You're talking, but I hate you

On Friday we began our long journey to Athens. This began with our trip to Baker Street, not to be confused with Baker’s Row, which is around the block from us. Baker Street was the point of departure of the EasyBus. It was to be one of two first-time “easy” experiences that day – EasyBus and EasyJet. This is, of course, a hilarious prefix. However, unlike “Easy Annie’s,” which totally does not sound like macaroni, this actually sort of sounds like what it was. Anyway, I gave the driver the wrong ticket, which he marked and thus gave me reason to worry that I would not be able to take the bus back on Sunday. This was actually a good thing, because I always need something to worry about, and this was relatively minor in comparison to say, fear of failing at life and living in a cardboard box (my sister’s main fear).

Anyway, at the airport, Danielle, Erin, and I rushed to security and then wondered where everyone else was. This foreshadowed many of the events that were to follow that weekend.

Danielle finished a book on the plane and let me look at it. She said I might not be interested because it was about Jewish vocations. I read the summary, which discussed a woman who was in training to perform circumcisions. She falls in love with a man who has some sort of terrible, life-ruining secret. I asked Danielle if the secret was that he was uncircumcised. She said no.

The trip from the airport to the Marriott was fairly straightforward; I will say only that it involved Johnnie Walker suitcases, indoor smoking stations, and a somewhat beautiful Metro ticket salesman. We then participated in an elaborate ruse to make the hotel think that we only had two people per room (rather than the actual 3.5). Ryan, who managed to get us this special arrangement, had to sign a lot of little postcards. I had to sign one, which prompted a question that we would repeat to each other in various states of sobriety for the rest of the weekend: “MEE-SES Sarah, are you staying with MEE-STERrr Ryan?”

We then ended up at a restaurant nearby the hotel (which is not downtown) called Seralia. The hotel clerk who recommended it totally wanted to go along. She kept talking about flavors. We had two bottles of a Greek wine from the Nemea region. We would later realize that it was overpriced, but at the time I only cared about making it the fourth day running of being drunk. I had baby lamb. People were chain-smoking.

Due to a misunderstanding about time zones, Nick, Ryan, and Caryn thought we were total bitches the next morning for waking them up at 7:40 when we didn’t have to be anywhere until 10:15. It was actually 9:40, so that was pretty funny. The airport shuttle took us to a somewhat not-near-the-Acropolis location, and we befriended a local man named John who led us to pastries and told us that we could get free internet at a travel agency nearby. My pastry was full of “yellow cheese.”

Then we hiked up to the Acropolis. I will not go into too much detail, partly because there are so many pictures of it, and partly because we never do audio tours so I have no clue what I’m looking at. I will only say that there was a striking young man wearing an absolutely hideous hat lurking somewhere near the Acropolis, but this was before I had perfected the art of photographing strangers. I want to say it was a Russian fur hat, which was totally unnecessary given the weather. We soon realized that we all knew exactly who “the hot guy in the ugly hat” was. Well, except for Ryan, who thought we were talking about some guy in a propeller hat.

The other important thing about the trip to the Acropolis was that it was the origin of many “Sarah let Rick Steves into her pants too easily” jokes, thanks to my Rick Steves money belt. This was about ten million times less funny to people who weren’t Danielle and me because they didn’t know who Rick Steves was.

Danielle and I dragged everyone to a tavern that had been recommended to me by my roommate’s friend – Taverna Filipou. They found this a bit unpleasant as it was quite a long walk, up hills and past the posh shopping district. On the way, we got pictures of the strikers in Syntagma Square. We technically should have avoided Syntagma Square because of the riots, but it’s kind of impossible to get anywhere if you do that. The food was delicious. Danielle and I split a Greek salad and some pasta, and in a candid moment when we switched plates I desperately yelled out, “Save the olives for me!” which was really cruel. But she did, and I still feel bad about it. I also ordered myself a carafe of wine, which no one would help me with until I said they didn’t have to pay. Even though they helped, I still ended up sort of drunk.

For dinner we had reservations at a tavern in Gazi, one of the nightclub districts. Once again, the person who made the reservation for us at the desk seemed to really want to join our party. She said, “Ah yes, Gazi is very fun, for young people.” She sighed, which was ambiguous, because she herself did not appear very old. Anyway, the Green Line, that which would have taken us closest to Taverna Skoufias, was closed, so instead we had to walk through very sketchy areas to get to the restaurant. There was much whining from everyone. We walked past a place called “Brothel” that was probably not a brothel, and we stopped to get directions from a chain-smoking pharmacist. Chain-smoking is the best adjective to describe Greece.

We got there late for our nine o’clock reservation, which hardly seemed to matter when the restaurant was completely empty. This did not bode well. The menu was completely in Greek, so our waiter painstakingly translated each item for us. “Yellow cheese” was a recurring ingredient. I really must figure out what this is. Around eleven, we realized that the restaurant was packed, and that no matter how late we try to eat in European countries, we will never be able to successfully find the popular time. We asked our waiter for ouzo after dinner, but instead he treated us to tsipouro, which was absolutely fine with me. It is distilled from must and tastes like it.

Rather sated but still desiring to have some Greek fun, we wandered back to the center of Gazi with all of the clubs and bars. The most popular one was “Soho,” so we attacked and obtained an outdoor table. Erin and I were immediately drawn into the bar by the dance music and by the fact that it was a bar. We realized the next day that they were playing American music outside and Greek music inside, but we don’t know what purpose this served. In any case, they gave you your money’s worth there. A rum and coke was way more rum than it was coke. After several trips to the bar, we were slightly violated by some Greek men who tried to dance with us. I ran back to our table and sat on Danielle’s lap. One of the men followed, and we were forced to make him go away. This was no easy task since he was persistent and didn’t speak English. Fortunately, just as we were getting rid of him, one of our friends became very ill and started nursing an ice-bucket.

We decided to take her home immediately by cab, and successfully rejected several cab drivers who were going to rip us off. The night continued until the early morning with a deck of Greek Lover cards. Some of us played rummy, some of us lay around talking incoherently, and one of us hung out in the bathroom due to other rum-related experiences.

Story about the Greek Lover cards: the lady who sold them to me made fun of my money belt. She asked me if I was “afraid.” I considered interpreting this as an accusation of cowardice and starting a fight, but I was holding off on my semi-serious plan to get arrested in Europe, at least for a few more weeks.

Another story about the Greek Lover cards: it’s impossible to play games with these things without having spontaneous laughing fits when you realize what is on your card.

I rose at 8:15 the next morning despite the time change being in the opposite direction and despite going to bed only four hours before that. Lurking in the room for an hour, I unintentionally enacted on Danielle Ryan’s worst fear: waking up to someone staring at you. Erin and Danielle and I went out to get breakfast, and on the way back picked up a stray dog. I guess you should never carry a pastry in your pocket on Greek highways. The hotel bellman chased off the dog, but the receptionists could barely control their glee when they asked us, “Have you made a new… friend?” This statement was followed by muffled giggling, but in a good way. Danielle observed that we were bringing a lot of life to the Marriott and that they would miss us when we left.

Upon arriving at the archeological museum, Kelly and Erin and I quickly tired of looking at statues and instead people-watched from the steps. This mostly consisted of little-girl watching, which does sound strange but is an accurate description of what we did. One little girl came and sat down next to us, but we did not get on very well with her as she only spoke Greek. She wore pink and pigtails. Another highlight was the man doing physical therapy. It took us a while to figure out what the woman helping him walk was dragging him by. Come to think of it, we never figured that out.

It should also be mentioned that when asking for directions that day, this woman wacked me from behind with her infant that was mummified in a bright yellow snowsuit, which was completely uncalled for (both seasonally inappropriate baby bundling and use of babies as weapons).

While trying to go to a good restaurant for lunch, we were intercepted by another man who wanted to be our friend. When the restaurant was closed for Sundays, he told us to follow him. As the roads kept winding and as he kept speaking to us in broken English, we began to wonder what was going on, and, more importantly, whether we would have to tip him. Fortunately, we didn’t. We ended up at a family restaurant where we insisted upon eating baklavas even though it made us miss the 24-hour window of our Metro passes. I gave Danielle an olive, but still felt guilty about the previous day. It was a day of sacrifice and atonement.

Everything that happened after that was a blur, but somehow I am in London.