I was happy to hear that he and Elizabeth, who have known each other since their childhood (she was the Spanish Instructor's daughter at Hotchkiss, the boarding school Ned attended) were going to get married. I met Elizabeth 10 years ago, our junior year in college, and liked her instantly. I remember she gave me her book, "Catch a Fire - a biography of Bob Marley," which I though was a very cool gift, and I was touched by her compassion, which seems to wrap its arms around everyone.

Ned called a few months ago to tell me.
"We want to have it in Greece, barefoot on the beach."
"Excellent. I'll be there."
"You know.... you're the man."
"Well, thanks! I've never been a Best Man before."
"No, you misunderstand. You duh Man! We want you to marry us, perform the ceremony. This is the plan, we meet on Crete and spend a week driving around the countryside in a big car drinking Ouzo until we find someplace on the beach that will cook us a whole lamb and serve us as much wine as we can drink."

Ned and Elizabeth had talked it over and decided that they wanted me to perform their wedding. I'm not ordained in any way, but by Alaska State Law your friend can marry you. I was honored that they chose me, and became determined to do a fine job. The next day I went to the Boulder Public Library, took out 6 books and began to pour over vows, looking for something to read on the beach in Greece. (Their parents weren't altogether overjoyed about a non-religious wedding, and Ned's Dad asked that I be ordained a Catholic. This would not occur.)

III. The Captain's House

The Captain and Dave

The ruins of an ancient dock stretch into the blue Saronic Gulf like the backbone of a submerged dinosaur. Aegina was important in the fight for Greek independence - it offered over 130 ships to the cause. At night, it's cold. We huddle over the space-heater, eating pistachios and drinking Amstel. When we get off the boat in Hydra we're approached by a grandfatherly man we would later know as Captain Loulos, the former Mayor of Hydra, who leads us up through the network of roads to his home which he has renovated into a bed and breakfast. It's a sweet place that looks down over the entire harbor. We take the corner room. There are no motorized vehicles or bicycles allowed on Hydra, and donkeys haul everything, including tourists. The Captain's house has fine wooden floors, high ceilings, ornate tiles and a lemon tree in the back yard. A blissful nap, wake up to a symphony of churchbells and children yelling on the field below. We sit in the fortressed harbor watching the light ease out to sea while we drink beer.

Ashley

At dinner I order things with tentacles, octopus salad, calimari. When I bite down into the octopus I hear a crunch - it's a grain of sand. The pain in my tooth keeps me awake most of the night. I shudder at the idea of a dentist, but, thankfully, the pain is gone the next day.

A walk up to the cemetery and then back down through the maze of winding paths, offering views of the harbor and tiled rooftops. Stray cats are everywhere.

Hydra at night

Another exquisite lunch at Chistina's and Manolis, an fine local Taverna and a 'must- stop' if you're on Hydra. Lamb, roasted potatoes, Greek salad, feta cheese. I order an Amstel and think of my Father, who turns 70 years old tomorrow. He told me his best memories of Greece were of ducking into a Taverna after a hot, summer walk and drinking a cold Amstel beer.

Christina

We feel somehow graced by the Captain, who gives us a tour of his renovations. There's no sign out in front - so I wonder how he finds people. He might just pick them out and invite them from the dock, as he did with us.

The churchbells ring all over town, a melody that hangs in the air long after the bells stop. Ask for toast and sometimes you'll get a ham-and-cheese sandwich, which is excellent.

We buy ferry tickets to Athens, where we'll catch an overnight ship to Crete. The Captain joins us for the 3 hour ride to Athens to pick up his wife and daughter, who are there with their grandchildren.

The old blue boat in the harbor, Greek flag flapping in the sun. Monks with white beards, black robes and tall black hats mull around the port. The delicious sea air rolling in over steep hillsides and fortifications.

IV. The Minoans Could Party

In Athens we find that the Minoan Lines ferry is sold out, so we catch ANEK ferry to Iraklio on the north coast of Crete. I put a call though to my Father and wish him a happy birthday (With no help from Marcus - the MCI customer service guy that kept me on hold while I watched my credits dwindle. He got back on the line to say, "you have the wrong number," and just hung up.) I finally get through, and spaz out a quick birthday greeting, sounding more panicked than anything else, before the phone card reads zero. There are no more phone cards available on the boat.

It's "off season," so most of the hotels in town are closed. We decide on the Hotel Kastro and Dandruff Man at the front-desk takes the Drachma from us. Construction starts at 7 a.m. in the apartment above us, and it feels like someone is working my skull with a hammer. Ashley remains in a good spirits.

"It's nice out," she says leaning out over the balcony, "looks like tanning weather. There must be a chocolate factory nearby, everything smells like chocolate."

Knossos

We catch the number 2 bus to the Minoan ruins of Knossos. Ashley laughs when I tell her that the Minoans were big party people, and pointed out the artifact that was clearly a Neolithic beer-bong.

"The Minoans could party," I play the tour guide, "this is the room where they got really loaded."

Knossos

We unwrap a picnic lunch of hero sandwiches.

"Are you writing about how cute I look in my underwear?" asks Ashley.

"Yes," I say.

We return for the chocolate croissants down by the Venetian Fort. Ashley goes into a kind of chocolate coma over her croissant, her eyes rolling back in her head. I've never seen anything like it.

It's a three hour bus ride to Hania, where we have agreed to meet Ned and Elizabeth. We wait for bus #74, Ashley soaking up the sun.

Tanning Leather

Making our way up the coast of Crete I'm trying to savor every view of blue-green ocean, every cloud rising over the rocky coastline. Thinking about what I'm going to say to the 14 friends and relatives that have traveled halfway around the planet to be there.

"Love makes poets of us all." - Plato

Hania, Crete

V. Reckless Driving and Greek Salad

Our friends are there to meet us at the hotel. Our rented mini-van dives into narrow side-streets and alleys, Greek women looking up from their kitchens, smiling. In the small mountain towns on Crete the roads are so intricate that the van can't fit through (this is why the cars in Greece will often fold in their side-view mirror when parked.)

Crete

Ned asked me to get out of the car and walk around the corner (photo above) to see if we would be able to squeeze through. I surveyed the pleasant small-town street and took the picture. When I got back to the van I realized I hadn't even looked to see if it was wide enough for our van to fit through.

"Sure, you can make it, no problem," I said.

We weave slowly through the narrow road, clearing the van with two inches to spare on each side. We're deep into the alleyway when it becomes apparent that the van will not make it though the next turn.

"Sorry," I say.

Ned tosses the van into reverse, maneuvers a series of complicated backward turns, and drives out as easily as he drove in. It's a superhuman display of driving, and we're in awe.

"One thing I've learned on this trip is that Ned is an amazing driver," says Elizabeth.

Ned smiles. "Before she just thought I was reckless, now she knows I'm both fast AND reckless."

Elizabeth

Mist-covered mountains plummet into the Libyan Sea. We wind down the steep roads on the southern coast to a town called Sfakion. Little white houses with blue shutters. We review the wedding vows. I read them aloud over the roar of the engine.

"Dave: Do any of the witnesses know of any reason why we may not continue with this wedding? Witnesses: We do not."

Soon we're at Frangokastello, a fortress built by the Venetians in 1371 as a defense against pirates and rebels, who resented Venetian occupation as much as they resented the Turks. In 1770 Ioannis Daskalogiannis surrendered to the Turks after a long siege of the fortress. Legend has it that ghosts can be seen riding along the beach on the anniversary of the siege.

"This is where they bought it," says Ned, pointing to a castle turret.

Frangokastello

At sunset we stop at a roadside Taverna to feast on gyros, Greek salad, Ouzo and Amstels. We're overlooking the town of Plakias, the place Ned and Elizabeth would choose for their wedding. When we get down to the beach they know instantly that this is the spot. Just in time, the guests start arriving in Hania the next day.

Plakias

We drive through the olive groves. A shepherd pulls his sheep off the road with one whistle to his dog.

While Ned and Elizabeth negotiate with the owners of the Taverna for a lamb, octopus, and calimari, Ashley and I sit on a wall looking out over the waves as they roll and break. Every drop of water seems exactly in the right place.

VI. Barefoot on the Beach

Ned has carried along a copy of Thoreau's "Walden," and leafs through it looking for passages to read at the ceremony, stopping occasionally to read something aloud. It reminds me of our time as roommates at CU, when the big ideas seemed so new. We talked about Aristotelian Ethics over enormous spaghetti dinners, sauce cooking for hours in an iron skillet. To test the pasta, we made a habit of throwing a string of spaghetti at the late-sixties-era chandelier in our apartment to see if it would stick. After a few weeks the strings had hardened into a weird, postmodern sculpture that would light up when you flipped a switch.

Plakias

"This is a good one for Tripsource, he says, returning to Walden. '"The surface of the earth is soft and impressible by the feet of men; and so with the paths which the mind travels. How worn and dusty, then, must be the highways of the world, how deep the ruts of tradition and conformity! I did not wish to take a cabin passage, but rather to go before the mast and on the deck of the world, for there I could best see the moonlight amid the mountains. I do not wish to go below now. "'

We work on the vows and drink Heinekens. At one point Ned inadvertently spills beer all over everything. We sit there as the sun sets, watching the ink run into the fibers of the paper, which becomes more and more illegible.

Ned thanks me for helping him with the wedding. I assure him that I feel honored. "What else was I going to do?" I say to him, "sit there tapping at my computer? Smelling bad and getting carpel-tunnel syndrome? I love being this character in my own life." The truth is I'm getting very nervous at this point, big day tomorrow, vows not written. I open a third Heineken and try to get Ned and Elizabeth to return their attention to the notebook.

Ned is an superb writer, and works best under pressure. When it's finished, I know it will work perfectly, and it does. The ladies cry. The fathers dance.

Dancing Dads

Ned and Elizabeth

Because the College of Music is in nearby Rethymno, the photographer we find makes a call and puts together a band of traditional Greek players. The lyre is most amazing, and it plays as the bride walks down the isle we have made of ourselves on the beach. She's barefoot, as is Ned. The band gets heated, and they invite me to play harmonica and a drum that's covered in black leather. I reveled, played along as Ned and Elizabeth did the "Zorba Dance" which they had picked up by watching the movie over and over. One of the musicians taught everyone a few steps, then began to dance around wildly, slapping the bottom of his foot as he leapt across the patio. He pored a ring of lighter-fluid and a shot of wine, placing the tumbler in the middle of the circle and drinking it without using his hands.

Lyre

Wedding Feast

We danced and feasted for eight hours straight. Late into the night we sat there exhausted but happy, telling stories. People agreed, it was the best wedding they had ever been to. Everything fell right into place.

VII. "The Monk Bought Lunch"

The next day we visit the ancient monastery nearby. It's still a working monastery, monks chant in deep tones and the smell the incense pours from gilded rooms. The monks are master horticulturists, and in the courtyard a lemon branch has been grafted to an orange tree, sporting bright yellow lemons.

Ned and his Dad

Monastery

Donna

VIII. Amsterdam

"Is this your bag?" asks a woman with airport security in Amsterdam.
"Yes."
"Do you have a knife in it? A long one?" she asks.
"No, not that I can think of... maybe a small one."
"May I open it?" she says, already working the zipper, pulling out my medical kit, going through pockets.

I just stand there, a line of 50 people waiting behind me impatiently. She can't find a knife so she sends the bag through again. Again the man nods and again she opens my bag, an Eagle-Creek Continental Journey. Finally she discovers my harmonica wedged in my shirts. "Ah, this looked like a knife under the X-ray," she blasts me a Scandinavian smile. I smile with her, but am eager to move on. I'm not really enjoying this conversation.

"Have a good afternoon," I say, and step out into the waiting area with Ashley.

Tired, after a long flight to Chicago where the man in front of me has the worst intestinal gas of any human I've ever smelled (I learned how to hold my breath with each new wave, sometimes gasping a nosefull by mistake.)

Ashley's flight arrives in Denver three hours before mine, and I tell her to catch the bus home. (I had bought a cheap ticket that forced me to stop in Minneapolis with a layover.) While we walked to the gate in Chicago she started to cry. It sounded like laughing at first. "I don't want it to end like this," she said.

I was a little bummed too, if for no other reason than seeing Ashley cry, so I sulked a bit in Minneapolis. By this time I was convinced that a guy named Phil, who works for the airport terminal, had lifted my Gortex jacket and had it in his closet at home. All evidence pointed at Phil.

So I was intensely glad to see Ashley there there in Denver when I walked off the plane. She had decided to wait the three hours at DIA, and we were just in time to catch the last bus to Boulder.