As I scrambled off the bus in Athens, barely alive from my Tylenol PM + Valium coma, I realized I had no idea where I was. Once again, I was falsified into believing that my bus would arrive… well… at the bus station. Bus stations are easy to navigate, often have a conveniently placed map of the city in some ominous graffiti covered Plexiglas case, and more importantly, are accustomed to English speaking dumbfracks like myself, having no idea where they are. So after spending about 5 minutes just standing there staring into space looking lost, I busted out my iPhone, and completely admitting defeat, I googled the bus station and downloaded the Athens map and started walking.
I begin up a main street, round a small corner and bam. Riot Police. They’re completely blocking the road in front of me. Shields drawn, teargas canisters at the ready. I am in the wrong place.
Justin had been warning us for weeks. Athens wasn’t stable. But when is Athens ever stable. Greece is the world’s best example of what happens when the people have all the power. A bit of nothing mixed with complete chaos. It just depends on which week you arrive.
Well, we started our Greece holiday right in the middle of chaos. The taxis were striking and had parked in the middle of the highway leading from Athens proper to the airport causing serious traveler woes and confusing the hell out of most people. In addition to the taxi strikers, there was some riot going on about something seemingly important to a group of people camped out near the Parthenon. They had signs and were laying in streets and doing general protester things. Some of them looked like they’d been there for years and I wondered if they had made a living out of being professional protesters, changing their alliances with unions or organizations as frequently as I seem to change busses.
But whatever the hell was going on, I realized I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I turned around to look behind me and saw no wall of torch bearing villagers. I saw no tanks and no parade. I blinked a couple of times to make sure they riot police were really there and that they were really barricading the street. I contemplated going up and tapping on one of the Plexiglas shields to make sure it was real, but decided against it at the last moment when someone screamed at me to halt. At least I think that’s what he screamed.
At that, my protest ended and I pushed “re-calculate” on my GPS siting “undefined blockage” as my reason for detour and I was on my way again down some nondescript alley that made me more uncomfortable than the riot police had.
A short time later, I found what resembled a large gathering of busses going nowhere. I asked a man where the bus to Palaia Fokaia (Πάλαια Φώκαια) was and was directed towards a group of about 9 busses doing nothing. He told me the bus would leave in 30 minutes. I waited for an hour and none of the busses had moved. I looked around, walked the perimeter. Nothing. No other people waiting. No bus drivers. Another 30 minutes went by, still nothing. Finally, this guy pops his head out from in between two of the busses and yells something at me in Greek. So naturally, I respond in Spanish (WHAT?) and the guy realizes I’m retarded American and explains that there is a bus leaving to the South and wondered if I might be waiting for that bus. Which I was. I jumped up thanking him profusely and questioning about the bus I was supposed to take. We walked to the outer perimeter of the bus circle and jumped aboard a non-marked charter bus. He explains the bus comes every 15 minutes but doesn’t stop for long and wouldn’t have seen me waiting all the way the freak over where I was.
Whatever.
I made it. And I walked into the hotel lobby just as Justin, Manuel, Mitch and Iggy were checking in. After lots of hugs and good to see you’s, we dropped our shiz off upstairs and proceeded as quickly as possible to the pool.
Here, we proceeded to get Yacht Week started off on the right foot. I drank my one and only ouzo drink of the trip (nasty shit) and we downed our first bottle of Tequila. We stayed by the pool or in the ocean the remainder of the day breaking only for a quick dinner and a pit stop at a cheap shop where the boys ALMOST bought a harpoon, but decided not to because they are boring hadn’t yet rotted their brains with Yacht Week (I guarantee you if we had found a harpoon shop in Hydra, a harpoon would have been purchased).
We broke Justin’s camera the first time it’s advertised waterproof quality was actually tested (fail) and made friends with Pete, the manager of the hotel restaurant so much so that he let us sit at his restaurant downing tequila until early in the morning and sent over a couple free bottles of wine. Then there was some more tequila. Some more wine. Some more tequila. Lots of Yacht Week chants. Pete. Some water. Pete. Tequila.
Bed. Or rather floor.
