Where can you find riots, banking crises, 25% unemployment, sweltering heat, reckless drivers, foreign language, and modern ideas with ancient plumbing? Greece in August 2015. That was the bullseye location of my headlong flight.

A verse from Led Zeppelin’s song Kashmir captures one aspect of my life: “I am a traveler of both time and space.” With all fifty United States, most of Europe, and six continents under my belt, what was next? The answer came from the adage, “Know thyself.” It was time to visit the land where that phrase originated. My first heroes of mythology and philosophy hailed from Greece, so here I come.

This is the cradle of Western civilization, where great art, philosophy, science, medicine, history, drama, and architecture were born. The Ancient Greeks produced an outpouring of human creativity never reached before.

Would this be another solo adventure? I already enjoyed driving cross-country a few times. I even climbed alone up the 7,000 steps of China’s Tai Shan mountains—and found nobody who looked, spoke, read, or wrote like me. Tempting as it was to throw myself into a mysterious journey, this time I would not be alone.

Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.

Seven months earlier I fell in love with an Aristotle scholar named Carrie-Ann Biondi. In fact, the first time we were alone together, we discussed our common interest in the philosopher. This would be our first vacation together. It helped that she translated ancient Greek. Or so I thought. Ancient Greek is quite different from the modern language, but we’d worry about that later. Our goal was to transport our eudaimonia (which means not just happiness but flourishing) to the land where that term originated. Because we both squeeze the most out of any twenty-four-hour time period with a can-do spirit, this would be jam-packed and fun.

During pre-travel research, Carrie-Ann discovered one of the internet’s best kept secrets: the site of Aristotle’s school, the Lyceum, was now open to the public. Recently excavated, we had chills knowing we’d walk exactly where the deepest questions of philosophy were discussed. Questions such as: What exists? How do we know it? How should we live?

In mapping out the journey we decided that it would be an Aristotle pilgrimage. We’d explore his birthplace (384 B.C. in Stagira), where he studied and flourished (in Athens), and where he died (322 B.C. in Chalcis). But there’s more, so read on, my friend.

After touching down at the airport, the bus ride offered striking views of graffiti that I hadn’t seen since I was a kid near the South Bronx. Every sign I saw reminded me of long mathematical equations as alpha, beta, and theta through omega were all over the place.

While walking to the hotel from the bus depot, we had our first unplanned photo stop. A spray painted close-up remake of my favorite painting, Raphael’s School of Athens. (As if on cue, I was wearing the same work of art on my t-shirt.) This painting highlights the two most influential philosophers in history: Aristotle and his teacher Plato.

Plato points up to the heavens, where he thinks that the superior world exists. The spray-paint artist chose to ground him in reality by having him twirl a basketball.

Aristotle holds his right palm downward, blessing this world. This demonstrates his view that all knowledge is acquired through observation, evidence, and experience. In his left hand he carries a copy of his work on ethics, which identifies the requirements of living a good life. My own pose shows you which side of these opposite views I am on.

We walked past a dozen old men who were stuck to their rickety chairs, yawning, eyes glazed over as the world passed them by. Everything seemed slow, like walking in Jello. The only thing that went fast were the zooming cars. Red lights indicated more of a suggestion than a fact. The best way to cross the street was to look both ways and then sprint.

After settling in, we knew that the first stop would be the Parthenon. We hoped it would live up to the hype—it did. The steep winding hill made it challenging to walk all the way to the top in ninety-five-degree heat. It was satisfying as the views of the city are spectacular. The grounds were ancient and wondrous, and there was a connected museum that displayed a model of the original. Brilliant colors adorned the building. (We’ve since visited the exact scale replica in Nashville, which captures much of the glory of the original. Highly recommended!)

Strolling the Acropolis grounds, we came upon one vantage point where the Theater of Herodes Atticus was directly below. We envisioned epic plays of Sophocles, Aeschylus, and Euripides thrilling audiences there.

It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.

The next day we woke up refreshed and walked a mile to arrive at the Lyceum. Aristotle founded this school in 335 B.C. (at age 49) and served as its leader until 323 B.C. After being Plato’s brightest student for twenty years at the Academy, Aristotle was fully capable of running the school when Plato died in 347 B.C. That position went to Plato’s nephew, though, so Aristotle left Athens for twelve years, when, among other things, he would become the tutor for Macedonian King Phillip’s young son, Alexander (before he was Great).

Surrounded by a fence, the Lyceum had dusty packed-dirt walking paths, partially excavated stone building foundations, neat patches of grass, and some folded chairs scattered about. There was only one other person there—a security guard—and we were glad to have this gem of a place to ourselves. 

Again, we wanted to stay longer but Thessaloniki was beckoning, so we started our descent from the clouds. The parking lot had humongous tour busses that made us marvel at how they could make it up and down this narrow, winding path, but they did. One bus driver was right on my tail, but I took my time and pulled over at the first vista to capture views of where Zeus would hurl thunderbolts. We looked down from Olympus on a world of doubt and fear, it’s surface splintered into sorry hemispheres.

One ritual of mine, whenever I travel to a new location of significance, is to take some of my parents’ ashes and toss them. I had long planned this as the spot to release them. Efcharisto, Greece.

When descending the mountain, the blue water in the distance was once again both inviting and tempting—but we were on a mission, and swimming wasn’t on the schedule. Not yet.

A few hours later we pulled into the nicest surprise of the trip so far: the bustling commercial center of Thessaloniki. As with much of northern Greece, this was originally part of Macedonia. The trusted iPhone which had been a lifesaver helped us find a parking spot right in front of our motel.

We first walked to Aristotle Park, which was nothing spectacular. No monument, just a name. Some kids were stretching on the grass before what looked like a pickup game of soccer. Ten minutes further away was Aristotle Square, which was packed with the after-work crowd. This had a statue of The Philosopher sitting in a thinking pose. Local teens were sprawled at the base of the sculpture, texting their friends. More spray paint desecrated the spot. My thoughts were that modern-day Greek reality trumps Ancient Greek philosophy. 

Sure enough, we crossed the bridge back to the mainland and saw the bust across the bay. We parked the car near a public beach and took a stroll to see the master of them who know. Once again, people whizzed by, ignorant of the man who gazed at them.

Since we were already parked near the public beach and the August sun was shining, it was finally time to enjoy the luscious blue water.

For the next few hours, while Aristotle gazed toward the horizon, we swam in the clear water and sunbathed on the beach. For the first time in five days this actually felt like a vacation. 

It was an interesting multi-media performance, spoken in Greek but with English subtitles reflected on a nearby building. There was conflict with battle scenes, but it felt more like a novelty than pure drama. We hoped there would be elements of Aristotle’s Poetics, where he says that fiction is of greater importance than history. For the latter tells us only what is, while fiction tells us what could and should be.

We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.

As you can see, this trip was a major success, filled with memorable experiences. We were prepared to run into catastrophes of some sort, but none came. We didn’t overcome obstacles on the scale of Odysseus and Penelope, but did tackle whatever modern-day challenges we faced. We hit our planned targets, improvised a bit and shared our love and joy at this historic land. Plus, we felt the continual presence of our hero. When Issac Newton said, “If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants,” he means Aristotle more than anyone else. That is why we admire him so much.

The reality is that, like most of Europe, modern Greece is one gigantic museum, looking only backwards. Most of the construction works are restoration of relics, which are worth preserving, but you also need to look ahead. One has a better chance of seeing the young Achilles dipped into the river Styx than seeing a new skyscraper constructed.

Perhaps if Greece would learn more about the philosophy of reason, individualism, and happiness as their greatest teacher taught, they could turn that setting sun into another Golden Age. We hope they do.