Journals

From the intoxication felt yesterday walking in the fabled Coliseum, to a similarly dizzying effect leaving the Space Discoteque last night, it is safe to say we are all experiencing a hang-over this morning as we travel by ferry to the island of Corfu.   It is never a pleasant feeling to watch yourself moving while you are actually standing still, and only less so when you are trying to recover from the inebriation of the night before.   The Greek ferry we are traveling on is about as far away from a cruise liner as McDonalds is to The Melting Pot.   I am not mincing words here.   It is nothing short of miserable.   Chain smokers who also happen to be ignorant of proper manners abound on this overnight water-taxi.   Every inch of the boat is covered in the foggy, disgusting haze of cigarette smoke.   Except the non-smoking area, approximately all of six tables and located directly next to a smoke-filled bar.   In the kitchen where food is being served on trays cafeteria style, the man behind it is blowing smoke in our face, ashing god knows where.   The food of the Greeks may be delicious, but the astronomical price paid on the ferry makes me sick to my stomach.                 In our cabin sleep does not come easy.   Earlier, one of the girls spotted bed bugs crawling out from under the flimsy blankets on the bunks.   These sorry sleeping quarters contain 2 bunks within an 8 by 10 room, each bunk being no larger than a cot.   Now that we are officially in Greek waters, we are informed we can no longer drink the water from the faucet.   Not even from your toothbrush.   This means we must drop 3 euro on bottled water so we can safely clean our teeth.   One more thing, you can never flush any paper down the toilets in Greece , including on your way there.   If you do, you are in for a spitefully nauseating surprise.   All night long our bunks rock mercilessly to the tune of a knuckle rapping on a desk.   The next morning I am at a loss for words.   By the time we depart the cursed smoker’s longue I am overwhelmed with joy but too tired to stand.   With my iPod in and sunglasses on, I lean on Katie’s arm as we walk to the coach, hoping to soon fade into a deep sleep.               I wake up with a view of the Greek Isles in my window.   We are at our hotel, where the first thing we wish to do is relax beside the pool, order a drink or two and work on our tan.   This truly is the life.   I think I can understand why the Greeks work on “ish” time.   “Ish” time refers to their method of arriving, say if a Greek bus is supposed to be where you are waiting at 5 o’clock, it may actually arrive at 5:20, or what the bus driver would call 5-ish.   After a night out just to ourselves, Katie and I walk back to where the bus from our hotel dropped us off.   We wait nearly a half-hour for the bus to come to a halt in front of us.   The bus just happens to be completely empty.   The driver opens his door and shouts to us, “Where you going!”   Of course, not knowing the name of this particular hotel in what has been a long line of hotels on our trip, Katie opens her purse to look for the card that carries the name.   In a second, the bus driver closes the door and speeds away, leaving us to piece together what just happened.   As we begin to walk listlessly in a daze, my head is spinning with insults I wish to hurl at the next bus driver that crosses our path.   As we continue our walk all the way back to the place we ate dinner, I unknowingly surge ahead of Katie, who is now lagging some 15 feet behind me.   Perhaps I was too locked inside my own head to realize the folly of my deed.   When I hailed a cab and realized she wasn’t next to me, I understood her reasons for not talking the entire ride to our hotel.   As a result of our silence, I took out my wallet and laid it in my lap, preparing to pay the driver when we pulled up.   This I did, and then reached in my pocket for some change to give as a tip.   This is the beginning of what I shall call the wallet incident , for it is the event that clearly delineated my excitement and joy for the rest of the trip.   I believe it could be best summed up by describing our European voyage now in two phases: the Wallet Present phase, or W.P., and the N.M. phase, or the no money for the rest of the entire trip phase.   Although I am not certain as to the details of how my wallet was lost, it could have a, fallen out when I got out, or b, never got out of the cab at all.  What I know for certain is that I have no money to call my own for the rest of the trip.   Generously, Katie has offered to pay for my stupidity once again.   Although I am willing to concede it was not the worst that could have happened – I still have my passport – it is a crushing blow to my self-esteem.                Perhaps the number 1 rule of European travel:   keep your cash, along with your passport in a safe place at all times, preferably in a money belt around your waist.   I was an idiot, but I'm sorry, I’m still never going to carry a money belt.