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One morning before it was fully light, we caught a bus to Delphi, home of the oracle of Apollo and a stone that marked what the Ancient Greeks thought of as the center of the world. It was a twenty-minute walk from the metro stop to the bus station through a very urban area. The ride took three hours as the bus wound its way up the mountains through a cold, condensed mist. When the mist had dissipated we saw the sun shining on little houses perched like bird nests on the green feathery mountainside.

The modern town of Delphi is tiny. No wonder we couldn’t find any information beforehand on how to get from the village to the ancient site. The new town seemed to be an ancillary that spang up around the archaeological site, which you simply can’t miss. The streets we walked down were full of restaurants, souvenir shops, and hotels named for the Olympian gods. The names don’t show up very well in this photo, but along the two sides of the street are Hotel Artemis, Hotel Athena, Hotel Hermes and Hotel Zeus.

Then the row of buildings ended and the mountains opened on all sides. The spring growth glinted brighter than emeralds. It was so young and joyous, it hurt my eyes to look at. And the sun — such sun! The tip of my nose would be red by the end of the day, and my friend’s shoulders burned.“It’s too beautiful!” my friend exclaimed again and again in a voice of wonder, meaning it every time. We could find no other words for the place.

We thought the climb would be quick, so we decided to enjoy the outdoors before the sun got too hot in the afternoon and cool off in the museum later. It seemed like we had all the time in the world. We took many breaks just sitting in random spots. We actually needed the breaks, because we were dehydrated and once we entered the site there were no concession stands. We toiled up past the treasury, the egg-shaped rock that marked the center of the world, the temple, the theater, and eventually came to the stadium where ancient games had been held. On our way back, we espied a structure with three pillars. It looked more like the picture of Delphi in my guidebook, which I’d been looking out for in vain, than anything we’d already seen. We wailed that it was too far off and pushed it out of our minds. When we got back down to the museum at 3 p.m., its metal gates were being drawn closed. Of course. We got cold drinks and food, and talked about getting stamps and writing post cards to while away the three hours till the bus ride back to Athens. The post office was closed too. Naturally.

We wandered around the souvenir shops. The post cards showed us what we’d missed: two stunning statues in the museum, one of which had defined eyelashes; a sphinx several stories tall; the thing with the three columns — the Tholos, original purpose unknown, but the iconic feature of Delphi. “At least we saw that from a distance,” Keats comforted us rather piteously.

I ought to have been more upset than I was. In truth, I did not mind at all. Somehow I felt that in these mountains, I could not be upset over anything in the world. We sat on benches on the edges of the road, from which tangles of flowers and bushes sloped down toward the valley below, and talked of nothing. Time had no meaning. We sat for a heartbeat, we sat for an eternity.