So I get into a store, not this one, but the one right in front of it, across the street, and browsed through the extensive silver jewelry collections they offered. Lots of pins, earrings, pendants, medals, rings, hairpieces, and a number of other jewelry items, including again, a substantial amount of silver pendants.

I wasn’t finding the medal I wanted, and this being Olympia, if I could find it here, it would bear a substantially different meaning than if I bought it in a flea market in Miami or any other big city in the US or Europe. This was Greece, Olympia, to be exact, and it would be unsurpassed if Destiny allowed me to get, to purchase, to acquire forevermore the one piece, rather, the two pieces of Greek art with the exact meaning I had researched, that I would give my mother and my father.

Nothing. Couldn’t find either one of the two medals here.

An older man approaches me and offers me help. I am the only human around, it’s autumn, all the stores in town are empty, no many tourists coming to Olympia this time of the year, and this guy wants to help me.  Having worked in the business of tourism for many years, I’m thinking ‘yeah, right, you’re going to sell me the whole store now, 50% off, and yeah, right, I’m going to buy it… really?’

Well, the man tells me in a heavy Greek accent, but in a somewhat sweetly, fatherly tone, if you will, something like ‘if you see something you like, I can make discount for you.’  Again, I instinctively say to myself ‘yeah, right, you’re going to sell me the store and the street, and overcharge me 300%, well, thank you, dude, you are so nice…’

Then I look towards the man.

I’ve learned to not be judgmental or unfair in this life.  There were times when others were unfair to me, I don’t know, difficult times.  I repeated the 4th year of my 5-year university B.A. program because a huge son-of-the-bitch, a French language professor who was one of the top administrators at the Faculty of Foreign Languages, in Havana, decided to do a big number to me. That’s just one case, there’s been a few.  So because of those experiences, I’ve learned to not judge, and to always give people a second chance.

Anyway, I look up, and I thank the man for his offer.  Unlike so many other times when you walk in those touristy boulevards in the big cities or historical sites, this man sounded genuine, friendly, and closer.  The word ‘closer’ means something big here.  ‘Closer’ in a good way, in a different dimension.  Closer.

He was wearing a pair of 1950s-style eye glasses that looked a bit different than the average business man out there, who’s just trying to make a quick buck or rip you off.  I felt I was in front of a working man, who would make a decent profit, or a small one, but not at the expense of an unfriendly, over-commercialized philosophy, or with an overly aggressive, purse-draining demeanor, like in many places, much less, in his own store.

There was something more I could see in his eyes. So many years before I had met a man who at some point used to wear similar glasses. I say ‘met’, I must have known the guy with the grey glasses for the longest time. Of course, he was a special man. He still is a special man, with or without glasses. But the memory of those other glasses rekindled the light of the smile.

Like a meteor, that old man’s smile brought that other man’s smile to the store, and within seconds, the three of us were talking. Sometimes it’s difficult for me to talk with this man without tears getting in the way.

Those old 1950s-style grey glasses are in the second drawer of my brother Henry’s closet, in our house in Havana. The Disc of Phaistos medal I was looking for was a special gift for the man who wore those glasses. Even though I couldn’t find the medal, either one, I had found a smile. The man with the old glasses was patient, friendly, and had connected me to that other special smile of a space and time, in a faraway place some twenty years before.

Sometimes your tears push you to open up to the world. Many more times I push my tears to stay in the isolated place where they belong, which is when I talk to that other man in the grey glasses, just the two of us.

This time, you don’t open up to the world. You just swallow hard. You say ‘thank you, but I’m just looking.’ And then you give the man one last look and one more time you are reminded of that special guy, the other man in the grey glasses, and breathe deeply, no, not like that, deeply, deeply, deeply.  Like practically the whole town notices, and then you choose to say again ‘thank you’ but what you really mean is ‘thank you, I know you are not here today to sell me anything but to bring me a message of peace and love from a beloved man, hey, I gotcha, I can see him in your eyes…’

And then you cross the street.

You cross the street because suddenly, the emotional burden becomes heavier by the second, and because you must continue to search for the special gifts you are looking for.

So I cross the street and enter another store (pictured above), where a younger man waits on me, and in a similarly friendly manner starts asking me questions about what I am looking for. I tell him exactly what I am looking for, and he leads me exactly to what he has that may fit my request. I immediately see two medals, both in the same plate, I don’t believe it, I haven’t touched them yet, but the size looks right, the metal looks right, the energy feels right, I have just spoken to a man who looked not so much like the man in the grey glasses, but certainly the lively, friendly energy has reminded me, has re-connected me, if you will, with the man for whom the medal is meant.

I look around, I flower around, I check every other item hanging on the wall, immediately identify a couple of beautiful hats for my daughters, pink, white, with Greek motifs, I see a bunch of refrigerator magnets, all magnificent, and at 1, 2, 3 Euros each, big ones, they would retail for 3-5 Euros in Athens, this guy gives them to me at 1-2, if I buy these many, he has no idea, but I’m willing and ready to buy no less than 20, I know I can negotiate a great price, not 3, not 2, but even 1 Euro, because I’m also buying like 10 hats, instead of 3-4 Euros, it’ll be 1-2 Euros, things are coming out beautifully smoothly. In Athens I couldn’t find so many of the things I wanted to ultimately buy as gifts, in one place, or when I found some, the prices were not friendly.

In fact, one day, strolling down a Plaka boulevard, I get in a jewelry store and ask the attendant to show me a medal. I saw about 10 medals, but they were all too small, or did not have exactly what I wanted, one with Athina and the Coucoubaia, and the other one with the Disc of Phaistos. I said thank you, but didn’t buy it then. I needed to think about it. The Goddess Athina had not facilitated that transaction, so I was not in a hurry to buy it there because I really wasn’t satisfied with that particular medal. The next day, I’m still not sold, but I have less time left in Greece, so maybe I should buy this medal for my mother. Well, the woman comes out with an attitude, and then resist to show me the medal again, because as she said, ‘you already saw it yesterday, so it is the same medal, and that’s it.’

Really? Well, in that case, thank you, bitch. Fuck you. Goodbye.

Anyway, I had not been able to see, find, gather all the items I wanted to buy. Listen, you don’t know me, but Greece means something to me. I am one of those guys who loved the wild life and was a little crazy and disorganized and misbehaved and all the shit you want, when I was a younger kid, then as a teenager, and later as a young man. But I was also one of those guys who did read Homer’s Iliad when we were in 8th grade or 9th grade. And I always loved those classical themes, and to a greater extent, I owed it to the guy in the grey glasses.

So this young man in Olympia has an empty store, it’s early afternoon, 2-3 pm, nobody coming to buy anything, and then this long hair dude comes in asking for two medals. Could this be a vandal? Is this a crying Communist fagot? Remember, I’m walking away from one store, with a bit of teary eyes, trying to breathe deep, holding some emotions.

Anyway, this guy was put there to help me. We were put there to help each other. I’m not buying anything yet, until I negotiate a decent price, but he doesn’t know I’ll buy a whole lot more than he thinks. And I’m happy already, because this guy has medals, we’re talking hundreds of medals to choose from, yes, many, many, at least many more than in other places, many more than in the previous store, across the street, from where I had come.

Touching 25 centuries of history in the ruins of Olympia, Peloponnesos, where I traveled to discover one of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World:  the magnificent Temple of Zeus.  The temple was actually destroyed by a series of devastating earthquakes in the 6th century   

 

And the wonderful music of my ancient Greek Muse plays on…  

I insist I’m only looking.  But I also like what I see, so in just seconds, I announce to him that some of the stuff he has in this store, is really nice, really beautiful, and honestly, the prices also seem right.  The Greek-motif merchandise, unlike in so many other places, looks really appealing to me, and in the end, I’m being totally honest, the energy of the place seems so right.  It’s hard to describe in words what the perfect energy feels like.  So I’ll look around some more, I’ll try the hats, a couple of shirts, and that I will probably by buying something from him, if the price is right.

I also insist in seeing the medals. Have you ever touched the medal and felt this was it? I touch the medals, I try the medals in my own silver chain. This feels like Alexander and Olga. These look and feel like the medals I’ve been looking for. I am inspired. I think, and I remember, and I breathe, holding tears, I breathe deeply. These ARE the medals.

I WILL buy a lot of stuff from this young man, because, among other things, this is where I found the medals. So I start collecting a few hats, post cards, refrigerator magnets, other small items and souvenirs with Greek motifs and emblems. Then I see something. When I moved around the store and found an item that would potentially be bought later, while I negotiated the price, every time I added something of interest, I would bring it to the cashier’s desk, but of course, there’s only one attendant in the store, the guy, the young man who so kindly had shown me and let me “feel” or let me “play” with the medals. So he puts the stuff I bring him, right on the desk, then moves it a bit here, a bit there, with me, you know, I add a yellow hat for my brother Carly’s wife, she loves yellow, well, then I put this other thing for this friend or for that friend, or whatever else you buy out there.

In all this movement of merchandise, the guy is standing facing the front door of his store, so he would see anything that happens on the sidewalk. Of course, if you are talking to him, you wouldn’t be able to see it, because you would be facing him, and your back would face the street. But you would face the cashier.

The cashier, this young man, always standing, has a tall chair by the cash register, and a dozen pictures of family and friends, right on the wall, along with hundreds of Greek pictures, statuettes, flags, and souvenirs hanging from all places. It is a souvenir store, after all.

But the photos tell another story, a story of sacrifice, of necessities untold, of difficult periods and hard work, of previous times of hardship that tested the family ties and all the hard work and strong will it took to keep the family together. A story of natural disasters that killed millions of trees in a horrible forest fire in the Peloponnesos in 2005, and then a story of miracle, when the fires stopped hardly a few meters before reaching the house walls.

And you see the picture of this young man and his wife, with their baby girl. So sweet. So lovingly together, celebrating the miracle of when the fires stopped so close to their home. And then other pictures with the family. In one of them, a man with large glasses. Maybe it was a popular style, and many men wore or still wear those 1950s-style glasses.

My father had a 1955 Plymouth Belvedere.  I learned how to drive precisely in this car, and now, I’m driving all over Greece, searching for the Magic.  This is Olympia, where it all began.  

From the majestic ocean, through the roads and the mountains, I hear a distant voice, closer, more present than ever: “The medals, the medals.  The medals are here… Alexander the Great, Athiná and the Coucoubaia, the Disc of Phaistos, the Greek medallion is here!”   I know I must be flying to Italy in 2 – 3 days, but I’m surely not leaving Greece until I find my Blessed Medallion.  

In any case, I feel there is a stronger voice keeping me there, and I am enjoying all the lively conversation with this young man, of course, I want to buy some stuff, but no promise has been made, and I could perfectly walk out of there without buying anything. And he probably wouldn’t mind much. I can feel this young man is just telling me about his personal life with a friendly smile, with an interest in serving me as a close human being that’s not typical out there. I start “feeling” the same energy like a while ago, something in his smile resembles a recent smile.

Then in perfect English, but in a more slowly and paused manner, probably to be courteous and polite with me, the young man says something that startles me: ‘ah, come in, papa, we are looking at the family pictures.’

I turn, because obviously, this guy is now talking to someone, not to me, so I turn to the street, where the entrance of the store is, and I see a man with a black suite, the jacket, approaching us. I automatically think it is someone from the security personnel, or a friend, or someone who works with the young guy, who is suddenly concerned with the fact that the young man is now spending quite a bit of time by the register, and a stranger is standing in front of him, you know, it could be a cause of concern, security wise. After all, nobody knows he is also enjoying my visit as much as I am enjoying his stories, and he continues telling me so many family stories from the pictures on the wall.

The man in the black jacket has glasses. The man in the glasses is the young man’s father, his papa, and his papa comes in from their other store because he wants to know what’s going on, and to help, of course, if there’s a security problem, you know, the old man knows what his son knows about the store, the souvenirs, the history of Olympia and Greece, and Life in general, he knows all that, times two.

At this point, I have been able to hold my tears when I thought nobody needs to know my story, my own family stories, or my personal life. But this guy is telling his whole life, maybe because he does it with everyone, I don’t think so, but it’s possible.  I know I’m pretty engaging, and can start a conversation relatively easily, with anyone, and get them to talk and to open up, really fast. But this is beyond a common talk.  It is a more in-depth family member enumeration, photo by photo, stories of good and triumph, stories of loss, the awful fires of.

This meeting was set up by someone Big, Palas Atenea, I’m sure. She set me up, and she knew best.  The Magic of the Universe, invisible as it often may look, is now taking over.  This is a very special place, and this is a very special meeting.

A moment of joy and friendly conversation with the man in the grey eyeglasses, his son, at their store in Olympia, Peloponnesos, Greece.  

The young man’s friend–I think they work together, but I haven’t completely realized this man is his father, his papa–salutes briefly. I say hello back, again, kalimera, in Greek, and I immediately tell the young man that I had seen this man already, in the store across the street.

Then, like the pegs and pieces of a family puzzle, the young man tells me that he is his father, and shows me other pictures, on the wall, where they are together, as a family. Emotions start flying, but they are flying fights of happiness, silently, in your heart. This man is lucky, not only because the forest fires stopped just meters before burning down his family home. Not only because he’s happily married with a lovely wife and a beautiful child. Not only because he’s free, and healthy, and financially independent.  But he is happy also because, on top of all that, this man has a good father who raised him, kept him tidy and educated, helped him grow his own business, guided him through adolescent life to adulthood, and loved him dearly, as dearly as family photographs can depict in a gathering by the burned grass next to your home.

His voice was present.  Not the young man’s, not the old man’s voice.  The man in the grey glasses.  His voice.  Right in there, with me.  My old man.  So present.  The two medals in my hand, already in my silver chain, even before I had paid for them, and his voice was telling me that the long wait had not been in vain.

These two men were already my friends. With the young man I had talked for almost an hour now. With the man in the glasses I didn’t need to talk in words. We were talking since the moment we looked into his each other’s eyes.

I completed my purchase with these new friends. Having already negotiated with my friends a pretty good price for my two gorgeous medals, and for all the other stuff, I got a considerable amount of t-shirts, hats, magnets, postcards, gifts and souvenirs, and I have to say I bought them all with so much pleasure.  Three figures, in all.  No, not $999.00, but a decent amount of things, practically all the small gifts I got in Greece, except a few other nice t-shirts I bought in Athens.

Crossing through the famous multilevel tunneled hillsides into Patrás, all the way I’m driving and the light blue Greek sky is smiling. It is cooler now, but the sun shines with a special light, or is it the same light as yesterday, only that I am digesting it in a distinctively happier mood?

There are battles you win, and battles you won’t win. The battles you win taste good.

Moment of Total Peace, slowly taking in all the Greatness of the “Cosmos” (the Greek word for “World”).  Right by the sea, in front of the monumental Rio-Antirio Bridge, I am dedicating and at the same time, receiving the blessing of my father, for the two medals: one with Athiná Warrior and the Coucoubaia, the other one, with the Invincible, Undeciphered Writings of the Disc of Phaistos.    

 

♥♥  

Thank you, Papa, Forevermore!

 ¡Gracias Siempre, Papá Querido!

 A.A.T.S. in memoriam

While I drive, I hold my medals, I salute the warriors who united or reunited me with them, I know who these medals are for. I have already started to dedicate them to these special souls, even before I ever saw them. I touch them again, it’s an energy thing, they are in me, I am in them, IT, the Force, the Warrior, the Glory, the Wisdom, the Love, is in them, and they will lead you to them.

I get to the Rio Castle, right by the straits, and turn off the car. I get off, to stare for one last (long) time the magnificent and imposing Rio-Antirio Bridge, before I cross it. The bridge separates the Peloponnesos from mainland Greece, and it’s hailed in all Europe as a great feat of modern civil engineering, as well as an artistic landmark for the new Greece.

I stop for a short while.  A short time only, because I must continue to my next “battle” in Delphi, now far off, but long enough to be able to admire the beauty and the presence of the Aegean Sea.  And the beauty and magnificence of that gigantic structure, the Rio-Antirio Bridge, connecting the Peloponnessos to the Greek mainland.  I take a few moments to contemplate and celebrate the wisdom of fathers, mothers, families, villages, nations, the Power and the History and the Wisdom of the Ages, and of the Cosmos, in Greek, the World.

In front of the bridge and the winds and the birds and the ocean, I sing a song to the man in the grey glasses.  The one in my Life.  I carry the two medals, and I show them to the bridge and to the winds and to the birds and to the ocean.  I give Him, this special man, His Disc of Phaistos medal, finally, dedicated.  

And now I cry.  In solitude.  But in His presence.  I am in soul with my old man.  I always will.  Forevermore!

Thank You, Papa, Forever!  ¡Gracias Siempre, Papá Querido!

♥♥    

Ricardo Trelles

Note: side A and side B of the Disc of Phaistos (Disco de Festos, in Spanish), appear in the article background (at times) in my website.  Yes, the round image you see on both sides of the article, a disc with ancient hieroglyphs from the Minoan civilization (Island of Crete).   

..