I think I'm still processing this trip. I told you I was in a photography funk, and when I finally looked at the 1,000+ photos on my memory card, I was, "meh." Seems a shame, doesn't it? Honestly, this vacation was so... weird. All little things, but if something could go wrong for me, it did. I lost my favorite sweater (more on that later). I slammed my knee into a stainless steel bench at Termini Station in Rome. I slammed my toe into the back of a bus seat on the ride from Sorrento to Positano (causing much icky blood and the loss of my big toe nail...TMI, I know). I had two migraines (one on the flight back home, so triple UGH). See? Little things, but they add up.

And then there's the mom factor. My friend Kim and I were talking about this at lunch. The mom factor says that the mom never gets to do the things she really wants to do. I know I sound incredibly bitchy right there, and I promise I don't mean it that way. We had an absolutely amazing time, and I'm so grateful for all we did. But when we went to get fried artichokes in the Jewish ghetto in Rome it was simply too hot to make the trek. And when I finally made it to Positano, it stormed and we had to grab the last boat out at the early (rainy) hour of 5PM.

Neel will read this and (likely) think I'm being whiny, and my dad will read this and worry that I didn't have fun. Not true! (Well, maybe a little whiny.) No one can fault the fact that it was the hottest week in Rome, ever, and no one can fault the storms that moved through Positano. Everything we did do was spectacular and amazing, and I'm so grateful for every moment we had. I'll share them in the coming days (with all the lousy photos -wink-), but there's no mistaking the fact that Violet's death threw me off my game (And I promise, I'll stop bringing up the dead dog. After one last post, which I'm not yet ready to write.)

How's this for horrible? I did not buy a single souvenir. See? Clearly not thinking straight. (And I'm starting to think Neel and I need to go to Positano for our 20th anniversary... Next October, Neel!) But you know what? It was amazing, and there were spectacularly wonderful moments each and every day. I just figured I'd better get the negative stuff before sharing the good stories. Except the one about my dad, the pigeon and the steps of the Vatican. That's kind of a negative story, but I'll be sharing it later anyway.

Bet you can't wait.

*that's garlic in the back of that truck*

In 1990 I traveled to Greece with a college group. It was, in many ways, a problematic trip. In many others it was sensational. Several years ago, Neel had a conference that took place in the Peloponnese, outside of Athens, and we all went back. Callum was eight.

Our first night in Athens, we traveled with the group from Neel's meeting to a restaurant at the base of the Acropolis for dinner. It was early evening, that time of night just before twilight begins to fall, not quite the golden hour, but close. Still late afternoon, really. As our busses pulled to a stop so that we could get out and make our walk to the restaurant, I looked up and suddenly there it was.

The Parthenon really does glow in the late afternoon light, you know.

I burst into tears. It felt like coming home.

It was an amazing trip. When we finished Neel's meeting, which was an incredible experience in itself, the three of us took ourselves off for some exploring on our own. I planned a trip that mimicked somewhat the travels I'd made many years ago. I wanted Callum to see the Palace at Knossos in Crete (we took an overnight ferry to get there, and that was pretty awesomesauce), and I wanted him to see the caldera at the volcanic island of Santorini. We did it all.

It was really, really hard to let Neel go off to Greece on his own this summer.

Honestly, I'm not completely sure how to talk about what this place means to me. How do you find the words to describe a place that feels like home to your soul? Sometimes I'm a little embarrassed saying it, thinking people think I love tourist traps (Santorini) or I'm a hard-partier (Mykonos). And while I love the beach and the ocean, I'm not really a beach bum either.

Instead, it's the light. A skim of gold across azure water. It's the roar of a crowd of men gathered around a tiny, tinny television to watch a local football match. It's the steadied measured click of worry beads in worn hands. It's the hearty "Yia sou!" ("Hi!") from everyone you pass. It's old women sitting and watching through the hot, slow afternoons. It's every apartment having a balcony. It's the smell of night blooming jasmine and the bright magenta burst of bougainvillaea against the sun bleached walls of white. It's bags of cherries at the market and glasses of Ouzo at the start of dinner. Olives and feta, and fish so fresh you swam with it just hours ago.

If I have dreams of dreams, the kind you know don't come true but dream anyway, it always has a house in Greece, with jasmine at the window so the smell drifts indoors. There's a spray of bougainvillea at the gate and scrap (at least!) of a view of the sea. I can pick lemons from the tree in my back yard and walk a winding path to town or the water.

I can't wait to go back.

Neel's been invited to another meeting. Countdown to Olympia: 243 days.

across the world in 10 photos {still + life}

this place {life}