And now for something completely different!

Let’s take a brief break from the Greek odyssey to talk about a life long goal of mine which I have just accomplished. I think I first became aware of my desire to follow this dream about the same time I learned to write. I have attempted to follow it through to fruition multiple times. I plan ahead and try to keep track of my progress, but it just never seemed to pan out. But today, without me even anticipating it, it happened! I used my pilot P-700 fine point pen until the ink completely ran out! I think I purchased it 8 months ago and have used it diligently every day I am in my office since. Today as I went to write down a phone number half way through the digits the pen ceased to leave a mark. Confused I tried again, and again with haste movements. Then the gravity of the moment settled on me and there was much uproarious celebration. At the constant assault of my hand alone I finally bested this high quality writing implement and with a final gasp in the down stroke of the number seven, it was done. All I have left to do now is climb Mount Everest and my life goals will be complete. I think we can all agree that with this proof of my commitment to a task, Everest should be a piece of cake!

Rhodes part 2

I woke very early the second morning in Rhodes. I wanted to see what the old town was like in the sleepy morning hours before many people are stirring. The streets were exactly like I had hoped, completely deserted. Even the stray cats were tucked away still dreaming of feta flavored mice. My first order of the day was coffee of course. This turned out to be a challenge. I did find a few cafés being cleaned and prepped for the day by their early bird geriatric owners, but they would not sell me coffee. I was enjoying having the small streets to myself so really didn’t mind all the walking in search of the Greek sludgy eye opener. I eventually found likely the only place open, and ordered two cups. I immediately drank one, and took the other to go. Feeling a surge of energy and admittedly a little twitchy, I continued my stroll. I decided I would walk in one direction all the way to the city wall and then walk the perimeter. When I reached the wall I noticed a small iron gate, closed but not locked. I quickly pushed the gate open and entered. As I have already mentioned in previous posts, I have a hard time passing up the chance to stick my nose in places it’s not necessarily allowed. I found myself standing in a rundown, maybe forgotten courtyard. The courtyard was completely surrounded by high walls with many statues in different states of erosion. All of it was covered by overgrown grass and vines. I was on a path which I followed through the courtyard. It ended in the corner opposite where I entered at a dark staircase leading down into what I thought was another courtyard. After descending the staircase it took me a few moments to realize I was in the moat!
The moat is obviously no longer in use, and luckily drained and free of shark, piranha, and aquatic tigers. As I stood at the bottom of this canyon created by two enormous walls I tried to imagine all the soldiers, prisoners, and giants that met their fate where I now stood.
The moat was about 75 yards across and maybe 50 yards deep where I stood. It was mostly high weeds with small patches of green grass. I also noticed tons of perfectly round stones, which I learned the day before are ammunition flung at the castle during an assault. I was giddy with excitement and wonder. Not like little girl giddy mind you, more of the tough just won the super bowl kind. I looked in the only two directions available, because returning the way I came was not an option, picked left, and was off. I felt like a kid rifling through his parents closet looking for a present (which I have done Mom and Pops, sorry). Any situation is made infinitely better when you know you are not suppose to be there. Periodically I would find small tunnels leading downward at the base of the castle wall. Further investigation showed each tunnel to be closed by iron grating. I am not sure if these were sewage conduits or passages. After walking a half hour or so I came across a larger tunnel than the rest with no grate. After maybe 30 feet of blind stumbling I found myself in a round cavern which I realized was one of the castle towers. I climbed a staircase that followed the curved wall upwards for the equivalent of 8-10 floors and was again standing in the morning sun. I had found my way to the top of a castle tower! I sat on the wall edge with my feet dangling and savored the rest of my caffeine sludge. Sitting so high and looking down into the grave of an ancient moat, the boundaries between reality and my imagination disappeared. I could hear the battle cries and commands shouted from soldiers all around me. Flaming arrows whizzed past an all directions. Gigantic crocodiles swam below me with armies of rabid midgets on their backs. I finished my coffee and decided to leave this bazar battle behind and see what else I could discover. I climbed back down the stairs but instead of exiting I found another passage and followed it to the top of the lower castle wall. I was now walking on the top of the castle wall.
I walked for a while but eventually came to a dead end when another tower with no entrance ended my wall walking expedition. I had to backtrack to the original passage I had found. It had been a few hours by now and I was starting to think people would be going about their business and I might get caught. Instead of going back through the court yard I felt confident I could continue in the direction I was walking and find another way back into the city. This turned out to be a brilliant plan as I more than once found passages into the city but blocked with grates. At one I stood on the outside and watched as a man walking his dog walked right past, stopped, saw me, laughed, said something in greek like "oh man, what a good looking kid trapped in the moat" and moved on. At least his dog didn't pee on me. I ran around at the bottom of the moat for a while longer before I realized there was no way into the city. I guess that is the point of a wall and a moat after-all. Well done Rhodeians, your fortified city has proven to be Mike proof. I found my out, but could not get back in. I ran back to the court yard praying to all Gods that the unlocked gate was still unlocked. If you choose for the gate to be locked please turn to page 12, If you find the gate unlocked turn to page 38, if you are eaten by a troll close the book and hit yourself 7 times in the head with it.
The gate was unlocked, I reentered the city and quickly dissolved into the mass of tourist that the most recent cruise ship had delivered. This is one of my most favorite moments in Greece. I promise not to be so long winded in the future. I know how irritating it is when you are reading a blog and it just goes on and on with all these details that no one cares about. Or worse when the story just continues with no real purpose. I can empathize with how annoying that is.I remember this one time I was reading a blog about a guy that is making the world largest ball of tin foil. He kept talking about the best types of foil and the best application techniques but none of this reveled if his ball of foil was big enough to roll over a truck. Talk about a waste of time. Up next, how I got the smallest car in the world stuck between two buildings!

Rhodes part 1

Rhodes was my favorite part of Greece, so take a breath this is going to be a long one. After a restful nights sleep on the boat I woke with just enough time for a quick breakfast before we arrived at the port of Rhodes. On approach I was amazed by the harbor and the ancient fortified walls of the city, which I had not expected. The Rhodes harbor is home to one of the ancient wonders of the world.
The colossus is a huge statue that at one time served as the gate to the port of Rhodes. I would learn later that the statue only stood for 66 years before an earthquake toppled it. Excitement to explore made me eager to leave the comfort of the ship to the unknown and unplanned island of Rhodes. No sooner had I stepped off the boat then I was approached by a small old lady holding a picture. “I have room” she said. Instincts initially told me to avoid the solicitation, but curiosity won out and I asked for more details. Her name was Fona, and she was the best thing that could have happen to me. She explained that she had a room for “let” very close by in the old town. She also helped me make arrangements at the travel agency nearby for my remaining ferry tickets and rental car. I had expected to pay 100 € a night for a room, so when she gave me the room for 50 € it only felt like a near miss to the baby maker.
We left the travel agency and I followed her into Rhodes old town. Rhodes is a fortified city, which means it is completely contained within very high and strong protective walls. As soon as I passed through an entrance into the city I felt I had gone back in time. This was the Europe I had been hoping to see! The very narrow and intimate streets are paved with black and white beach pebbles. The pebbles are stacked tightly edgewise which makes them look very organized.
In places the contrast of white and black pebbles is organized to make intricate patterns and designs. It is staggering to think how many long man hours it must have taken to pave almost every inch of street this way.
Centuries of walking and grinding from carts and wheels have polished the tops of the stones making walking a texturous treat for the feet! The pebble streets would make heels impossibility even for the most skilled runway model. Every inch of space within the city walls has been cleverly inhabited or resourced.
This makes the streets, which are really alleys, very tight. It feels like you are roaming the dark mysterious paths of an amazing labyrinth. Doorways are spaced randomly which enter to amazing houses some nearly a thousand years old! In the most preserved buildings the pebble stone street flows into the building and supplies the flooring. Modern advances and technology are discreetly blended in to preserve the medieval style village that has stood for thousands of years.
And my room is right in the middle of all of it, down an unassuming quiet alley! As I unsling my pack and lay down for a moment on my bed I try to fathom how old the room I am in is and how many hundreds of people have spent a night here in the last five centuries.
I waste no time with rest almost immediately rebounding to head out and discover this magnificent place. Immediately after leaving my room I discover an old world synagogue. The Jewish people or Rhodes have a painful history, as is true for Jews everywhere I suppose. When WWII reached Rhodes all remaining Jews were captured. Most were murdered, very few survived and almost none returned to Rhodes. Most of the details of this tragedy were connected for me by a small Italian-Turkish man I met in the temple. His family had narrowly escaped before the soldiers arrived. He walked me around the old Jewish parts of the city pointing out where the original synagogue had stood, or other related facts. Some of the buildings had been bombed out, so not much remains besides rubble or lonesome staircases that reach into the sky with no destination. The house where his mother lived still stands and he points it out nostalgically. One colorful native catches one to what we are doing and invites us into his home which he explains use to be a Jewish household. The guy is straight out of a Grecian daydream. The skin of his face hangs loosely; his nose bulbous and pink from a lifetime of labor and alcohol. He explains in broken English that he has raised five children in this house and right next door was the site of the old Jewish university. Stepping outside and walking to a nearby playground he gets excited. Stomping on the ground he tells us that the old Jewish temple still exists underneath the dirt. He says he has been down there when the before the entrance was filled in and that the hidden room contains beautiful architecture and ornaments. The Jewish people I have ended up on this spontaneous tour with are skeptical, but I can’t help wondering what I might find after a few hours of digging. The tour group dissolves as each person returns to thought of their original agenda. I have no agenda so my wandering continues. I weave in and out of street after street, each one displaying unique characteristic of the people that live within the walls. After a while I follow a line of cannons pointing out into the harbor into the entrance to the main castle. The castle was partially destroyed at one point by a gunpowder explosion in one of the towers, but has been reconstructed. Another 12€ gains me admission.
The castle is exactly what my little boy imagination tells me a castle should be. Long halls with 30 foot vaulted ceilings open into massive rooms with even taller ceilings. Each room is decorated with amazing detail. The floors are mosaics made from tiles the size of dimes. The woodwork is richly engraved each small piece taking hundreds of hours no doubt. Some rooms have artifacts and exhibits but many are empty except for several pieces of original furniture. The awe inspiring architecture and furnishings do not elicit as much of my attention as the many locked doors and gated passageways I find however. Many times I end up gazing out a window or down a long tunnel at some off limits portion devising ways I might gain access. After a few hours of roaming, I estimate I have only seen about 20% of the castle. Above all, I wish to find a way onto the castle wall and up one of the towers. Most people would leave this desire to rest and move on. Not me, and the next morning, I find a way to drink my coffee at the top of one of the towers!

Time zone

Times zones don't make much sense. I understand how it works to try and match the day and night hours in a place to the time. After a ten hour flight on which you suddenly loose seven hours, it seems to become more about bamboozlement that anything else. After one day of transatlantic traveling I don't think anyone would argue with Einstein that time is relative. And for this reason, I am wide awake after my first night at a very early morning hour. I try to coax myself to reestablish slumber eventually deciding to start my day. Hotels in Greece include breakfast with a nights stay. Not just a doughnut and cup of juice like we are use to here in the states either. When I make my way to the restaurant I find a full spread of choices, all covered in feta cheese mind you. I am introduced to Greek coffee too. Greek coffee is made by boiling finely ground beans and then serving. No filters are used, so the coffee is stronger, but be careful because there is a layer of sludge at the bottom. I can tell you from experience it is not good to drink the sludge. I check out of the hotel room, the front desk agrees to hold my bags securely for me while I explore, and I am off!
Back to the Acropolis, now open, and charging 12 € (that symbol is a Euro for those not in the know. Basically for Americans it is constant reminder of how Bush has been driving our country into the poor house. From this point on whenever you see this symbol think (-spending that dollar amount plus a kick in the crotch-). I take out a small loan and am granted admission. I was hoping to have a nice quiet morning exploring this archeological specimen reflecting on the great moments and people who graced the same spot I now stand. No such luck. It seems every other tourist in Athens has decided to visit the same time as I. Rather than roaming about on my own finding some yet undiscovered treasure like a chest full of gold, I admire the Acropolis by following a weaving qeue line. Each time I try to break out of the line to venture into some quiet space I am redirected back to the tourist safe zones by staff that comes out of nowhere. I noticed something else which is true for most places I go in Greece. They don't have uniforms when working. Not even a semiofficial looking name badge. There is really nothing professional visible to signify that people are employed or volunteer with any establishment. In fact, now that I reflect on it, I bet some of the Grecians that made rules for me were motivated by self-amusement. So anyway, the Acropolis. Its big, old, and made of stone. It also appears to be under construction. It is completely surrounded by scaffolding and cranes and many people with no uniforms pushing and pulling parts of it back and forth. When I asked someone what they were doing they explained that it was a huge reconstruction project to preserve and restore the structure. This has been going on since it was originally built in the 70's apparently. I don't mean to sound unimpressed. I enjoyed the Acropolis very much. It was not so much the structure itself as much as the idea that I was in a place with so much history. Whenever I am in a place like that I like to ponder all the stories and events that have filled the space with life for so many years. I have an affinity for dusty dilapidated forgotten corners that encourage my curiosity and imagination. Try and keep me out of an attic or cellar. The Acropolis is not forgotten proven by the hoards of fanny pack wearing camera toting fat cats all around me. It is dilapidated and dusty, so two out of three is not bad. I had not planned much of this trip beyond getting on a plane, romp around, and then get on another plane a week later. I love the spontaneity and adventure that comes from traveling this way. As such I was very receptive to suggestion. A lady on the plane said "walk around Plaka, tis bery niece". I had a free map of Athens that the hotel had given me. After wrapping up 12€ of Greek history I pulled out the map heavily laden with local advertisements and right there next to my current location, Plaka. Plaka is Greek for strip mall. I will admit that the strip mall has an old world charm. By that I mean that there are stray cats and dogs and a strong body odor mixed with the scent of synthetic leather. Also unlike a strip mall, window shopping will open the door for strong arm selling tactics from the shop keep. I did buy a leather bracelet which I promptly tied on my wrist and still have not removed. I also found a Greece national team soccer (football) jersey (I collect them from places I travel) which I purchased for 9€ (ouch, right in the baby maker!). despite my travelers savvy, I end up eating lunch at a tourist trap. My sandwich is the size of a fortune cookie but without the chuckle or insight that you would receive after excavating the fortune within. The drink I order is served in a shot glass, but is not alcohol. I know, I know, Americans are accustom to massively unhealthy portions. I am not being glutenous I promise. Miss Flockheart herself would remain hungry after this infant portion size meal. My time in Athens has expired, I must now go back to the hotel and collect my bag so I can take the metro to port at Piraeus for my ferry to Rhodes. I am greeted at the blue star ferry by a platoon of well uniformed guys in bow ties eager to help me settle for the overnight voyage. I splurged on my ticket with a private sleeper cabin justifying it as a hotel and boat ride on the same dime, or € (damn straight in my downstairs mix up!). The boat is more than i expected. It has a couple bars, two restaurants one of which is fancy, a few lounges and activity areas, and the staff is smartly dressed and eager to assist with any request. I am feeling quite smug as I lay down for a brief nap to debrief the days moments before enjoying the night on my mini cruise to another unknown and unresearched destination.

Athens

Athens is dirty. Very dirty. I guess is makes sense if you consider how old the city is. Which is the only reason you should go to Athens, to see the ruins. Don't be fooled either, they are ruins. Getting through customs in Greece was a breeze. After a poor choice of transit into the city I spent over an hour on a very hot bus. I decided on the bus in order to get a scope of the city. It was a bad choice because the city is not attractive. The bus I was on did not get me even close to my hotel either, so I ended up taking a taxi anyway. The city itself is very crowded and well broken in from people living there for many many centuries. Graffiti must be a hobby for everyone as well, I have never seen so much and I have been to Compton and Harlem. Everything with a surface has been tagged. Stray dogs and cats inhabit the streets with confidence. I saw a straggly looking mutt sleeping on the steps of a bank, and he had been marked with purple spray paint! A mobile advertisement for the local middle school gang I suppose. There does not seem to be any infrastructure in place to collect trash. It condenses in alleys and cutters and there it stays. This is all enhanced by the intense heat of the concrete body of the city. Plus dust, lots of dust on everything, but at least it is not humid so sweating actually provides some relief.
I had booked the hotel already, and the pictures looked nice. The hotel turned out to be acceptable as well, clean and modern. What they fail to advertise is that it is located between a brothel and a spray paint supply store that gives extreme discounts if you buy in bulk. I made a note to myself to make sure to be in the hotel at dusk to avoid being tagged, raped, mugged, or fitted for a suit. I get comfortable in my room and take a nap before breaking into the city. He is an interesting fact, in Greece you should not flush toilet paper. In each restroom there is a small trash can for the paper. In my restroom there was also a shower. But not the kind of shower we are all use to. I have instead a shower head attached to a hose going to a tap. To make things more bazaar, the shower is a small square of raised tile with no enclosure. So when you shower the water sprays all over the bathroom (read W.C.)and puddles on the floor. Now the Greeks pride themselves on being innovative in architecture from the stone age, but they have not figured out how to make a proper shower, or septic system. After my nap I get some directions to the metro and am off to see Greece! The metro in Athens is actually pretty good. I read a sign that said it took 200 years to build (how is that possible?). The trains are clean and air conditioned. The subway tunnels are the only place in the city spared from the graffiti as well. My first ride I learn that Greek people do not wear deodorant, or shower. I slightly revel in this atmosphere however, trying to immerse myself in a new culture. Only a few stops from my hotel is the Acropolis. The Acropolis was build before the first Starbucks existed! I think the first Starbucks eventually did open there about 5,000 BC, but it no longer operates. I did not get to walk around in the steps of the great philosophers at this time. The Acropolis closes at 7pm. The area surround is very nice. On the pleasant cobblestone walk up then hill to the worlds first office building there are many cafes and shops and one hidden gem. I collect vintage movie posters, and there was one posted on a wall. upon further investigation I discovered that around the corner is an outdoor movie theater. The theater is not really for tourists, it is where locals go on a nice evening. The movie that night was Klimp with Jane Fonda, old school and fabulous. The theater is in a court yard surrounded on all sides by walls covered in ivy. the screen has marble statues all around it. the seating is lawn chairs with an occasional table between. There was a concession stand when you can purchase beer, wine, snacks and cigarettes. This brings up another point. Greeks smoke, ALOT. They smoke everywhere too. In restaurants, on boats, while checking you out at the super market, and in movie theaters. I actually think the pilot lit up a cigarette while we were landing. Besides occasionally having to time my breathing in cadence with the smokers around me, the movie was great! I felt right in the middle of the culture, there were even stray cats roaming the isles searching for abandoned or unguarded popcorn. One problem did arise. After a few beers
(local beer is Mythos, tastes like Amstel) I had to use the restroom. I could see the doors, but the labels were in Greek with no universal pictures. I had to restrain myself until finally a girl went in one door and using my superior deductive reasoning, I went in the other one. I had a great Greek meal on the roof of a nearby cafe with a panoramic view of the ruins and then returned to the ghetto for bed. The next day I had a full day in Athens before catching a ferry to Rhodes.

Back from Greece!

I will start at the end. I am home, refreshed, and full of memories of fantastic spontaneous adventures! It took 36 grueling hours of traveling to return home. The finer points of the journey are arriving at the airport 12 hours early, trying to sneak into a closed restaurant to sleep and getting kicked out THREE times. Its amazing what you can get away with when you don't speak the language of the low level authority figure trying to harass you. Trying to sleep in an airport is as easy as a blind man trying to pick out wallpaper. Airports are designed to be as mind numbingly uncomfortable as possible. They should have cots available for rent at the airport. And movie theaters. I am certain whoever designed airports, never actually spends anytime in them. I have always prided myself on my ability to capitalize on circumstances. Realizing I had 10 hours to wait before I could check in for my flight to JFK I re-coned the entire terminal to find the most conducive environment for sleep. It just so happens that spot was a nice cozy leather sofa... in the closed restaurant. But I say if they didn't want people in there, they should lock the door. Well to be fair, the door was locked. It did not reach completely down to the floor so thanks to my slim figure and swift moves I was able to infiltrate and settle on the sofa. I was thrilled to be spread out on the couch reading full of empathy for all the suckers sleeping on the marble flooring. After dozing for a few hours, I was awaken by a poke and some gibberish that sounded like yiddish rap music, but may have been greek. I of course had no idea what he was saying but it was clear I should move on, which I did. I returned to my sofa 10 min later when the mustachioed fella moved on to harass other innocent travelers. This interaction repeated three times. Always the same mustache, always the same rap music, always the same bewildered and harmless look from me.
Finally I boarded my flight to JFK. It takes 10 hours to fly from Greece to NY. During this time they screened two movies which I saw none of. Served two meals, I missed both. And handed out those very important declaration cards you need to get through USA customs. Guess what, I didn't get one. This makes my conversation with the customs guy later go like this-
"declaration card and passport please"
I hand him my passport and my boarding pass
"sir, I need your declaration card"
"oh, right..... where do I get one"
"sir, they gave it to you on the plane"
"Umm, no, they didn't, can I have one now?"
"SIR, you need to get out of line and sort yourself out"
"Hmm, I assure you I am sorted"
"Sir, if you are prepared to enter the United States please present your declaration card"
"Let me see your declaration card first" I exclaimed pointing at him
At this point he picks up the phone, and I scurry off to find the elusive card.
I make it through eventually, but I would like to take a moment to give a shout out to all the Delta staff on flight 133. Thank you for making me beg for meals I missed, make my own coffee on the plane (actually kinda fun), and most of all for neglecting to give me a piece of paper to be admitted to my country. Top notch crew on that flight. When I was in the kitchen area waiting for my coffee to brew I asked one guy if he enjoyed flying all over the world all the time. His exact response was " Oh man I can't wait to retire, I hate this job!" And it shows.
I have a 3 hour layover in NY of course. At this point I feel like I have taken 12 antihistamines and drank a bottle of wine. I wander with no purpose like a drugged penguin at a fish market. After a amusing conversation with a dreadlocked guy about the conspiracies of airlines and their link to social brainwashing, I board my plane to Boston. I am seated in a three seat isle next to a father with an infant and a three year old richard simmons with a heavy british accent. At least the flight is short I think. 3 hours later, when we are enthusiastically informed that we are now only number 5 for take off I am grateful that my first impression of the young family was wrong. They are polite, quiet and highly optimistic. Once I land at Logan intl. airport it is only a matter of a bus, two trains, and a short walk and I am home!
And that is the story of my adventures in Greece! I hope you enjoyed it. What an amazing place.