Florence: A Pilgrimage and an Awakening

We left our inn in the via Urbana at 6:45 a.m. and made our way to the taxi stand at the foot of Santa Maria Maggiore. We had flown to Rome from Athens the previous afternoon and were now setting out on a day trip to Florence. The taxi took us to Tiburtina train station where we boarded a fast train to Florence at 7:25. An hour and a half later, after zipping through the Italian countryside at speeds up to 250 kilometers per hour, we arrived at our destination.

I had wanted to return to Florence since the last time I was there - in the spring of 1982. My traveling companion and I had hoped to visit museums there, but we had arrived late on a Sunday afternoon and were leaving 24 hours later on an overnight train to Zurich. To our chagrin, we learned that all museums are closed on Monday. Thus, I missed my opportunity to see Michelangelo's colossal David.

Like viewing the Parthenon and the Acropolis, seeing the David was one of those things I had dreamed about for over 30 years but never expected to experience. Our recent trip provided the opportunity I had been hoping for.

Eliza and Mark

Our guide for the morning, Eliza, met us at the train station. She was a vivacious young woman, Romanian by birth, who is extremely knowledgeable and obviously passionate about art and her adopted city of Firenze (Florence). She was not the sort of guide who rattled over facts and figures, but her deep knowledge of art, history and literature informed everything she showed and told us.

Since the primary reason for our visit to Florence was to see the David, that was our first destination. We hadn't reserved tickets because we thought we'd probably go in the afternoon. Eliza thought the lines would be shorter in the morning, so we went and she was able to get us in fairly quickly.

My first glimpse of the David

When I turned the corner in the Accademia Museum and saw the statue at the end of the gallery, it took my breath away. It was difficult at first for me to listen to Eliza as she talked about Michelangelo and his unfinished "Prisoner" statues that sit on either side of the gallery as one approaches the David. Finally, I had to go take a picture of Michelangelo's masterpiece, then rejoin Eliza and Mark.

Among other things, Eliza spoke about Michelangelo's sexuality, i.e., the fact that he was a lover of men and the male form. I commented that many, many people are either ignorant of this or choose to explain it away or outright deny it. Eliza looked at me in mild astonishment. "But surely everyone knows he loved men. It is widely known and accepted as fact in the art world." Michelangelo was not, so to speak, the man presented in Irving Stone's best-selling novel of a couple of generations ago, The Agony and the Ecstasy.

Not for the first time on our trip, I was inspired to learn more about Michelangelo, about his private life and about his love for particular men in his life. Eliza recommended a book to us, then realized it is written in Italian. She then suggested another book which is currently winging its way to me from Amazon.

So much of what we know today about gay history has been buried under decades and centuries of shame, disgust and distaste. Michelangelo's family, for example, doctored many of his sonnets so that it appeared he had written them to women. Almost three centuries would go by before the sonnets were retranslated and their original intended recipients, men, became known to the world at large. Even then, however, many still argue that Michelangelo's love for and of men was platonic and not sexual.

Beyond this, to the extent that it is acknowledged that certain historical men engaged in sex with other men, it is still not generally perceived and appreciated that men loved other men, i.e., they were in love with other men. In other words, it wasn't and isn't all about sex. Even today, many cannot conceive that there is anything more to homosexual love than sex.

Of course, there is often no way to *prove* this for the simple reason that, with certain exceptions and for obvious reasons, prominent men did not leave behind evidence of their love for other men. But bits and pieces of surviving historical facts and evidence can, in the hands of a skilled and sensitive writer, be woven into a plausible story of the love that can and did exist between two men.

I was fortunate while we were in Rome touring the Vatican Museum to learn more about the love between the Roman emperor Hadrian and his lover, Antinous. For any gay readers of this post, I would highly recommend a well-researched novel that I devoured while we on our cruise, The Hadrian Enigma, by George Gardiner. This book is both a historical whodunit and an exploration of the love between Hadrian and Antinous. While the historicity of Antinous and of Hadrian's love for him is well-established, Gardiner puts "flesh to the bones" of historical fact.

I just finished reading another exploration of the love that existed between men in ancient times. This book, Song of Achilles, an award-winning novel by Madeline Miller about the love between Achilles and Patroclus of Iliad fame. I highly recommend it. I freely admit that I came very close to tears during the climactic chapters and I was deeply impressed by the closing scenes, which were emblematic of what I've been writing about in this post.

Achilles and Patroclus both die outside the walls of Troy. This is well-known by anyone who has read the Iliad. In the novel, a huge monument is erected to Achilles by his young son, but there is no mention of Patroclus, even though their ashes are - at Achilles' request - buried in the same urn. The novelist - I won't say how - causes this to be rectified: eventually, Patroclus' name is inscribed beside that of the love of his life, Achilles.

So much of (gay) history is like that, i.e., the romantic love that existed between men is ignored, lost, buried. Works like the Song of Achilles restore that love to its proper place.

Our trip to Florence was a pilgrimage for me to stand in the presence of Michelangelo's masterpiece, which for me was far more than a work of art. Beyond the perfection of statue's proportions, beyond the vitality that even now after 500 years bursts forth out of the marble, beyond the exquisite beauty of David, beyond all of this and more is what the statue represents to me: the love of one man for another. (Remember that David loved Jonathan with his whole heart.)

This pilgrimage awakened something inside of me that had been stirring since seeing the statue of Antinous in the Vatican Library: a desire to read and write about books that bring to life a history that has been buried for centuries and even millennia, the stories of the love that existed between men.

(BTW: I took all of the pictures in this post except the one of Mark and me.)

Saying Good-Bye to Greece

I fell in love with Greece. There's no other way to put it. Our time there was enchanting, magical, almost mystical, and I don't think there's a time when I've ever felt closer to Mark.

We left Mykonos at 3:00 a.m., earlier than planned because high winds were expected in the Aegean. The captain altered our itinerary a bit, and we sailed all morning toward Kythnos. Most of the passengers did what we did that morning - sat out on the sun deck reading, enjoying the sun and the fresh sea air.

Around mid-day, we arrived off the coast of Kythnos for a swim.

Mark swam from our ship to the sand bar in the distance. I was too chicken.

From there, we sailed to Poros, across the Saronic Gulf from Athens and its harbor at Piraeus. Storm clouds began gathering in late afternoon. That night, we had the Captain's Dinner.

The town of Poros

George, the chief steward/hotel manager. He told us he had lived in Utah in the 60's and had worked at La Caille. 

Shortly after Mark had taken these pictures, we decided we weren't that hungry and got up and went back to our room. Within 10 minutes of us returning to our cabin, it poured down rain. We later heard that the passengers sitting at the end of the dining deck got soaked and all the tables had to be hastily moved away from the edges of the deck.

The next morning, however, it was beautiful. Mark and I took a walk around the town of Poros, while others went off to see an ancient amphitheater.

That afternoon, we motored back to Piraeus and had our last dinner on board that evening (but down below in the enclosed dining room). It was a memorable evening as we had an opportunity to talk with some of our fellow passengers whom we hadn't gotten to know very well. First, there were Paul and Margaret, a delightful older English couple who live in a charming village in East Sussex. Then there were Lynn and Andy, another of the half-dozen or so Australian couples on board. We hadn't talked to them before, which was a shame because they are charming people as well. Among other things, Lynn shared with us how heart-warming she thought it was that Mark and I felt we could and did show affection for one another. That made us feel good.

All too soon, Friday morning came and it was time to say goodbye to the Panorama II, to the sea and to Greece. We knew as we left, however, that we would (hopefully) be back ... someday.

Patmos, Mykonos and the Landscape of Cancer

It was hard, sometimes. In conversations aboard our ship with other passengers, talk would invariably come around to travel. Most of the people were retired and liked to travel. But when we told them of our cycling in France, etc., some would look at us askance and make well-meaning comments like, "What do you do for a living?" When first Mark, then me, said we are retired, it would be, "But you're way to young to be retired," or something similar.

There were many times when I wanted to say, "Look, we're retired for a reason. Mark has advanced stage prostate cancer, ok? We're doing a lot of traveling now because there will come a time - unbeknownst to us - when we will not be able to do this."

But I didn't.

Except a couple of times. Discreetly.

The first was after our incredible day in Patmos which I wrote about here. We were having an early dinner aboard ship that evening. Then, Nadia our cruise director told us there will be a "surprise." We surmised it would be Greek dancing, and Mark wasn't in the mood for that. We slipped away before dinner was over.

As we passed Nadia's desk, she importuned us to stay, saying we'd have time after dinner to go into town. Mark stepped outside. I leaned over to Nadia - whom we had grown fond of during the past few days - and said three words to her. Why, exactly, I said it, I don't know.

"Mark has cancer."

Her eyes found mine and she said, "Oh. Go. Go! I understand."

Why did she understand? What did she understand? That sometimes exuberance can assault the senses and almost mock someone who has a terminal illness? That sometimes, it's too much?

It didn't matter. She understood.

But those three words - "Mark has cancer" - unleashed a torrent of emotions in me as we walked off the pier and into the village. We saw Vera, our guide from earlier in the day. I had wanted to talk to her about something she had said in a quiet moment during our tour to both Mark and me, as well as privately to me. But she breezed by on a bicycle, saying that she was on her way to an appointment. Further deflation.

I tumbled into despair. I felt as if everything I had experienced that day, all the euphoria, was phony, a fake. We went back to our cabin where I proceeded to lose it. I don't remember a lot of what I said as Mark tried to comfort me, but I do remember saying, "It was like I experienced this euphoria, this happiness, then turned a corner and saw Death sitting there in a chair, smirking, blocking the sidewalk, not letting us pass." This has been a characteristic of so much of our life together since Mark was diagnosed: moments of euphoria, exquisite happiness and exhilaration with life and with each other contrasted with moments of sadness, angst and even terror over what we know awaits around some bend in the road that stretches before us.

Two days later, we were in Mykonos. The highlight of that day, believe or not, was seeing a pelican. We had been walking around "Little Venice" with its warren of tiny streets, and as we turned one of many, many corners, we saw a large pink pelican waddling its way towards us. Seemingly unperturbed by our presence as well as that of two other couples, it slowly wended its way into the tiny square where it began to preen itself, occasionally flapping its wings.

Mark was transfixed. He has long loved pelicans. When he took his first cycling trip to Europe five years ago and blogged about it, he named his blog Pelicanus Maximus. When he got his Serotta bike prior to going on this trip, he named it Pelicanus. We have a watercolor print of a pelican that we bought several years ago in Mendocino, California. But Mark had never seen a pelican up close and personal ... until that afternoon in Mykonos.

He was powerfully moved by the experience. For him, it was almost spiritual. An omen. A good one.

That evening, we had gone back to the ship for a quiet evening. We thought almost everyone else was in town. As we watched the fading sunset on the sun deck, George, the chief steward, approached us and asked us if we'd like to join a group of ladies for dinner. They were all older and single and had elected to eat on board (as part of their tour package) rather than go into Mykonos.

The dinner ended up being a delightful experience. Lots of good conversation and laughter.

One of the ladies was a very interesting woman named Kassia. She had intrigued me for the past several days. An American, she has lived in Florence, Italy for many years. I would guess her age to be around 75-80. She was always one of the first to go swimming in the ocean when we had that opportunity, and she always went barefoot around the ship. I also detected a sharp wit. I didn't formally meet her until a couple of days into the cruise, but once I did, I felt something toward her that I guess could be described as a "connection."

Kassia

As we were sitting at dinner that evening, Mark told the story of meeting the pelican that afternoon. Of course, he didn't explain what a profoundly spiritual experience it had been for him. For some inexplicable reason, however, I got up and whispered in Kassia's ear that Mark has advanced stage prostate cancer. She looked up at me, nodded ever so slightly, then I went back to my seat.

The next morning, Kassia, along with others, sat at our breakfast table. Everyone was talking about what they had done the previous day in Mykonos. Mark briefly retold his pelican story and mentioned at the end that he saw it as an omen. At that point, Kassia leaned over to me and said, "Yes, it was an omen."

After breakfast, Kassia drew me aside and asked if I could spare a few minutes. We sat down and she proceeded to tell me that a little over 25 years ago she had a metastasis and was given six months to live. She decided, however, that she wasn't ready to die. But she would not "fight" her cancer. Rather, she began a program of alternative medicine and meditation in which she imagined herself holding and loving her cancer, this part of her that was diseased and injured. 

Kassia determined that she would love her cancer, much as she would hold and comfort a beloved injured child, rather than seeking to "defeat" it. "We," she added, "tend to say, 'I have cancer.' That's not correct. Each cancer is individual, personalized. I have *my* cancer and you have *your* cancer. Mine is a part of me and yours is a part of you. It is personal, not some generic thing 'out there' that needs to be fought and defeated."

"I would say this to Mark," Kassia added," but you are the one who shared this with me. But please feel free to tell Mark, and I'm happy to repeat my story." When I told Mark, he smiled and said, "Before every yoga class, I sit in meditation and imagine myself loving my cancer. That is always the intention for every yoga class." He had never told me that before.

I choose to believe that it wasn't an accident that we saw that pelican in Mykonos. I choose to believe it wasn't an accident that I decided to open up to Kassia and she in turn to me. I choose to believe it wasn't by chance that Vera was our guide that morning in Patmos. And I choose to believe that, in the landscape of cancer, one is sometimes led to sources of inspiration and knowledge, to teachers and healers. I choose to believe, because I know how I have felt in my heart when such serendipities occur.

Of Mykonos, Paradise and Age Appropriateness

The day after our visit to Mykonos, we woke up to find ourselves anchored off a small island opposite Delos, an uninhabited island that is the site of extensive ancient ruins. Mark and I had decided we'd had enough of ancient ruins, so we opted - as did others - to stay on the ship to swim, read and soak up the sun.

It was a delightful morning. The sky was almost cloudless. The water was warmish. It felt good to be alive. Mark and I borrowed the ship's kayak and paddled around the point of the island opposite Delos and found a tiny rocky beach, just big enough to secure the kayak and allow us to shuck our swim suits and go skinny dipping. The water, as usual, was crystal clear, and it was fun to experience it au natural out of sight of the ship.

After lunch, we motored the short distance to Mykonos where we (us passengers) would be on our own for the rest of the day. Mark and I wanted to go to the famous Paradise Beach or its neighbor, Super Paradise Beach. I guess both have a well-established reputation as gay beaches. We lucked into sharing a taxi with a couple from Argentina and headed to Super Paradise Beach. It was not what we had expected. Blaring music, a party atmosphere and people who were mainly of an age to be our children.

A aerial shot of Super Paradise Beach (from the Internet)

We were there less than five minutes before Mark said, "Let's go. This isn't our kind of place." I had to agree. However, as we walking back out of the huge taverna that serves as the gateway to the beach, three of the most gorgeous, muscled young men I have ever seen walked in. It was tempting to stay just for the eye candy, but we felt like spectators at a fraternity-sorority party. Though Mykonos has a reputation as being one of the "hottest gay holiday destinations that Europe has to offer," we are way too old for that scene.

Instead, we took a shuttle back to town and proceeded to wander around the tiny streets of an area of Mykonos town known as "Little Venice." The following pictures were taken as we strolled.

We came around a corner and saw this pelican waddling up the street.
I will write about him in my next post.

This guy was selling handmade bracelets down on the wharf. I bought one with blues and browns to remind me of the colors of the islands. I asked him if I could take his picture because of his incredible eyes. I never knew there are so many Greeks (he's from Athens) with blue eyes.

We were back at the ship by late afternoon. We sat out on the sun deck to read, write and watch the sunset. Most of the rest of the passengers headed into town for an evening of revelry, but we opted for a quiet evening on the ship. It ended up being an unexpectedly interesting evening, which I'll write about in my next post.

Cruising the Greek Islands: Turkish Carpets

I wondered whether it was a requirement of the Turkish government, sort of a quid pro quo for not requiring us to have visas to enter the country. We had been told that, as part of our excursion to Ephesus, we would be stopping by a place for a demonstration of the traditional art of creating handmade Turkish rugs. There was a bit more to it, but I'm getting ahead of my story.

The place we pulled into was quite a little complex, but on first appearance, it gave the appearance of a quiet country home with a large shady front yard. We got off the bus and were greeted by a friendly Turkish man who spoke very good English. He was our host and we were "dear guests" (again). He guided us to a long porch where two women were busily engaged in weaving rugs.

Our host explained to us how the women tie the knots, how many knots there are per square inch, etc. He also explained that rug-making has been a tradition of the Turkish people for centuries. Up until very recently, it was their custom that each young woman make a rug to bring to their new home upon their marriage. Our guide later told us that she had not been very good at it, had struggled with it, but finally completed hers. It's about 1 ft x 2 ft and hangs on the wall of her living room.

Each woman worked from a different pattern such as is used for cross-stitch. On cue, they demonstrated how they compact the woven threads and also trim them.

After this demonstration, it was time to see a demonstration of how silk threads were traditionally harvested from cocoons. I don't recall a lot of the specifics, but basically the cocoons are placed in boiling water to kill the pupating silk worms, then the fibers are extracted from a number of cocoons with a broom-like object (see below). The threads are then gathered and fed over a hook and onto a spinning wheel.

We were then invited inside the buildings for a light lunch and drinks which was served in the room pictured below. Once we had finished eating, the sales pitch began. Our host had one rug after another thrown out on the floor, demonstrating various techniques, patterns and composition (wool, wool/cotton and silk). It was all very interesting, but I kind of felt like I'd been a victim of bait and switch. When the demonstration was over, a half-dozen salesmen came into the room to try to talk people into buying a rug. I suppose that if you were in the market for a Turkish rug, this would be a good place to buy one.

After waiting around for everyone to get back to the bus, we headed back to Kusadasi. We had some time to kill, so Mark and I walked around. Hawker central. We made the mistake of going into the bazaar and we wondered whether we'd get out alive (I exaggerate) due to the aggressiveness of the shop owners and salesmen. I guess some people would thrive on the challenge of bargaining with such people. I'm not one of them.

Back to the ship, then we sailed to the near-by island of Samos where we had dinner on board, then strolled the streets of the port town. The next day, we'd sail to Mykonos!