April 4, 2013
26 of 65
It’s All Greek to Me
Three months after we were married, Cathy and I embarked on a “trip of a lifetime” to Greece. It did not begin well.
We flew from Denver to New York and then took a long overnight flight from JFK to Athens. From the airport we took a bus to the Syntagma Square area and our hotel. The bus driver appeared to be a homicidal maniac, weaving through traffic at high speeds with seemingly no concern for pedestrians, other vehicles or his passengers. We felt lucky to reach our destination alive. Had we known – as we soon learned – that everyone in Athens drove like that, we could have sat back and enjoyed the ride.
Tired and feeling the effects of jet lag, we did some brief sight-seeing and retired to the hotel for a good night’s rest. My internal clock had not adjusted to the new time zone, so I awoke shortly after 2:00 a.m. and could not go back to sleep. At about 4:00, I quit trying and decided to go jogging. Moving as quietly as I could so as not to wake Cathy, I turned on a desk lamp, opened a map of Athens, and mentally created my running route. I refolded the map and slipped out the door, leaving the map on the desk – I had memorized where I would go and my mind is like a steel trap.
I jogged at an easy pace to a hilltop that was perhaps two miles away. I paused for a few moments to enjoy the first rays of dawn over the city before starting back down the hill. Nothing looked the same as I returned. I might as well have been in a foreign country. Oh yeah, I was. I missed a turn and within minutes was completely lost.
I jogged more slowly, trying to get some bearings, longing for my map and wondering what the street signs said. Eventually, I came upon a broad avenue lined with sidewalk cafes on either side. It appeared to be a major thoroughfare, but I was not certain which way to go. I noticed an older woman sweeping the sidewalk in front of a house. As I approached her, I was glad that I had listened to the Berlitz “Greek for Travelers” tape before leaving Colorado. In my best Greek, I said (shown phonetically here): “Meh seen-hor-i-teh. O-pou ee-neh Sin-TOG-ma?” – meaning, of course, “Excuse me. Where is Syntagma?”
Syntagma Square is surrounded by the Parliament building, the National Botanic Gardens, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, hotels and restaurants. I was sure that any Greek would know how to find it. This lady looked at me strangely and asked (again phonetically): “Sin-TOG-ma? Sin-TOG-ma?”
Then – Eureka! – her face lit up, she smiled and said (phonetically): “Ahhh, SEEN-dog-ma” Apparently I had placed the accent on the wrong syl-LAB-le. She merely pointed. I thanked her, again in my “near-perfect” Greek, and began jogging in that direction. Every couple of blocks, I stopped someone else and asked the same question and continued in the direction each pointed.
Before too long, I was not only on the correct street, but I saw Cathy walking toward me. It was after 10:00. I had been gone for about six hours. Cathy was not amused. She had decided that she had the money, she had our passports, she had our future lodging reservations; and if I wasn’t bright enough to find my way back to the hotel, it was time to begin the vacation without me. Meeting her there on the sidewalk was serendipitous.
The trip got better after that. We walked around Athens for a couple of days taking in the Parthenon, the Agora, the Temple of Olympian Zeus and other fantastic sights. Then we rented a car to tour more distant parts of the country. After we learned through experience some of the unwritten rules of the road, driving through Greece was for the most part quite enjoyable. Sure, I almost drove off the side of a mountain once; but that could happen anywhere. And, we did have to face some angry crowds.
Greece was experiencing gasoline shortages when we were there. Vehicles with certain license plate numbers could be driven only on odd-numbered days and others only on even-numbered days. There was an exception under the law for rental vehicles driven by foreigners like us, but there was no way to tell at a glance that we fell under that exemption. When we would stop in a town on a day that our license plate should have ordinarily been off the road, groups would gather round and remonstrate, sometimes loudly, using words that were not on my Berlitz tape. It all worked out in the end, though.
We saw many magnificent ruins, and some that were barely visible. We visited the monasteries perched high on the rock towers called the Meteora. We followed the footsteps of St. Paul to Corinth and Thessaloniki. We toured ancient Sparta and passed through the Lion Gate at Mycenae where Agamemnon ruled. We ate delicious cumquats on Corfu. On Crete we learned about the Minoan civilization at Knossos and on a plain filled with windmills we went beneath the earth to the cave where Zeus is said to have been born. We cruised among Greek islands talking with Australians who marveled at our weird American accents; and we were awed by the almost other-worldly beauty of Delphi (and the delicious taste of Delphi olives and Delphi honey).
I followed the route of Phidippides, jogging from Marathon to near Athens – though much of way is now through unpleasant industrial areas. I was able to run a lap on the track in the stadium built for the 1896 Olympics – the first modern Olympic Games – and to wander through the beautiful site of the ancient games in Olympia.
It was a wonderful trip. I am so glad Cathy did not leave me wandering the streets of Athens.