Corresponding photos:
Tuesday, January 1
ATHENS - Yesterday it felt like spring. There was a warm wind, clear blue skies, bright sun and an overall feeling of newness, change, renewal - relief from a winter that has been oppressive in so many ways. I glanced at a red sign outside a bank - 15 degrees. I suppose I should have been disturbed by this apparent sign of global warming, this omen of the impending apocalypse, or something. But instead I rejoiced in it - what a perfect way to end the year.
I bought a "basilopita," basil cake. No, it is not filled with basil. Instead, it's a traditional St. Basil Day cake, or New Year's cake. And it's not even cake, more like sweet bread. It says "Xronia Polla 2002" on its top and it has a gold coin inside. You're supposed to cut a piece for everyone at your table, plus pieces for Jesus and the Virgin and St. Basil and dead people and whoever else you can think of. Which is perhaps why it's so enormous. It feels nice to take part in random cultural traditions like this.
At about 5 p.m., I solidified the evening's plans with Coral. What did we end up doing? Well, Coral, me and the other absentee flatmate Jane, who appeared yesterday and will be disappearing again on Thursday, all put on our coats and walked into the city center. Jane wore a little black top, jeans and an enormous silver-buckle belt almost the size as her skinny little head with painfully high-heeled boots. I wore a little black dress, fuschia tights and a Johnny-collar beige cardigan thing, with weird black and silver trainers. Coral wore her schlompiest pair of oversized khaki trousers, a maroon tee-shirt with a drawing of a bear on it, and her navy blue hoodie, with huge, blocky black hiking boots and a long black overcoat. Why I feel it is important to note this, I have no idea. I guess because I think we looked an odd sight walking into the city.
We left at 10:30 p.m. and walked all the way downtown - 20 minutes - buying three enormous cans of beer on the way. When we arrived at Syntagma Square, it was surprisingly not crowded. Well, it was crowded, yes, but I had been expecting Times Square-esque crowding and it was nothing like that. The place was packed, however, with a disproportionate amount of gypsies and scary-looking young men who stared at us lecherously as we squeezed by. And it wasn't all that happening. There was no ball hoisted atop a high stand, waiting to be dropped. There was only an enormous fake Christmas tree and a stage with a weird Latin band performing. I saw one mime buying a gyro from a wee portable gyro stand, but that was it for other entertainment. And Jane was getting claustrophobic and skeeved out by the guys, so I suggested we head up to the Areopagus, an enormous slippery rock just underneath the Acropolis, which offers an unparalleled view of the city. I had this idea in my head that there would be a cheesy laser light show on the Acropolis at midnight, or at the very least fireworks. And I figured there would be a rowdy crew up there drinking in darkness.
So we climbed up through Plaka, which was eerily deserted. We walked by ancient monuments dramatically lit up, past a pair of street musicians playing a gorgeous mournful tune on an empty street corner. As we got to the top, others came out of nowhere, mostly foreigners (including three German guys, one very cute), and followed us to the Areopagus. There were about 30 motorcycles parked at the base of the rock and the sound of plenty of people up top. We were worried it would be too crowded, but it wasn't. It was perfect. We got a choice spot near the edge and settled down, cracking open our beers.
It had been about 11:30 when we left Syntagma, and it seemed that midnight would be approaching any minute. We wondered how we'd know. Coral was the only one with a watch, and not a very accurate one at that. The rowdy crowd of young Greeks and random foreigners was not very organized. One especially drunk group started into a long, painful rendition of an "Ole, ole" cheer as Coral's watch struck midnight, but everyone else was silent. And there were no fireworks. Then a large group of tourists started a countdown (at 50) and we doubted that was accurate, but as they screamed "One!" fireworks sprang out of the roof of Parliament. Amazing!
We clinked beer cars and lit sparklers I had brought and watched as about 15 separate fireworks displays lit up the sky. We could see for miles, into suburbs 40 minutes from the city center, all the way to the sea and the mountains. The main Athens display was by far the best, but there were also some pretty red flares going off in Kifissia, and Patissia, and ooooh look at that one in Pireaus! It was fantastic! And just as the fireworks ended, the church bells began to peal all over the city, which was also a fantastic effect.
We stayed up there for about half an hour - no laser light show at the Acropolis, unfortunately - during which time the cute German tried to chat us up, but Coral was terribly rude. I gave him a sparkler, which he waved around a bit with a forced smile and said "This is fun!" Ha! Then we headed to Psirri for a drink, weaving around ancient sites again along the way.
Psirri is this hip area, set in a restored red-light district. We had been there several times on hot summer evenings, when the sidewalks and parking lots and streets were overflowing with cafe tables and fashionable youth. There are several innovative tavernas there, and an area "rocket salad" specialty. Anyway, it wasn't as fun in winter; all the tables were inside and hardly anyone was outside, even though it was practically sweater weather at 15 degrees. We ended up at this tiny place, hidden behind a parking lot, where we had gone out for drinks with an older American woman this summer. We were told there was a 10,000 drachma ($25) minimum, set menu for the night, and that all restaurants were doing that. We decided to splurge. Good excuse to eat and drink a lot, anyway.
We got a table wedged between this silent family - mom wearing a scary black dress with spider-style sleeves - and a punk couple. The other room was filled with older women in slinky sequined dresses and fur coats and their heavily-cologned husbands. Behind us, there were a few anorexic girls in mini skirts and shiny tube tops. Coral, dressed in schlompwear, beamed at the spectacle. There was a live band playing traditional Greek folk music, and the old ladies were clapping and swaying and singing along in glee. Despite the size of the place and lack of vacant floor, I knew there would be dancing by the end of the night. We did not have to wait long. These two old ladies kept jumping up and dancing for the benefit of the entire establishment. I hoped they were really drunk.
At the end, even the young girls were dancing, and we commented on the weird traditional Greek revival among the youth. At one point this young gypsy boy pulled up a chair and plopped down on it, hugging a little drum. The kid couldn't have been older than 10. But he was incredible! A lil prodigy drummer boy. Everyone looked on, astounded, as he bent over his drum and whacked away. He had this world-weary look. He looked like a little man as he bent over and then sat up and glanced at the ceiling in almost studied indifference. The kid had attitude. And in the break he reached down, pulled up a bottle of Coke, and dramatically took a swig as if it was beer. We giggled. It was adorable. Then he disappeared after only three songs and we sadly commented on the fact that he was probably called downstairs to do dishes or something.
Three hours and two carafes of wine later, we headed home. It was 4 a.m. and there were no taxis in sight, so we walked all the way back. Along the way, we stopped at an ATM and withdrew our very first Euro bill! It was crisp and clean and so weird-looking. Coral squealed with glee. I was a bit disappointed the ATM was working; I had been expecting some awful week-long Euro-introduction disaster that would rival the Y2K scare in both form and scope, and was a bit disappointed that things were going smoothly so far. Ah well.
Then we passed the city hall, where I noticed three freakish looking camels standing near an enormous nativity set. I had brought my camera along for the evening, but had yet to use it. So I begged Coral to go pose with the camels, and of course, got more than I bargained for. For, after pretending to mount a camel, she ran into the nativity set to pose with the baby Jesus and announced with a devilish glint in her eyes that I couldn't expect her to enter a nativity set and not take a souvenir. Oh dear.
She started to shove baby Jesus in her bag, but I screamed, "Not Baby Jesus! That's sacriledge!" I couldn't help but remember two years ago when I was a reporter in a small town in Massachusetts and the cops reported that Baby Jesus had been stolen from the town nativity set and everyone treated it as if it were the worst crime ever. People are really attached to their Baby Jesuses. I remember the huge sigh of relief when Jesus was returned after a town-wide plea was issued.
Anyway, I convinced her not to take Jesus. Instead, she picked up a sheep and started to run in the direction of Omonia Square. A sheep! The size of a very large dog! Under one arm, casual-like. Jane had been off staring at the sky, waiting us to finish with our funny photos, mindlessly listening to two Greek girl gossip when suddenly the girls stopped, started giggling insanely and pointed in the direction of the fleeing Coral. Jane looked up in horror as she realized her flatmate was running off with a nativity sheep, and started running after me, who was walking briskly in the opposite direction. Ha! The three of us congregated again in Omonia Square. We actually thought we had lost Coral and the sheep - how this is possible I do not know - when we saw a little sheep head pop out from behind a kiosk and look in our direction. I almost peed my pants. We start walking along Omonia, haven for 4 a.m. activity and drug transactions, as casual as possible. A few people stared, sure. One druggie approached, saying "nice doggie," then drew back in horror realizing it was in fact a large fake sheep. Poor dear probably thought he was having hallucinations.
Amazingly, we got the sheep home without incident, even pausing for a few photos. We named him Angelis, after angel (since he was, after all, rescued from a manger) and what we guessed was the greek word for sheep. Angelis has a patch of loose wool at the very top of his head - he seems to be wearing a piece - and one of his hooves seems damaged. His wool is a bit dirty. But he's a good lamb. His new home is the corner of our living room, near the door. He has this look about him, as if he is in motion, approaching you from across the room, maybe coming in off the balcony. He looks up at you. Very life-like. It's uncanny. I've already had two scares when I walked to the bathroom, forgetting he was there, and felt his eyes on me. Eeps! We might move him around the apartment at random, like we do with this little fake caterpillar in the kitchen. Gives him a bit of life and excitement, and spices up our holdrum home life.
Before going to bed, we cut the New Year's cake. Coral cut eight pieces - one for each of us, one for Angelis, one for Jesus, one for the Virgin Mary, one for the Father and one for the House. So far, none has gotten the golden coin, but Coral says the Virgin always tends to get the damn thing.
Overall, a pretty good evening I'd say.
January 7, 2002
I woke up at 3:30 p.m. and gazed lazily out the window and it was STILL snowing! Unbelievable! That would be three days of nearly non-stop snowfall in this, the capital city that has not seen white ground cover in 40 years. Sadly, despite the historic occasion, I had not gone beyond the corner market in two days and since our neighborhood for some strange reason has been devoid of any of the rumored accumulation, I had not actually witnessed anything exciting. In fact, when a New York boy told me about the hundreds of people stranded for hours on the highway and the several inches accumulation near the Acropolis, it was news to me. Pathetic.
So, as I stretched my way slowly out of bed and put my feet down on the cold wooden floor, I resolved to take a walk and see what I could of this fabled great snow. As fate would have it, Coral had been waiting for me to wake up so that she could also do just that, with me. Ok, I suppose that's not really evidence of fate, rather proof of how much we think alike. Ah well. She also suggested I bring my digital camera to capture such an historic event, something I, too, had already thought of. So without even showering - which I desperately needed to do but what are hats for? - I pulled on a few layers of clothing and my heaviest shoes and we stomped happily out into the snow.
It was coming down quite heavily, in huge clumped flakes, at the perfect angle as to best disrupt my vision by covering my glasses, of course. But its beauty compensated for inconvenience and I hardly complained. Coral had allegedly seen television broadcasts that showed several inches of snow on a large avenue nearby, but when we reached it, it was just as bare as every other street in our neighborhood. Hmm. Curious. She also reported that there was practically no traffic and all public transportation was stopped in this, a state of emergency. But of course, as soon as we rounded the corner onto the first major street, we were almost run over by a fully-operating trolley. She still insisted we walk all the way to the Acropolis, about a twenty-minute hike, rather than take a lovely, convenient trolley, because its more fun walking through the snow. And it was, of course.
We walked down this street we had discovered our first evening here. It's one of the only pedestrian thoroughfares in the city that we've managed to find, and it's crowded with shops that always seem to be closed. It's nearly always empty and quiet, which seems surreal since it's in the heart of the city, with chaotic Omonia and Syntagma Squares as bookends on either side. And the best part - the Acropolis hovers above one end, so you can get a non-stop, unadulterated view of it the entire way. This usually makes for nice photos, and I did take some. When we reached the end of the street, we wound through the old slippery marble streets of Plaka. Here is where we began to see some snow, draped in thin, glittering blankets over ancient ruins and modern-day mini parks. I was more enthralled to see teems of Athenians strolling about with cameras like tourists, posing their children in front of the Tower of the Winds and Agora, breaking out into snowball fights and daring each other to run along the slick streets.
We somehow managed to climb to the foot of the Acropolis without falling on our asses, more of a feat than you probably appreciate. We took the requisite photos of the Acropolis covered in snow, but unfortunately, I being the lazy ass that I am, it was already 5 p.m. when we got there and the place was closed. I'm afraid the photos aren't that exciting considering the sky was white, the ground was white and the ruins were just a trace golden, but really that hardly matters when documenting history, right?
After the Acropolis, I took Coral to this tiny "village" around the other side of its base. It's this adorable area that resembles a Cycladic village, with teeny alleys between white-washed houses with blue painted doors. It was actually built by homesick natives from the Cycladic islands who were brought into the city during a big building project. I stumbled across it by accident one day almost five years ago, but I think it's mentioned in guidebooks and stuff. At any rate, I was shocked to discover Coral had never been there. So we went, and it was pretty surreal. Once you turn into the first narrow alley, you are truly transported to a Cycladic island, and to see snow covering the island palm trees and pretty blue balconies was rather strange. Coral was entranced, and it made me smile to see her running happily to explore stairs that led to nowhere and ogling over glimpses of house interiors with adorable lace curtains and warm walls covered with old portraits.
We slipped and slid our way out of the village and into a taverna for a bite to eat and warm drink. We had come across this adorable out-of-the-way taverna on the way up the slope, but on the way down, discovered it wasn't open. So we settled for a cheesy tourist trap that was actually quite cosy. It was filled with Greeks, and there was entertainment - a band consisting of an accordian, a bouziki, a guitar and a rather large woman who belted out popular folk songs and seemed to know everyone in the room but us. There was a long table of young Athtenians who were clapping and singing along, and the singer summoned one of them, Mixali, to come to the stage and pick up a drum. Which he of course did. He was quite good at it, in fact. When that song was over, he also took the microphone. He was quite a good singer as well. Then the dancing began. First, a few young ladies from the table ran up into a cramped rectangle of empty floor in front of the stage and began a traditional circle dance. Later, the entire table came up and knelt on the floor, clapping and hooting, as Mixali took the floor for a solo dance. His dancing skills, however, did not match his musical skills.
The food was overpriced but delicious. Really delicious. And not just because I was hungry and had not consumed taverna food in months. After a summer of travel, Coral and I had sampled enough tzatziki and saganaki and fried eggplant to become something of experts of taverna cuisine. This saganaki did not taste of unburned brandy; the eggplants were fried in just the right way, the skordalia had just the right amount of garlic. And, because we were feeling adventurous and they were out of beans, we tried some grilled mushrooms, which were amazing. Yum. We also ordered a kilo of house red wine, which Coral always insists we finish before leaving. Within ten minutes of solid eating and drinking, I was stuffed to the point of feeling ill. Yet I had to continue sitting there, drinking. So I did. For at least an hour. Mmm.
When I got back home, I hopped in the shower and then fell almost immediately into bed again. I was exhausted for some reason - could it be the wine? - and my throat was sore. I have suspected for about two days now that I am on my way to getting seriously ill, and my body is not disappointing me in that regard. Argh!
January 15, 2002
So I attempted to go to Bulgaria, for work and visa purposes. I made it to Bulgaria - well, to the border, where I was then questioned and turned away and left to find my own way home. And home is where I will ultimately end up after all this tumult, although not necessarily the home I imagined myself inhabiting come February. Ack! What a mess!
Sorry I have to be so cryptic, but it involves legal matters and such and thus cannot write about them in detail on the Internet, as much as I'd really like to. But the end result is this: a sobering 10 hour journey to Athens, 48 hours of hellish processing and decision-making, and plane tickets to the UK and then onward to the United States. Yes. In a month I shall be back in my parent's basement in a town in Rhode Island known primarily for housing the state's highest point - the landfill.
Let's go back, shall we? Back to.. last Thursday, the day I set out on this cursed trip. And cursed it was, from the very first. Thursday morning I had to brat-sit. I was so angry I was unable to get out of it. I was still sick as a dog. And it went HORRIBLY! The mother kept lecturing me about how I am too soft on the brats, etc., and was monitoring me closely. The kids were out of control. It was just.. so... bad. And I deserved better that day, of all days, considering I had asked for the day off so I could go to Volos to see Paul, who was visiting Kalliope for a week and was set to leave on Saturday.
I got a text message from Dimitra, however, and I thought things were looking up. We have mutual friends in the UK, and have been meaning to meet up for awhile, since she lives in the Northern Greek city of Thessaloniki. She has just returned from a month-long journey to the UK and is in Athens, about to set out for Volos that very day. Shall we go together? Yes! I message her back and we arrange to head out on the 4 p.m. bus; later than I would have liked, but what the hell, I had a travel partner for the four and a half hour journey. I return home beforehand to eat and such and almost miss the damn bus, as does she, but miraculously we both just make it. We even sit in the very front of a rare Greek double-decker bus. Yay!
The conversation is a bit forced and awkward at first. I use my fall-back conversation for such moments: the fascinating life and times of a crime reporter. Only, it made her a bit depressed. And it made me seem like a really hard, pessimistic bastard or something. Hmm. As we are chatting - rather loudly, in English, so that our voices are the only things you hear throughout the bus - our bus makes its way suspiciously slowly out of the city, pulling over and stopping a few times. This is unusual. I note this, and express my concern and Dimitra tells me I've such a negative outlook, etc. But we are really moving annoyingly slow. Eventually, as we approach the half-way point rest stop, the bus driver gets on the intercom to tell us due to automotive problems we will be at least half an hour late. Aha! I knew it! I give Dimitra a satisfied smirk, and she tells me she thinks I am cursed.
We have a bite to eat, then get on the bus again. This old lady approaches us and asks us to quiet down. So the rest of the trip was passed in silence. Towards the end of the journey - about 40 minutes away from Volos, and only five minutes away from our turn off the highway, something inexplicable happens. We're in a construction zone. We see blue police lights ahead and, as we get closer, realize we are behind a few trucks, following an incredibly slow moving police car. We have no idea why the car is moving at snail's pace. And there are no explanations. We think maybe there's some sharp object in the road the police are trying to locate, but 20 minutes later, there is no object located. We think maybe there is precious cargo is one of the trucks, or illegal immigrants, or.. but none of this seems logical. Why won't they let us pass? We never find out. Eventually we are allowed to pass. And it's over. But we are now more than an hour late. Our journey took six hours. Insanity. And all my fault, presumably.
When we arrive at Kalliope's, it is 10 p.m. It is Kalli's birthday and we were planning to all go out drinking at a small bar cafe called Mod, with good music. Kalli greets us in her pajamas. Tells us about how her front room is flooded due to a burst pipe or something. The carpet is soaking wet, and makes swooshy noises as we walk on it. Oh dear. Paul is out walking the dog, Spooky. He returns shortly and after reuniting hugs and such, the four of us have a little party with rich chocolate cake. There is a bit of ghetto dancing to Ice-T, then, somehow, a food fight ensues. Cake is flung, cake is smeared in faces, hair, clothes. It lasts so quickly. Clean-up lasts much longer. Wow. Chocolate cake. Hmm.
We manage to get out by midnight, amazingly, and go to the bar, where we meet up with a friend of Kalliope. As is Greek custom, Kalliope buys a round. Paul and I have strange silly conversation as we rapidly become drunk. Very drunk. The place is nearly empty and the DJ is chatting us up, so we have pretty much total control over the music. A very good thing. We get home and pretty much all pass out as soon as sleeping arrangements are decided. I sleep the sleep of death. It was absolutely amazing. I don't remember having had such a great sleep before. And I dream about a Nebraska girl who moves to the city to become a stripper/prostitute and ends up in a limo with a basketball team trying to find her hostel, ending up lost in a rich neighborhood wearing nothing but a bathrobe, knocking on the door of a ramshackle house, appealing to the old woman resident who was just giving her enormous brood of fresh-faced kids a dinner speech. Yes, it was very strange, and in vivid made-for-tv movie detail. Ack!
When I finally get up, I think it's 1 p.m. Kalliope has gone to work. I make breakfast - home fry potatoes and eggs, and the three of us sit in the front room, our feet on the soggy carpet, contemplating our day. Somehow it is decided that we clearly must remove the carpet. The plumber will have to get under it to assess the problem. It is filthy and perhaps beyond help. And besides, it will take ages to dry and will stink shortly. And we are a team of three, we owe it to Kalliope to do this hard labor; she certainly couldn't do it herself and we know she's begun to panic about it. We decide to tackle the Herculean task immediately, our goal to complete it before she gets home, as a surprise. But as I stand there surveying the work ahead of us, it is clear we are mad. The room is so cluttered with furniture, a heavy bookshelf full of stereo equipment, a heavy computer desk set up, a large table stacked to overflowing with papers and random stuff, underneath it a pile of teetering papers and boxes. There are piles of books, magazines, records and CDs everywhere. Videos. TV. My god.
Somehow I am the one who comes up with the plan of action, which is amazing considering Paul is the practical one and spends most of his time ridiculing my stupidity. I decide we should start near the balcony door, where it is most barren. Clear that corner, transfer half the furniture on the then exposed marble, pull carpet back half way, and work from there. It works! We pump up the stereo and move things around in new and unexpected, exciting ways, breaking frequently for coffee and cigarettes. It is almost fun. There is a dreaded section of the rug soggy and smelly with reincarnated dog mess, and it becomes something of a sore point. We try to trick each other into handling it each time the rug is rolled. Ha. We're so funny. Right.
A few hours later, we have made real progress. We are almost dome. We are giddy with exhaustion, photos are taken. When we're done, the room has never been cleaner. And I identify the source of the leak - the radiator. We start mopping up the swelling lake in shifts. We shower, then collapse on the couch, waiting for Kalliope's look of surprise, reward enough for us all. When she gets home, she is floored, obviously. She promises to treat us to very strong drinks at a Mexican restaurant. But first, she must nap. She had shared a bed with Dimitra the night before and apparently had not slept a wink. The three of us were starving, however, so Paul suggested we get out of Kalliope's hair and take a walk into town to go to get a quick bite to eat. So we do just that, walking along the waterfront. I act very silly, perhaps even crazy. Tis one of my more endearing qualities, but one unfamiliar to Dimitra, who is shocked and can't stop commenting on it.
"You're crazy!" she exclaims. Over and over. And over again.
Anyway, at one point we pass a large tree that is absolutely swarmed with birds of all shapes and sizes, circling and squawking loudly. It seems odd to me, being mid-winter, and pitch dark. I remark on it, saying it must be a sign on something terrible, like the coming of the apocalypse or something. I use the word "auspicious" and am very proud of it. Paul and Dimitra are not too impressed, however, and later use the incident as mounting evidence of my insanity. But really. It was a sign, non?
We get downtown. We eat. We stop at a bakery for pastries, at Kalliope's instruction. We get some beer and water, too, and walk back. Dimitra and I start to discuss my plans for the next day, which involve finding the bus to Bulgaria. She is astounded to learn that I do not, in fact, know when the bus leaves, nor where it leaves from. She keeps remarking on it, in fact, and I begin to get stressed. Ack! When we get back, I make a few stressed phone calls. Than I chat with Kalliope and decide not to stress anymore.
The four of us hang out until about 11:30 p.m., when we head out to the Mexican restaurant. We are made to wait there for quite a long time. But no worries. We have very, very strong lemony tequila drinks at the bar. Once again, Paul and I spend most of our time chatting with each other. I think we even had a deep, serious conversation. Madness. Eventually we are seated and we feast. The salsa was way too hot for me, left my lips burning. But guacamole, nice. We stayed until closing, past closing in fact. We were the recipients of many evil eyes. We walk back in a drunken, silly stupor, shouting Sex Pistols lyrics in the empty streets. We get to the hospital being built near Kalliope's house, and decide to climb the easily-accessible fire escape to the roof. We do. We get to the top and spend a few minutes looking at the stars. Then we descend. We are not arrested or anything.
We get back and attempt to stay awake and talk and stuff. We put on the Sex Pistols and watch Kalliope dance to it. I can't stay awake, so I bow out, as does Dimitra. We switch sleeping arrangement, I'm with Kalliope this time. At some point over the past two days, Kalliope and Paul have pretty much convinced me to move to Glasgow with them. They have been planning this move for months now, and Kalliope has been trying to convince me to come for almost that long. But it was so impractical and silly. Suddenly, however, I find myself considering it. I'm feeling frustrated here in Greece, and being with Paul and Kalliope again makes me yearn for their company all the time, and for the company of all my other far-flung friends in the UK, many of them in Glasgow. So as I attempt to sleep, I am kept awake by thoughts of this move. I decide that if I play my cards right, I might be able to move in May. And I get excited by this thought, and plan minute logistical details. All night long. I cannot sleep.
And when I do fall asleep, I have a nightmare. I never ever have nightmares. Ever. So it was quite a shock. And a shocker in itself. I was taken hostage by some masked being of superhuman strength, who slammed my head down on a three-tiered, rounded wooden block thing resembling a cake. Only it had lines and numbers on each tier, forming a type of rough grid. And the kidnapper had a corresponding book, with a gridded map of the brain. He read from it to a crowd at the store I had been picked up at, as if he was threatening them with descriptions of what he might do to me unless they meet his demands. But they were not empty threats. For he pulled out a large drill with enourmous, long, sharp bits, and began drilling a hole in my head. I felt a hot white pain, and the drilling, and release of skull bone giving way, and imagined pressure on the brain. And I started to shake violently. He had hit a nerve center, strategically. Then he moved on to an imagination center or something to enhance my awareness of what was happening. The third drilling was going to take place at the front of my head, and he was going to drill all the way down to the lowest tier, so it would be really painful. I realized I could wake up and stop it from happening, so I did. Eeps!
The next morning was a bit sad. We were all leaving together to go to Thessaloniki. Paul had a flight to catch, and as is his custom when he visits, he hires a taxi for the two and a half hour journey. Insane, yes, but actually cheaper than most taxi fares in the UK. Dimitra lives in Thessaloniki, and I had to go there to catch the bus to Bulgaria, so we left with Paul. We actually left a bit early, just in case. We were not 10 minutes out of the city when Dimitra turned to me and said, "Do you see that haze of smoke around you?" No, but I could smell it. It was exhaust seeping directly into the car through a gap in the back window, right between my head. I was sick as a dog again, had no voice, and was coughing already; this added to my misery immensely. I had to crack open the window to breathe. Bad sign. The car was not in the best condition, what a stupid idea to send it on a long journey. And sure enough, half-way there, the driver begins to slow down, and passing vehicles start beeping their horns and motioning to us frantically. I turned to Dimitra and reluctantly told her my suspicions. She asked the driver what was going on, and he told us the car was having problems and he would call for another taxi to come meet us on the road and switch off. So he called, several times, and we watched for the car. We slow down at a toll booth and suddenly it stalls and will not restart. Lordy. My cursed luck! Again!
We get out of the car and stand between car lanes. Paul starts chain smoking and I laugh as the driver pushes the car to the side, wishing I had grabbed my camera on the way out. Unbelievable. By this time we were running a bit late. And as we waited longer and longer, like, 20 minutes, we really started to panic about the very real possibility that Paul would miss his flight. Eventually we see a guy walking across traffic from the opposite direction. He grabs our bags and we run across the highway and jump into a new taxi. He peels out and flies down the highway. It's clear we won't make it; by Dimitra's calculations, we were 40 minutes away, without traffic, and Paul's flight left in an hour. But the driver is a trooper. We actually make it in record time - 30 minutes - and think we're saved in the knick of time. We run into the airport and rush to check in, but there is no check-in window for his flight. Dimitra runs to the information counter, I spot the Alitalia booth and drag Paul there. It's empty. Dimitra returns to tell us the flight is full - they sold his ticket! - and we had to wait here for an Alitalia representative, it was too late. Even though we could SEE the gate! They refused to page them. Argh! It was Saturday. Paul had work on Monday, and an exam later. We waited, cursing my bad luck. Eventually, the Alitalia woman arrived and Dimitra started screaming (I had told her to be as mean as possible). They exchanged words, but basically it ended in a lecture and an offer to check for other flights. The only other flight was at 6 a.m. the next morning. We moaned and for some reason the woman sympathized and checked with other airlines and found a place on a plane leaving in half an hour. AND she made all the arrangements for free! Amazing! AND he would somehow get home 40 minutes earlier. Made no sense, but we didn't complain. We said quick goodbyes and he headed off for security. So maybe things were looking up, eh? Seemed so.
Just as we were about to leave, Dimitra's parents call to ask when she'll be home. She told them we were at the airport and they happened to be nearby so they picked us up. Perfect! And they were in super moods, very accommodating. They dropped us off at one of the bus terminals and, luckily, it was the right one. There was no bus to Sofia that night, but was one in the morning, so I made reservations. We hopped a bus to her house, had some dinner, checked email, took showers, and rented a video. Had a nice relaxing evening. We were both really tired, and I had to get up at 6 a.m. But when I tried to sleep I found that again I could not. This time I stressed over Bulgaria. Argh!
And that pretty much brings us back to the beginning again. There is more to tell about the crazy bus ride back - girls brushing out wigs, bribing drivers who later hooked up with a pair of blonde passengers - but I'm really too tired. I've been up for nearly five days, spending every waking hour stressing about plans. What I've come up with: leaving Tuesday, spending a month in the UK, returning to the States, returning to Scotland in the fall to move in with Kalliope and Paul and enroll full time at a university for my master's degree in journalism. Yup, it's a whopper. And now that it's decided, I have five days to pack and ship all my belongings, break the news to the brats (tomorrow…ack) and apply to the universities in order to arrange interviews in two weeks! No wonder I'm on overload, with no sleep.
Last night went out with Joanna and Coral to Club Decadence for my last Belle and Sebastian night there; an outing that had become a frequent diversion for Joanna and I. It was also probably the last time the three of us will go out together. It was quite sad for this reason. And because Joanna is absolutely devastated that I'm leaving. But we were determined to make the most of it and to dance our asses off, even if we were the only ones dancing. We were, pretty much. We had fun though, we did. And I brought my camera along, of course. Aw.
Don't know when I'll have time to update, unfortunately. And not sure if there will be much to report. Wish me luck. Please. Clearly, I need it!
