Paros

There are times in life when all points come together, the vibes are in sync, past-present-future are one. . .it happened as soon as I stepped off the high-speed ferry in Parakia, Paros. I felt at home. Granted, I cannot speak the language, I am a registered alien in this part of the world, I would have no job, no house, no friends. But, at that moment, I wanted to spend the rest of my days in a small villa on the hillside, above the harbor, within steps of the restaurants, cafes, and beach chairs by the sea. I could envision myself spending my days, writing "the novel," pausing to glance out the open window at the fishing boats returning with the day's catch. I could taste the crisp, cold iciness of the local Mthos beer, frosting the glass at the table in the olive grove, by the beach. I could teach English; I could work in a souvenier shop. Hey, I could wait tables and live on leftover tomatoes, olives, and feta cheese.

Okay, okay. I'm dreaming. But, the combination of sun, small village, sand,peacefulness--and red motobikes to ride on the twisty, hilly roads to beaches and villages nearby--it was as near to paradise as I've come in my life! Kentucky Lake has memories; Hawaii has scenic beaches; Myrtle Beach has family. . .but Paros. . .I think it has my heart.

Note: Photo above, right: These are the bikes Jonathan and I rode all around Paros, now parked at Golden Beach by the cafe. The picture of me in the helmet just didn't make it past the blog editor.