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.