by Katie Ryan

Created on: July 15, 2009   Last Updated: August 02, 2009

I got off the boat hardly expecting anything that day. For me, it was just like any other-blue sky dappled by clouds, picturesque ocean views, a warm breeze. These were the trademarks of every day I had spent in Greece so far. So as far as I was concerned, the three-hour tour on the island of Delos would go just the same. I was wrong.

When I followed my gaggling clan of high school friends off the ferry, I reminisced how far we had come together. Even though we just graduated merely two weeks ago, it seemed like it had been an eternity since we left that life behind. The dismal school dances and bonding over textbook torture were all part of a scene I was too soon forgetting. But now we were here in Greece on one of the most sacred places known to modern man, and I couldn't help but feel out of the present. The best I could do was quicken my pace and catch up with the group drifting ahead of me.

"What time do we have to be back?" asked one of the girls.

"One o'clock I'm pretty sure," someone answered from the back.

"So that's almost three hours, don't forget or you'll miss the ferry," directed our self-appointed group chaperone.

Breaking off into smaller groups, I attached myself to my favorite Asians and we began following the arrow-directed path.

The ruins, I quickly realized, were everywhere. Long out of use, stone pillars had fallen over in pieces and walls had crumbled down to a new waist-high standard. With so much history physically scattered about the island, it was as if none of it really mattered. People, after all, were tripping over ancient artifacts like it was litter on a crowded city street. There was no practical way to absorb it all. I was overcome by the intimidating line of lion statues meant for guarding the island, and although I soon found out they were simply replicas, I was astounded by them nonetheless. It seemed to me they were there to stand for something, perhaps a legacy long-forgotten.

Deciding it was still worthwhile to see the real thing, I made my way for the newly renovated museum conveniently located two hundred meters inland. On my scenic walk toward some of the most sacred products of human existence, I got a phone call. Seeing it was my dad on caller ID, I accepted that it was going to take a while and took a seat on a decrepit wall.

"Hello?"

There was no answer.

"Hello?"

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