All Of Monday’s Reasons - 11
11. Yeah, Let’s Go
Map
I was woken by a humid heat, the sound of traffic and buzzing flies; and the smell of carbon monoxide mixed with rotten meat.
It was eight o’clock. I unzipped my sleeping bag and looked over the roof top to see a busy crossroads below. I traced the flies and the smell to a ledge less than a foot below me where there was strewn the rotting carcass of a pigeon, covered in flies and maggots.
The guy who had been sleeping next to me woke up, brushed the flies off the peach he had left out all night and bit into it. He smiled and nodded at me.
I had a shower and packed my stuff back into my bag. My clothes had dried overnight. I tried to make a collect phone call to my mother from the hostel phone but there was no answer. This was a complete waste of time because the call had taken half an hour to connect. I was told I had been lucky, because sometimes it took two hours. I walked out to see what the town had to offer me.
I walked towards Omonia Square, the centre of modern Athens and stopped somewhere to buy another watch. I thought this time it would be wiser this time to buy a waterproof one because it would be tougher, although I was sceptical because it cost less than a pound. The stereo in the electronics shop was blaring out traditional Greek folk music. “Nice music! You like?” said the sales person as he set the correct time on the watch.
“I love it.” I really felt I did. At least it wasn’t an old Michael Jackson or Madonna record. Or techno lambada. I wondered how Adriana was getting on.
I walked up Athinas Boulevard past dozens of identical snack bars which all served identical food at identical prices.
One owner called out to me. “My friend! Sandwich toasty! Hamcheese!” He motioned me towards a stool at the bar.
It was breakfast time, so I nodded. “And two bottles of water please.”
He shouted something to the chef called Stavros, who was sweating over my ham on a flying plate. I finished my sandwich and one of the bottles of water and poured the other into my canteen before walking on.
I continued up the boulevard past people selling can openers and window cleaning products from tables on the pavement. I passed the food market where rows of pigs were dangling from meat hooks fastened to the ceiling and I walked through the section at the end of the street where tourists sit in the sun in cafes, writing postcards and watching the ice cubes melt in their cocktails.
I bought some postcards and headed towards the Acropolis. I walked the long way there, through the small side streets, and after an hour, I found myself by some unfamiliar but impressive ruins in the lower part of town.
Tourists gawped and took pictures.
A brightly dressed American man approached me from a group of tourist with optimistic smiles.
“Excuse me do you speak English?”
“A little.”
“Is,” she said slowly, “this,” she pointed to the ruins, “the Acropolis?”
“I don’t think so. I think it’s up on a hill over there.” I pointed down the Dionissio Areopagitou Boulevard.
An American girl apart from the group walked up to me.
“Oh you’re English. Great.”
“Thanks. It wasn’t my idea.”
“Are you going that way?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
I must have been lonely, because I’m not the most outgoing person, but when I was eighteen, I never said “Yeah, let’s go” to strangers. It would have involved an “um” or a “sure”, maybe the word “think”, or some kind of passive meter. People reading this now might doubt “Yeah, let’s go” and could accuse me of stretching the truth to make myself seem confident and assertive, but that’s what I said. ”Yeah, let’s go” summed up why I was travelling alone.
Susan was twenty-two, and had been on holiday for two months around the Middle East. She had been on an archeological dig in Israel. I was glad I met up with her - she was pleasant enough, and knew a lot more than me about Greece and archeology, even though I was no slouch in ancient history myself. We marvelled and reeled at the architectural perfection of the Parthenon. The Acropolis museum was impressive, although a lot of the artifacts were permanently on display at the British Museum in London, which made me a little uneasy. Tourists were alerted to this by the outlines around the missing treasures and an official tone that hinted at bitterness. The view from the hill looked out over the thin veil of smog which hung over Athens.
On the way down back into the city she met up with some American friends who were staying in her hotel. She rejoined them and I said goodbye and set off on a fruitless sidetrip to buy some stamps.
Hauling my rucksack around in such heat was becoming tiresome, so I went to the shady National Garden to sit and write postcards to friends in England. I had just finished the last sentence of the last postcard when a middle-aged lady who had walked by me earlier handed me two pounds worth of stamps.
“Here you are, I’m going home tomorrow. You have them.”
Little acts like this restored my faith in the human race, not that it was in danger of faltering. I thanked her twice and told her she was very kind. I sounded sincere because I was so grateful and happy. She smiled back and walked off.
I asked someone where the post office was to find a mail box and was directed to somewhere half a mile away.
I worked out that so far in the trip I had only spent 150 pounds, including twenty for the ferry. I called home using direct dialling and large coins and left a message on the answer phone saying that I was doing fine, that I was happy and was in good health.
It was mid-afternoon, and Athens was asleep. Like everywhere else in the city at the time, the post office was shut, but there was a box outside. It was three thirty, but nearby was a small, deserted cafe which was still serving lunch. My money had been holding out pretty well, so I decided to stop for lunch. I sat at a table in the deserted, shaded courtyard and a large Greek man in an apron walked up to my table.
“A hamburger and a beer, please.”
He walked away without saying anything. I realised my mistake about a minute later. I walked to the kitchen and the waiter/cook looked at me for an explanation.
“Hamburger. Forget it,” I said. “American. Not good. I will have something Greek.”
His face lit up. “My friend! Dolmades!”
He pointed to some red peppers stuffed with rice and meat, soaked in olive oil. It didn’t look like much for lunch.
“I’m really very hungry. Is it filling?”
“No! Is very good!”
“OK, good. And a Greek beer.”
I walked back from the kitchen to my table, feeling better about myself. The waiter liked me now and the food and beer were delicious.
After lunch I walked uptown to another park and fed the pigeons the remaining Roman roll, which had long since gone stale. They flew away when the bread ran out, so I headed for the train station.
I got slightly lost somewhere along the way. I walked on, swearing the station had moved, and a man rode up along side me on a motorcycle.
“Wie getz?” He was Greek and in his fifties and he thought I was a German tourist.
“Sorry?”
I think he asked me in German if I was looking for something. I looked confused.
“Deutsch?”
“English.”
“Shize.” He said this more in doubt than malice.
“Station?” I knew that word was similar in a few languages.
“Ahh!” he pointed to the crossroads ahead and then jumped his hand over it once and curved it round to the left.
“Danke.” I said walking on, feeling good that two strangers had helped me out that day without expecting money.
I never really felt lost with the language problem in Athens. When I got to the station information desk I said, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Greek. Train to Thessaloniki?”
I did an imitation of a train.
“You wanna get the eleven o’clock express. It goes straight there,” he replied in plain English without having to hold up ten fingers and a toe.
“Eleven. Thanks.” I walked away, hoping for the sake of adventure that I would have more trouble in Turkey.
February 5th, 2007 at 5:26 pm
Typical foreign teenager, out looking for trouble….