Nine: Go Broke For What You Love.

I’m warning you from the get-go that this is going to be long.  So if you do decide to start reading it then don’t get annoyed halfway through and think to yourself, “Dammit.  Why is this already so long?  I’m not even halfway through.”  I’m telling you now that it will be long.  I’m not going to feel bad if you complain.  The reason it’s going to be so long is because some of you have asked me why I haven’t written more.  Well, here it is—more.  When brainstorming about how I was going to start off this post I thought I might do a play on the whole MasterCard “Priceless” campaign; however, I eventually decided that would be lame (because it undoubtedly would have been).  And also I’d lose credibility as a writer.  I know, I know…I had so much to begin with—what, with all of my published, best-selling novels and all.  Still, I thought I’d save you from wincing at your computer screen as you read through the list of the 3 or 4 tangible and costly things ending with some life-altering experience that didn’t cost a dime.  That’s a lie.  Greece took all of my money (as well as some of my grandmother’s); however, it was well worth it.  That’s still not the same thing as priceless, although I get MasterCard’s drift.  (Between you and me, I think they need a new drift.)  Plus, if I had done that then you wouldn’t have gotten any of the inside jokes, and both you and I would have wasted 45 seconds of our lives that we wouldn’t ever get back.  I bet that same thought is running through your head at this very moment.  Moving on.  I suppose it would be best to start at the beginning and work my way through the week.   Rachel and I chose to take the earliest flight to Athens, which resulted in the decision to save money and sleep in the Milan airport rather than in a hotel.  We actually almost died on the way to the airport.  Maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but I’d bet a million IOUs (because that’s all I’m good for right now) that the cab driver was going a speed that would get a person locked up for life in America.  It made the fare cheaper, so I suppose we owe him thanks for that.  Anyway, our flight was at 6:20 a.m. on Saturday (July 5^th) so we figured we’d be fine in the airport for a night.  We forgot to bring our sleeping bags or anything resembling a blanket, and we got stuck with the only unpadded metal bench in the entire place.  The bench was a bit frigid.  I contemplated running and jumping in a bag to spoon with one of our fellow bunkmates (that’s what the others were referred to after 2 a.m., once our delirium had set in) but I thought about it twice and settled on the fact that I wanted to go to Greece—not jail.  So Friday night we got 1.5 hours of sleep.  We arrived in Athens on Saturday, tired and dirty (wow, that sounded perverse…not my intent) and it took us about 2.7 seconds to realize that Greek isn’t like any language that Rachel or I have ever learned. And no, memorizing the Greek alphabet as a sorority pledge did not help.  Thanks for nothing, Kappa Delta.  Eventually we figured out which metro stop to get off on and were able to make it to our posh hostel.  We dropped our stuff off, crossed our fingers that it would still be there upon our return, and set off for the Acropolis.  I’m not even going to try and explain through words how amazing that was.  I’m sure you can guess. If not, you might want to get out more.  Later that day, still sans sleep and showers, we met up with Pano, a friend of mine from Atlanta.  Cabs are dirt cheap in Athens; however, we still had to walk 20 minutes to meet up with him because the driver only understood “beach”, not the name of the beach, which was “Ble”.  To be honest, I didn’t understand the name of the beach.  You try and pronounce it.  No, like literally say it out loud.  See?  Not so easy.  It was nice to see another familiar face—one that understands Greek and knows where to go.  We made plans to meet up with him later—and that was when my love affair with the country really began.  By the way, just so you can stop worrying about it, Rachel and I were clean once we all reconvened.  I can’t remember the name of where we were or the part of the city we were in once we met up later, and that’s not due to over-intoxication.  That’s due to what I’ve already said about the Greek language, and if you weren’t paying attention then that’s your fault.  I’m not repeating myself again.  All I can say is that we spent  50 apiece to sit at a table and experience many things, including: Greek dancing, drinking, and a glimpse of the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my life.  Throughout the night I tried to come up with ways I could become even the slightest bit Greek (because most Greek men like to marry Greek women)…apparently it’s not possible.  That dream stopped there.  Explaining the entire night would take too long, and I’ve still got loads to cover.  Just take my word for it—it was fun.  We didn’t get back to our hostel until 6 a.m. Sunday and had already decided at about 4 a.m. that we were going to try to catch the first Ferry to Mykonos.  We packed our bags and hopped on the metro to go to the port.  We got on the first ferry out, went up to the deck, and attempted to fall asleep.  We met two girls from New York, Anna and Kelly, on the ferry and ended up hanging out with them the rest of the trip.  It was kind of like freshman year of college, when you don’t know a soul and you’re willing to hang out with pretty much anyone on your hall—except these girls were cool so it worked out splendidly.  Sometimes that happens.  Did I mention that Rachel and I had nothing booked for this trip apart from our flights?  Well, we didn’t.  Not a thing.  So when we got off the boat in Mykonos (after 6 hours) we were hounded by Greek hotel paparazzi.  That’s what it felt like, at least.  After many offers we settled on a beachside hotel that promised us our own bathroom, shower, and AC for  25.  We did have our own bathroom that had a nice mothball/mildew odor to it (giving it some character, you know), our shower was not separate from our bathroom (as in, we had to remove the toilet paper so it wouldn’t get soggy and after that we weren’t sure whether to sit on the toilet or stand while bathing…there wasn’t much room), and our AC was a swivel fan with 3 different settings.  Clever, Mykonos, very clever.  I’m not picky, but I prefer to feel cleaner after I shower, not dirtier.  It’s just a thing I have.  It didn’t matter anyway.  We didn’t have to sleep there because we were out until 8 a.m. Monday morning.  To clear up any confusion, during most days on the islands we went to the beach.  It’s not fun to write about how tan or burned I got, and it’s even less fun to read about it—so that’s why I haven’t attempted to tell you.  Also, I don’t think I need to mention how beautiful Greece is.  I know I haven’t really done so yet, but I would think that goes without saying.  One funny incident that happened on Sunday during the day…Rachel told our waiter she was from The United States, and he misinterpreted that as her name and asked her, United States, out for coffee the next morning.  Other than that, our nights were far more interesting.  Our lack of sleep finally caught up with us on Monday night, and we decided that since we were staying in a nice hotel we might as well take advantage of it and sleep.  We walked around in town for a little bit and took the wrong bus back home.  The bus we took went to Paradise Beach.  We were supposed to take the bus to Paraga Beach.  Distance-wise, the two are very close; however, walking-wise is a completely different story…completely.  I’ve gotten the hang of walking around in Florence to where I don’t feel like I’m going to be sideswiped by a bus or taken out by a scooter.  My street smarts did not carry over into Greece, but I found out that I might have a career in hurdling.  We started walking from Paradise to Paraga up the only road that made sense to walk along.  We made it (obviously, or I wouldn’t be telling you this story) but every time a car or a bus (especially a bus) zoomed by (I use this phrase as literally as it can be used) we had to jump on and over the high wall of rocks lining the road.  That happened at least 5 times.  There were no lights and the only sounds we heard were the ramblings of whom I can only assume was the town drunk and the barks of dogs.  I don’t recommend walking on beach roads in Mykonos at night, even if you are a hurdler.  I have bruises and scrapes to prove why.  Monday night we got 11 glorious hours of sleep, preparing us for Ios.  If you’re thinking about taking a trip to Greece, you’re on a budget, and in between the ages of 20 and 26 then I recommend Ios.  Ios was our favorite island by far.  We ended up meeting some guys from Mexico City who are working in Ios during July and hung out with them both nights—Fabulous company.  We also saw a guy in a toga perform unspeakable acts on a girl in cut-offs…that’s all I’m going to say about that.  PDA (of any degree) is not looked down upon in Greece.  Ever.  To sum it up, Ios = amazing.  You’re probably wondering, “Well, if it was your favorite then why aren’t you writing more about it?”  My answer to you is, That’s an obnoxious question.  Ask me yourself if you’re really that concerned.  I’d say we got about 4ish hours of sleep in Ios.  Up next…Santorini.  The 4 of us (Rachel, Anna, Kelly, and I) gained something from the frisky toga guy other than free soft-core porn:  an idea to wear togas and blue hats around so we could blend in with the buildings (like Where’s Waldo?...sort-of).  I’m sad to report that the idea was never executed; however, we did wear blue headbands around Thursday night.  We looked more like hippies, not Greek architecture.  And the rest of the people in the bars never thought it was as funny as we did.  Chances are you probably don’t either.  Rachel and I met some Spaniards on Thursday night, and Friday morning, once we left the bar, they offered to take us back to our hotel on their mopeds.  Between the language barriers and intoxication levels, she and I decided to walk.  That story sucked.  I apologize.  Santorini just wasn’t as exciting.  If you’re curious about some other things that happened there then ask me later about the Argentine shoes I’m supposedly receiving in the mail, what was put in my pocket by one of the Spaniards, and why Rachel and I had to order wine (that was the equivalent of battery acid) during sunset.  They’re okay stories, but I’ve already taken up too much of your time—unless you’re one of my friends who sits at a desk all day and gets paid to facebook stalk.  You know who you are.  Rachel and I both made it back to our separate destinations safe and sound, and I now have the privilege of relaying all of this information back to you.  I was on a vacation high when I returned to Florence on Monday, but I sobered up a bit on Tuesday when Carolina and Maria saw me, ran to me, and jumped up to hug me.  That’s a feeling not even Greece can replicate.  I realize I haven’t updated much about Italy in a while.  I have a few stories up my sleeve, so I’ll try to mesh them together and spit out another post soon.  Until then, this particular epic should keep you busy for at least a week—that is, if you’ve managed to read this far.  If so, I’ll bet you another million IOUs that you’re sitting in your cubicle, have already facestalked all of your exes, crushes, co-workers, etc. and have nothing else to do but read my blog.  Thank you, I appreciate it.  As I contribute to your salary, you’re contributing to my credibility.

 

Peace. Love. Penniless.