October 11, 2017:

Blue stones in the dawn. We're up before the busloads, unto the shining city on the hill.

I've been here before. In 1979 it was my third ancient site, after the Agora to its north and an earlier something in Marseille. I'm not sure anymore, but I think I probably came here alone, weakened from illness, moving at uncharacteristically snail-like pace.

I remember waiting that day, and waiting, for a shot of the building without tourists. And finally getting one.

Today that's not my ambition. I want to remember the me of thirty-eight years gone. I want the great friend traveling with me to have the most enjoyable possible experience. And I want to retrace the steps of another friend now far far away, whose beautiful bashful portrait at the flagpole I'd like to recreate.