During our first few months on the island, the Journal was our most efficient means of conveying to the outside world the experience of setting up shop. Later, it served as a Guestbook for the many friends who came to stay with us. It’s no longer maintained, but preserved here for posterity.
The first time Oliver had too much wine on Santorini, he teased with Craig about building a bookshop. Now we have too much wine, and tease Oliver and Craig for actually doing so.
Like a beautiful Frankenstein, Atlantis Books is seemingly standing on her own feet now. Although guided by Chris and others from very afar, she’s feeding off of the trials and errors of new idealists now. There’s even a manual, or Bible if you will, on how to feed and bathe her. With weeks behind the till, days unpacking boxes of books, hours in front of the computer, and endless initiative, she guarantees to give back, whoever steps over her threshold with open eyes, a sense of wonder. Fundamentally, a wonder of why and how the fuck “they” created this place. This wonder is you disbelief hitting a wall of realized dream, really. Although you didn’t believe it could happen, and still don’t know why or how it did, Atlantis Books is standing. Personally, I’ve felt this wonder a few different times here: when I saw Quinn’s stone ladder again since the last time on an afternoon in 2004, when I tried to pay a simple bill at the bank and it took eight bus tickets, three faxes, and help from people of four different countries, and when I ate a thick piece of warm baklava after a long day. This is real life.
Who cares about the inexplicable why and how at this point; it’s still here providing cheap white wine and poetry readings on the house. Really?
Something’s fishy. Well I do admit it; I was damn ready to go home, ready to say goodbye to the old Greek men who have enjoyed the summer of ladies at the shop, to the tourists who wonder where the English books are, and to the lack of shady trees. So, I got the hell out of there. Bye-bye Oia.
Now I write this under fluorescent lights, with a sweatshirt on because the dorm’s AC is set on 60 Fahrenheit. But up, up, and away! to bigger and better things like studying, and lobbying, and networking! I’ll be the change I want to see in the world! surely I will… but once I do that, can I go back to reading for pleasure, to showering in the evening to clean myself before the day’s first glass of wine, and to watching the water ripple past Ammoudi’s island?
A lama when stretched over a boulder looking for a better view.
Runs into unsuspecting Tourists who are too busy saying “Look at all the dogs, honey. They’re sleeping!” to see him bounding towards them with his head looking back over his shoulder at whatever dog is chasing him and most likely Mounting him soon.
The Cowboy doesn’t mind.
He swings his hinges left right, up down, and has been spotted (and relentlessly
photographed) humping the air both when fully conscious and in his sleep. The Lip Stick will show up in many family albums all across Asia.
But like I said before, he don’t Mind.
He’s the f’in Cowboy.
Black and white spots.
Black eye mask and he ain’t afraid to chase a cat.
Even our cat. They are both black and white.
The other dogs in town will owe their Life to The Cowboy. 700 euros in donations all around town with a main emphasis on You Know Who. That’s food and a few bits of medicine all on account of a dog with different colored testicles.
Oh, didn’t I mention that The Cowboy rolls with a mixed set? One black. One pink. Racially all inclusive. The black and white cookie. You think that stops him from licking in the middle of the square on a Sunday afternoon? Don’t you remember who we’re dealing with here?
He’s young. Less than a year old. So he barks on occasion, and is always last to get involved in a territorial skirmish in the square. He remembers what it was like a few months when he was the new Kid with no name. Now he’s snagging books off of our front display and carrying them around town. Free advertising. A few torn pages and a lot of charm. Because now you see. He’s the mother f’in Cowboy, and if you don’t know, now you know.
There’s been a journal entry looming for at least a month so I apologize for the absence of word. There have been some happenings. Athena is no longer with us.
Four days later Maria Viard called to see if I could watch a puppy for one day.
‘Just one day,’ she says. So I says to her I says ‘Sure. One day.” I cleaned up urine 6 times in three hours. Middle of the shop, near the Greek section every time. I couldn’t make that up. But Diggy Do, we have a kitten. His name is Zooey, but for a while we thought he was a she and she was Franny. I didn’t think I’d like him but he’s fun to watch in a way that dogs aren’t. Of course I’d rather have Athena more than anything or anyone but thems the breaks. And when the breaks go against you, don’t let up. Put on more steam.
Momma Cas read her poetry on the terrace with her friend Danae. Not her daughter Danae my dance partner on days when the Beatles come on.
It’s different being here with no Craig Maria Will Lisa Athena. Of course it is.
But there’s not much I can say to elucidate so all I can say is that it’s different. Some Good Points, some Bad Points. But it all works out. I’m just a little freaked out. But not really. Megan, Luke, Hannah, Andrew, Joel, Zooey.
The Whole Sick Crew for July with Hal worked in for 4 days. Athena is in my thoughts daily. Our dog is dead and I haven’t had a good cry about it yet but that’ll come soon enough. No more puppies but I have to wipe Zooey’s bum sometimes and I could do without that but since he’s taken to the Komboloi and I have too we’re on the same page.
I don’t know. Boring stuff like Luke and I cleaning the back room and Hannah and Andrew mopping their love nest and brainstorming on how to better use the terrace and a slow day yesterday but a great one the day before. Had to buy a fan so Joel took the bus to Fira and ended up having to walk almost 3 km to the appliance store. For a week it was Hot like really hot, like no use taking a shower until after the sun has gone down hot. Not many people walking around in the middle of the day. Boring stuff.
We repainted the terrace and there’s a set of saloon doors on the way. That’s right. I said it.
Hannah and Andrew have successfully gained privacy out of the ‘den’ by Bamboo(!) and sewed curtains. Megan painted on the terrace wall.
There’s Marita. She comes to Fira and the phone company with me and in exchange I bring her books at her shop. 6th (wo)man off the bench.
Luke takes the morning shift so I wake up to the Blues. He claims he’s finished with the guitar forever but I catch him playing sometimes so I call him out on it. Summer’s moving around like a newlywed and when we’ve got a fire on the terrace, I’m on Luke ass to break out the harmonica because then Fransizka comes rolling back When the Saints Go Marching In and the month turns to August. Home Stretch. Then Maria gets back and We make Party.
Oia’s Atlantis Books felt a lot like Danny’s house in Tortilla Flat. Granted, nobody was Latino. And, despite Craig’s attempts to hide it from the locals, there were at least 3 Jews living under one roof. Nevertheless, the collection of characters lured to the store’s winter headquarters by the promise of a roof over their head and a jar of wine seemed a lot like Steinbeck’s Post World War I Monterrey.
We would collect (or steal?) hundreds of pounds of marble without anything close to a plan of what to do with the marble. We knocked down a wall and then asked ourselves, “Why did we knock down this wall? And is the structure still sound?” Some would say this is irresponsible. I say it’s carefree.
Then there were the dogs. I don’t know if I’d call either Tim or Maria “Pirate,” but they had a decent coterie of dogs following them nearly all the time. I had a brief affair with Athena. I still dream about her. Someday we will be reunited.
I arrived with a giant bag full of treats for Craig and Chris. There was a nice pair of khakis, a tape of the Super Bowl, barbeque sauce, and other delights that are unavailable in Oia. Despite the size of the bag, I traveled with carry-on only. Craig was impressed.
I learned all about Greek contracting. One doesn’t paint the walls. One puts asvesti on it. Similarly, a new floor isn’t a floor. It’s Patito. Finally, Craig Walzer translates to Greg Walters.
Speaking of Walters, I saw his cock. It was a typical jew cock. And while the cock didn’t surprise me, the swimming naked caught me off guard initially.
I finally got to meet Chris too. Boy do I know what he means.
Anyway, back to Monterrey. Much like Danny’s bums, there was a healthy kinship between everyone crowded under that one roof in Oia. You don’t see that very often…especially not in a Law School in the United States. I appreciated meeting everyone. They’ve really got a good thing going there. I hope to be back again.
We’ve had two busy nights in a row hosting friends for dinner.
When the night consists of sweeping the floors and baking bread and preparing dinner for a few guests and that’s something to refer to as ‘busy,’ you know that we haven’t begun building our new shop.
With all of this time on our hands, there’s been plenty of reading, watching movies, playing chess, gambling on chess, losing those games of chess and being forced to take notation from your friend Greg Walter whenever he sees fit to ‘take a letter,’ and there’s also time to think about the important things. Here are just four of the more significant things I’ve discovered or decided on in the past month.
1. If I was to open up a bar, it would be called The Black Tulip.
2. If I learned to play a musical instrument and formed a band, we would be called The Friends of Leon.
3. If you name a dog Nipples McGee, she doesn’t stand much of a chance at getting any serious attention.
4. The Funniest word in the German language is what they use for cellular telephones: handy.
You get the picture.
I’ve read more books in one month than I ever dreamed possible. I don’t leave the house often, and I’ve only seen a few sunsets. Today’s weather was hopefully the breaking point for old man Winter. Did go for a swim with Craigo and Will once. I wouldn’t say it was warm. I would say that it’s nice to have a shower of our own.
Lisa speaks English weller than I do, but won’t write a journal entry. Instead, she wakes me up every morning, not on purpose. It’s hard to complain when she’s the one who goes to get breakfast materials. So I don’t. You pick your battles when there’s nothing to battle over.
If I were to comment on the kissy noises that Craig makes in his sleep, it would be an obvious response to his remark in a previous journal entry about my snoring. I would never be so tasteless. We’re all professionals here, aren’t we?
You Damn Right.
And Chapter Two.
I’ve been writing to friends that I’m feeling fat and zen. Fat and zen. 2005 has always been one of my favorite years.
It’s blatantly clear that this isn’t your grandpa’s Atlantis Books. No rewind-and-just-press-play. Take our winter digs, for example. Can you say hot water?
Late Thursday night here. Chris is snoring from across the room. He has this high-pitched ‘wheee’ sound that fades into and out of the thunder. Rhythmic at least. Tim’s staying at Maria Viard’s, our Maria is at Elaine’s, Will is here but not for much longer.
Well, there’s Lisa, the gentle Amazon. We’ve been swimming in January, no doubt, but how long can her nervous energy hold its breath? For the love of god, somebody give that woman a paintbrush or a sledgehammer or something.
We’re waking up, making breakfast, strolling around the ghost town. Bus to Fira – phone company, real estate agent, computer repairman, video rental, tax office, electric company. Bus back. Little bit of chess, little bit of Rilke, Rand, Rohinton Mistry. If we’re lucky Will bakes bread. Build the stocklist. Ship some books. Draw some pictures. E-mail some lawyers. Correspond. Movie night perhaps. Santo Wine no doubt. Slept on the beach last night and that must happen again soon. But tomorrow morning is Fira. And hopefully Chris, Lisa, Tim and Maria will get inside of the ?new building? and start some sweep sweep sweeping.
Cue Nico’s “Fairest of the Seasons.” Amazing how these surreal moments continue to find us. And that’s what it is at this moment. For the first time in forever we have more time on our hands than we know how to spend. Hearts are spinning in neutral and it’s a deliberate, calm attitude that prevails.
Maybe any group of monkeys could have landed on this town, flung around some cash and hosted the world’s greatest literaaati paaaty (thanks Karl) like we did last year. But can that same crew, more and less, with those memories in mind, come back and build again, with the gravitas of a 3, 6, 9 year plan in mind? Not beneath the castle but along the marble main street? With real common dirty warm human history oozing everywhere? Without the rush of the Big New?
I like to think that this is actually the most interesting part, that here’s your story. Jim Jarmusch over Jerry Bruckheimer. But Jeff Goldblum asks: what human being doesn’t require two or three grand rationalizations just to make it through the day? Do your eyes glaze as you read this?
Perhaps year one was prologue. Then again perhaps year two is epilogue.
You get the point. Quietly wondering. Or at least I am.
Bottom line: we’re close to getting a building. Tim’s drawings for the shop look spectacular. The book stock is going to be damn strong, stronger and sexier. We’ve got a level-headed rhythm to the admin and we’re on our way towards the Ella Wise plan of rotating management. Anybody want come and do some theatre? Is there a string quartet in the neighbourhood? If you’ve got the talent, we’ve got the terrace and if you’re lucky, perhaps even a firebowl. Business will be good enough to breathe easy, no doubt.
And the best part about doing it again is that I get to be just as clueless about the future as I was a year ago. Come visit your old dirty hippie friends in Santorini, see what comes of it. I’ll bet five, no ten euros this crew can pull it off.
It’s that time of year so I’m bringing back the numbers. To the naysayers: I don’t care what you say anymore, this is MY LIFE
Mediocre films portraying the Turks as Barbarians: +2
iPods: +3. Well, 2 ¼ really. Dammit.
Chess Books: +5
Ligers: Pretty much my favorite animal.
Rocks: Count ‘em, biotch.
The idea of xenia, or guest-friendship, has been central to Greek culture since ancient time as implied in numerous mythological stories. The suitors in the Odyssey deserve their label as “enemy” because of their violation of exactly this idea of guest-friendship—which is based on hospitality, mercy towards suppliants, and reciprocal gift-giving. The house of Bauchis and Philemon was saved from the all-devastating plague because they were the only ones courteous enough to shelter a pair of poor wanderers—who were actually Zeus and Hermes in disguise. Suppliants are protected by Zeus—guardian of strangers, and those who afford their guests such hospitality are guaranteed ample blessings.
Throughout my visit to the land of the gods, I had the chance to observe how modern Greek people that I encountered still adhere themselves to this idea of xenia. Some corporate group used this term to name its chain of four-star hotels and restaurants (such that I saw in Delphi, Nafplio, and Epidaurus)—but that was not what xenia was all about, as it would deny other wandering strangers who knocked on their door but could not afford the form of reciprocity required. But in general, Greek people I met have been very kind and helpful towards this backpacking wanderer. The guy from Zeus hostel in Athens helped me to my room when I was too drunk to carry myself up the stairs. The Corinthians I met were nice enough to take me to the bus station when I was lost in the city. The bus driver and passengers in Athens supported my testimony to the police when I lost my ticket, and thus could not show it to him. Thanks to them, I escaped the 18(or 80?)-Euro fine. However, some people seemed to have forgotten this tradition, for example the taxi driver in Athens who tried to rip me off (I don’t speak Greek, my friend, but I do know how to read the meter); and few sketchy workers at Epidaurus who tried to ask me out.
Interestingly, I received the warmest xenia from a group of youngsters in the caldera of Oia—a town in the island of Santorini, in the Cyclades. They were in the midst of building their own bookstore. They had as their base a cave-house right underneath the castle. And from their terrace once could admire the magnificent sight of Oia’s caldera and, of course, its world-famous sunset.
I got to know about the bookstore by chance. I met Will in Fira’s bus station when about to leave for Oia. He seemed approachable and something about him told me that he would speak English. I have been traveling alone for a week, so I was excited to find someone to converse with. Will was very friendly and quite open, telling the activities he did with his friends, how he came to the island, what he had been doing, etc. All of which sounded exciting: climbing cliffs, teaching English, swimming in secluded lagoon, and the main event: starting up a bookstore.
So Will showed me the shop, and I met the rest of the team: Craig, Maria, Tim, Oliver, a friend from England [I’m sorry I forgot your name], as well as Athina and Catty. And in no time, I was drawn into this… energy, this… whirlwind of enthusiasm, creativity, warmth, and hard work. Craig was building the racks, someone (Tim?) was continually taking pictures, classical music floated from the radio in the shop, books were scattered everywhere, papers, writings, sketches, designs… The vibes caught me so fast that I was truly impressed—especially after Will told me they were building the place from scrap, and my quick observation in the shop testified to that. I browsed the books while Craig was sawing, accompanied by classical music. It felt so peaceful, and I found Kundera’s Ignorance—one I was reading back home but forgot to bring in this trip!
Maria offered me some coffee or tea, but I told her I was fine, and that I wanted to take a walk around, see Oia a bit. So I went to the castle above the shop, took some pictures, and read a couple of chapters from the Odyssey for my Greek mythology class. There were people enjoying the sights from there, as well as some students making sketch of the caldera. After that, I went exploring around, taking pictures, getting a glimpse of the lagoon, got lost. I eventually found my way back, but it was already time that I had to take my bus back to Fira, and then take another bus to Mesaria, to my hotel. I was running out of cash, for this was my last day, and I did not want to take a taxi. However, if I got in the bus, I could not stay for the sunset.
Worried about the monetary situation, I got in the bus; even though my heart was screaming that I should stay for the sunset and spend more time at the shop. As the bus pulled away, I was getting restless. As we left Oia, I was on the verge of screaming, “Stop the Vehicle!” But it was too late. The bus already strolled away through the curvy roads leading back to Fira and refused to stop. The sun was hurrying away, as the West hemisphere opened its gates to receive the golden chariot.
As soon as the bus stopped in Fira, I ran to where the taxis parked. I just knew I had to do this, or else I could never forgive myself—both for missing the sunset and for not returning to the shop as I said I would. “I want a taxi to Oia, to see the sunset, and then to return to my hotel in Mesaria.” I found a driver who was taking three other passengers to Oia, and then I tagged along. The second we got there, I stormed my way in direction to the castle, stopping to pick a lovely komboloi my sister at the jewelry shop on the way to the shop.
There were hurls of tourists climbing to the castle, getting ready for the sunset. Instead, I went down to the shop—and met Craig on the way. “Mind if I see the sunset from your porch—to avoid the crowd?”
“Not at all,” he said, making a gesture with his head to invite me in.
So I came back, and said ‘hi’ to everyone. Some people gathered on the porch. They brought me tea, and I chatted with Oliver, a friend from London, and Sean. Originally from New Zealand, Sean knew where Indonesia was (my home country). Also, it turned out that Oliver graduated from Tufts, and he knew Wesleyan, my campus. Small world!
We continued to chat while the sun performed its magnificent feat “just” for us. The sky turned pink, purplish, and bluish at the horizon. The sun’s golden circle was easily observable without having to shelter the eyes—and it descended and disappeared behind an islet, and finally beneath the sea. [An anecdote: Maria was cleaning the toilet and had her head stuck in the bowl all the while. When Helius was gone, she came out and complained, “I had my head stuck in the bowl the whole time!” To which Sean responded, “Yeah well, you know that thing is not meant to wash your hair!” / “I wasn’t washing my hair!” she shook her head in regret for missing the sunset. I told her she could still catch the next one. “I guess it’s true,” she said. And I wondered to myself, these people had been here for about two months then, and were still fascinated by this particular feat. It must be such a place to live in. It made one never want to leave, I said. Sean confirmed my statement, “Yes, this place has that effect.”]
The sunset was stunning. The tea was nice. The conversation was inspiring. They offered me to stay for dinner. “Gosh, you don’t know how I would love to stay!” (Especially since I haven’t had a warm meal for a week by then.) But I knew my taxi was waiting, and I had to pack to leave the island the next morning. So I thanked them and excused myself. The Atlantis crew told me the address of the website, and asked if I would like to write a journal entry for them. I told them I would. And now I apologize for only doing this now…
So I hopped into my taxi, which stole me to Fira, and then further away to Mesaria. I was smiling all the way—satisfied and happy, although still hungry. But it didn’t matter. As I packed my stuffs and got ready for bed, I concluded that my journey in Greece had been very successful, although not entirely. True, I didn’t get to see Olympia, Delos, or Crete. But I felt I saw enough for a two-week trip. True, I didn’t party the whole night as a climax of the trip, but it felt that stumbling into Atlantis Books was even better. I felt rewarded, and motivated. I couldn’t wait to get to Athens and to the US, to my campus, so I could get back to my own projects, my own studies, my own plans for all the things I’d always wanted to do.
If this narrative sounds more about me rather than about the bookstore, I apologize; but what I want to convey is this: how captivating an “Atlantis experience” can be! The Atlantis crew has left a lasting impression in my mind, even in an encounter that was but pathetically brief. Here, million of miles away in the US, I can still feel the burst of creativity, enthusiasm, and willpower whenever I remember that evening in Oia, and whenever I visit the website. The radiation is indeed immense and far-reaching—and it never fails to inspire me. Perhaps, the Atlantis people had demonstrated the logic behind and the benefits of the almost forgotten concept of xenia: while extending welcome towards everyone, cooperation is earned, and as a collective, they have built something—driven by imagination and team work.
it’s been almost a month since I left the lovely atlantis books. the day I returned to new york, it felt like I had awoken from a beautiful (long and incredibly lucid) dream that was already fading from my grasp, changed in a way that I couldn’t explain based on the experiences of my night’s sleep; and the further away I get from the month I stayed there, the more I remember it the way you remember a dream: in flashes and waves; triggered by things like the smell of honeysuckle, or the woman at the diner by my house speaking greek into the phone.
I have been trying to write this journal entry since I left, and wracking my brain on how I can capture the indescribable feeling-spirit-energy of the place with anything other than “go there.”
but all I have are flashes of my time there:
books read: 10 (although, I must admit that this includes “under the banner of heaven” which I didn’t finish, but I read the bulk of it. mormons is crazy.
days spent entirely at the till: 3
showers taken: 3
rounds of row, row, row your boat sung while rowing back from a botched fishing trip: I’m gonna go with 16.
trips to fira: 4
bars danced on in fira: 1 (i am a fool.)
nights under the full moon topped off by watching the sun rise over the backs of men laying concrete: 1
shoulders brushed off (ladies is pimps, too): 2
frogs-in-holes (which is my new favorite food to eat late at night or early in the morning or ever): 7
accostings by locals: 2
packets of tobacco purchased: 5 (and yet somehow, i still found myself bumming off of craig)
chess games played: 0
chess games watched: innumerable (i find this lame.)
days spent at the beautiful kolombos beach: 4
men seen masturbating on said beach: 1
beers drunk at edwins: I would have no idea how to begin to count this.
nights spent camping and music making with the ocean and some good friends: 3
nights spent dancing at santorini mou, I love you: 3
breakfasts and fags with beck at maria villard’s: 7
I learned many things while I was in oia, but I like to leave you with these three:
- chess is life, life is chess
- maintain cool at all times.
- climbing is hard.
it was excellent. thanks guys.
It is a month now since I departed the cliffs, cats, books and heat of Santorini. Yet it is still fresh in my mind, buried deep somewhere in my tummy, and a clip of some magical film as I close my eyes. Oia, a place where artists stay throughout winter, where donkeys bat their dusty eyes loyally, and cats make babies was most certainly the prefect home for the birth of Atlantis Books. I could only think and ponder about the project until actually having the pleasure of living amongst beautiful and wonderful people, inspiring and uplifting situations, books and films. This was a delightful and hazy exerince,to live in Oia,to live with Craig, Maria, Tim, Jenny, Chris, who is and will always be – The Guy, Oliver who was brave enough to take on a tiger ,Quinn and his lovely Karisha, many old friends and many new. The good man Will and his fluffy hair and adventures hat, Athena and her wry smiles and Cat, with her babies who I was fortunate enough to see born and grown fearless and hungry.
This place is a project; a creative collaboration which I know will live on and continue to grow, with more books, ideas and sand. To be standing in the bookshop talking to Craig as curious travellers, bold tourists and comforted locals tiptoed into the building created a feeling of something warm and insightful. So many people pass though, ask questions, interested in the project. To have created something that provokes so much interest made my constantly feel tingly and proud towards all these people. Excitement as new boxes of books arrived, the wails of glee at great works such as ‘Master and Margarita’, or ‘Oliver Sacks’ and many more works of fine literature reassumed my adamant to stay in touch with the shop, with its people and its shelves.
Oia seemed timeless, three weeks visit initially, turned into seven. Every day passed with painting many coloured books onto the wall, or rehearing some impossible text, or watching with envy the power of the chess game between Chris and Craig. The knowledge of chess inside these guys baffled me, its interesting union between two men I think. I feel honoured to have been let into this community for such an extended time, to have cut the hair of many heads, to have sat up at the old castle and breathed in the night air, to be hugged and to have grown in a funny way.
Picking lemons on a sparsely populated island called Thirasia with Will, battling against almost human cacti, morning swims in the blue sea and sleeping on cliffs so high above the ocean with Athena for company. All contributed to a time in Santorini that I shall never let fade, and I hope will fuel again some day…maybe in winter time, where more adventures will be waiting to be discovered.
Takk Atlantis Books, this time was Superb.
Santorini is a paradise of paradox. The dark, foreboding stretch of a sleeping dragon cuts sharply through the sublime calm of the sea. White washed cliff dwellings bounce light from an otherwise black, and dark landscape. It is a picture, literally of survival. Life is carrying on here against the backdrop of a volcano that could at any time implode upon
itself. Risk is in the air here. Somewhere between the persistence of life and the possibility of destruction, is Atlantis Books. Never before have i witnessed a place so allegorical to the people in it. The entrepreneurs each carry within themselves a fire, a passion for the extraordinary. Creation is not a hobby here, it is a way of life. Whether it be a sunset poetry reading set to live violin, the screening of obscure foreign and independent films, a creative way to display books, or the group effort of a home cooked meal, the inhabitants of Atlantis books have figured out that life is in the details. I am now thousands of miles away from that Grecian island, but i still carry within me the smell of the sea, the unbearable afternoon heat, Will’s amusement at my use of the word ‘bitchin,’ and the warmth that comes from
being around people filled with so much light. Thank you for a memorable visit.