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 The
Olympic airways 757 seemed simultaneously both alike and different
from the hundreds of Delta, Northwest and United ones I had flown.
The flight attendants were all decked out in current euro-fashion,
with eyeglasses that will surely be the rage in the US three years
from now and suits and dresses with subtle trim adjustments in
collar, lapel, and pocket. All announcements were in Greek first,
then something else, then in very very difficult to follow English.
Everybody smiled and I got out my camera and took pictures of
on-board signage (exit, fasten seat belts) in Greek first, and
English second.
We were served breakfast, with juice and bottled water, pieces of
cheese, slices of meat, wonderful croissants and terrible coffee. Of
course, 4 big black olives and some feta cheese, straight from the cow.
 The
weather was gorgeous and the plane was half empty. I took pictures
out the window of Tel Aviv and the glorious blue waters of the
Mediterranean Sea. An hour later, my window was a jeweler's showcase
as individual "Greek Isles" floated by, all in green,
ringed in golden sand and set in beautiful blue water. I took
pictures of the first half dozen, then could hardly wait to see
Athens and the surrounding countryside.
In another half hour, the wispy clouds became larger, the blue skies
became dotted, then streaked, then entirely gray. The windows were
suddenly a places where raindrops tapped and danced. Yes, it was
raining and completely cruddy in Athens on my one day to visit.
We landed at the airport and I was surprised to learn there were
actually two Airport terminals supporting the one set of runways in
Athens. (Note: A new modern airport is already under construction, 50
km away in Sparta, Greece). I deplaned (I guess you could say I
debussed) into the 'regional' (read that 'old') terminal, and looked
across the runways at the beautiful and modern 'international'
terminal. Had I been connecting to Delta this day, I would have
needed to follow signs to a different bus to the other terminal.
Instead (and worse) I would be renting a car, then dropping it off in
a place I had never been!
 I
waited almost an hour (that quaint European tradition) for my
luggage, but had already hit the ATM for Drachmas. Two minutes to
clear customs then a half kilometer walk (outside, down the sidewalk,
and back inside) to the car rental counters. We do not have your
reservation. We do not have you account number. We do not have
anything. What were you told you would have to pay? I showed my hand
written note and it must have been 'within tolerance' for she
generated a new rental agreement, gave me directions to the car lot
(a kilometer the other way) and confirmed that I would be able to
drop off the car at the other terminal tomorrow morning.
On the walk back to the rental car lot, I passed a blue armored car
w/attached automatic weaponry surrounded by Greek soldiers this time
(welcome to Europe) and one of the million or so free standing kiosks
(who needs 7-11?) selling sodas, cigarettes and magazines. I picked
up a one liter Coke, and listened to the storekeeper shouting Greek
instructions to a customer unable to find a particular item in the
soda fridge, slightly around the corner but in view to the shopkeeper
thanks to a very large angled mirror directly over my head. With that
transaction finished, and after pursing his lips and giving a long
Greek sigh through his nose, he turned is attention to me and said
'Four Hundred Drachma'. 'Do I look THAT American', I thought, but did
not bother to ask, and finally noticed the various denominations on
my bills and was surprised to receive coins in return, each with
somebody's face in profile, one with an Atomic symbol.
In the car lot, the car is very small, but I can fit in. The
attendant helps me shove my huge roller suitcase into the tiny trunk
and shows me the trick of slamming the lid with just enough force to
get it to catch without breaking the back window or the tightly
wedged suitcase. I confirm with him on the map where we are, and that
Hertz has a drop off at the other ('international') terminal. It
takes me 10 minutes to adjust the seat, then the steering wheel, then
the mirrors; to initialize my GPS, set out my maps and directions and
to familiarize myself with the 4-speed stick shift and the clutch
pedal's location. Then I am off , like a turtle snug in his shell.
I need to find the other terminal, since I will no doubt be in a
hurry when I drop off my car, when leaving the country tomorrow. I
will "mark the spot" with my GPS (and a couple leading up
to it) for safety and confidence. The web page stated that my hotel,
while old and inexpensive, was the 'nearest hotel to the airport' so
I figured to look for it while I was over on the other,
'International', side.
 To
traverse from the 'old terminal' to the 'new' requires 20 or so
minutes if you know where you were going. It took me almost an hour.
I had a map (from Barnes and Noble, in English) but the signs were
all in the Greek alphabet. Sadly, just before I left Greece to return
home I realized that there was a one-to-one correspondence between
the Greek letters and phonetic English letters, that I could have
bought or even made a little 'cheat sheet' and would have been able
to painstakingly read the street signs as English sounding words, if
I had only had the time patience or previous experience. I followed
the signs that said, essentially, "Osdphmatp/Aeroport", and
in around 60 minutes I was there. I marked the spots for tomorrow,
even drove to the very entrance point of the rental car return lot.
Then I started to circle nearby streets looking for my hotel.
After 30 minutes, I had been pretty methodical (using the technique I
developed when I play 'battleship' with my son) but had found
nothing. I had my map and my hotel's web page and courageously turned
into a gas station. I asked if anybody spoke English (of course not).
I pointed to the map, but could not explain that I wanted to simply
know where we were and were I needed to go. Even with a pencil to
point, I could not communicate this thought. They read the web page
printout and knew immediately where the hotel was but could give only
spoken (Greek) directions. I knew I was far off the trail, figured to
get closer and try again, but the directions were long and odious
with many turns signaled with arms, and hands and many counts
(distance? Lights?) signaled with fingers. OK, OK, I lied. Thank-you,
Gratzie, Prosze, I muttered, and I smiled and I waved, and I drove
off in the wrong direction.
So it was back to my map and my instincts and another gas station
after another 20 minutes. "Does anyone speak English?",
(no), but a customer, in a suit, having a flat tire fixed said,
"I speak English". I showed him the web page and while I
watched he spoke for almost a full minute in mumbled Greek with the
two station attendants. He turned to me and said "you are quite
a distance away" (by European standards, I guess). I was
surprised by this assessment so I asked "But I am in the correct
city?" and he replied that his city was "very large".
I spared him the discussion of a US style megalopolis and received
instead the directions to the hotel that was nearly 3 miles from
where we stood. Maybe he thought I was walking or on horseback.
He then said, essentially, "proceed on this road until the first
light that you can turn left, follow that street until it ends and
curve off to the left and follow again until anther light allows to
turn right and you will be there." And I did as I was told and
saw my hotel's sign and realized the obvious fact that it was indeed
the closest, not to the 'international terminal' but to the
'regional' ('old') terminal and I had practically driven over the
hotel's front lawn within the first 5 minutes that I had left the
rental car lot. As I parked my tiny car to go in and register for my
room, my odometer listed 60 kilometers (out of my free 100), and I
was truly never more than 5 miles from the spot where I was now standing.
I checked in and took the phonebooth size elevator (with the now
standard swing-open entry door) to my floor and my room, which was
decked out with the now standard tiny bed, rough bath towels and nice
little 14 inch color TV with 7 different language channels and CNN
international. OK with me.
 A
quick call home (I'm OK, go to bed), pull my sweatshirt and jacket
(it was cool, but not cold) and pack a quick backpack with
electronics. It is now that I first noticed that my car had no
cigarette lighter jack, so my PC with my GPS interface cable and
interactive Athens roadmap could be used only in a dire emergency as
I would have only 30 or so minutes of availability. Oh well. I take a
couple of quick pictures of my tiny bed in my tiny room and of the
Aegean sea that is plainly visible from my 3rd floor balcony.
Unfortunately, the day is overcast, but the rain has stopped. The sky
is gray and the blue sea is also slightly gray. We are definitely out
of season and I learn just how close to the airport I am staying when
a plane takes off and the widows and dressers actually rattle.
I stop at the desk, and do a very smart thing that, luckily I did not
need to use. Will you please write me a note in Greek, that I might
show somebody if I am lost, I ask. It should say: "Will you
please show me on this map where I am right now". I explained
that if I knew where I was, I could always get myself back to the
hotel. The desk clerk wrote it (on hotel stationary) and carefully
pointed to the words as he read it back to me. I showed him my maps
and where on the map we were now standing and he smiled and agreed. I
was off and he wished me a good day. The clock said it was just after
1 o'clock in the afternoon.
I point my little car north toward Athens on the coast highway. I
tune the radio, lots of English rock music interrupted with Greek (or
maybe Italian) announcers. I keep tuning then find it, Voice of
America! I listen to news reports about the doings in Washington and
the Middle East. An announcer tells me that the station is in English
but provides news from the "Greek Diaspora", the people of
Greek ancestry settled in countries all over the world. I wait in
anticipation of news from Tarpon Spring s,
my hometown in Florida and site of the Greek "sponge docks"
and Epiphany festival, but am let down.
Once again it is Euro-style apartment buildings. Nobody, it seems, in
Greece knows what is a 'single family home'. The traffic is small and
fast, but not as arrogant as some of the things I had read on the
web. Again, I was ready for it and I am able to be, although not by
nature, an aggressive driver myself when necessary. The street signs
are in the Greek alphabet (felt like I was in fraternity row). Only
"Athens" and "acropolis" were, from time to time,
signed in English. I ended up in downtown Athens, looping around
behind the Acropolis. looping around behind the Acropolis. Many
streets were one-way, some were blocked off for construction. A new
subway was going in, too. The famous motor-scooters were everywhere,
and did indeed not heed any red lights or stop signs. It took a
little getting used to, but I was fine within 15 minutes. Although, I
must admit that, on December 5th, I was in the ultimate ‘out of
season’ week-end of the year.
 I
find "Hadrian's Arch", the same Roman Hadrian of
Scotland's 'Hadrian's Wall' fame that we had just seen in July. It
seems that, like me, Mr Hadrian got around. I could see the temple in
the park behind the arch (Zeus's?), and circle around and around (and
around again) the famous 'Plaka' district of restaurants and shops  on
the hillside above Athens and below the Acropolis. I turn my tiny c ar
into one of the tiny side streets and it gets tinier and tinier.
Suddenly I am driving on cobblestone sidewalks. Suddenly I am driving
BETWEEN street vendor racks of T-shirts ("I'll take one
to-go"). Now my little side-street crosses another and there is
no driveway, I must drive down then up over curbs. This leads me to
believe I am driving my car on one of those 'pedestrian only'
promenades, yet I pass a parked car every hundred or so meters so I
don't know exactly what to think. My GPS fails from time to time, due
to the buildings. I find a parking lot (for a restaurant) and pull in
to review my map. A police car is following me but has no interest,
and my concept of "heading west" it turns out is actually
"heading north" but I figure out where I am. Drive out,
then around, then back in on a different street and I find a nice
little dead end street ('cul-de-sac'?) directly beneath the Parthenon
with on-street parallel parking. I park the car, switch sweatshirt
for jacket, pull together GPS, camera, and supplies.
 I
set off on foot in Plaka, something absolutely every tourist guide
said that I HAD to do. And it is OK. I stop and buy some postcards
and am wished to 'enjoy myself'. Business is slow, so some vendors
are out on their little sidewalks waving me in (in English – do
I look THAT American?). If I dare to stop and look at something in
the window, I am pounced upon and told that there are many more
inside and they are very well priced and that they would be exactly
what I wanted. And I wish I had a video recorder to capture the
moment and the conversation. It is still threatening rain, but I
leave my umbrella in my pocket. Many restaurants and cafes have many
diners (something I was also told I HAD to do) but I decide that that
is not for me. I purchase a souvenir, some more post cards, and walk
by the famous 'water tower' that has stood since, well, the time of
Athens. I decide it is not necessary to walk the actual Parthenon,
and the overcast is making it not 'show well'. I will either return
tomorrow (if it is sunny) or next time (if it is not).  An
older man starts to talk to me and he is either lonely, crazy or a
street beggar pretending he is not. Let me take your picture,
"No, I am OK". Have you gone to the Acropolis, "No, I
will go tomorrow". You must stop for dinner here in Plaka, it is
very famous, "I already ate". "Thank-you and
good-bye". Did you stop by the parliament, "I will do so
tomorrow, I must go now, thank-you and good-bye". I look back
just before I step out of sight and he is sitting by himself on the
park bench where he sat when I arrive to take my first picture. I
still cannot decide between crazy, lonely, ambassador or beggar. And
come to think about it, it doesn't really matter.
 Up
3 hills and 200 stairs (I don't remember walking DOWN them) and the
GPS routes me back to the car. Several nice shots of distant Athens
apartment buildings shot between roofs and buildings of old Plaka,
but it is still trying to rain and my feet hurt and I am ready to
jump into my car.
I have not eaten, and here we go again. I will not stop in a
McDonalds (or anywhere that makes me 'comfortable' as an American)
yet I do not wish to sit by myself for 30 to 60 minutes and dine
alone. I am driving again, and the rush-hour traffic is lightening at
6pm as the sky is first darker, then finally night. I watch the
streetlights turn on, but can still read my map and GPS by the dome
light. What to do for dinner?
On the little boulevard, the lights run against me and the
motorscooters are buzzing like flies. Out of the corner of my eye, I
pass a little bakery. Ohhh, baklava! Ohh, napoleons! But I shouldn't
have sweet treats without dinner, I will get a headache! So I stop to
buy baklava's 'for later'. Do you speak English, 'heh heh O.K.' she
replies. It is a woman slightly younger than I and her Greek featured
husband (I imagine). I imagine they are running a 'family bakery' and
spend their mornings baking bread and their evenings talking with
neighbors going home to dinner. But I made the whole thing up and
have no idea.
 Several
glass displays are filled with Baklava, and things that look much
better than any desserts I have ever seen. I walk around, trying not
to get a sugar headache from just looking. Then I cross over to two
racks filled with what I thought were cheese danishes, only the
yellow cheese is actually scrambled eggs and the specks are pieces of
bacon. I stop and look closer. Indeed the entire glass case is full
of egg and cheese roll-ups, only with flaky croissant pastry and
incredibly presented. The case is not cooled, like the dessert one,
but is slightly heated! I take 'one of these and one of those' and
they are placed in a wax paper bag for me. I point to the chocolate
milk in the cooler behind the counter but finally give up and just
step one step behind the counter and open it myself and pull out a
carton and place it on the counter for her as she smiles and nods.
Then the baklava. Not that one, no this, no wait, here. A triangular
pastry, the size of a US breakfast danish, but flakey croissant dough
and filled with honey and walnuts and who knows what else. She is
suddenly worried. She furrows her brow and bites her lip. She shakes
her head a little, from side to side, and finds the word that has her
concerned. "Sweet", she says, and I feel my eyes light up
having expected that she might have said "Poisoned".
"Yeeessss, SWEET", I reply and I feel my smile grow from
one ear to the other. She turns and types in a cash register then
turns and says "ye bidney dizz". I hold up a Drachma note
between her and I and give her the universal eyebrow thing that means
'is this enough?'. She takes it, smiles and turns and gives me a
couple of bills and a handful of those cute coins and I am on my way.
It is dark out and the bakery is lit from inside and even the
building looks delicious. I drive off, but think better and make a
second U-turn and return a third time to the little bakery. I roll
down my window and wait for them to reappear. From the lot outside I
take one last picture today (and it turned out perfect).
It is now dark, and Greece looks mostly like anywhere else,
streetlights and headlights and stoplights. I drive up the coast to
Pierna and see dozens of sea vessels and think of Ari Onassis (and
want a coney dog). I give up and consult my GPS to drive back to my
hotel but get turned around on dead ends and railroad crossings and
one-way streets. I am in little Pierna (and honest to goodness, I
pass a 'Planet Hollywood' yecch!) I spot a little walk-up restaurant
with its well-lit window displaying the spinning meat unit that I
immediately recognize as a 'gyro' from back home. I mark it with my
GPS and spend 30 minutes, waiting for lights, waiting for trains,
waiting for police and ambulances with sirens blaring before I just
give up and decide to forget the sandwich (where upon I immediately
drive by the building again – but again no parking spot for
blocks, arrgh!). The small, crowded one-way streets and little
storefronts are terrible for driving but wonderful to the eye. All
the stores are open on this Saturday night, and most of the stores
and most of the streets are decked out with Christmas decorations.
I work my way out of that congested little seaport downtown, and back
to the main road back to my hotel. I come upon another East/West
thing and, just like in Milan, I take the wrong one. I have been
generally following the signs to "Athens" and do so one too
many times and actually end up heading toward Athens instead of my
hotel. Can't make a U-turn, no place to stop. Grrrr. Suddenly the
grungy warehouse district opens to a well lit warehouse style store.
It is a "Toys'R'Us" (in Greek), right down to the backward
"R". Everybody is doing Christmas shopping and I get it, I
know what I will bring home as my souvenir from Greece.
 I
park the car (way in back, the place is packed) and rush in to find
the water closet, then take my time to wander around the aisles,
listening to piped in Christmas tunes, some by anonymous bands and
some sung (in Greek) by a children's choir. Parents and children are
everywhere, and you can see the universal greed in their little eyes
and there little fingers pointing at things and saying (in Greek)
"and I WANT this TOO". Oops, Merry Christmas.
So I find them both, the Greek Monopoly and the Greek version of
Scrabble. But they are very very expensive (drat!). I recognize most
of the 'cheap' toys as the same ones available in the US. The little
toy police cars and the plastic helicopters, made in China, with
English language "Rescue" stickers plastered on them. I
feel sad to see little Greek kids play with the same junk my own kid
played with at that age, knowing that the Greek kid is simultaneously
being exploited (like my kid) and inadvertently surrendering a little
piece of his own rich cultural heritage at the same time.
So I read the boxes for Monopoly and Scrabble (and Risk, and
Battleship, and Uno) and I learn a funny thing: that the crazy and
frustrating Greek alphabet makes these games essentially unusable to
me. Not willing to part with 50 bucks for an unplayable novelty
keep-sake, I keep looking and find a game or two that do not really
need instructions and that we might have purchased in the US anyway
(Score-4 is our current craze). I also find some soccer stuff from
the local teams (plastic mugs, little jerseys) and buy them, too. I
do the checkout without speaking, giving my Drachma note and
receiving change while smiling mute. I drive back to the hotel, piece
of cake this time, and up to my tiny room, and call home (everybody
is OK) and head to bed.
Tomorrow I will either drive to the Acropolis, or south down to the
Temple of Apollo or I will sleep in if I'm too tired. My plane leaves
at noon for JFK, so I will be AT the airport AT 10am. I will set my
alarm (and my USA wake-up call) for 5:30. Either I'll make it, or I wont.
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