I am watching the sea. The waves seem to know what to do. They make a journey then die on the shore. The energy is reborn and returns to the ocean. Cycle complete.
I have to blame the sun for my philosophy, or the mountain, and I suspect that the tree had a few things to share. My nest is beautiful. Crete shimmers on the horizon like an ethereal spirit. I am halfway to Lavrakas. Once again I chose solitude. Being with people is easy but alone time is so precious.
A nest is important. In the morning I hung the sarong in the east. At Midday I draped it between the juniper trees and lay in the tiny patch of shade underneath. By the end of the day it hung limply on the west side, unless the wind challenged the unceasing heat. The buddha watched me without blinking an eyelid.
I met my neighbours in the only shade on the entire beach. I needed to find somewhere to set up camp so I shuffled through the burning sand and struck up a conversation. This move led to a prolonged discussion on conservation and a sheltered spot under the juniper tree that I would call home for the next ten days. This surely was heaven. My nest perched at the edge of a cliff and was complete with a mud buddah and a well-worn sarong left by the previous inhabitants.
Gavdos is remote. It is the most southern point of Europe, an island south of Crete heading to Africa. I had to go there, again, and I needed to get there by the full moon. The plan was simple… get out of Athens and on to the night ferry, bus to the south of Crete and catch the ferry. I checked the internet. I drank Greek coffee with a travel agent. I caught the bus. But no matter how much I wanted to commune with nature on Gavdos, I was stranded in Sfakia. The ferry wouldn’t grace the horizon for another three days.
La Victoire de Samothrace
I sketched the Nike of Samothraki as crowds of tourists paused to take a photo (strangely sometimes of me) then passed on to the next attraction. Back in Australia, I reflect, I write and I share these thoughts with you.
Goddess of victory
wings clipped
captured in digital
adored for ten seconds
dream of your island home
we will return
one day
I begin to avoid my campsite and therefore the goat-man. Leaving doesn’t seem an option. I am enamored by early morning swims beneath the waterfall and my evening campfire under the forest canopy. So I wander further, where I discover other magical places, and I stay away until the daylight slips behind the mountain.
After three consecutive days, where I breathe the air of silence and feel the heartbeat of the goddess in every ancient tree, I return to my hearth for the night. Alone, I instinctively pause on the threshold just as a blood-curling cry tears through the stillness. Fear clutches at my throat. I know this is the goat-man and I feel his suffering.
I am a stone, invisible to the naked eye. The goat-man rushes past me and disappears further into the forest. Only then do I remember to breathe. My pulse beats slow motion. My feet find ground. I am propelled in the opposite direction, away from the fingers that tighten around my freedom.
I meet the goat-man on the first night I arrive. Shadows are dancing on the sleeping plane trees. He sits on a log and hugs his legs close to his lean body. His face is in darkness. Mine is flushed from the heat of the fire and my enthusiasm for cracking sticks to fuel the flames. The goat-man is impressed by my bush skills.
The next morning, he is outside my tent. I know this wild goat-man speaks no English. He points to the goddess slopes rising into the clouds and smiles. This is paradise: of course I want to explore more. I remove my sandals, they are useless on this terrain. I leap barefoot over the shards of igneous rock with grace but not with the speed of the agile man ahead. The mountain is in his blood. There is no path, but I remember the scuffed rocks and the landmarks behind me.
We pass a gate, climb higher, and settle at the edge of a cliff. Beyond is the ultramarine sea. I am caught between this breath-taking view and the man behind me. He is close and I can tell that he has not been with a women for some time. I am ready for a love affair but this is not it. My Greek extends to good morning, yes and no, three more words than the goat-man’s vocabulary in my native tongue. I point to my sex, then his, and cross my arms. In Greek I declare O’hi! Even if I say no with a bad accent, I consider this to be a clear message. It is not.
Early the following morning, the goat-man returns to my solo camp in the forest. I am caught by surprise, once again, and quickly wrap a scarf around my nakedness. He grins and throws his torso onto my sleeping mat. This is not going to be simple. Miming produces smiles and my phrasebook is useless. I try No, thank you, I’d rather not, leave me alone. My uninvited visitor looks confused. I want to laugh. I laugh! I know that I shouldn’t but he is innocent, confused, hopeful, stubborn. I am out of my culture, out of my depth, out of words and completely uncertain how I can regain my solitude.
I fall instantly, deeply in love, with Samothraki. Her bones are covered in flesh and water runs like sweat from her fecund thighs. She seduces me with her plane tree eyes and wild goat underbelly. I am lost in her canyons where the sound of water falling drowns out all consciousness except for stillness in movement … movement in stillness. I am full to bursting with passion for this island.
Photo © Jeni McMillan
I don’t pay a visit to the Acropolis. Instead, I prowl the streets below this icon of Greek civilisation like a stay cat. The living city is pounding in my ears. This isn’t a tourist trip, this is a mission of the heart. I am ready to meet myself : fears, hopes, dreams and cast them into the mass of anarchy at the foot of the Parthenon. It is appropriate, for this temple was dedicated to Athena Parthenos, the patron goddess of the city of Athens and goddess of wisdom.
The heat-soaked city is full of tourists. I have a hand-drawn map in my pocket with a penciled heart in the corner. A fellow traveller from Gavdos sent me softly and sure-footedly on my way from the paradise island. I also carry a scrap of paper with the words παράδεισος, ἀγάπη, αστέρια, βουνά, θεός / θεά, γάτα. I am here to search for the meaning behind the mystery.
Several days later, on the midnight train to the Alexandroupolis. I expect to sleep but an elderly man, with the ability to sleep at the first jolt of the carriage, snores incessantly. With every rise of his large belly, he exhales the dragon’s breath of a chain-smoker. I am trapped between my travel-weary desperation for REM-time and an over-stimulated brain. So I dissect the past few days.
Even though it was our first meeting in this universe, I recognised you in an instant. Slightly taller than me, long tresses, wearing ocean blue and pale ochre. Perhaps you were thinner than I imagined but I had yet to understand how the economic crisis had infiltrated into every part of life here. Your blue eyes held me like a long-lost friend. Your smile made me forget what I had feared. We wandered through the streets of your past-life in this present moment, sharing stories, souls, silence. I knew that I could hold this moment and continue my journey. Thank you. Next stop Samothraki island.
It is my 4th day on Gavdos, a tiny speck in the Libyan sea halfway between Crete and Africa. I’m exhausted and burnt and have barely moved from my tree! A cold winter in Australia followed by some conflicted French weather has left my Anglo skin totally unprepared for this heat.
My housemates encouraged me to go. Jewelpunk gave me the lowdown on getting some sleep on the longhaul, El Eco teased me with ‘so what else are you going to do in Canberra winter? Go, you know you’ll love it!’ The Tron winked ‘you have to meet the Greek God’. They knew I needed a dose of the Otherlands. Minus seven in Canberra just wasn’t cutting it.
Of course they were right. No matter how many times I counted the less than adequate numbers in my bank account or worried about leaving ageing parents, I was already looking at maps and dreaming of paradise. Now I am here in this unbearable heat… I am here! I am grateful for the cool wind, the expanse of dazzling blue inviting me to take the afternoon by the throat and dive in and I’m excited by the prospect of time to myself to think and dream.
Jeni McMillan 
