Odyssey - the journey to Greece (2011) - Part 8 – So this is it?

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita

Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura

Che la diritta via era smarrita

[Canto 1, Inferno, La Divina Commedia, Dante Alighieri]

In the middle of the journey of our life
I found myself astray in a dark wood
where the straight road had been lost sight of.

[Translation by Seamus Heaney]

Recently – and I don’t know if it is connected to turning 40 earlier this year – I have been having some repeated thoughts on where I am at in life and my identity . . .

A theme that has developed can be best summarized with “I guess this is kind of how it is and how it’s going to be.”

What do I mean by that?

Well, I think I may have grown up. ("Hooray!" cheered the remaining parent!)

I seem to be content with most aspects of my life, with the things I do, with the people I spend time with, and mostly with myself. And those things which I am not content with, I am able to deal with.

In my teenage years and into my twenties I was so thirsty for new experiences that I did everything I could to chase them. Nothing satisfied me for more than a little while and then I was on to the next thing, greedily hoovering up experiences and information as quickly as I could.  As a result it was really pretty difficult for anyone – and especially me – to know who I was.

In my thirties I began to settle slightly and come to terms with life a little more. I stopped searching quite so much for the new, and tried instead to become more familiar with what was already in my life – and in me. A tough process.

When you’ve spent your life hitherto running from one thing to another, metamorphosing constantly and deliberately, to suddenly sit and catch up with yourself takes some getting used to. But it’s a valuable process, as well as a tough one.

Now I seem to be happy in the knowledge that more or less things are going to be like this. And probably not like that.

I’m not going to develop any new hobbies. I’m not going to become an athlete, star in a movie, build a business empire, change the world, or learn a new language. I’m not going to take up any more musical instruments and I will probably never play golf. The places I like to spend time – like here in Greece – will still be the places I like to spend time and the people in my life will hopefully remain and be constant.

This is not to say that I won’t travel, I won’t meet new people, listen to new music or try new food etc. That would actually signal death.

No, no – it just means that I am the way I am, and at this stage in my late development, it isn’t likely to change.

A few years ago that thought would have scared the living daylights out of me and would have been something I would have kicked against hard. But now it seems to be natural and somewhat calming. I don’t need too many new things or new experiences to be content.

It doesn’t mean to say either that there aren’t things in my life that I don’t want to change – there are.  Plenty. Nor does it mean that I don’t foresee myself continuing to grow (& grow up) – it is just a realization of “maybe this is who I am.”

And perhaps more importantly – finally being moderately comfortable with that thought.

I still need to balance, to sensitize, to contextualize and to moderate – but I feel lately that this is both possible / achievable and again, importantly, something that will come naturally.

So . . .this is it. And I quite like it.

Odyssey - the journey to Greece (2011) - Part 7 – Life & Death

There was a great Texan country folk singer by the name of Townes Van Zandt who died in 1997. Townes Van Zandt wrote beautiful songs / poems and performed them with a melancholy that is almost unsurpassed. Even his love songs like “If I Needed You” sound sad.

He was a long term heroin addict and chronic alcoholic who once offered to sell all the publishing rights of his songs for $20 to get some smack, and also once shot up in front of his 8 year old son. He died at the age of 52.

One of his blacker songs – and one of my favourites – is “Waiting Around To Die”:

Waiting Around To Die – Townes Van Zandt

Sometimes I don't know where this dirty road is taking me
Sometimes I can't even see the reason why
I guess I keep on gamblin', lots of booze and lots of ramblin'
It's easier than just a-waitin' 'round to die

One-time friends I had a ma, I even had a pa
He beat her with a belt once cause she cried
She told him to take care of me, she headed down to Tennessee
It's easier than just a-waitin' 'round to die

I came of age and found a girl in a Tuscaloosa bar
She cleaned me out and hit it on the sly
I tried to kill the pain, I bought some wine and hopped a train
Seemed easier than just a-waitin' 'round to die

A friend said he knew where some easy money was
We robbed a man and brother did we fly
The posse caught up with me, drug me back to Muskogee
It's two long years, just a-waitin' 'round to die

Now I'm out of prison, I got me a friend at last
He don't steal or cheat or drink or lie
His name's codeine, he's the nicest thing I've seen
Together we're gonna wait around and die

The original tune from the album it came from is here (with some great photos of Townes): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MwR1n0p1V7U

Another great recording is this duet with Townes and Calvin Russell: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNM4OwJX1H0

From the brief biography and the song above, it is pretty clear that while Townes had talent, friends, family, money, some success (although while alive he was always something of a “cult” musician – and very much a musician’s musician), and many other opportunities besides, for him life was too much of a challenge. Life for him was about waiting around to die – which he did. Far too young.

For those of us with far less musical and poetic talent, life still has its challenges and difficulties to overcome. We can either accept those challenges and beat them – having the courage to choose life or we can be undone by them, dragged down and just wait around to die.

In the last few weeks I have had close friends and family be diagnosed with cancer, undergo serious surgery, have loved ones involved in serious car accidents and then of course there are many who struggle with everyday life – with depression, with unemployment, with unhappy marriages, with stressful jobs and so on. Life can be a bitch – and some of it is of our own making, which makes it all the more painful, ironic and frustrating.

Pessimists rejoice of course in this aspect of the human condition. The American journalist George F. Will who currently writes for the Washington Post wrote in his book “The Leveling Wind”: “The nice part about being a pessimist is that you are constantly being either proven right or pleasantly surprised.”

I, however, am delighted to be proven wrong and unpleasantly disappointed – for I am an optimist. A fully paid-up member of the club and an advocate to boot.

Why do I choose optimism? Because it provides me with the courage to live my life as fully as I can. Without optimism, I am sorely afraid that I would end up waiting around to die – and that would be a waste of my time, the time of others and frankly a waste of a good opportunity.

Being a greedy person generally, I want to get the most I can from life – especially as it is finite and quite possible shorter than one might imagine or hope. Although my natural optimism wars with my other tendencies of idealism and pragmatism – I tend to settle on a biblical target of three score years and ten – with any upside representing a profit margin I am willing to declare to the Good Lord on the day of reckoning. And if I do live longer than that – just another thirty years before break-even– then I will certainly owe some taxes on my extra profited years.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines optimism as having "hopefulness and confidence about the future or successful outcome of something; a tendency to take a favourable or hopeful view."

I tend to take that view about my life. I think that most things will turn out well or very well – but I accept that some won’t. I believe that on balance, if I stay positive, I will enjoy life more than if I let it get me down. And when I am down or have the devil in me (see: http://osapp.blogspot.com/2009/06/devil-inside.html ) it doesn’t last long if I focus on the positive things ahead.

I’ve always subscribed to the philosophy that it is better to regret something you have done, than something you haven’t done. The only time I modify that philosophy is when my actions might directly impact other people negatively – and then I weigh things up a little more carefully.

Don’t worry – I’m not about to get myself an orange dress, a dumb haircut and start chanting Hare Krishna – nor am I shaking my rattle in the church hall singing “Kumbaya”.

I am talking about a faith in life that overrides my fear of life. For all of us have fears – and the most deep rooted ones are about our own existence. Mortality, identity, security, vulnerability, vanity and so on.

I know I’m going to die. I’m not awfully keen about doing it anytime soon – but then it may not be entirely up to me.

I know who I am – more or less – and find as I grow older (and hopefully just a little wiser as opposed to just wider) that I am more and more comfortable with who I am. Good and bad. (Next step is to balance better once confident in the knowledge of both aspects)

I do not fear for my security over much – thankfully I live in places where generally I don’t need to. I do appreciate that for others this is not so easy.

I do not worry about my vulnerability as I seem to be able to bounce back from most things whether disease, physical injury, psychological or emotional trauma and so on – and I think a good deal of my ability to do is because of my optimism (with just a sprinkling of idealism).

As for vanity – it is closely linked to one’s ego. We all have one – the trick is to try and keep it in check as much as possible, but never to try and deny its existence. I don’t worry about my bald patch, my rather too large belly is a health concern more than a question of vanity and my looks are the ones I was blessed or cursed with and I don’t believe in plastic surgery other than for medical reasons – so that is that.

Of course – as I inferred in the part about security – I have life pretty damn good. I enjoy moderately good health – despite my very insistent efforts to compromise it – with some help from my employers and my clients. I am comparatively wealthy and enjoy a high standard of living. I live in peaceful, crime free environment. I come from a stable, conventional family. I am well educated and I work in a professional and broadly safe environment. So what’s not to be optimistic about?

If I was a starving child exposed to chronic diseases in Sub Saharan Africa? If I was a Palestinian living in Gaza or one of the refugee camps? If I had been born blind, deaf, paralysed, or with a fatal disease? If I had cancer? Would I still be as glib about optimism providing the courage to live life?

I would like to think that I would. I believe that no matter what disaster befalls us, whether at birth, by circumstance or by design – optimism is the difference between defeat and victory in terms of dealing with that challenge.

Faith – whether in God or good fortune – surely is a means to find resources from within oneself (or from others) and either overcome the problem one faces or simply learn to live with it ?

When my finger-tip was amputated recently, I was pragmatic and optimistic. My friends and loved ones were alternately shocked, sympathetic and even empathetic – many sad for me about my loss. I failed to understand this. Sure – it was painful, annoying and a bummer – but it was just a finger-tip. It could have been much worse. To me it was just one of those things. I gave thanks I hadn’t lost an eye or my hearing. I was pleased it was just the tip and not the whole finger – but generally it was just “one of those things”. Shit happens.

A few weeks afterwards I got very depressed about it. Not because my hands were no longer beautiful (that was compensated by the automatic 10% discount on manicures . . .) – but because it was going to very seriously affect one of my great loves in life. Playing the guitar. You kind of need all your finger tips to play guitar.

I’d looked up Tony Iommi and Django Reinhardt – two great guitarists of rather different genres. One was the founding father of heavy metal and the other a gypsy jazz legend. Both had serious finger injuries – Iommi losing two finger tips in an industrial accident and Django being burned in a fire which badly damaged his third and fourth fingers. I was buoyed by their stories and decided this wouldn’t be a problem. Until I tried to play.

At first my finger was very swollen and still very painful so playing was impossible anyway – but after the swelling went down I realized that I really couldn’t play half the songs anymore – including ones I had written myself. I was really devastated. Furious with myself that one passion (motorcycling) had cost me another (guitar playing). Sad that I would lose the comfort and joy that playing music brings me.

I mooched and moaned for weeks, feeling ever more grey and down about the whole thing. Wishing I could undo things. Until after a while I stopped and thought of two things. One is to do with relativism as a coping mechanism – the other is the power of lateral and optimistic thought.

Relativism helped me to contextualize my problem – I didn’t lose my arm. Or even my hand. OR even a whole finger. I lost a tip. If it had been worse then guitar would have certainly been off the menu forever - along with my new found interest of teaching myself piano. BUT, it wasn’t worse – therefore I was lucky and not unlucky. I had hope.

The lateral optimistic thinking went like this. I can’t play guitar like I used to. Can’t play the chords or scales that I used to. So I will learn to play guitar differently, will learn new chords and use different tunings to make my own sound. And that will be even better than before because it will expand my musical vocabulary. And so that is what I did.

Since my finger amputation, I have written and recorded three new songs, played a live gig in LA and learned new techniques using slide guitar, open tuning and using my little finger instead of the damaged third. I have to have another amputation on the third finger to take it down to the knuckle and it doesn’t bother me – because I have found some optimism in this small misfortune.

Now I didn’t watch my sister get blown to pieces on a land mine, or watch my family be blown up in our home, or see my whole village die of starvation or disease – so again one needs to frame the discussion within the context to which it might relate.

But even the orphaned child, the disease ridden villager, the widowed soldier’s wife have the choice of hope, and the relativism of “it could have been worse” – no matter how awful the trauma was. There is always the choice of life – and I would always advocate making that choice – and using optimism as the courage to do so. There is always the possibility of things getting better – and if we believe that, we can increase those chances to probability from possibility.

Two members of my family have committed suicide, another has tried. I wish the two had chosen life and had the courage to do so in the face of their pain, tragedy and loss. And I am glad the third ultimately did – as it would have been a wasted opportunity to live, to enjoy, to succeed, to laugh, to cry and to fail.

If we can fail, then by definition we can succeed. If we can die, then by definition we can live.

Just takes a little courage sometimes and seeing life from someplace else, if it doesn’t make sense from where you’re sitting.

This piece is “αφιερωμένο” to E.K. – thanks for the idea.

Odyssey - the journey to Greece (2011) - Part 6 – Greece & music…

The North wind has stopped blowing and the waves - previously crashing against the wall of the little harbour at Monastiraki – have transformed into a flat ripple across the still sea.

There is still a breeze blowing gently through the bougainvillea which sits on my right and the young olive tree which sits on my left.

The brilliant blue of the swimming pool matches the brilliant blue of the sky – sandwiching a large green hillside in between, scarred by small winding road the climbs and descends, curving round the coastline.

This is my view each day as I eventually wake from my slumber and descend to the veranda to consume my breakfast and consider the unbridled indolence which I have planned for the day.

Now the sun is beginning to fade following my afternoon nap, which in turn followed a day of little movement but much reflection. . .

A very Greek breakfast of “Frappe” – a uniquely Greek approach to making coffee involving shaking Nescafe, sugar, water and ice until they form a creamy froth and then adding water and evaporated milk to taste – and thick strained yoghurt with honey has been consumed slowly and intently while listening to some Balkan jazz in the form of Serbian jazz trumpeter Dusko Gojkovic – a great musician.

Greece is wonderfully positioned between Europe, the Balkans and the South Eastern Med / Middle East – and the culture mix reflects this, particularly in musical terms. Gypsy rhythms, Turkish beats, Byzantine and Middle Eastern scales, Balkan melodies – they’re all present in the musical mix that is contemporary (and indeed less contemporary) Greek music.

The Greek Outi is the Middle East’s Oud, the Bouzouki a Greco-Turkish instrument, the guitar, violin, accordion and various hand drums are all shared across this wider region as are their rhythms and melodies.

This music belongs to mountains, rocky roads, coastlines and islands – a music of rebels, troubadours, gypsies that communicates hope, despair, pleasure, pain, love, loneliness and the general condition of the soul.

But then all music somehow communicates the human condition and the mood or mindset of the composer and performer. So to listen to the music of this area is to listen to the Greek / Balkan / Turkish / Byzantine / Middle Eastern soul.

Whether Rebetika, laika, dimotika, entechna, nisiotika, or one of the many other sub genres, the various sounds of Greek music resonate perfectly with the soul of the people who live here and in the wider region. Just go to Crete and hear the “Amanedes” for example…or the Clarina (clarinet) in the valleys near Livadeia (Giorgos Mangas – an amazing gypsy clarinetist is a particular favorite of mine – you can sample him here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-oSWBEWllY&feature=related but it is admittedly an acquired taste! Mangas, in addition to touring Greece playing improvised clarinet at the Panigyria (festivals) has also played with some of the great jazz musicians of Europe and the United States and is greatly admired for his unique technique.)

Today however, I have not been listening to Giorgos Mangas – but instead – following the interlude of my Balkan jazz breakfast, I have listened almost exclusively to the catalogue of Tom Waits – one of my favourite musicians, entertainers and poets.

Waits is a genius who has managed over a period of nearly forty years to chronicle the underbelly of America with charm, wit and great poetry – as well as with stunning music borrowing alternately from jazz, blues, folk and experimental music.

The Wall Street Journal critic Jim Fusilli once described Waits' music thus:

“A keen, sensitive and sympathetic chronicler of the adrift and downtrodden, Mr. Waits creates three-dimensional characters who, even in their confusion and despair, are capable of insight and startling points of view. Their stories are accompanied by music that's unlike any other in pop history.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself.

An enormously talented guitarist and pianist (self taught), Waits is perhaps most well known for his highly distinctive voice, once wonderfully described by critic Daniel Durchholz as sounding "like it was soaked in a vat of bourbon, left hanging in the smokehouse for a few months, and then taken outside and run over with a car."

Indeed Tom Waits once successfully sued an advertising agency for using a voice similar to his for a commercial without his permission.

Having spent many vacations on road trips across the US, and having spent plenty of time in bummed out bars, hellholes and worse, looking for a good drink, some good music or some crazy people to hang out with, I appreciate his expert insight into booze, blues and the bad side of life – as much as I appreciate his hope, humour and happiness.

There are so many songs of his that I adore and which I connect deeply with – both personally and to events, places and people – that I won’t go into details now.

My favourite album overall remains his first – Closing Time – which I have written about before on road trips in the US. It is a very balanced and complete work and which – through other people covering two of its songs (Ol’55 and Martha) launched his career. The work he put out in the 70s is uniformly excellent and the 80s also saw – post Asylum records(his first label) – some great work. The more experimental material – starting with Swordfish Trombones and moving into Frank’s Wild Years (an opera composed by Waits and co-written with his wife) – is much less accessible but still worth persevering with as it has some very interesting colours to it.

So a morning with Tom Waits, a break for lunch, and then an afternoon nap listening to my favourite Waits tracks until sleep overcame me, brings me right up to date as I sit with another Frappe, a plate of sliced chilled nectarines and write this piece in celebration of another lovely day of doing nothing.

Odyssey - the journey to Greece (2011) - Part 5 - ARRIVAL

After 2,200kms of bike riding across 6 countries, I have now arrived Greece.

My day since has roughly gone like this:

1. Coffee & conversation with friends.

2. Beer & nutrition with friends.

3. Shopping to stock up the house.

4. Music, beer and tavli (backgammon) with friend.

5. A brief name day celebration with neighbours.

6. A grilled sea bream, some "local" wine, salads, bread, political analysis of where the world has gone wrong and discussion of the world's third biggest explosion - with friends.

7. Home, bed, rest.

I am hopeful that the rest of my stay will go along similar lines - although with perhaps less shopping...

And now to sleep

Odyssey - the journey to Greece (2011) - Part 4 – Ancona Ferry Terminal - Berlusque-oni

As have I travelled through Italy the last couple of days a recurring set of thoughts had gone through my head relating to the country's identity and how people shape the identity of countries and their reputations.

When I was at University studying Italian, I was truly in love with Italy - and all things Italian. The culture, the language, architecture, music, literature, Italian style, design, the cars and the food. There was nothing I didn't love. To say I was passionate about Italy would be an understatement.

My passion was tempered by reality when I came to live here - first in Florence for a few months and then later for a year in Padua where I went to University for a year.

To say I studied in Padua would be a slight untruth - as in fact the terms of my European Exchange scheme - Erasmus - meant that I had to follow only two courses to graduate the year and pass an exam in only one. I chose English Language (at which I did rather well until being kicked out of the class on a technicality - being English) and International Art House Cinema (only in Italy!). The cinema course - on which I was examined and gained 100%) involved watching a movie every Friday and then attending an optional tutorial / seminar. Tough gig. I did my exam on a Peter Greenaway film - I forget which one - but probably The Belly of an Architect or A Zed & Two Noughts.

Instead of studying I got use to Italian bureaucracy, hung out with girls a lot, travelled all over Italy on my motorcycle and on the train, spent nearly every weekend in Venice, ate a lot of great food, learned to cook better (to impress girls) and worked on my guitar playing. There all seemed to be very good things to do with my time and a valuable education in a young man's life. Much better than slaving over books in dusty libraries.

As my familiarity with the country and its people grew, my impression of Italy became more real, more concrete. My love remained, but became a love borne of knowledge and not just ideas and aspirations.

I moved to Greece shortly after my time in Italy (one of the girls I met in Italy was Greek - and at that age one follows one's instincts and to hell with the rest of it!) and my visits to Italy became sporadic for the next 20 years.

My love for Italy faded, but it always remained a place I was fond of, but not as fond as I became of the country that has been the love of my life - Greece.

Instead Italy became a love of memory - a Proustian collection of moments, events, feelings all washed over with a varnish of time and selective recollection.

This trip I reignited some of those memories but found myself seeing Italy through a prism of headlines and figureheads.

There is a great deal of truth in the idea that people who represent their country become icons and prisms for the view of that country. Their image shapes the image people have of their country.

Luciano Pavarotti, Valentino Rossi, Giacomo Agostini, Max Biaggi, Antonio Carluccio, Luchino Visconti, Roberto Rosselini, Federico Fellini, Marcello Mastroianni, Sophia Loren, Gina Lollobrigida, Zucchero, countless footballers etc. All endow Italy - or endowed Italy with its "brand essence". All reflected good or bad, their country and its people.

However today the face that is synonymous with Italy is its top political official, its holder of highest office, Silvio Berlusconi. Or perhaps better written as Silvio Burlesque-oni - for he really had brought the burlesque and worse to the country's highest office and political affairs.

A billionaire dictator with a problematic hair issue, a libido that cannot be quenched even by the youngest most sordid prostitutes, a business background that keeps several law firms busy 24/7 and an attitude that shames the people he represents - and yet, he is an ELECTED official. The democratic process in Italy has seen him elected repeatedly - only to bring more shame on his country and his office and now, to ruin the economy.

It is sad that Italy's beauty, cultural contribution, spirit and joy can be marred by one man's image and reputation - but it is not an overstatement to say that it has been and is.

Corruption, graft, nepotism, gangster like behaviour - I suppose they have always been associated with Italian politics and the tumultuous post war succession of governments - but previous PMs were discreet and did not publicly exemplify so strongly these faults. Giulio Andreotti - involved with the mafia and murder on a large scale - was a quiet little man and didn't attract the headlines that Silvio does. And didn't bring nearly as much shame on his country until the end of his time.

Italy is still a great country - but it really is time for a new leader who will represent the good that Italy has and not the bad.

Time to get rid of the walking, talking hard-on with a bad wig, worse morals and an arrogance that is astounding. He's not a leader - he's a caricature. And not a very nice one.

And on that happy note - I am about to board the boat to Greece! Hooray!