I wrote this for my skate blog in May 2021.
A KIM JUNG-IL PRODUCTION
I’m not one for chasing bizarre customs around the world, but I’m disappointed we landed in Corfu after they broke all the pots. There are scattered bits of red ceramic littered about the ancient stone plaza outside our apartment, and it feels like walking into someone’s house the morning after a rager. You know, the kind of party where in a drunken fit of excitement (or . . . rage?), the owner decides to break all the plates and glasses he owns. Haven’t been to one of those parties? Lucky you. They’re actually pretty scary.
Corfu, a Greek island on the northwestern side of the country, is quiet when we arrive—a ghost town really—and I’m mystified by the broken pottery. Yesterday was Orthodox Easter, maybe it had something to do with that? Can’t see how. Tomorrow will be shuttered as well, we heard from our cab driver, for May Day. Something about the workers. Still, it seems like someone should have cleaned up after the party. From our Airbnb, there’s a tiny balcony looking down on a plaza and up to the grand, tucked away Orthodox church. The red and brown pieces are visible all the way up to the church’s entrance, these wide, long steps that might be skateable. Fortunately, our little European apartment is very clean, and Whitney and I crash land on the bed practically the moment we step inside. Even though it’s only 9 in the morning, I can’t keep my eyes open, happy to welcome the most glorious, nap of my life.
Our trip started in San Francisco on April 30th (my 33rd birthday—woohoo!) when we arrived at the SFO Hyatt that sits directly at the terminal. I’m not sure if it’s our old age (I mean, I am fucking 33 already!) or just practical planning by my wife, but spending the night at the airport—comfortably—felt like entering a new adult chapter of preparedness. In the morning, we rolled out of bed and into the airport. No cars, no buses, no stress. It was wonderful.
Less wonderful were the 49 hours it took to arrive on Corfu. A sleepless twenty-eight of those hours were spent wearing a mask in a series of unfortunate connections, by far the longest bout of smelling my own disgusting breath I will (hopefully!) ever be forced to endure. The only break was another wonderful airport hotel. The second was in Athens, exactly fifty steps away from the baggage claim. We’d already tried sleeping overnight in that airport a couple years back and it wasn’t fun. Who knew these hotels existed? And why didn’t anyone ever tell me about them?
I broke one of the cardinal rules of traveling, which is to succumb to the exhaustion. Morning arrivals are tricky that way. The delirium from 50 hours of traveling is something I usually find thrilling, like a rare vacation indulgence akin to a drug. I don’t like drugs, but if this one came in a pill I’d partake on special occasions. My goal is usually to ride it out until an acceptable bedtime to adjust right away and dispel the myth that is “jet lag.” But this time, sleep was just far too inviting. We awoke six hours later and took a quick stroll through town to find some groceries. The walk through the narrow, stone streets of shuttered shops and closed down-cafes felt like we were following breadcrumbs of broken pottery. Where is it taking us? And what sort of violent, ceramic-hating maniac wreaked havoc last night? Paired with the town’s emptiness, it was almost creepy.
It turns out, as I had suspected, that the red pots are thrown from windows for Easter. An old tradition, possibly dating back to the 14th century when the island was under Venetian control. It must be deafening, the pots smashing on the ground like that. It’s a good sign for skateboarding, as what sort of raucous can compare to thousands of pots being thrown onto stone. Far less dangerous too, I’d imagine. I wonder if there are accepted casualties every year, like the running of bulls in Spain. People sometimes die, I’ve heard, not from the bull but from being trampled by other people running. Does the hospital fill up for Easter? Slashed heads and shoulders from pots thrown amiss. I wonder.
If you’re interested in North Korea, I highly recommend this book:
It was a gift from Patrik Wallner. Funny story, my mom sent him a copy of a novel (The Orphan Master's Son) that pulled from this exact situation. Patrik devoured it until he grew suspicious of the plot and certain coincidences. When he discovered it was fiction, he got so mad he refused to finish it. The novel is very good if you're interested. Another novel about North Korea that I enjoyed is Star of the North . If you're like Patrik and only read Non Fiction, Nothing to Envy is fantastic.
THE HEART OF THE MATTER
Did I really just say, “Calimari,” to the nice old Greek Lady at the grocery story? Yup, pretty sure I did. To hide my shame, I turn my attention to the vast shelf of wine next to the tomatoes. I don’t plan on buying any of the enormous, plastic bottles filled with plainly labeled red and white wine, though a part of me wishes they sold it like this back home in Napa. Even Carlo Rossi comes in a glass jug. There are the boxes, with the plastic bag inside, but you just don't see it in water bottles. And three euros for 1.5 liters? What a deal.
It hits me much too late. Calimera, that’s how you say it. Right? Or is it Calispera? Fuck. A full week here and I’m still not sure how to say, "Hello" or "Thank you." I mumble something like, “Ef-aristo,” but I know that too is wrong. God dammit. We love it here. Why can’t we figure out the language?
I prefer to blame English before I blame myself. How typically American. Not THE English, but the language itself. Although I hear on Corfu, during the regular season, THE English can be pretty annoying. And the Germans. But when it comes to the language, everyone here speaks it! It’s almost irritating. There becomes no need to even try any Greek, as the locals jump so quickly to my natural tongue before my brain even starts to strain. It begins to feel rude to even try. Especially if I'm going to butcher it, anyway.
We spent our first week in sleepy Old Town. Sleepy only because the season is not yet in full swing and it's still technically on covid restrictions. The water is cold, but all the right kinds of clear and blue and beautiful. It’s amazing the way these port towns, with cruise liners and freight boats flowing in and out, have water you could never dream of seeing on even the cleanest beach in California. The first water we jumped in was off a beach on the former estate of the last Greek Royal family. There was a placard on the entrance saying, “Birthplace of Prince Henry, 1921-2021." Efficient placard placement. Didn’t he die like a month ago? As we walked through the estate, I was pleased to recognize a location from The Durells in Corfu. That show is, after all, a big part of the reason we’re on this particular island. We heard it was a party island most of the time, so we never really considered it. But, hey! Next time a pandemic hits, and for whatever reason you end up as some of the first to be vaccinated, consider Corfu. It's quite a large island, but from what we've seen so far it’s a gem. The town feels like you’re in another era. Wild cats, clanging bells of churches. And to my pleasant surprise, skate spots! Good ones too.
This was a birthday gift from my uncle. I wasn't crazy about it, but it kept my attention. I've liked other Graham Greene and I would recommend Our Man in Havana. Or The Quiet American before this one.
ANANSI BOYS
We ditched the big city and headed for the hills. As of May 14, the island of Corfu is officially open! On our last day in the Old Town, it was as if everyone living there received notice via text that tourists were coming and the place came alive with preparation. Garden pots weeded. Stone steps fixed. Water sprayed on every tile. Even the final little bits of pottery were swept into bins. Perfect day to bounce.
Our next stop was a tiny village on the other side of the island called Liapades, to which we were driven by our Airbnb host. Just like every other Greek person in existence, he was overly kind and for someone who only started speaking English in the last couple years, he spoke it well, chatting up a storm throughout the forty-minute drive to his hometown. We were the first guests for the season, and he was thrilled.
Liapades made us feel transported to a real Greek town, one absent of tourists, with old women in traditional garb hanging on ancient stone steps, accompanied by lounging cats and dogs. There was also lots of construction, as if every other local suddenly realized (as our host has), that with a little renovation the Airbnb game could kick off. Either that or there’s been a flood of new vacation homes, rich folks who want their own Greek island getaway. In other words, the people Whit and I hope to be someday. Only I’m not sure if we’d pick Liapades. The beaches were rocky and private and lovely, but the hike to get there was more effort filled than we're normally up for.
Next we moved to Kassiopi, a small port town with a few more restaurant options than a single kebab spot. I don’t believe we’ve ever paid so little for a bottle of wine as we did in Liapades. One euro ninety, I think it was. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t very good either. In contrast to the lovely apartment we left behind in Liapades, our Kassiopi spot was dingy and cold, but had a balcony and looked out over the harbor. We caught a windy week, but on our third day we discovered what might be the ultimate private beach experience we’ve ever encountered. It was like our own personal cave, tucked away in the rocks, with an entry to the water and the perfect stone/sand that is comfortable and doesn’t stick for long. Most importantly, inside you get the sun but are protected from the wind. It was magical. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Whitney so pleased. It was a week of delightful beach mornings and productive computer evenings. The internet has been barely sufficient for our little "Work From Home" experiment, but it's working. No disasters yet. I wasn’t able to skate, but I edited a ton of Old Friends Fitness videos and did some writing. Rudy is nearing completion of the audio version of Top of Mason and I had a lot of proof listening to do. He’s doing a great job. I'm excited to release it.
I finally read a Neil Gaiman book, which I enjoyed and found to be quite funny. It’s like a children’s book for grownups. I hadn’t read one of those in a while.
Thank you for reading!
I didn’t keep up with this book blog idea that summer, but I did film a bunch skate clips on my Iphone with Whitney and friends along the way. Enjoy : )