On letting go and diving deep

The past four days have flown by -- with the most gorgeous rush of sights, sounds, tastes.

Our time, while spent leisurely, packed in significant learning and a multitude of adventures. One my more notable areas of learning was  that I needed to abandon my preconceived ideas of what would happen day to day. While I pride myself for being easygoing and spontaneous, I cannot deny the pleasure I find clutching a schedule or itemizing a to-do list. I thoroughly enjoy piecing together my days, scheming and dreaming nights before of pre-planned outings. Many a night, I have fallen asleep smiling, enthralled with excitement for what the next day will hold.

It has been emphasized ad nauseum that to be a good traveller, one must let go of assumptions. In order to make room for the fullness of experience, one has to plunge headfirst, no hands barred, into the culture. Regardless of the pervasiveness of this message, nights before our departure for Greece I still fell asleep with idyllic, romanticized visions dancing round my head.

Greece challenged me.

The island of Thassos received our group with open arms and encircled us in the fullest embrace, each day bringing forth more joy than I could have conceived. But not in the ways I had anticipated. I was forced to put down my itetentiary of events. Instead, I learned to hold my hands open, eager to see what the Great Divine would provide.

But not without struggle.

The first night over dinner, our leader shared stories of his previous visits to Thassos. He recalled his absolute favorite memory: renting mopeds and driving along the coast and into the mountains, stopping to let the beauty of the surrounds resonate in his soul. Even better, he enticingly added, we could rent the mopeds quite cheaply. Instantly, I envisioned what the next day would hold. 

In the morning, a large group of students charged down the street until we reached the bike shop. While the owner finished a sale with another couple, the group collectively ogled over the bikes, choosing which color and size they wanted, pairing off couples to ride together. The moment the owner was free, the group turned to him expectantly. One brave soul stated our intentions. The man's eyes bugged, asked to see motorcycle licenses, and smugly smirked when disappointed, we turned away. The group diffused from the store, upset and sulking. However, the men in our group stayed behind, conversing with the owner.

Twenty minutes later, while walking down the street, I was startled by the revving of engines. Immediately to my left, I saw three bikes jetting off, mounted by my male peers. We concluded with certainty that the owner only did business with men.

Furiously, I stormed to the shop once again, determined that my competence and capacity would be acknowledged. My dream of scooting around the island had to come to fruition. The resultant conversation left me feeling debased, as he asked how long I had driven a motor vehicle, voice full of condescension. After explaining that he simply did not trust women, he suggested I rent a bicycle.

I left, fuming. After angrily stomping, I was able to let go of my frustration. Returning to my normal state, I determined that regardless of what activities I engaged in, I would enjoy myself.

Several women in the group joined me in my alternative day. We engaged in a little retail therapy, and then set out to find lunch. Meandering down the boardwalk, we settled on an outdoor restaurant with a clear view of the beach.

Immediately, the store owner swooped onto our table. He was aged, relaxed, and spoke English well. Curious, he asked us about ourselves. He then launched into a story from his younger years, sharing about how he fell in love with an American woman, and how they unfortunately never came to be. Because of this tender memory, he always tried to be especially hospitable to Americans. He brought us traditional Greek dishes and a special dessert on the house, and then lowered our bill so that it could be split evenly between the five of us. While this man may have had ulterior motives, his act of kindness restored each of us. Feeling full and refreshed, we set out to the beach for the afternoon.

On the beach, we were followed by a wave of hospitality and kindness. Amongst ourselves, we continually referenced how lovely the entire day was, the patriarchal moped owner a distant memory. Our afternoon was spent soaking in sunshine and laughter, occasional walks down the beach, and a barefoot rock scramble to a gorgeous peak.

When we had had enough of the beach, we decided to explore the town. The entire street bustled with activity: cars, tourists, vendors, stray animals. As I weaved through traffic halted at a red light, a moped driver whipped off their helmet, revealing a familiar, beaming face. Excitedly, my friend exclaimed, "Hanna! This is serendipity! This is meant to be! Hop on!"

And I did. As we made our way into the countryside, wind whipping around us, the sun setting on our side, I raised my arms in the air. I felt entirely content, entirely free.

We pulled over to capture the sun setting over the Aegean Sea. Afterwards, we hit a pothole as we tried to peel away and we toppled over. Unharmed with the exception of a few minor scrapes, we laughed and pulled our bodies and bike back upright. I noticed a puddle of red liquid, so stopped my friend and tried to assess which of us was bleeding. The liquid turned out to be the motor oil, and now that the tank was nearly empty, the engine would not turn over. Meeting eyes, we realized we were in for an adventure. Undaunted, we managed to get it to start. Smiling uncontrollably, chests puffed with pride, ee jumped back on. Pausing at the brink of the highway, my friend asked if we should turn around or go farther. Eagerly, and perhaps against better judgement, I urged her to continue on.

The next pull off was even more picturesque than the last. We stopped to gawk at the gorgeous landscape and to have our picture taken. When we returned to the bike, it refused to start. I felt my heart drop. Once again, my friend and I met eyes, now acknowledging that we were absolutely in for an adventure.

We waved down passing bikers: a middle aged German mechanic and his college-aged daughter. My friend went with the man to buy oil, and I stayed with the bike and his daughter. She sweetly obliged to small talk as we waited. Watching the sun set, I was struck by how wonderful it was to feel so united with a stranger. The father returned with the oil and my friend, helped us, and waited until we were driving away, safe again on the road.

Driving away, I once again was flooded with adrenaline. Trusting in the goodness of people and feeling confident in our capacity to problem-solve left me full of pure happiness.

I left my desire for control on the road behind me. Screeching with absolute elation, I permanently resigned myself to be a passenger. Forevermore, I will let the Spirit of God direct me into bounty and beauty.

I spent the next few days saying "yes" to having stray kittens as roommates, to nights of dancing, to running into the sea water late at night. Together we got fabulously lost, found our way again, and had life-giving conversations with locals. We sought out the treasures of the island: the people and places. In all, we dove deep.

Open hands, open hearts.