October 7, 1993 to November 1993
At
At six in the morning, I drive to a twenty-four-hour
drive-thru restaurant to eat a cheeseburger with bacon and a cup of
coffee. I may not have this again until
I return to the
As the airplane was
approaching the
He warned me of areas of the city, which I must avoid. He provided me with a map and directions
leading straight through one of the areas he had just told me I was to
avoid. As a friend had mentioned before
I left, the Greek women are attractive and resemble, to my eye, the women of
Italy, certainly due to geographic factors and probably historical too.
After a dizzying hike through the maze of streets, I found
my hotel. I want to use most of my
money for the cost of transportation, so hotels were out. I found, with the travel agent's assistance,
my inexpensive hostel. I had a bed with
no sheet, and the mattress had obviously seen better days -- thin, worn, and
stained, nonetheless very clean. The
room is shared with five other young men.
I showered, shaved, and then slept for two more hours. I paid the 1,500 drachmas, which is about
seven U.S. dollars, for the first night.
I left the very plain quarters to explore this neighborhood by
foot. Tomorrow I will spend the first
day on a city tour. I walked by the base
of the Acropolis, which juts out of the city like the once-proud monument it
is.
What a wonderful moment this is to be in
It has been dark since seven; now it is
Back at the hostel, even though it's only a few minutes
after nine in the early evening, I'm tired and intend to sleep so that I'll be
alert for my
Because of a variation from English style in letter and
number appearance, I am having some difficulty using public
transportation. As I sit here in the
hostel, I hear Beavis & Butthead in the background on TV. I am conserving money as I have spent little
on room or food yet. I bought all film
before leaving, so I've been spared the extremely expensive prices that are
being charged locally.
I hope this tour will generate more enthusiasm in me than I am feeling
now. I see that this is almost
"just another Western European city.”
As far as what I see, monuments here are not grander than all other
cities of
Expenditures
TOTAL
Tour of
Food 800.00
dr. $5.00
Room 1,500.00
dr. 7.00
Misc.: Water, tip 400.00
dr. 2.00
Taxi ride to fish market 4,500.00
dr. 9.00 $40.00
Postcards (4ea) 150.00
dr. 1.00
Breakfast: Coffee, roll 500.00
dr. 2.00
Bus Ticket Home 100.00
dr. .50
Ice Cream 300.00
dr. 1.50
Water & 2 Gyros 800.00
dr. 3.00
10 Postcards 250.00 dr. 1.00
Room Rent 1,500.00
dr. 7.00
Paper 800.00
dr. 3.00 Day 39
Several people are going to sleep in our communal dorm-style
room. I'm not tired, so I came out of
the room and sat at the so-called "meeting place" here, which is
little more than a wide hallway with two small tables and six, even smaller,
chairs. Late into the night the flavors
of political rallies abound, sirens and horns blasting away with no end in
sight. Now at
Expenses
Paper (280), Pen (400), Cigarette (300) 980.00
Pistachios 580.00
Gyros (3) 600.00
Train tickets (2) 125.00
Boat 600.00
Motorcycle 8,000.00 +
Lunch (lamb cutlet) 1,500.00
Room 2 x 1,500 (October 13, 1993 - Monday) 12,350.00 dr.
Today is Election Day, but I have witnessed very little
campaigning. It is now about
Because there is no mechanism to adjust my biological clock,
I am waking up at the right time IF I was back in
I had asked to see the fish market. My driver made several false starts and
misdirected leads, but he had no car radio to get further advice. Occasionally we became further confounded by
well-meant instructions given by a few proprietors who were already at work and
visible as we dizzily traversed the maze of Athenian streets at
The huge two block long warehouse had several gigantic open
doors. Fish guts spattered the outer
asphalt and sleepy seagulls swooped in to examine each specimen. I walked carefully to avoid the slimy cast
off organs. The cavernous innards of
this building reeked of dead fish. The
busy marketplace was filled with buyers and sellers alike, many using bullhorns
to broadcast their message, whether buying or selling, and what kind of
creature they were dealing with. As I
climbed a private stairway to get a clearer view of this area, I was prevented
from ascending further by a swarthy man whose rough complexion was further
enhanced by the effects of an apparent stroke of sorts. His mouth was loose as he spoke to my balding
taxi driver - guide - interpreter. My
guide stood nearby, almost as if he was shielding me from the harsh tones of
our antagonist. My guide carefully
gesticulated as he spoke. It was easy to
see that he said I was American and only here to take touristy-type
pictures. And that's exactly what I
did. The fish market was uniformly
filled with a singular gender, but the ages spanned four generations; the hands
of some were evidence that they never actually touched fish save with knife and
fork. Other men had their face sculpted
by many years of the sea, salt air, and hard work.
We left through the ice-strewn wooden slate walkways between
the open crates of carefully sorted ex-sea creatures. None will ever see the sea again. The fish's pitiful open-eyed gaze struck me
as a plaintive call -- as if to say "What are you doing to me?" Darkness had not begun to lift its heavy
cloak as we serenely walked to the yellow taxi.
Once surrounded by the protective armor of his cab, we once
again began to speak. He asked, in his
halting style, if I was married, how many children, what do I do for a living .
. . moment by moment his questions were beginning to dig deeper into my
persona.
For some mystic reason I felt as though I was being
interrogated for more than casual conversation.
I became defensive and attacked politely with equally personal questions
about his life. At first he was
flattered by the brutal inquisition, but when I asked him about how much he
made as a driver, he abruptly skirted the issue by saying "Very
little" as he raised his index finger close to his thumb to show me just
how little.
As we drove back to my hotel, the warm air flowed through
the slightly open windows of the air-conditioned car and the smog-stained
pollution of
We arrived amidst an exchange of words about our respective childrens' deeds.
The conversation halted abruptly as our mutual thoughts now involved
money changing hands. All the time,
except while parked at the marketplace, the meter ran. Frankly, while the 4,500 dr. exceeded the
2,000 dr. price he estimated the excursion would cost. I felt the cost was reasonable except that
he had me pay for his lack of knowledge about how to find our destination. He was recalcitrant in accepting a 500 dr.
tip (about two dollars). At first I
quietly rejoiced until chagrined by his furtive urban glance as if to say,
"What? That's all?" And me, I thought, "What? More?"
AHey, am I in
Upon walking to the doorway, a quick glance back confirmed
the absence of his watchful eye. The cab
had disappeared. Though not as dark as
before, the morning sun had not yet become visible; only its outermost rays
could be seen by the Athenians.. My back to the door, at
Realizing the futility of using my shoulder against the
behemoth door, I meekly turned and walked down the steps to evaluate my
alternatives. I quickly decided that
since I must make the two-mile journey to the downtown region to meet The
Athens Tour #1 Bus, I might as well leave now.
And this I did, slowly at first and gradually picking up a zesty pace as
I strolled down the sloped streets littered with frail wooden crates filled
with the evening gathering of paper trash and rotting vegetable matter. Surprisingly, it was very little trouble to
follow a direct route I saw on a city map.
I made one minor attractive detour leading me through a different
section of the
Moments later I saw a very small sidewalk café, where for
450 dr. I slowly sipped a demitasse of coffee and ate a honeyed chocolate donut
bar.
By now I could feel a sharp pain in my right small toe. The precursor to a blister probably, yet, I
had visions of a bulbous cancer erupting slowly through the well-pounded skin
of my foot concealed from sight by the shoe.
Each step brought a shaper and sharper pain, yet I walked on. Continuing my journey with
deliberate steps that belied my painful condition. Soon the pain disappeared (I wanted to believe). The pain seems to dissipate somewhat through
a conscious effort to concentrate on the fact that I was now lost.
With the aid of my compass and the map again, I thought I
had placed my coordinate succinctly on the map grid. I guided myself by street signs at each
corner. Ignored by the mapmakers were
some of the smaller ancient twisted streets.
I accurately placed myself on the map after finding several
geographically significant monuments.
Well within the time I had budgeted for it, found my destination in the
center of town. This is where the
tourist buses originate and terminate their tours.
Since the city tour was to be in English, it was no surprise
to me to find the area saturated with other American tourists. I quickly made the acquaintance of several
Americans from a variety of cities and regions.
The seatmate I was to get was a physician from the
Immediately, all private conversation ceased when our tour
guide began issuing facts and information over the public address system within
the bus. Since the PA was set at decibel
levels scores above our conversation, it was next to impossible to clearly
understand words uttered by our neighbor in the midst of statements emanating
from the woofers, tweeters, and mid-range speakers scientifically placed
throughout the bus.
Quietly, obediently, we disembarked or embarked as ordered.
"There on your left is the
The tour concluded three hours later at the Parthenon,
probably the best understood
On the outskirts of this area, gypsies plied their wares,
old junk items that seemed to have been recently pilfered from a local resident
or two. One vendor balked as he saw me
prepare to photograph his lot. Each
street was bent this way and that; ultimately I found myself without any
bearings except to know at
With some assistance extended by some local Samaritans, I
found out how and where to buy a bus ticket to the hotel. The ticket was purchased for 75 dr. from a
local newspaper/magazine vendor, and I visually located the red and blue posted
bus stop sign. After an hour's wait the
bus arrived, and amid the normal amount of pushing and shoving I managed to
step up and grab a handle for the next ten minutes till I arrived nearby. With great effort I struggle to the crest of
the incline, find the hostel, find my bed, and take a cigarette while I massage
my reddened feet after slowly, almost luxuriously, peeling back the white socks
that are sticking to my feet. At first
glance my feet seem misshapened by the twelve-hour
pummeling they were treated to.
My cigarette out, I quickly fall asleep on the naked
mattress. Awakened two hours later by
the quiet din of honking horns and siren -- after all this is Election Day in
Within the hostel I have made several friends, one of which
is Swen, a German man of about 25-27 years old and
very well-traveled since his graduation from college. We may go to
I tried to wait for Swen, but he
slept deeply even when I stood near him calling his name. Since it was
I began by looking for a place to have breakfast. Since this was a holiday (both it was the day
after elections and Sunday) I found no restaurateur willing to risk the wrath
of his cohorts by breaking rank and opening for business.
Nothing was open at
As soon as I found myself by a soulaki/gyro
stand I bought one and discarded the nuts.
Gobbling one down only whetted my appetite for another, then
another. Yes -- three in all. While they were small and very inexpensive --
50 cents each -- after three, I could feel my stomach expanding to handle these
Greek lamb sandwiches. I had swallowed
each sandwich in two bites. Now I need
to find a bottle of water -- there it is in a white metal and glass
refrigerator. I slid the glass back and
took a cold liter. Now in the midst of
swaying crowds flowing up that street and this, I was unable to determine the
proprietor who owned the contents of the refrigerator. I imagine such vendors develop a special
sense when someone is prepared to pay as I was.
He found me. I paid in drachmae
as was the custom, and I turned right to leave and before me stood the railway
station -- nothing grand, rather small actually. Two choices:
North and South. South ends in Pireaus, the port center for most of
The halting motion of the train and the awkward position I
was forced to occupy caused me to inevitably scramble for a foothold or
handhold at every jerk of the train.
Cautiously, I plotted how I should fall if the train makes another
completely unanticipated lurch. I
decided if necessary, I would fall on three large black plastic trash bags
placed near the door, the door opened; people pushed out while others pushed
in, causing me to pirouette like Wiley Coyote after another failed attempt on
the Roadrunner. During the entire
thirty-minute trip I never was able to sit but I was able to lay claim to one
of the black plastic straps hanging overhead to support myself at a stop. The final stop did arrive, and I merely brought
myself within the flow of people, consciously kept my balance as the river of
souls pushed forward. I just hoped we
were all really going in the right direction.
And we were.
Finding myself alone (in thought) in the cavernous belly of
the Pireaus Termination point, I sought guidance from
my two guide books. As I looked up there
was a big sign in English with the words:
That was enough for me, off I went. Yes, the rotund middle-aged man spoke a very
precise British English. He willingly
offered endless advice on different islands, but said Santori
is the most beautiful, one of the furthest, and it is a three-day trip. No thanks.
I'm not certain exactly how seaworthy my sea legs are.
Give me the short trip to
The impression of Catalina struck me as greatly
similar. I rode onshore as the people
who were a shipboard with me moved as one great gelatinous mass toward the
nearby business entirely built on the tourist trade. I sat on a nearby bench to reconfirm some
facts of the island I neglected to commit to memory on the first reading. Ruins were here. Too far to walk and a taxi was too expensive. The carriage rides offered by about twenty
individual horsemen were out of the question.
While I sat and ate lunch (a very average lamb steak and risocotti), I noticed that the adjoining establishment
rented motorbikes. I talked to the
owner, who took my passport and twenty dollars and rented to me my choice of
bikes from his lot.
I rode out in a cloud of dust after I asked him for
directions to the
The
After returning the scooter, slightly damaged in a small
spill, I
checked my scratched knee. The throttle
stuck, you know. "No, it really wasn't my fault, mister. It was kinda like
that when I got it." I tried to
explain to the owner about the bent fender.
He wasn't buying any of this, but even so, he told me it was necessary
to pay for full damages, which were under twenty dollars. I paid it quickly, and took back my passport
which was left as a deposit. The night was coming closer. The long shadows made eerie streaks of
darkness that seemed so very distant end to end, enhanced by the terraced
mountainside.
Within a score of minutes the ship which would deliver us to
the island could be seen on the horizon.
As one spied upon other islands, it was as difficult to count them as to
count the stars. And passing through
them were several ships, only one of which was significant to me.
As the ship approached the docking area, I watched as it
grew by the moment. NO waiting when the
boat touched dock -- Bang! The ferry
opened its gaping jaws to disgorge pedestrians, motorcycles, cars, and trucks
in a hodgepodge disorder that clearly showed there was no one in charge, at
least no one who gave even the smallest damn about any routine to the
disembarkation.
Last night I was robbed of three hundred dollars. Somehow someone broke into my room as I slept
in this room alone.
I escaped into the darkness through a neon spotted path to
the train station. I sat across from a
black-robed Greek Orthodox priest who stared at me with confused blue eyes
partially hidden beneath a full pepper-colored beard that was in need of
trimming.
As he began to speak to me, the tobacco-stained teeth made
crooked by age, moved behind rose-colored lips that anyone could see well fit
his age-lined face. "Sorry," I
said, "I don't speak Greek."
Quickly he turned to the woman next to me and repeated his
exclamation. I followed the six or seven
stops on the train till we arrived at
An accordion player tried to replicate bazuki
sounds of his personal adaption of "Zorba the Greek" while he was accompanied by a much
younger male companion who kept the rhythm with a tambourine. I could only assume they were hoping for
tips, but they never passed a hat to collect any money.
I walked in the pleasant Athenian evening, bypassing a
shortcut through the park at the suggestion of my guidebook. The walk was exhausting. While fax service is fairly priced and bus
service downright cheap, I foolishly plodded onwards, reminding myself of the
health value of a walk. Seeing the
hostel was truly a relief. Within
minutes I met Swen.
We talked for a while about the day's events. He presented me with a tasteful dish of brown
lentil soup with the consistency of chili.
The evening was spent quietly talking and exchanging
ideas. Swen
and I will leave tomorrow for the tickets to
Last night or during the night somebody violated the trust
code that generally exists in hostels.
They took some of my money, then put the
wallet back in my bag in an outer pocket -- none of the traveler's checks, but
three hundred dollars are gone. Nobody
seemed too surprised; I guess I should have somehow locked my door. I'm not going to let it stop me from having a
good trip.
I woke Swen so we could go early
to get the tickets -- naturally the posted price was 54,000 dr. but since they
were no longer flying that route, they have a new price of 62,000. No direct flights or quickly connecting
flights. Go to
The travel agent had forewarned us that it may take several
days. A reconfirming statement spewed
from the English-speaking Nigerian, who greeted us very matter-of-factly. So at
After many words had been exchanged with the
Consular. He kept repeating that
he must continue to follow form and format, which required a wait till at least
Thursday, possibly earlier. But if we
were to take a Wednesday flight (the next one), then we must have approval
now. My traveling companion asked if we
had a letter from our respective ambassadors which
recommended us, would we then be granted the visa? "Yes, immediately," was the
reply. So with that encouraging
statement we left courteously, with thanks to the Indian Ambassador.
First, a long hike to the U.S. Embassy, located about a mile
from the Hilton. Closed? The U.S. Embassy closed? Why? No reason could be extracted from the three
Greek guards that stood nearby.
"Only tomorrow" -- one of the guards said it will open at
Taxi time! Athenian
taxi drivers seem to be an unusual lot.
They often will drive past, anticipatory patrons oblivious to them,
staring straight ahead, hoping to have no interruption as they cruise the
streets. Eventually, with some jumping
up and down, we were able to get one to stop.
We had to stand in a lane of the street holding our open palm down at
the end of our outstretched arms, yelling "A" . . . "A.” Apparently this activity is what attracts
their attention because that's how almost everybody uses such body language to
get the job done.
At the German Embassy the clerk took Swen's
papers and saw to it with due haste that the appropriate paper was prepared
with typical German efficiency. I still
can't figure out why the U.S. Embassy was closed? It was no holiday and no one answered the
phone when I called from a pay phone. Within forty minutes we were out of
there, Sven had his paper-in-hand.
The taxi we hailed was, even among his peers, unusually
unfriendly and grumpy. Mumbling at infrequent
moments to himself as we drove back to town. I asked if we could halt for a moment before
the huge glass and marble U.S. Embassy.
Posted hours on the heavy green gate should reconfirm hours that had
been told to me earlier. I quickly
exited the worn rear seat of the yellow cab and ran back of the sign.
We walked back to the Indian Embassy, Swen
with his paper and me with the hope of convincing the Ambassador of the
necessity of issuing the visa to me.
I was granted an audience with him again. He held to his original statement, but about
five minutes into my dialogue he conceded when he said, "Let me see what I
can do; leave your passport and statement with me, and you wait
downstairs." I naturally assumed
the most optimistic view of this gesture, and thanked him for his consideration
-- undaunted by his reminder that "We will try to help!”
After a two-hour wait, watching others leave papers and hear
them being told, "Not until Friday" for their visa after they had
trekked to the Embassy as I did, but were prepared to wait, to me getting the
visa today now was a challenge to my abilities.
I walked to the clerk's window and asked about my visa and Swen's visa. The
clerk said the man who must sign it has left for lunch twenty minutes ago and
should return within an hour and a half from now. Surprised by this, we left to eat something,
and began to search for food, which seemed to be available at every turn, now
escaped our view. We walked about a mile
and came by the return route to the hostel.
My time was getting thin. I still
had places to go:
I cannot afford to waste time. I'll probably see how it will be to go direct
to
All these thoughts passed through my head as I enjoyed the
Italian ice cream Greek-style (with less impact of flavor, but resembling
Italian-style closely in texture). Swen had a large meal.
Most of the items he bought were, in large part, unidentifiable to me
with the one notable exception being an extremely thick, well-cooked
steak. He ate it all, and left hardly a
gravy stain on his plate.
After sitting for a while I finished my pistachio and deep
chocolate gelato. I didn't see what his
meal cost, but since neither of us are literate in Greek, he made his
selections guided only by the pale photos adhering to backlit sheets of white
plastic placed above the ordering counter.
With our return to the Embassy, there remained, unbeknownst
to us, two more hours of wait. Quietly
at first, followed by a long period of impatience, and concluded with sporadic
outbursts of nervous laughter and quiet statements of derision for their
ineptness.
It was simply needed to obtain a signature now, nothing
more, but the one man who could save us by signing the visas was
"away." The moment finally arrived
almost unexpectedly. The relief of the
moment was underwhelming. Since I, now, had the visa I think it would
be fun to go, and it may be the most difficult hurdle to overcome.
Now armed with the visa we went back to the ticket office Δssouri said he will have the tickets by tomorrow at
Two things I haven't been able to do yet: make a call to the
The phone system is especially complex -- not usable without
a special encoded card, and according to the woman at the post office, you must
go to a special place about three long blocks away to purchase the card. Then I should return to use the phone here to
make an overseas call. I couldn't find
the other office. I may be able to call
home from the airport.
I saw the shops were closed, so I headed back to the hostel,
walking the three miles, and exhausted when I arrived.
It was important to wash my clothes and shower, since a very
peculiar odor seemed to emanate from me.
With no soap for clothes washing, I thought it ingenious to wear my
shirt and pants into the shower and wash everything together. It seemed to work, then
I brought the damp clothing to the fifth floor rooftop to dry overnight in the
warm Grecian air. When I awoke at
I had purchased a ticket to the ancient ruins of
It was a three minute walk to the correct bus, but I am on
it now; if it leaves on schedule, another five-minute wait. It's English - French. As I walked, I couldn't help but notice how
cluttered and littered the streets remained with campaign material. I think that the politicians who were running
for office thought little of pollution or the waste that so much trash
generates.
At 8:20 a.m. departure of the bus left through the crowded
streets out to the highway to
This being my second tour bus in
We stopped in a couple of picturesque hamlets in an
area. The merchants in this district
were well prepared for the overbuying of kitsch tourist trinkets that tourists
have a well-deserved reputation for buying.
Next stop,
has been, our roots of western
civilization.
It was an arduous trek to the top of the hill, where most
items of historical interest lay. The Treasury, remnants of this once-mighty
structure, fell with others nearby as the result of a succession of
earthquakes. Certain it is that
We walked west en masse to the Museum. Some interesting statues are there: Terra cotta, marble and alabaster (brought
from other areas). There is what our
guide referred to as "
The marble statues were clearly the most impressive. I am baffled by the Greek preoccupation with
accurate depiction of the penis. I mean
it seems as though the artist really had to get close to make it look that
accurate. I left the small
I boarded the bus; Sat down; got
off the bus. The bus stopped in the
nearby town of
I walked up a nearby hill where I saw many businesses. I stopped at a particularly attractive
restaurant, had souvlaki and a Greek salad (about
3,000 dr. I think; I haven't gotten the bill yet). The place overlooks the mountains and either
a lake or the ocean, its a big body of water. A delicious meal was served to me. I enjoyed it.
I went back to the travel office to get the
I want to call home to let them know where I am, but not to
tell them of where I intend to go. When
I told Swen where international phone calls could be
made, he borrowed a motorbike and off we went.
The drive through
After being charged 20 dr. to use the phone, I tried the
telephone credit card which Andy from my office had prepared for me. That did not work. I called collect, $5.00 for first minute and
$1.00 for each minute thereafter. After
speaking with my kids and my parents I took a quick trolley back to the hostel
and walked the short distance from the trolley stop to it.
Like yesterday I'm up early. I thought if I wash the tee shirt and jeans,
I would be clean for the flight. While
there was no problem to wash them while I showered, now, in the humid morning
my pants have not dried at all. I have
put them on, still damp, and hope that they dry soon. I awoke at
We must leave by
Weds./Thurs. Travel to
Sat./Sun. Travel back to
Mon. Travel
to
Thurs. Leave
Fri. Leave
Sat./Thurs. Cruise islands
Fri. Fly
home
This morning was busy, but I left at
So now I was off to
We went inside a narrow four-story structure of masonry blocks became par of this
building in the late 20's or early 30's.
The elevator was of the earliest merchandised type: all open wrought, iron grilling which laced
the path to the third floor. As we rose to
our destination, the cramped space in the elevator made me assume that it saw
little usage. After exiting, the
one-foot long rectangular brass plate clearly said "Jewish Greek
Museum."
We entered after pressing an outer door buzzer to gain
entrance through a big mahogany double door.
We were guided to seats by a woman whose accent revealed some connection
to
As I walked through it, most prominent was the collection of
costumes that were from the seventeen and eighteen hundreds. The exhibits were well-preserved and shown
nicely for a small museum with limited space.
After understanding the situation better at the end of the tour I
realized that I should make a donation, regardless of how small. Five dollars was all I could afford to drop
into the jar as we left the museum. We
made our way to the bus stop, which was just north of us up
The ride cost one thousand drachmas despite the meter saying
575, Sven paid
with little resistance rather than argue, with time now so rare. Expeditiously we headed with Swen to the Olympic Airways Terminal. Still, some order reigned within the terminal
walls; while it was not unseen, few pushed into the loosely shaped lines to the
check-in counter. Quickly we evaluated,
with artful accuracy, which line will move fastest. With our selection made, we patiently
awaited our moment. Now time is
preciously short -- thirty minutes or less remained before the plane was
scheduled to depart.
The dour ticket agent dispatched us with seats assigned in
the smoking section. We boarded a bus,
one of seven, transporting globs of people to the plane. We drove past a myriad of propeller-driven
planes, reminiscent
of an era gone by. The lack of more
sophisticated machinery served as a good introduction to the part of the world
which is our ultimate destination. I
expected to go back in time in
First stop,
At this moment, in flight, I am enveloped by a cloud of
smoke created by me, Swen and those around us. Nonsmokers up front. The noxious gases irritate my eyes and nasal
passage. I sit here constantly on the
edge of a sneeze, but never quite ready to issue one, only close to it.
I can feel the plane preparing to descend. The sign lights up, A
“Fasten Seatbelts.” Now we have
arrived at the
A small paper cup of orangeade sells for $1.90 that is just too expensive. I wonder if the city's prices are reflected here. A drastic change from five years ago when I
was here last. Wait, wait, wait, wait. The
anticipation of the twelve-hour journey to
Along the walkway I spied a discarded copy of a newspaper, The
New York Times. I picked it up and
carried under my arm. The news show from four different Italian stations were practically
impossible to understand, regardless of how intently I stared at the overhead
television sets.
While waiting in
It is now
Let me describe the interior of the plane. The walls, papered
recently with depictions of Indian gods all in gentle pink, white, tan, and
blue soft pastels. Almost every seat is
filled except maybe eight or nine, which remain unoccupied. I have very short leg space. I would assume this allows adequate space
for the typical Indian traveler who is much shorter. The exterior of this airplane was a bit
more tarnished than one from a Western nation, but the near Eastern
"Sanskrit" written on the silver and red body would be clear proof of
its origin. Several movies have been
scheduled for this long flight. I
couldn't hear the attendant when they were announced, but it seems as though
they are about to start.
My book comforts me as I wonder about an anticipated barrage
of language problems. It says that
English is the most widely spoken language because it was a common language in
a county plagued with an infinite number of Indian languages, each with its own
set of dialects and even those with subsets.
The way I have interpreted the statements, is that it is much more of a
surprise that any two of them do speak the same tongue than not.
After a short nap, I awoke in cramped quarters on the
airplane. Cursed in the middle aisle,
four abreast, I was huddled in one of the two inner seats. Throughout the trip, I had the good fortune
to sit behind an old nasal-jeweled Indian who would tilt her seat back to its
fullest, causing my small space to be much more compressed. It caused my knees to be jammed against her
chair, and after I realized the futility of verbiage, she didn't understand me, my next offense was to rub my knees periodically into
the back of her chair, making her rock forward and back in jerky moments --
attempting to cause her some small measure of inconvenience. At one point I was incessant in my activity,
hoping to drive her crazy.
Instead, I am certain I heard her emit a long, low tone
resembling a purr. This continued
throughout the night. If I can’t sleep,
she won’t be either. To add to it all, I
tried to use the top of her chair as a pillow since she was rather diminutive
and required much less space. When the
newly added inconvenience was begun, she then adjusted, only momentarily, her
seat just long enough for my head to fall.
This, too, was replayed all night.
The airline had movies.
Indian movies.
They dealt with marriage and moral values that I didn’t understand . . .
especially when expressed in an Indian dialect. I kept watching for the cowboys, but they
never showed up.
My first encounter with the illiteracy of
At this moment we have touched down in
Now it is
Breakfast is served.
It consisted of yogurt (which comes with every meal), a dry oblong bread
roll, an egg omelet, a meat and kasha roll in some sort of small warm pastry,
fresh fruit containing pineapple, mango, cherries, and another yet to be
identified fruit. Meanwhile, we are
entertained with a plethora of commercials and, periodically, an Indian version
of modern music videos like different renditions of "Grease --
1) Relationships
are made in heaven so they supersede deeds a man has done.
2) A woman's
purpose is to please her man.
3) Honor and
Respect above all else
4) Dance,
dance, dance
These seem to be the representations I have garnered up to
this minute from fourteen hours on the plane.
Of course, I should add that I have yet to touch my foot to Indian soil.
I recall what I have read posted on the wall in the Greek
hostel:
A Tourist travels to places well known.
A Traveler travels to places little known.
An Adventurer travels to places unknown.
Despite all previous travels I still clearly, for the
majority of it, have not graduated out of "Tourist." Nonetheless I’d rather be that than to have
never traveled.
At
The long drive, a very long one through the outskirts of
town -- about twenty miles by bus cost only fifty cents (paid in rupees). Other than the oppressive heat, the ride was very
exhilarating. The driving habits of this
city bus driver included some incredible weaving -- I can't say patterns
because that implies some sort of uniformity to the actions. There was none. As we drove, whenever I dared to look up I
would see another premonition of my death.
He was supposed to drive on the left side, but he actually
drove on both sides as the case called for.
Seldom did he find it necessary to drive all or part way on the sidewalk
or to cross cement islands, but if that would be expeditious, well, he only
drove on the broken and cracked walkway when he thought it was safe. He spoke
enough English so that we could communicate properly. He gave a deep, Russian-sounding "Ha Ha" whenever he heard me say "Aughh!"
or "Oh, shit!". I have never had a more
scary ride except at
Twice I showered today; the heat and humid atmosphere remind
me of
Heroine, cocaine, and marijuana are sold freely all over the
town. Looking like a typical tourist, I
was approached four times in a six-hour period.
The water, while heavily chlorinated, has small white strands of unidentifiable
matter swirling in it. I don't want my
adventures to happen in a hospital; I didn't drink it even though several
Israeli travelers said they have without any effect yet. I stayed in a different hostel than Swen even though we have plans to go together about 300
miles south after touring the city. For
a few rupees more I had a very nice and clean room with a panoramic view of the
I hired a cyclocab to drive Sven
and me around town. After about one
kilometer he parked and brought us upstairs to a very good restaurant. The large front room was without air
conditioning and without any tourists.
We were escorted to the back room with air conditioning and dimly lit
lights. Soon my eyes acclimated to the
low volume of light, and I could then read the English menu. We ordered about five or six items, mostly Tandoori stuff:
chicken and lamb cooked and covered with the bright red spices used for
such cooking. This was the best meal I've
had in weeks, and everything, came to just under $10.00. And we had ordered enough for four or five
people.
Even though my room was fancy (it had air conditioning), the
water ran with the same unusual smell. I
changed to go out and photograph some stuff.
Hounded by beggars and misfits who tagged along for
blocks. It is worth noting that
Some typical night scenes of the Bay and India Gate, a
masonry and concrete structure about half the size of the Arc d' Triumph in
Paris, but beautiful in its intricate designs.
One particularly dislikeable chap followed me for more than fifteen
minutes to get me to buy some Kama Sutra postcards --
not exactly family fare. While the value
of these depictions rests with antiquity, the penises and vaginas wouldn't
exactly catch favorably any Western eye, save maybe the Postmaster General.
As I walked back to my hotel again surrounded by a small
army of undesirables, I finally did break down and buy the postcards to send
home. When I did, twenty other vendors
came over and wanted to sell me their postcards, feather fans, peanuts, shoe
shines, books, pictures, and babies . . . yes, babies. I thought poverty was bad elsewhere, but this
is the worst.
I have a television set in my room. While I write, it’s an enlightening
accompaniment, except all but one station is English. There just isn't anything good on right now, however I can see much of
My room, a three-star by
I was awake at
I can see the ocean from here. The city seems quiet from inside my
room. It's still too early to get up to
meet the taxi driver who, for five hundred rupees, will drive us around
I felt the heat beating on the windows, but not until I
strode out into the hallway to wash up in the communal shower. I met Swen and the
taxi driver at
Even though I was advised against it, I bought a dessert
called falooda from a neighborhood stand. This stand looked clean, but it still is a
danger because their idea of clean is very different from mine. Cups were rubbed clean, not washed. The falooda is made
with milk, cream, rose syrup, shredded pistachios and almonds with some tiny
noodles that looked like vermicelli.
Swen and I bought tickets for
The driver first brought us to the
The city's water supply is pumped from here. The well must be inexhaustible to feed the
millions here. Certainly there are other
sources. I watched two men dig a hole
near to the main spring originally worked by the British in 1812.
A famous place of worship was a beautiful Hindu temple out
in the bay about a quarter mile from shore.
The only pedestrian access is through a narrow walkway open only during
a low tide. Otherwise, a row boat
equipped with a boatman will deliver you to one side or the other for 50
rupees.
During our ride the driver said he must interrupt the ride
because his clutch is broken. The taxis
all seemed to be of the same make and vintage, 1957 Fiats with left-hand drive. He drove to a repair station and tried to get
it fixed right away. ANot
able to fix quickly,” the mechanic said.
So our ride with him was finished
We finished the meal and walked out after paying 590 rupees,
approximately $18.00. A new taxi driver
brought us to the center of
While the caste system has been legally removed from Indian
life, it still exists. The people living
here in this slum belong to the so-called “untouchables.” They are only able to obtain the lowest of
jobs. For food they usually go by the
fruit and vegetable merchants at the end of the business day and buy what the
vendor intends to discard. Only the
worst, the rottenest, the most putrefied remains were offered to them at very
low prices, since they earn so little, its the only way they would get any
food. If fruit is discarded by the
lowest caste, it must be garbage. Rats,
mice, strange brown bugs crossed my path at almost every step. I couldn’t stay here longer,
and hurriedly got back into the waiting cab.
Sven and I looked at each other, amazed at the miserable life here for
these poor people. I felt something
scurry up around my shin, under my pants.
I looked, but I saw nothing.
The driver drove us to the bus stop where we were scheduled
to meet the bus. In twenty minutes it
appeared and we threw our bags aboard.
The bus first lurched forward, with me as a passenger, from the center
of
It's taking longer to
reach
The bus continued.
The driver felt that somehow he could compensate for the bumps and dips
so prevalent in the road's topography, and that he was not able to eliminate
the faults of the road so, at least, he would make the ride as quickly as
possible. This added to the wondrously
uncomfortable ride. We continued
through the night as though we were a busload of natives traveling through
After twelve hours and several short piss stops, we found
ourselves embraced within a long line of waiting vehicles, including seven
buses carrying local school children and an army bus loaded with bostrios solders.
We are only two hours from
Through incredibly green landscapes we drove and drove and
drove. The word "verdant"
isn't strong enough. The town of
I step off the bus in
The tiny three-wheeled black taxi was as much open air as
not. The driver started it each time
with a pull of a lever on his right side that acted as some sort of
kick-start. The young man in the cab with
me was guiding me to the restaurant he felt would give me a good sample of Goan food.
We walked three flights up past the many English signs
advising that I wouldn’t have a problem with my language. I was the only Anglo in the restaurant, but I
ordered their specialty: curry rice and
broiled local fish (who knows what kind of fish). The guide showed me how to properly eat
it. You, first, spoon some of the golden
yellow liquid over the rice, then, using only your right hand, pinch the rice
to shape it in a ball; then, with your fingers, plop it in your mouth. Occasionally spice up this dish with small
pieces of hot mango that was marinated in the black hot sauce. Next, I pinch some flesh off the boiled
five-inch fish. While there can be no
argument that eating these foods this was is messy, I enjoyed the unusually hot
flavors which I had never tasted before.
This meal cost 36 cents. Food is
very cheap all over
Strangely, the other patrons did not need or use
napkins. Then comes
the dish of fennel seeds. They taste
like licorice and are commonly used like we use after dinner mints, except
these actually freshen my breath.
Lastly, bamboo "toothpicks," wide slivers of bamboo, are
chewed to get the food particles removed.
The town was spread wide, with the busiest part of the small
main area of commerce close to the marshland that lies a kilometer west. The beaches to the south were clean and
beautiful. Craggy rocks sprung from the
ocean floor to serve as a diving platform for the more adventurous
swimmers. The water was warm although I
did not go in. The taxi waited while I
walked along the beach for a short way.
When I raised my hand the driver started his vehicle and came to get
me.
I left
Once I got back to
I hired a taxi to take me to the merchants’ Bazaar and to
Fortis Street: a colorful menagerie of prostitutes and
hawkers where a quick one costs about one dollar, more or less. The price seems to be a point to briefly
haggle before the task is done. Girls
from twelve to fifty littered the chaws, periodically flashing otherwise
concealed, erogenous areas. Most unusual
was the large assortment of transvestites who propagated the west side of the
street. While there were few foreigners
walked this curious street, I saw young girls now twisted from this miserable
and filth-laden existence, who seemed to be destined for a short life. Maybe it's a way out of the slums, but
without much doubt they'll be turned out on the street with even less than
nothing when they can no longer earn a living in this modern-day
I had spoken to my translator and guide to show me where the
bus is for Air
I saw a small restaurant that was well packed with
Indians. I went in, and was seated at
the only available seat with a thirty-year-old, Jacob Josa,
who is an electrical engineer making equivalent to $200 monthly. While engaged in conversation almost immediately,
like most educated Indians he spoke a very British English spiced with the
Indian "rrr" sound and those special
intonations making it clear he had learned the language in school. We spoke of poverty and social progress
(whatever level it may be). To compare
We separated, and I walked to the Indian Gate. I rather enjoy this higher class of people
usually in families who stroll through the area. While vendors and beggars still abound, there
are no cows -- that in itself is a relief.
It is now ten minutes past three in the morning, and the
flight to
I went to get a taxi to the airport bus stop. The first driver wanted 50 rupees; second
said 30, but since it was only a short trip, I knew that 15 was fair. In the space of one-half block I found a
Muslim driver who said "Whatever you want to pay." I told him before I got in that 15 rupees is
fair. "OK," he said, "Get
in." So I did. During this short drive he said "did you
say 15 or 50?" "15" I
angrily responded . . . "one, five" confirming with a show of a
finger. "Oh, no!" he said,
"That isn't fair, it is much more."
"Fifteen that is all."
And now we arrived amid this squabble.
"Here it is, goodbye" as I handed him fifteen rupees. There is not an extensive policy of tipping
like that in the
All things happened in a normal manner in the airport
check-in. The guard did ask me to
identify my camera on the X-ray machine the camera -- I hope my film wasn't
damaged. The throngs of people stood outside the
main building, but few entered, as if someone very special is due to
arrive. I went to the area of the
Waiting Room and sat.
I met a chap about
thirty-five with long blond hair, but it was clear he would, by age 40, has a
bald pate . . . “Avilly,”
he said, was his name. He just arrived
from
The landing was a good one.
I awoke during passenger unloading.
Good -- another hour and a half of sleep. I feel well-rested. I took the 17 rs (rials) bus ride into town.
We are in the Conaugh Centre Hotel; it’s clean, but two steep floors up -- a
private bath, no window or air conditioning, but TV and phone. The room is
small but cheap. From here I booked a
I have mounted the bus designated for the tour of
I caught the bus, which was a little late, but after boarding
I found that there were four more stops for the bus to make, so there's another
hour wasted. As the tour bus finished loading
and the guide completing head count, we began to discover the mysteries of
Our first stop is by the main governmental structure, and
there are a lot of them in this huge complex of fancy buildings. I was sitting up front next to the driver
and witnessed through the bus window what is probably, just simply, part of
everyday life in a city where everybody seems to struggle for survival. Three little boys all under ten had acquired
several large plastic binding straps that had held bales of clothing. The owner of the clothing didn't want to give
the straps to the kids, but, as kids do, they asked and asked with the desired
result. The man, not playfully it
seemed, slapped the oldest boy on the back of his head, then told them they
could have them.
About two minutes later a swarthy, rough complexioned man
wearing a ragged green turban, turned his triped
around in the busy street and ripped the straps from the boy’s hands. While I heard no voices, the vision was clear
that the boys pleaded and explained pleadingly that the straps were given to them. Nobody came to their aid. The burly man just pushed them away, and said
he must eat with hand gestures. The boys
turned and walked away, resigned to accepting the "fait accompli."
As
A highway project which we drove by struck my interest
because of the digging along the side of the road for sewage pipes. The diggers used a one-sided pickaxe -- all
were wearing saris. The women were
accompanied by their children. Each ardently struggling to move earth from one place to another in
the 90 heat compounded by the chronic pollution that plagues this city. Everywhere I looked, the billboards yelled
their messages. When English was used,
frequently the billboards had obvious misspellings.
We saw the Red Fort.
The Indians were quick to point out that the invading British stole all
the gems embedded in the walls of one part of the fort reserved for
royalty. Maybe one
hundred knifings in the wall to cut out each gem. The Red Fort acquired its name because of the
red clay bricks of which it is cut.
Through
My group was moving faster than me. I felt I needed a closer, longer look at this
fort. As I hurriedly left to rejoin the
city tour, I saw a long line of five to nine-year-old boys and girls -- maybe
about two hundred children in a single file -- march within the walls of this
national monument. Each child was neatly
dressed in a school brown and tan uniform.
The young boys all with a tie, the girls with carefully pressed
skirts.
Forty minutes to visit this place wasn't enough time; I'll
go back later. But I made it back to the
bus with time to spare. I climbed up the
first step and opened the glass door to the driver's cab where I was
sitting. There were two men there,
chatting with the driver. Some dispute
over which Eastern music tape they should put in to play for the entertainment
of all on the bus. Finally, one tape was
chosen and put into the slot. The device
swallowed the cassette and began spouting the selected popular tunes. I have found it difficult to be able to
distinguish between a good tape and an old, stretched, worn one. The sounds of eastern music are unfamiliar to
my ear, but not unpleasant.
I thought, while on the bus, how few women are on the street
-- a disproportion of five to one.
Further, at this last monument there were a large number of Sikhs. Sikhs have moved here from Punjabi because of
the fighting and insurrection that continues there. According to the hotel manager, the Sikh's
are financially subsidized by the Indian government to help quell the
discontent of the move south and relocating.
The manager also said that since the Sikhs are Hindu, albeit a subbranch, they are happy to move -- I don't believe that
part. I'm sure they want to go home.
The bread sold on the street is big, flat, and round. It is slightly crisp on the outside, but very
soft and airy on the inside, not very different from pita bread. I enjoyed the one I bought for 2 rupee. Alone it was almost a meal. The vendor I purchased it from pulled it from
the top of maybe two hundred breads evenly piled in a huge straw basket that in
its present state seemed immobile -- certainly by him it was.
We drove to the sanctified park where the revered Sanjay and
Indira Gandhi were buried. We drove to where Gandhi was cremated, then
had his ashes dropped over the rivers and mountains of
I met a British man married to an Indian doctor. While her name was too long for me to master,
I did have the opportunity to discuss Indian culture with her since her English
was clear. She explained about the dot
between the eyes. Symbolic
of the spiritual center of a person's mind and soul. Through that point each person is reminded is
the primal concentration of the power of man over all else to bring himself to
higher spiritual planes. At one temple
marked frequently with the swastik, an ancient
religious symbol which is a Hindu marking of good luck The Brit, Peter, was not
typical of the dominant male in Indian society, but he was rather submissive to
the whims of his doctor-wife. He exited
this temple with the red ash markings of the Hindu on his forehead. Few men placed such markings on their faces.
The most fascinating monument was that of a Mongol's
I was let out of the bus in about 30 minutes later, close to
the hotel. The manager was holding my
flight tickets and passport because he was going to get my flight
confirmation. I was told that the state
of bureaucracy in
So I talked with the hotel manager. He was kind of a queer sort. He acts like your good friend, and then adds
all kinds of charges to your bill. I
gave him some American coffee, Taster's choice, rather rare for these parts
because he said he wanted to take care of my ticket confirmation as a
favor. It seemed like a fair exchange to
me, then he says he wants a "torch," meaning
a flashlight and 100 rupees to let me shower and change then rest for two hours
before I must catch my flight. I gave
him the money --- he acted as though it were our secret. Usually this kind of activity gets me the short
end of the stick, so I asked this almost pleasant fellow for a receipt. "Tomorrow," he says, knowing I'm
leaving for
I was awakened at
I met the bus at close to the scheduled time of
As we exited the Indian metropolis, I noticed an aged
building marked clearly with several Stars of David in the uppermost area of
design. Maybe this building was two
hundred years old. Nearby was some sort
of transient encampment. The small homes
that dotted the highway to
As we drove, I could see literally hundreds of cows and
hundreds of big, horned, black water buffalo.
There were women carrying tin or copper buckets of water, frequently
three high atop their heads from the water pump at the town well. They made this trip several times each day.
Our first tourist stop, about two hours into the journey,
was at an area away from everything else, and all signs welcoming tourists were
in English. Once we entered, the gates
were closed (so we couldn't get out).
Then we were herded to the food counter where we would decide what we'd
like to eat for breakfast, but before getting it we had to show a paid
receipt. I resented this treatment, and
I bought nothing. At this point we
passed a sign that indicated another 180 kilometers to
I was thankful there was no music blaring in this bus yet (I
know it will happen, though). This is a
main artery for traffic and supports businesses of the common roadway types.
Almost all of the land east and west of the road was for
agrarian use. Some was lying fallow. It all appeared to be arid useable land; none
was barren often next to a large plot of land that was lush. The farming system is akin to what we call
sharecropping except for some very large plots of ground owned by a large
company. Off in the distance here and
there are big manufacturing plants shooting pollutants high into the sky. It seems unchecked. The fumes rose quickly, high above the brick
towers that were used as chimneys. The
wretched odors swirled through the air like black striped pinwheels, leaving a
chalky black residue that rested on homes, streets, or human skin. One area had the living quarters in a large
wooden open crate suspended about a foot off the group by bricks and stones.
The small roadside businesses seem to crowd together closer
and closer announcing that we are about to enter the City of
The royal chambers offer the most excellent portal to view
the Taj Mahal, a funerarium and monument to the Ruler's second wife. From
the formerly bejeweled Throne Room, I can look out and down at the Taj Mahal. I cannot write words that would do justice
to the story of love and romance that are evoked from this sight. The visitor who is lucky enough to share
the beautiful monument
As a group we exit this complex and are greeted by a mass of
misfits and beggars looking to gain sympathy through whatever level of
freakiness they have managed to achieve.
The more atrocious the appearance, the more likely they are to collect
alms successfully. Strangely, other than
their teeth, few of these misfortunates look
malnourished, quite unlike the workers, day laborers, and others who live in
poverty within
Even before we actually went to the Taj
Mahal I again was reminded of the stark contrast
between rich and poor -- the richness of
Before leaving the outer grounds of
Our bus was soon filled with all of us and closed its doors
as a band of beggars outside, was trying its best to get money from us. The bus brought us out of the way to another
"Welcome Tourist" type restaurant.
Again, I ate nothing there while entrapped within its walls. After lunch, back to the
bus to see the Taj Mahal. And off we drove,
most diners very unsatisfied with the meal.
I had the good fortune to eat a couple takis
-- sort of mashed potato with spices and vegetables within, then as a thick
small patty fried in the oiled open air wok till the outside is partly dark
brown and crispy. This costs ten rupees,
and I ate while we were with the fortress.
Now while the others remained within the restaurant I escaped and hired
a rickshaw to take me around town for the next thirty minutes before
re-embarking upon the bus.
Now this, the Taj Mahal, still surpassed the
Right now security is tight all over
I traveled through this area in the fellowship of an Indian
man, his wife and three children. They
all spoke English except the mother and her youngest daughter. While never having traveled out of
We drove eight miles until we came to the town where Lord
Krishna was born. The excitement of
those within -- the believers reveled in their joy of making their pilgrimage
to this spot.
Security was very high and everything was again securely
checked. I to leave my shoes and socks
in the bus to make the holy walk over the once rough-hewn bricks (now smoothly
worn by the passage of time), leading me toward the entrance of this
shrine. I saw similar deities throughout
my visit to
I left the group and wandered through the surrounding
village. In the darkness, the exotic
nature of everything becomes more apparent.
Here, in
Now at the bus as the prescribed time, our driver was taken
ill, food poisoning is suspected, am I feeling strange now or what? No, I feel fine -- I think. He ate from the
same vendor as I did. I sat quietly, introspectively on the bus. Am I starting to feel hot? A new driver came to take over. Off we went and off I went -- asleep. I was awakened at the stop I was to get
out. In a haze I wandered off the bus
and to the hotel. It was dark and locked. I knocked on the door softly at first and
kept increasing volume until I was heard.
In his underpants he came to open the door and let me in. I asked about my tickets; all okay. I asked about the room for me to rest. "Sorry, all full." But he allowed me to use the restroom/shower
to clean up and change. So I did and
packed my gear, went downstairs, but the door was locked again. Loudly I said, "Open the
door." One of the employees
startled from sleep jumped and said, "Moment. Moment!" He looked up my entry in the book. I owed 30 rupees, which I refused to
pay. He let me out. I started for the airport for my
It's now
Still flying -- it's a nine-hour trip to
As soon as we touched down to the Leonardo da Vinci Airport in
Now, as I wrote above, I move quickly in
I've been away since the seventh of October with today being
the twentieth. So it's only thirteen
days of traveling as of today, but I've covered a lot of ground so far. I have to purchase film too. I was speaking to a young couple from
I chuckle (inside) when I think of my return to tell others
where I have been. Who would believe
it? Not even me. What miracles in this world and wonderful
places to travel, even on a budget, if done with the spirit of adventure really
make me feel unusually conicente'. I look at how small the world is, yet how
few people ever see the other parts of it.
You cannot judge the whole by examining only part. Every time I see news of world issues and I
can connect them to the countries and cities I have visited, the story becomes
more vivid and real with true meaning.
What a wonderful blessing I have, to have the health and the means and
the desire to travel. I am thankful. Still mid-flight, going to
The food on Italia Airlines is typical Italian. A bit of fish, a bit of meat, and Italian
roll, coffee and purple grapes for dessert.
Everything and everybody are so fashion conscious--even the plastic ware
I used for my meal has the fashion designer’s name stamped in it and, of
course, the manufacturer’s. Everything
is fashion here. Over the heavy layer
of style is the light, almost humorous, staccato of the spoken language, and
gestures with everything. If prices were
more reasonable, I might have spent more time in
Good fortune shined on me.
I was able to use the credit card to buy the 23,500 drachmae ticket
round trip to
I have been up, with the exception of several short naps
which never exceeded an hour's length, for over thirty hours. My teeth could use some brushing and my
constantly running nose is not of benefit to good breath. Some fennel seeds might go well now. I was instructed to wait until
It is now
Daylight glimmered just enough to
let me see the ancient gate at Thesselanka. The main road through town passed through it
and by the ferry. The fishermen were
preparing their boats. The vegetable
market was busy with customers buying crates of fruits and vegetables, the
nature of which was unrecognizable to me in the morning twilight.
Every two or three hours the bus stops at another good
roadside cafe. Not tourist-type stops or
at least the cafes don't resemble the stereotypical ones I've seen. Greeks handle the food with more care and
attention. A beverage is made to savor
not just to slake thirst. Quite a contrast to
This point marks midway of the journey. Still, in
No longer tired, but still on the bus, the strong coffee I
enjoyed this morning has me chemically stimulated so that I can distinguish
between last night and morning. The
first of two cups of 200 dr. coffee made slightly too sweet even for my taste
helps me draw that line of demarcation which, otherwise, would have been too
blurred for me to see.
In another two hours, if we are on schedule, we'll be in
As we continue the drive, the towns seem to have no unique
qualities about them. They are just
places. Places with a gas station, a
cafe, a few plain homes, nothing special.
Nothing dramatic. Not unlike towns one would see outside
We stopped in one small town at
While shops don't seem to open till nine in the morning,
people walk to work or catch a local bus to another nearby village to perform
those daily tasks they have accepted as life's lot. Generous, at least in things material, it
isn't.
Now, around
The only streetlights are around the centrally located city
park. A complex
pattern of small white bulbs traverse the central business district in
an intricately woven pattern. I am sorry
not to see it at night, I’m certain it becomes gaily lit. An hour later and I am feeling worn from the
constant travel. But I must endure, for
I want to see all that is important. I
have a semi-clear picture of where to go and how to get to a hostel in
We have crossed the Bulgarian border to make a detour for
some reason unknown to me. The
physiognomies of local women are shorter, stouter, and weigh more than their
Greek or European counterparts. We drove
on past an active, morning marketplace.
Soon we were traveling through a long expanse of farm land. Crop rotation appeared to be using a half
acre lot for the mainly hand tilled land.
A wavy land surface reaching a mile on each side of
the road, beyond which were hills of a small size framed this
picturesque farming area. Cotton seemed
to be a very popular crop.
At
Of the women, I should note that clothing style, or lack of
it, usually includes dark, most commonly black, dresses and coats with a head
kerchief, which is rather long, but is tied tightly below the chin. Complexions are sallow white even though the
sun is shining warmly down on this mid-October day. Hands are rough except for the youngest and
no signs of feminine frivolities such as painted lips or nails, except for
young women who have adopted some Western styles. Wearing tee shirts or simple shirts with
American words or brand names emblazoned on them often misspelled. "
Before crossing into
A pair of squat, black-garbed old women had some sort of
fish in their handbags and the warm bus amplified the sour odors. I'll not eat fish for several days after this
even if I am lucky enough to watch from the exterior of the bus and see them
eating the rotting morsels now. Fish
odor has a way to permeate everything it touches. The air will let the molecules of fish smell linger
until the end of this trip in five more hours.
It is with heavy heart that it just struck me that my stuffy nose is
clearing up -- perfect! Now was the only time I was glad to have nasal
blockage. Police and guards in army
green and medium blue respectively number at least forty collectively. What else shall cause more delay? Still we wait -- and wait. Someone who is Turkish had no passport, so
she was not allowed to continue. Her
accompanying daughter of about twenty years was left to continue until the next
stop. Confused about how to rejoin her
mother, she halted her journey and waited at the bus stop to not have too much distance between her mother and
herself. Even I felt guilty leaving the
girl, but truly, the mother should have prepared better.
We drove on through huge farm fields. A dozen trucks drove past us with huge bins
in tow filled with turnips. For two
hours, we continued on. Stopping in
Mahomet now it's
Since
I was too tired to sleep so I walked one way then the other
until I happened upon a restaurant -- The Pudding Shop on the main street that
the modern (very) traversed. The "siskebob" as the Turks call it is pieces of mutton
with tomato pieces and two long pale green chilies served with some sourdough
bread. A bite of this,
a bite of that. At the table,
instead of salt and pepper, they had ground fennel and ground peppers. All is served with a generous piece of a
sourdough loaf. "Cay" or tea
is often drunk with this. 28,000 Turkish
Lira it had cost. Still hungry, I later
had similar food, but the innards were put in a sandwich and I walked along the
beautiful old street as I ate the sandwich.
10,000 T.L.
My guide book did say the Lira was having problems and the exchange rate
is 12,700 T.L.
to one U.S. dollar. A year ago, before
this terrible inflation
I walked the streets until I saw a Turkish bath house and I
guess I ought to try it according to the book.
I should describe what occurred.
First I entered and immediately noticed it was all men. They were
standing around in red banded towels tucked at the waistline, but nothing else
covered their bodies. Every seat, every
floor, and the walls were made of black streaked marble without any edges I
could see. The huge entire cavity was
over ninety degrees and, of course, very high humidity --it was like
Off to the side there were little rooms where one or two
people would go after being steam cleaned in the main chamber. There you washed your private parts. If you want a rubdown, the attendant will, as
he did me, have you lay on the main marble slab and he'll massage you. My muscles ached for a day after my massage;
in fact, while he was doing it, at first it felt good . . . then as he dug
deeper, I had to gather all my strength to keep from screaming or worse,
crying. Then he soaped me down and took
a small maroon plastic bowl and scooped bowl after bowl of water on me. Then I wrapped a new towel around me, the
other one was soaked through. Then one
was put turban-style around my head.
Last, another towel was wrapped around my shoulders. I waited until I was dry then dressed and
left after paying about $20 for this adventure.
I have gotten a brochure from them -- I guess when you print up
brochures that's certain proof that you are part of the tourist trade. I bought a few post cards then went back
to the hotel and fell asleep instantly.
I awoke at
Still haunted by cold symptoms, I'll continue
undaunted. The city while short from my
anticipation of endless monuments, it certainly has its share and several museums
most notable according to my guide book being the one for Islamic art. All of these things are here in the Sultan Ahmet district. I'll
hope to catch an English group and tag along.
My bus leaves at
The pastry I am eating leaves a bit to be desired. Rather than crisp, it's
soft flesh must have been prepared days ago.
Nonetheless, the "meal" at 32,000 Turkish Lira costs in
American dollars $2.50, fair for average food.
I left and started touring the area.
Quite easy to do because almost all the important stuff is within about
a mile area of this stop.
I purchased a few trinkets from street peddlers. The sellers generally know the busiest spots
to congregate, now they are en masse outside the old
wall of
If one keeps in mind the strength of
It is
Again at the point the bus crosses the border there are
delays obviously due to discontent between the two countries over
The seat next to me is occupied by a Turk, about 25 years
old with black framed teeth. His
passport showed all the signs of someone who makes this crossing
regularly. Since I am on the last leg of
my journey, I look back especially to exotic
I left my other journal on the bus when we transferred at
Immediately after arriving in
I saw the moon float above the outlines of clouds in the
light from the half moon. The boat
cruised about twenty miles an hour. At
In all the travel, shipboard was pleasant to start but
slowly, gradually, as we got further out to sea the cold was dredged up from
the deep
A cigarette couldn't be easily lit unless the offer of
another burning ember from another cigarette was offered.
I slept for a while, shielded from the chill with two
jackets, but as time approached daybreak, the cold had permeated even that
shield and forced me to find shelter within the innermost passageways
accessible to those who paid fares.
I slept for five minutes before the garbled and muted sounds of an announcement of arrival at Ios
was made.
While this port, not being my destination, was enough to
arouse my curiosity of its character as visible from shipboard. Dimly lit and quiet, as one might expect,
with the minor exception of a couple of tazi (taxi,
that is) waiting to deliver another tourist to an overpriced hotel and have the
driver awarded whatever fee the hotelier deems appropriate. As I watched this scene occur, I wondered if
I should escape the trappings of finding early morning lodgings in Santorini.
We put in dock within ten minutes time, and we were underway
to the next stop, Santorini. And so it happened. At about
As destiny played itself out, I, too, was to find myself in
a bus with four other Americans, all too willingly following the thin,
scraggly-bearded old Greek to a van where luggage was quickly loaded and off to
a hotel about a mile from the beach.
While I must admit this room to be the cleanest and most
pleasant of all I have been in, the late hour was cause enough to shower,
shave, and brush my badly stained teeth, which had suffered themselves
from the greatest lack of care for the whole duration of this adventure.
I awoke in a room warmed directly by the direct warmth from
the sun. It struck the single pane of
glass, which had until recently protected my slumber from the cold morning
wind. Too warm to sleep and too excited
to stay within, I dressed and put all things away. Ready to travel again. But most importantly, I hurriedly paid the
innkeeper and left to see the azure seas and black sand beaches.
On both counts I was disappointed. The city was heavily laden with more American
tourists than any other place I have been outside the
Why have this stuff? Why would somebody go to the Greek Cyclades and buy a hat that says "Boss" or some
silly ditty printed on the back. At
least get one that says "Santorini." on it.
I missed a boat trip out to the nearby dormant volcano
because I couldn't run fast enough with all my gear, from a safe place in the
shade to the bus stop. The bus left, but
it gave me a chance to enjoy a fish souvlaki. The meal costs 1,800 dr., but that included a bottle of
mineral water.
Since all water is imported to the island, it is a precious
commodity and used sparingly by all residents.
All gardening and shrubbery were only that which grows as native
vegetation and through natural propagation.
I returned to
Good fortune was with me.
I was the second to the last person to board. Thankfully they had a no show.
A short thirty minute layover in
EPILOGUE OF
THE
Yesterday the final chapter of this adventure unfolded. This last event began with the loss of my
second notebook somewhere in either
Because of the hour and my inattentiveness, I left my second
notebook on the knit pocket hinged behind the seat in front of me. It contained information and entries from
In ten minutes, after reboarding
the second bus, now traveling at a good pace along dark roads, I tried to make
the driver aware of my loss.
Unfortunately, his inability to understand American and my inability to
speak either Turk or Greek, created a chasm that was unbreechable. Looking worried and troubled, I tried to garner
assistance from one of the thirty other passengers, but nobody was conversant
in American, and I couldn’t explain to them my need to get my journal.
I vainly tried to express myself with body language, but I
imagine my gesticulation was merely interpreted by all witnesses as being
without meaning at all; maybe I was insane or worse was probably the
predominant thought of the wide-eyed passengers.
I resigned myself to the loss of the journal until it became
possible to find someone who could translate my words. In about an hour from this point we stopped
at a roadside cafe where the translation took place. The bus driver said that he would call to the
station to let them know of my loss and try to recover it soon. Even though this was a relief to hear, I
could sense the growing physical distance between the diary and my corporal
being.
I have reflected with diligence in the pages of my journal
most of the events that immediately followed this mishap, so I won't add
duplicate verbiage here.
I waited in
It was not recovered prior to my departure, despite all my
efforts. Sadly, I resigned myself to its
loss. Still, a spark of hope resided
within my soul. The actual loss I felt
of so valuable a document was unimpeachable proof of its real value to me. I guess it follows the old story of you don't
know what something is worth until you lose it.
This was a clear example of the aforementioned idea in practice.
Several calls from
The faint flame of hope withered away. Even the final whiff of smoke had long
disappeared. No longer did I delude
myself with the idea that the booklet would ever resurface in my possession.
Yesterday I received a phone call from a man who works at TWA. He had been in
I couldn't believe that the missing fifty-odd pages of my
journal might be back in my hands soon.
I waited and anticipated the miracle to come.
The mysterious stranger came by and dropped off the
journal. I was overjoyed and tried to
give the man a thirty-dollar reward for his trouble. He refused, saying that HE was overjoyed that
he could make somebody so happy by a small effort on his part. This reminds me of mitzvah I have done and
how my basic philosophy of life was reflected so pristinely here; if you do
good, it will come back to you. If you
do evil, it too will come back to you. Before
you die it will all even up.
I will send a reward to: Nick
Marlantis; Railroad Station; Peloponnese Booking;
A few blank pages were torn from the rear of the booklet,
but otherwise it was intact and in very good condition according to how I
remember it looking. That evening I
spent reading my entries, and it was something of great value to me. I could feel the feelings that I felt when I
read more deeper the rediscovered journal.
Now it is together, and I will bind it as I have my other
diaries. I'm happy to have recovered
this valuable reflection of my inner feelings.
It is something I could never replace.
My Journey Through
October – November
1993 Mike Richards
