Growing up, my mom cultivated the most beautiful backyard garden. Come springtime, the long cold and harsh desert air warmed up just enough to finally allow some brave shoots to emerge from their cozy soil-covered winter home. By the time May came around, the backyard would be an explosion of the most vibrant blooms imaginable. Powerful bursts of cobalt flax, radiant saffron California poppies, indigo stalks of salvia and lavender, snow white blankets of candytuft. The scent of lilac clung to light afternoon breezes. For some reason, I’ve been finding myself dreaming a lot recently about this childhood wonderland. It felt like a truly safe space to me. I’m not sure what deeper meaning there may be to my recent dreamland visits (am I feeling unsafe in the current political shitshow? Am I missing my parents? Am I longing for simpler times?) What I can say is that Olympia, Greece in the springtime captures this powerful essence. It’s a potent mixture of nostalgia, peace, a wonder of nature’s beauty and a tinge of mournfulness that I can’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it’s the realization that nothing, no matter how beautiful, truly lasts forever? Regardless, I had to set that scene for you so you can understand how impactful the beauty of Olympia was for me. Now, what we all came for: the TRASH.
Imagine: you’re an 18 year old Gen Z fuckboy named Tyler. You went to high school in a suburb of Dallas- maybe Plano? (Idk- Plano gives me waspy, suburban, LuluLemon-caramel iced macchiato with 3 and a half Splenda packets-climate change isn’t real energy). Your body is sustained solely off of Monster Energy™️, Tostinos Pizza Rolls and vaping. You work in a Gamestop warehouse part time, live at home, and go out riding with the boys on the weekends (no homo). As a graduation gift, your grandma LuAnn (her backstory coming shortly) decides to give you an amazing gift. The gift of a lifetime, she says. LuAnn is just so proud of you for graduating high school! (even if it involved paying off multiple teachers).
Before I move on, here’s Luann’s story: born on a ranch 3 hours outside of Odessa, Texas in 1945, LuAnn never had anything handed to her. She knew how to milk cows before grade school. She knew how to ride a horse before she could walk. She could lasso a wildebeest before knowing her ABC’s. Ya know, typical Texas shit. LuAnn was THEE belle of the ball of her high school graduating class of 5, and before you knew it she found a great job working as a secretary at Exxon (don’t @ me ok, I only said she’s a secretary bc the 60s were fucking sexist as shit). She also found herself a man. Meet Rick, an Exxon exec and high roller. Rick drives a Cadillac. Rick smokes cigars. Inside. In the middle of the day. Rick likes bourbon, and ribeye, and segregated schools. Rick goes to church every Sunday (sometimes drunk but we don’t talk about that teeheehee). Rick and LuAnn hit it off and before you know it, LuAnn has a bun in the oven. They move into a BeAuTiFuL house on the outskirts of Dallas in a nice gated community (you know, to keep the “riff raff” out. And by that I mean anyone without a hedge fund, a credit score of 845, or a skin color darker than George Bush Senior.) Their daughter Lisa (I literally googled the most popular girls’ baby name of 1967 and Lisa came up- it feels correct) was just the sweetest little slice of apple pie you ever did meet, and she did great in school! A chip off the old block. Flash forward to 2025: Rick is dead (boating accident on a yacht in the Gulf of Mexico oh how tragique), LuAnn is a golden girl who loves her a nice top with a sensible shoulder pad (and I mean ‘top’ as a blouse, not a man, you pigs) and a big fat ol’ net worth. She also has grandchildren, who she adores!! Sure, they will always be stuck at age 8 in her mind and sure, they may have stolen some of her jewelry to pawn for weed and SURE, mayyyybe they totaled her car after she said they couldn’t drive it, but they will always be her babies. One of these is the aforementioned Tyler. Now that the scene has been adequately set, let’s continue.
We hop on a bus to go visit this incredible UNESCO world heritage site (the ruins of Olympia, not Plano Texas) and immediately see Tyler laying horizontally across several seats with a plastic bag by his head, glazed over eyes, and a shirt that says ‘Running on Ravioli’. LuAnn, sitting in the row behind him, is NOT amused. As the tour staff checks in with Tyler’s barely animated corpse to make sure he won’t projectile vomit onto the seats, I briefly lock eyes with LuAnn. I see anguish. Embarrassment. And white hot fury. And hell hath no fury like an angry geriatric Texan. It’s the kind of fury cloaked behind a ‘bless your heart’. That shit is lethal. As Tyler mumbles assurances that he is “just a little hungover”, the bus takes off. It’s at this time that a third necessary character is introduced.
Meet Bud. Bud lives in South Florida. And no, I don’t mean Miami. I mean the Everglades. As in, the GLADE glades. Bud lives off of a dirt road you access by turning right 2 stop signs past the old oak tree. Bud owns a fan boat and regularly goes deep into the swamp to drink beers. By himself. Bud has witnessed, in person, a giant Burmese python and equally giant alligator fighting (at least that’s what he told me. Bud could also be a liar). Bud wears a single gold hoop earring, and a necklace with a shark tooth. For some reason, I am deeply, deeply attracted to Bud. Am I Lana del Rey?
Now that we’ve met Bud let’s return back to our scene on the bus: as Tyler barely holds on to life, hungover to the point of being comatose, Bud chuckles to himself. As the bus makes turns on the windy road, Tyler’s head rolls weightlessly from side to side. LuAnn looks on, unamused. After what I can only imagine was a hellish 45 minutes for Tyler- we arrive. The site of Ancient Olympia is absolutely breathtaking. Situated amongst rolling forested hills, the ruins of several monumental structures are peppered with large trees, winding pathways, and verdant fields of springtime blossoms. Brilliant pops of scarlet and electric violet contrasted by crumbling stone and marble columns make one feel that type of way I described in the first paragraph. That feeling of wistfulness and nostalgia. Of deep serenity. I wish I could bottle that feeling up and take a whiff whenever I get a news alert from NPR about some new asinine executive order being released. Now imagine at the absolute deepest point of your meditative moment you’re startled awake by the unmistakable sound of retching. You hear it nearby. TYLER. You look around and see LuAnn completely disassociating from reality. Tyler, in his ‘Running on Ravioli’ shirt, has puked off of a bridge. The main bridge. That everyone is on. Right by the entrance.
To my right- Bud chuckles again, “That guy must’ve had one helluva night”. I can only nod in agreement. And yet to myself I wonder ”do you think Bud knows how badly I want him right now?”
For the rest of the day Tyler collapses in on himself like a dying star and curls into a compact ball in the back of the bus. LuAnn stays with him (presumably to make sure he’s ok and do any damage control) as her friends at the country club would just LOOOVE to hear about how her grandson was incarcerated in Greece for puking on a UNESCO World Heritage Site. As she furiously dials her friend who works in the US Embassy to avoid an absolute PR nightmare, Tyler vapes.
In summary, Olympia is an incredible piece of history preserved. It includes the remains of one of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World (The Temple of Zeus), a large arena which was the site of the original Olympic games (attended by folks from alllll around the Mediterranean) and several other culturally significant monuments. The Peloponnese in springtime is indescribably magnificent with it’s prismatic carpet of flora. If you’re named Tyler you will always be known as a messy bitch (and…..do we kinda stan??) LuAnn will always regret her decision to bring along Tyler to Greece (and not that guy she’s been eye balling at the Fort Worth country club sipping Arnold Palmers for the last two months. He does have a wedding ring, but those can always be slipped off, right? 😈) Bud is a beautiful specimen of swamp meat. MY swamp meat. And lastly- maybe I’ll dream tonight of that garden. That most special garden of poppies and lavender.
Ολυμπία, Ελλάδα (Olympia, Greece)- March 2025
La Vida Veeta 