Why mounteneering is out of this world

Climbing up walls and soon real rocks and mountains is my new thing. I have always admired these strong people who are able to control their body and physical strength and coming closer to nature. So now here I am, learning all about harnesses, climbing shoes, ropes and knots. My initial reason for starting this sport, if one could call it so, was to appreciate nature and travel to remote places I wouldn’t go otherwise. However before coming closer to caring Mother Nature I ended up confronting my suspicious human nature. Sweat fear and panic attacks. In order to climb any higher than three meters I have to tie myself on another person who is responsible for me not breaking my neck and dying a quick but unfortunate death. So what I really learn in mountaineering practice is not making knots and climbing up rocks but trust.
In this particular case trust means to feel comfortable hanging from a long rope controlled by a person who I have never seen before and in most cases I do not even know his name. For some reason all the others seem to feel very comfortable losing hands and feet from the wall and just hang like a pendulum choosing their next root up to the sealing. And by “others” I mean also the newcomers just like me, not only the ones who started climbing after leaving their mothers belly.
For some reason I feel I am the only one who has the normal reservations of our uncanny society that teach us not to trust anybody unless he is proven worthy of our trust and even then not to get too surprised if he/she sleeps with your long beloved partner or if he hijacks and airplane and crushes it on a New York skyscraper. So in a world full of potential man-eaters, terrorists and all shorts of shadowy human like creatures up to every kind of mischief I do not see how I can trust a random person holding the rope that gives him the power of life and death over me. So I sweat and tremble every time I feel that my own strength might not be enough to keep me up.
I just wonder how all these climbers all over the world trust so easily. Did they have a different kind of training in their childhood that did not include “do not talk to strangers” and “do not take sweets from people on the street”? Or am I just the weirdo that took this advice at face value and now has an adrenaline explosion covered in sweat every time I feel I might lose my grip on the climbing wall. And all that just because I am once again the control freak that hates depending on a rope whose end is in the hands of Mike. Or was his name Eric after all?

Mal du Depart

The sickness of traveling. Or the passion for it.
This poem is written by a sailor and has been my companion through out my teenage years and has shaped my personal space in the back of my head, the one I always go back to when I get hurt. This place is full of escape feelings, full of sea, exploration and freedom. It is always there to remind me that if I do not follow my what I believe is right for me, if I do not listen to myself and just try to satisfy anyone else, no matter how dear this person is to me, in the end I will have to face the harshest judges of all. Myself.
For some reason when that happens I always feel like taking a long journey. Journeys involve travelling in real and imaginary space. One step in a new land is one step closer to the core of my being. The wilder the land the closer to my inner truth.
Imagine.. now I am dreaming of the scottish highlands. Who knows what truth I am going to find up there.
PS. For non greek speakers, scroll down. If you are full of unsatisfied passions and there is one small part of you that likes escaping you will benefit from it.

MAL DU DEPART

Θα μείνω πάντα ιδανικός κι ανάξιος εραστής
των μακρυσμένων ταξιδιών και των γαλάζιων πόντων,
και θα πεθάνω μια βραδιά, σαν όλες τις βραδιές,
χωρίς να σχίσω τη θολή γραμμή των οριζόντων.

Για το Μαδράς, τη Σιγγαπούρ, τ' Αλγέρι και το Σφαξ
θ' αναχωρούν σαν πάντοτε περήφανα τα πλοία,
κι εγώ, σκυφτός σ' ένα γραφείο με χάρτες ναυτικούς,
θα κάνω αθροίσεις σε χοντρά λογιστικά βιβλία.

Θα πάψω πια για μακρινά ταξίδια να μιλώ
οι φίλοι θα νομίζουνε πως τα' χω πια ξεχάσει,
κι η μάνα μου χαρούμενη θα λέει σ' όποιον ρωτά:
"Ήταν μια λόξα νεανική, μα τώρα έχει περάσει..."

Μα ο εαυτός μου μια βραδιά εμπρός μου θα υψωθεί
και λόγο, ως ένας δικαστής στυγνός, θα μου ζητήσει,
κι αυτό τ' ανάξιο χέρι μου που τρέμει θα οπλιστεί,
θα σημαδέψει κι άφοβα τον φταίχτη θα χτυπήσει.

Κι εγώ που τόσο πόθησα μια μέρα να ταφώ
σε κάποια θάλασσα βαθιά στις μακρινές Ινδίες,
θα 'χω ένα θάνατο κοινό και θλιβερό πολύ
και μια κηδεία σαν των πολλών ανθρώπων τις κηδείες.

And in English, not as beautiful unfortunatelly

Always the perfect, unworthy lover
of the endless voyage and azure ocean,
I shall die one evening, like any other,
without having crossed the dim horizon.

For Madras, Singapore, Algeria, Sfax,
the proud ships will still be setting sail,
but I shall bend over a chart-covered deskand
look in the ledger, and make out a bill.

I'll give up talking about long journeys,
My friends will think I've forgotten at last;
my mother will be delighted: she'll say
"A young man's fancy, but now it's passed."


But one night my soul will rise up before me,
and ask, like some grim executioner, "Why?"
This unworthy trembling hand will take arms
and fearlessly strike where the blame must lie.

And I, who longed to be buried one day
in some deep sea of the distant Indies
shall come to a dull and common death;
shall go to a grave like the graves of so many.

Methodology and sex

Another painful meeting with my supervisor finished today after two hours of... pain in my back. That is what you get after going to the gym twice the day before in an effort to unload stress. So the result was more doubts about my theory, methodology, operationalisations, results, analysis... my intelectual abilities in a nutshell... But what the hell, that is part of being a PhD student, it is written in the contract.

So I got home, playing my part.. half in tears (because the only two passionate relationships of a Phd student I can think of are with the supervisor and the PhD Director!) but... this did not last long. Me being a little devil had pinned on the wall the following quote that just forced a strong laughter out of me... and reminded me that in the struggle for good methods I am not the only one who fails hundred times before I succeed. Maybe it is useful to the rest of the world too:

"Methodology is like sex. It is better demonstrated than discussed, though often better anticipated than experienced"

Wise man the guy who wrote it. Ed Leamer (1983) Let's take the con out of Econometrics, American Economic Review, 23, 1, 31-43.

If you are wondering what love is...

"When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know that your name is safe in their mouth."

Wisdom from a five-year-old boy.

PhD sayings

When you get your BA you know a little bit about everything, when you get your PhD you know a lot about nothing.

Or as I would put it you know a lot about the fact you know nothing.

The first saying came from my collegue, a PhD in Pysics. Second one by Socrates... but I adjusted it to fit the PhD reality. Just keeping in mind that I share the office with a PhD in physics, a PhD in criminology, a PhD-in-waiting in American politics and a PhD-in-waiting in Sociology, one can only hope that someone will know what he is doing in this office. (I can't say I am convinced...)

Day by day, working so hard on it, I feel I am losing knowledge instead of gaining more, let alone creating some as a PhD is suppose to do.

First draft almost done and yet... no new knowledge for the world. What a tragedy.

Race for Life

Last Sunday it was. 2500 women running jogging or walking the 5k that make the difference.

But what difference did it make to me?

When I started training for the run after the first five minutes I had to stop to catch my breath and... my legs that were leting me down. Three months later after the help and support of my "personal coach" Jane I could do the whole 5k non-stop in 30 minutes under extreme conditions (english summer heat!).

So I am proud of myself. It is not only the physical stamina I gained. I gained the belief that I can do things that I never thought possible, and more than that... to like them.

One more thing. I have to admit that up to now I did not believe in active forms of charity. I signed up more as a result of group pressure (come on girl... you know you can do it!). I did not try to raise any money apart from the sum I donated myself. It might be because of the charity culture of Greece, where asking for money for any organization is similar to asking for a cigarette from a stranger on the street. Rude if nothing else.

Now I am actually thinking to go for the 10k and do it for real! Raising money and feeling that I am helping for a good cause.

It took some running for my participation in civil society to kick in ;)

Not being Olga

This entry is dedicated to al the critics of the internet that condemn it for isolating people, keeping them away from life, from meeting other people, from having deep emotions.

It just took one wrong email. A long wrong email, I have to admit. I read it and I became a part of the life of two people I never knew and I would have never known if it wasn't for the internet.

James, very intelligent and successful man, still in love with Olga. And Olga far away from him and the life they had together, already deciding to share her life with another man. It is a common story, has happen to almost everyone. Myself included.

Out of pure coincidence I received it and I became part of James' feelings. I knew what it was to be him for a moment. I thought I knew exactly how he felt, all the frustration, all the pain, all the anticipation. And then I remembered... Olga was my part, I have been somebody else's Olga and it is very possible that I still am.

And now that I know how it feels to be James, what should I do not to cause all the pain that an Olga can provoke? Up to now I thought that Olgas were the victims... but James opened my eyes…

But these questions, being so big and torturing, only led me to email James back and adding to his embracement to inform him I was not Olga....

Olgas not always know what they cause. Olgas sometimes leave to protect themselves and lose the bigger picture.

I am sorry James.