Easter Sunday Massacre

This Easter Sunday was like any other. At the same time, nothing happened. And. Everything happened. 

Elise’s friend, Michaela, and her husband, Josh, are visiting Jordan. Elise and Sam took them across the border last Friday, to Palestine and Israel, for two nights in Tel Aviv, stopping in Jerusalem on both the way there and the way back.

Originally, Elise and I were going to go without the kids and spend a couples weekend (likely our last without the kids for sometime, since we are leaving Amman in five short weeks, and, as of now, are not planning on having full-time help in Sri Lanka as we have done in the past overseas). But when Elise asked Ana Lynn, our housekeeper and ersatz babysitter, to watch the kids for the weekend so Elise and I could have one last romantic getaway before tackling the stresses of moving, she demurred, citing the kids’ fighting. 

She later tried to backtrack when she sensed our displeasure at hearing the news, but the damage had already been done. When you ask someone to watch your kids for two nights and they don’t immediately say, “Sure! No problem! Everything will be fine! We’ll have fun!” Then there really is nothing else to say. Nothing less would allow Elise or I to go without worrying if everything really was okay at home. But Ana Lynn can’t seem to grasp the reality that we have three very passionate, very energetic kids who also happen to be very close in age. If they didn’t fight, then I would be worried. But fighting—as horrible as it is—is actually....normal? for kids to do. When she told Elise that the kids she used to watch before she watched our kids never fought and never watched TV, we couldn’t help but feel as though she was judging our parenting, and then we REALLY didn’t want to leave the kids alone with her. 

This fraying relationship with Ana Lynn is just another stressor impinging upon our final days in Amman. As though moving from overseas didn’t involve enough stressors. The more moves we get under our belt, the more I believe we take for granted just how disruptive moving actually is. Logistically it does get easier. But I don’t think the emotional hurdles become any easier to clear.

Elise and Sam left to go to Tel Aviv for Easter weekend, and yet none of us realized they’d be away for Easter. Fortunately, Jordanians celebrate Easter on two separate weekends: one of them is the “normal”

Easter and the other is the Orthodox Easter. I’m not sure which is which or what the difference is between the two and inherently therein lies one of my problems with religion. I mean, the Lord could’ve only risen on one day, right? Anyway, the fact that there are two Easter’s conveniently allows us to gloss over the “right” Easter and tell Peter and Clementine the Easter Bunny only comes on the “other” Easter. Easter saved! Now, the Easter Bunny just need to remember to show up for the Orthodox Easter. 

I had no plans for Sunday. It was raining (actually it hailed), and we had no car, because Elise and Sam took it to Tel Aviv. We watched cartoons. I started watching the “Dragon Prince” with the kids, one of their favorite cartoons on Netflix and the inspiration for their Halloween costumes last year. We played Memory, and I taught Clementine how to play solitaire. I texted back and forth with Elise before she headed out for breakfast and departing the hotel to head back to Jerusalem and, eventually, home. I checked my Facebook. 

I had become a member of the Colombo Facebook group, mostly for the purpose of seeing if anyone departing from Sri Lanka had a car to sell. Since Sri Lanka is a right-hand drive country (they drive in the opposite side of the road) we can’t bring our car from Jordan and have to buy a car after arriving because the steering wheel is on the wrong side. We faced a similar situation when we arrived in India, but no cars were for sale. We ended up having to rent a car for over $1,000 a month. A prospect I am desperately trying to avoid this time around. (Our India car, of course, came with a driver, Mr. Sundar, who we hired away from his travel company to become our permanent driver. And the rest, as they say, is history.)

I casually checked the Facebook page. One of the member of the group had posted, “If you haven’t checked in with your supervisor, do so immediately.”

Strange. My first thought. Easter is kind of a weird day to do an accountability drill. 

It wasn’t a drill. 

I googled Colombo and saw the news.

I was saddened, horrified, mostly numb. Sri Lanka? Really? Why Sri Lanka? 

I am ashamed to admit all my initial reactions were selfish. Though I desperately scoured Facebook for news everyone who worked at the office I would join in August was okay. Thankfully, mercifully they were. Of course, not everyone was. 

As of this writing, three Americans have been killed. All chidren. Along with over 320 others worshipping or celebrating Easter brunch with their families. 

It didn’t take long for Elise and I to begin fielding queries regarding our state of mind. What were we thinking? What were we feeling? How do you respond? I started by just saying I’m glad we weren’t there yet, but my mind was spinning. It was a lot to process. 

Immediately, your thoughts go from one extreme to the other. Of course, we would still go. Why wouldn’t we? You have a greater chance of being hit by a senior citizen at the Publix parking lot than being struck by a suicide bomber. Then....How can I risk bringing my family someplace where something like this could happen? Will we always wonder is it safe? When will the next bomb explode? Of course we’re not going. I’ll get another assignment. Anyone would understand why a father of three young children would want to change his assignment. 

It took several days for these thoughts to shake out. Who am I kidding...they are still shaking out and will likely remain unsettled for a very long time. 

I have a work colleague—someone from my orientation class almost 10 years ago—currently posted to Colombo. I sent her a message. She sounded exhausted in her reply. She was devastated. She’d been working nonstop. But she also sounded hopeful. She made sure to mention Sri Lanka is a wonderful country, but life in Sri Lanka will take a long time to return to the way it was before and may never be the same again, but she thought we would still have a good three years there. I don’t see how we can’t. 

Elise summed it up best on Instagram. “In response to many of your concerned messages: Our hearts are broken for Sri Lanka. As many of you know we are set to move to Colombo in August and pending any changes, outside of our control, we are still, very much, looking forward to doing so. We still believe in good people. We believe in the beauty and the heart of the country and we believe in our mission there. We will not be scared acts of terror that occurred there this weekend. We did not sign up for this life because it was going to be easy or because it was going to be safe. We simply continue to fight for the beautiful moments when and where we can because that is all we can do.”

Most people with a passing knowledge of British Colonial history or geography know Sri Lanka used to be called Ceylon, but many people don’t know the island used to be known to the Romans as Serendivis and by Arabs as Serandib and the Persians as Serendip; the word serendipity is derived from this word.

And I don’t have to define serendipity for you. 

Return to Jordan

As Elise flew straight from Athens to New York City to attend AIPAD, an annual conference of photography art dealers, the kids and I made the long trip home. 

We headed to the airport around noon. Our flight wasn’t until 4:30, but we had to be out of our AirBnB apartment at 12:00 and the kids wanted to ride the subway to the airport. Earnestly wanting to appease them (as well as save 30 euros in cab fare), I quickly acquiesced. 

The trip to the airport was long as the new international airport (built in 2004 when Athens again hosted the Olympic Games) is very far outside of town and requires transferring from the metro proper to a commuter rail. Nonetheless the kids were thrilled. Since they’ve been watching the Amazing Race they have been better about travel in general and aren’t shy about channeling their inner racer. When the path from the metro to the commuter rail was unclear, Sam didn’t hesitate to approach a vendor manning a bagel cart in the station, “Hey! Let’s ask this guy!”

We landed in Tel Aviv around 6:30, but there were two parts of the return trip I hadn’t anticipated. The first greeted us in the form of an impermeable wall of humanity amassed at Israeli customs. We take advantage of our diplomatic privileges to mostly sail through the land border at King Hussein Bridge, but we would be afforded no such courtesy upon flying into Ben Gurion airport. We lost about an hour waiting in line to enter a country we planned to spend as little time in as possible, an hour of we were lucky. 

We weren’t. The second unanticipated part of the return voyage was the sea of red tail lights that illuminated the path before us about 12 miles west of Jerusalem. Traffic. A lot of it. This is also conveniently when Clem went into full melt down mode. The kids had been exceedingly patient up until this point, but the traffic jam was too much for Clem to bear. It took us an hour to crawl by Jerusalem on the highway. Fortunately, she passed out in short order. When she woke up again at Israeli customs on the other side of the country, she was fine. 

The only good thing about arriving at the land border within an hour of closing time is the customs agents at the border were looking forward to going home as much as we were. We literally sailed through the Jordanian side of the border in three minutes, a new world record. 

Elise would be in New York for the next five days, returning to Jordan on Wednesday afternoon. But she wouldn’t miss much. One of the reasons postings to the blog have been fewer and further between as of late is there really hasn’t been that much going on. The kids are in school. I go to work. And our daily grind really isn’t that interesting. 

Granted, I didn’t cover Elise’s second triathlon in Cyprus in March which was a monumental event, but the truth of that matter is (and the second reason in the blog has been faltering of late) I have been incredibly swamped at work. Not only at work, but in life in general, as well. 

The only time I have to write would be a night. But I don’t particularly want (nor do I think it is fair to Elise) to spend the last moments of our day together tapping into an iphone or on a laptop. 

We have six weeks left in Jordan. The chaotic whirlwind of packing, winding up work and school, and departing from Jordan will soon begin in earnest. There may be even less time to spend on the blog, but not for lack of something to write about. 

Sovie the Sloth

I had at one time contemplated a project wherein I photograph all the kids’ stuffed animals.

I may still do it, but there’s really one stuffed animal that ranks above the others. He is Sovie.

Sovie is a sloth. Sovie belongs to Peter who has a soft spot for slothes. Peter got Sovie last Christmas as a gift from Santa, and though Sovie doesn’t speak, he does have quite the personality.

Sam has Christmas Puppy, and Clementine has Moosey, but neither have become quite the member of the family as Sovie has. As Peter was dragging Sovie around Greece over spring break, I kept having visions of Peter leaving Sovie behind in a restaurant or hotel. There was no way I was prepared to deal with what may have resulted had that happened. 

We have other famous stuffed animals, as well. Emmitt, a goose Aunt Denise gave Sam early on. An owl Elise and I bought at Starbucks before Sam was even born, his first stuffed animal. Baycorn, a giant bulldog that stands as a sentinel at the foot of Peter’s bed. Mohammad the camel. But there is only one Sovie.

As described by Peter, “He is adorable, a menace behind his face, and very, very funny and smart.”

Greece, Part Six - The Temple of Poseidon

As I was planning our spring break trip to Greece, I originally envisioned us also visiting a few of the Greek Isles, specifically Mykonos or Santorini. But as I looked into it a bit more, I began to realize it may be a bit early in the season for beaches. Though doubtlessly we could have kept ourselves pleasantly distracted, aimlessly wandering the beaches, tavernas, and wineries of the Cyclades, the Mediterranean would have been very cold. Colder even than Cyprus a few weeks earlier as we were told the waters around Cyprus are warmer than those surrounding Greece.

Nonetheless, I had designs on seeing the Aegean blue waters of the Greek sea, so we hired a driver, Tasos, to take us south from Athens towards Cape Sounion and what is known as the Greek Riviera. 

We made several stops on the way to our ultimate destination and turning around point at Cape Sounion and the Temple of Poseidon. 

The Temple of Poseidon from afar.

The kids looking out over the Aegean in search of the Kraken.

Again, the day was very, very windy which made it feel much colder on the exposed cape than it actually was. The pinnacle on which the Temple has been erected was actually an ancient military base and camp, as well. 

It was spring in Greece, too, and there were wildflowers everywhere, but no more so than surrounding the Temple of Poseidon. 

Brothers, arm-in-arm. They have the most interesting conversations when we walk. They create businesses, airline companies, write movies and books, and plan trips. It is a stark contrast to many times at home when they wrestle or fight. They also may just be sharing body heat in order to keep themselves warm in this photo. 

After getting our fill of wind and sea foam, we piled back in the car, stopping for a swim at a most unusual watering hole. 

Lake Vouliagmeni is a small spring-fed lake just inland of the Greek Riviera with waters — though still cool — noticeably warmer than the neighboring sea. We stopped for a swim and soak in the sun. 

The lake had a natural population of garra rufa fish, or more famously, the species of fish found in Thai foot spas. When you put your feet in the lake, the fish swarm around your toes and eat the dead skin from your feet. It is definitely weird, but the kids (mainly Peter) were unfazed. 

A few hours later, we sought out a late lunch by the sea. One of the things we had most anticipated on our trip to Greece was the food, but when traveling with three kids who can go from starving to ravenous in zero seconds flat, it is hard to hold out for the perfect meal. The search for food becomes one of sustenance over style. We are okay, but we did not eat fabulously. Until our last day in Greece. 

When we asked our driver if we could stop for a late lunch before returning to Athens, he regarded us skeptically and honestly had no suggestions. He called his partner at the tour company who made one recommendation, but upon arriving at the restaurant, we found it completely abandoned, yet nonetheless open. Against our better judgment, we decided to go ahead and give it and try, and I’m glad we did. It was amazing and turned out to be that one elusive, fantastic, Greek seaside feast we had long craved, sought out, and dreamed for. It was the perfect denouement to our spring break adventure in Greece.

Still contemplating the ideal distance between table and chair. 

Greece, Part Five - Meteora

After Delphi, we drove three hours north to Meteora. Near the Greek town of Kalambaka, pillars of stone rise from the valley floor. On top of each column sits a centuries-old monastery. Until the 1920s, the monasteries were only accessible by rope ladders or nets, giving true meaning to living a solitary, monastic existence.

We reached Meteora just in time to quickly check into our hotel then drive to an outcropping overlooking the monasteries to see the sun set.

Early the next morning, we set out to hike to the top and explore five of the six remaining working monasteries (one of the six is closed each day of the week for routine upkeep). 

At the end of the long day, we made the long drive back to Athens. 

Greece, Part Four - The Oracle of Delphi

We rose early in the morning to meet Dmitrios who would be our driver and guide to Delphi and Meteora. As we piled into his sparkling Mercedes sprinter van, we admitted we still needed to stop for coffee and breakfast for the kids.

He drove us to a nearby bakery and coffee shop, both off the worn, well-trampled tourist path, and we stocked up on croissants, the flaky, phylo dough pies we had become entranced by, and the large Greek bagels that more resembled rings out of a dolphin show or something the kids would dive to the bottom of the pool for than anything edible. I think we perfunctorily asked Dmitrios if it was okay to eat in his car. More to be polite than to actually ask permission. What was he going to say? We were — after all — the paying customer. But had I known then what I would come to learn about Dmitrios and his car, I think I would have encouraged the kids to eat at the cafe and taken the 10 minute penalty. 

Come to find out, after he sternly admonished Peter three times for putting the soles of his sneakers on the backs of the leather seats, Dmitrios was very particular about his car. At one point, Dmitrios admitted to me, “Sorry, I am strict.” To which I replied, “Good.” The kids could use a little strict. Perhaps maybe — in hindsight — not quite that strict. 

At any rate, it was a very nice car with all the bells and whistles. It even had WiFi. I even remember — in a moment when Elise and I were admonishing the kids on their behavior — stressing how proud this young man was of his car, fully aware, as the words were coming out of my mouth, I sounded 100. 

On the way to Delphi, Dmitrios showed us a video of the history of Delphi on the built-in, flip-down DVD player. Having history and context of the site made the trip that much more memorable. 

We drove quickly through Arachova, a quaint, almost Swiss chalet-like (though Greek) ski town at the base of Mount Parnassus. As it turned out, maybe a little to quick for Elise’s liking. When she asked Dmitrios if he would be willing to turn around and go back so she could take some photos from the scenic overlook he zoomed by, you would have thought she had asked him to drive his sparkling, tricked-out Mercedes van off a cliff. 

Though reluctant, he acquiesced. As Elise took photos, the kids somehow found an opening to go sprinting off and find the only water fountain within 100 km, quickly soaking themselves much to Dmitrios’ despair. 

Don’t get me wrong. Dmitrios was l exceeding pleasant and an excellent guide. He struck the right balance of knowing when to let us explore on our own as a family and when he thought his presence would add value (as it did on the next day, in Meteora). 

Soon after stopping in Arachova, we found ourselves at Delphi.

It was shortly after this photo was taken, I think, that I caught Peter and San totally whaling on each other. Full on brawling beneath the Oracle of Delphi. Having recently learned the two inscriptions on the Temple teas “Know Thyself” and “Nothing in Excess” made this particularly upsetting.

The kids were mostly very good on the trip, but, in the end, no matter where you go they’re still kids and prone to act like it...even when on vacation in Greece or visiting the Oracle at Delphi. 

Clementine threw a massive temper tantrum EVERY SINGLE MORNING on the trip over what she was going to wear. Then there another temper tantrum at nearly every meal we ate out over how far her chair was from the table. It was bordering on OCD. And while I tried to rationalize she was simply exerting control over a situation in which she had absolutely zero control, it nevertheless made it no less upsetting she would do this while on spring break in Greece. 

I was hopeful the passage of time would gradually gloss over these instances when the kids behavior was less than ideal and that is exactly what has happened. It has been less than a week, but I already am looking back and remembering all the wonderful things we saw and did and forgetting the fact I had to tie Clementine’s shoes three times before we could leave the apartment every morning. 

After exploring the ruins, we visited the museum. This experience made up for missing out on the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, and was actually very interesting because the pieces in the museum were from all over the region and not unique to Greece. Since the Oracle was such a destination, people traveled from as far as Syracuse and Attica to listen to the Oracle, bringing with them artifacts, gifts, and sacrifices from all over this part of the world.