

We arrived to find the entire island had exactly 30 taxis, and watched them all drive away full as we exited the boat. But the air was much cooler than Athens, and the ocean was beautiful, so I didn't mind the wait.

Our hotel was simple but gorgeous, whitewashed buildings with the blue shutters and trim--exactly what you picture Greece to look like. This was the view from my balcony:


Best of all, there was a beach right across the road. We rushed over there in no time, parking our stuff in front of a little taverna. We ordered some food, thus becoming customers, which entitled us to use their palapas and chaise lounges. We decided to stay all afternoon.

The beach itself was rocky and a little rough to walk on. But Mark didn't care. He was in the water for most of the afternoon. The one time he did come out was a little startling-- he noticed the woman in the chaise nearby was...well...topless. He was walking toward us, smiling, then noticed her and immediately dropped his head down to stare at the beach instead. Between the nude statues and European sunbathers, he got quite the anatomy lesson on this trip!

We went into town a little later, strolling down a little path that lead us straight to the famous Mykonos windmills. After about a million pictures, we wandered through the little alleyways that lead us to the hidden shops and restaurants.

We ended up along the water, in an area called Little Venice, where we feasted on the most amazing homemade pasta. The restaurants were all on the edge of the water, and we watched tourists walk past trying not to get splashed as the waves broke.

After dinner, we joined the throngs along the beach wall to watch the sunset. It was so gorgeous, reds, oranges and yellow, sinking into the sea. It was also wonderful to enjoy it with all the people--the whole town stopped and gathered together 20 minutes before the sun went down. It was very peaceful to commune with everyone as we watched the sun disappear all together.

More tomorrow...

My Big, Fat Greek vacation--Athens

Greece was awesome, even if we didn't really speak the language and couldn’t find our way around the city very well. But the people were super friendly (everyone was very helpful giving directions), the food was amazing, and the view from our pool was spectacular.

Nice view from the pool!

That's where we spent most of our Athens time, in the pool, staring at the Acropolis. I stared at the Parthenon up there, and Mark would turn on the jet in the pool and scare the crud out of me. We were both happy.

The Greek food was AWESOME. I ate the most amazing spinach salad ever, ate a cheese pie (eh), chicken gyros by the pound, and all the other Greek delicacies. One bonus was that all the restaurants were so happy to have us, they gave us free stuff everywhere we went. Free shots of Greek booze, beer, ice cream, appetizers, you name it.

Lori's twice-baked dish was only half-baked once

Me, Mark and the tourists in the background enjoyed our gyros

Mark’s favorites included the gyros, which he ate every day, and the chocolate croissants. A kid in the pool told him about those and he spent the night dreaming of them. He woke up drooling, and promptly ate about six of them. In fact, he ate so many that by day 3, he didn’t want to see another chocolate croissant ever again.

Mark adjusted very well to Greece. The only thing that threw him for a loop was the bidet in our bathroom. He took one look at it and said, "That's a weird sink!"

There were lots of dogs wandering the streets. Well, let me re-phrase that—they weren’t wandering so much as sleeping. There’s definitely a siesta time for Greek dogs, and it takes up most of the day. They slept on the sidewalk, they slept on wall ledges, they slept in the middle of squares and historical buildings. We saw one not-so-bright dog panting in the sun—it was much too hot for him to sleep. Mark and I yelled at him to move to the shade, and to our surprise, he did. Pretty much confirmed my friend Rob’s story that if you yell at a stray dog to go home, it will.

There are also about a million mangy, underfed cats roaming the streets, and Mark tried to befriend them all. They were feral, which he did not understand, and more than one took a swipe at him. But they eagerly accepted the scraps of food he tossed them, including a piece of ham at breakfast one day. I asked him why he got ham (never saw him eat it before) and he said, "It's for the cats." Duh!

On Thursday, my friend Florida Lori arrived. I was glad to have another adult around, especially one so familiar with Greece. (It’s her favorite place in the world.) She loved the hotel, even though they thought we were sneaking her in. I explained that we had a triple room, and that she was our third person, but the hotel clerk just harrumphed and haughtily (though hesitantly) agreed to give Lori a key when she arrived. (They gave Lori the same amount of grief when she checked in.)

We decided to take advantage of our fabulous rooftop restaurant, and dined in that night. The maitre’d was also a bit stuffy, rolling his eyes when I announced our third guest would arrive shortly (Lori was still getting ready). Mark, meanwhile, had discovered that the plants growing in the planters next to him were rosemary and mint, and with Lori’s encouragement, he plucked some mint and garnished his water glass. Mr. Snooty waiter almost had a heart attack when he served Mark’s appetizer and saw green things floating in his water glass.

“What is that?” he nearly shouted, appalled that Mark would get a dirty glass. We explained Mark had added the mint, and that lightened the mood considerably for the rest of the night.

The food there was amazing as well. I was thrilled to try a tomato foam—I always watch them making foams on Top Chef, but I’ve never actually eaten any. It was kinda weird—literally foam that tasted like a tomato! Points off because I hate tomatoes, and the texture was a little odd, but happy none-the-less. I also tasted my second (lobster) and third (strawberry) foams, and the strawberry one was definitely the best.

On Friday, we were kidnapped and held for ransom on a boat, and it cost us $100 to be freed. OK, not really, but I wish that were actually the case. Because I’m ashamed to admit I spent that much money on one of the crappiest boat trips ever. (Talk about good marketing!)

A travel agent sold us the trip as a one-day cruise, but I prefer to think of it as my Greek day in Hell. The boat never went above 2 miles an hour--it took us 3 1/2 hours to get to an island 2 hours away. The upside was that they were painting the boat at the time, and that everyone in Europe smokes relentlessly, so instead of getting seasick, we just inhaled noxious fumes instead.

Yeah, the boat really was that exciting

We slooooooowly sailed back to two more islands during the remaining 8 1/2 hours. That's right, we were gone for 13 hours. I pretended like I was on a real Mediterranean cruise, because it felt like we were gone for a week. But at least there was a group of crazy Japanese people to entertain us. (They kept taking random pictures of some poor girl, and were the only participants in the Greek dance lessons.)

At least the islands were pretty, and we got to stick our feet in the Aegean Sea...

But Saturday was the highlight of our trip. We climbed up the Acropolis!!! We woke up early--at 6:30, so we could make the trip before the crowds and the heat (Athens is hot!!). It was a great plan--we got the hilltop to ourselves for a good hour or so, and took a million pictures before the masses arrived. I almost cried--I couldn't believe I was there, standing in front of the Parthenon. THE PARTHENON. You know, the one you learn about in school, and see in movies and books? Yeah, that was me, standing in front of it.

It was truly a moving moment, which I dragged out to about an hour and a half. I also took 330 pictures during that 90 minutes alone, because for God’s sake, it was the Parthenon, and who knew if I’d ever be there again!

Afterwards, we walked down the rock, and went to the new Acropolis museum, which was fantastic. Just a year old, it was filled with the most beautiful sculptures, friezes, and art, dug up and displayed wonderfully. The floor was made of glass, so as you entered the museum, you could see the ruins they'd dug up below you. Photos were not allowed inside the museum, but that didn't slow me down--I took a funny one of me standing in front of a headless statue, so it looked like I had a statue body (I found out later the Greeks don’t take that kind of thing lightly—I saw tourists get in trouble a few times for taking silly pictures with statues, which the Greeks apparently see as disrespectful).

I spent most of the time telling Mark not to touch anything, because I’d never be able to replace it. Just then, a little kid ran by me holding a straw. He jumped up, tried to smack a priceless statue with it, and kept on running. I felt better about Mark's behavior after that.

He was a bit disturbed by all the statues though--he wanted to know why all the girls were dressed, but the males were all naked. It bothered him so much he told one statue to put on some clothes!

More tomorrow...

A very Greek adventure

Sorry I haven't updated the blog in awhile. We took off a couple weeks for vacation in Greece. It was AWESOME!!!

I will post more about the trip and add pictures later. But for now, here's how our trip started, on June 30th...

We made it to Athens safely! It was quite a trip--my favorite part was in Newark, when the Greek Americans switched seamlessly from a thick New Yawk accent to Greek. "Ahm sittin' heyah!" one lady yelled, then lapsed into what I think were a string of Greek cuss words. Those Greek New Yorkers are a tough bunch!

There was also a little old Greek couple who pushed their way past me to take up all the overhead bins. They insisted the flight attendant help lift their 50-pound bag, and then they tried moving both my bags. I popped out and stopped that. The flight attendant yelled at them for taking up three bins, but when she turned her back, the Greek grandma filled another one. Then another friend of theirs showed up and claimed a seat, which the poor flight attendant explained was not part of the protocol.

"You have a seat!" she told the Greek grandma, who shook her head and shouted, "No! I prefer this one!" That set off the other Greek grandparents, who took the opportunity to move their luggage (and mine) around again, and to yell at the flight attendant about why their friend couldn't sit with them, and set off the New Yawker who screamed, "This old lady is irritatin' the *bleep!* outta me!" The third Greek grandma planted herself in the seat of her choice and I thought the flight attendant was gonna cry or punch somebody, and I wouldn't have blamed her for either.

And guess who pushed me outta the way to get off the plane first when we finally landed in Athens? That's right, the Greek old people, who then ordered three wheelchairs so somebody else would push them and carry their luggage.

"You need how many wheelchairs?" the flight attendant asked, incredulously, as they were certainly spry enough to knock me and everyone else outta the way.

"I want chair!" Greek grandma screamed, and she got it.

Mark slept for maybe one of the 14 hours on the plane, because he didn't want to miss anything (and by anything, I mean Gameboy and iPod time). He was dragging a bit by the time we arrived, so I took a quick shower, then we headed out in search of food. We ate a fantastic lunch--meatballs and fries for Mark, chicken vin santo (with rice and red wine) for me. I'm gonna like Greek food.

Consequently, after refusing to sleep at all, Mark melted down during lunch, begging me to take him home to sleep. Which I did. I woke him up 2 1/2 hours later, and he spent the next 30 minutes crying that he wanted to go back to bed--even the lure of the pool couldn't sway him! I eventually dragged him crying to the pool, where he insisted he wouldn't swim, but then he met another kid and spent the next couple hours swimming happily. :-)

Our hotel is awesome! I stared at the Acropolis while Mark swam, and everything was right in the world.

More soon...