A Rainy Day in Greece

Trip Start Aug 31, 2007

Trip End Apr 19, 2008

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Flag of Greece Thessaloniki, Greece
Saturday, November 10, 2007

At 2:37 am, there is a knock on the door. I know it was 2:37 am because I looked at my watch. Bulgarian customs. We hand them out passports and go back to sleep. Half an hour later, they are returned. More sleep. The train moves. When you are repeatedly woken up in the middle of the night, the dreams you have in between become increasingly real. Another knock. Greek customs. He wants our passports. Groggily, I explain that we don't have our passports. We already gave them to another man. He laughs. He can see them lying neatly stacked next to my pillow. I could have sworn I'd already given them out. Stupid dreams. "Don't go to sleep," he warns, "I'll be back." Fat chance. I'm out like a light. At quarter to four, he returns the passports. I notice he doesn't give them to me, the crazy sleeping girl. I stuff mine into my money belt and it's back to sleep once more.

At 5:30, we arrive in Thessaloniki. It is dark, rainy, and cold. We shove our packs into a locker for the day and curl up on the train station's benches to get some sleep. It is not to be, for soon a guard comes over and gets us up

The Alberta Girls on the Train to Greece

. We are surrounded by other sleeping people, so why we are singled out is anyone's guess. After you've travelled for a while, you realize that without the language, you are helpless, and just accept such things. We while away the hours until eight, when I go to ask Information what time the train to Skopje, Macedonia is. "8:20" she snaps. I try to explain that I want the evening train. "8:20. Kassa number 6." End of conversation. Kassa number 6 is closed at the moment anyway, so we head into town. I will never understand why inherently unhelpful people seem to choose to work with tourists.

Thessaloniki looks about as I would have imagined a Greek city: ugly, white concrete block apartments and old cars. An asphalt paradise. We make our way towards the Tourist Information Center on the other side of town, stopping for Susan to contemplate dipping her feet in the Aegean (the steps look pretty slippery, she decides not to) and to snap pictures of the White Tower, a 15th century bastion on the water front. During our walk, we pass the world's hotel and restaurant chains; there's even an Applebee's. The food's not that good in the States. Pray tell, why export it to Europe?

The Tourist Information Center is dry and warm. We leaf through their pamphlets and pick out two museums. Rainy days are perfect for museums and Thessaloniki has a bunch of them. Outside, we crouch in a doorway like street children, and eat some fruit we purchased earlier before heading to the Museum of Byzantine Culture

Old Bastion

. I have a theory that museums could be much warmer if they didn't insist on being made of stone in an effort to appear grand. Even the curators are wearing coats. It appears heat is not in the cards today. Nonetheless, I become educated on the Byzantines. Apparently, Thessaloniki was the second most important city in their empire (after Constantinople) and hence, we quite the seat of culture. Unfortunately, the museum focuses rather much on Byzantine religion (Christianity) and not enough on daily life. I could bore you to tears with what I know about church layouts and decorations during the early-, mid-, and late-Byzantine periods. One thing I do get out of the rather good museum is that I'm glad I wasn't a woman during that period. They weren't even supposed to look pretty (for religious reasons) let alone have any power. What a drag.

At the end of the museum is a very interesting display on the history of museums. It would appear they really got started with the Medici family in Florence, who discovered they could cement their standing in the community by letting the public view their treasures. This trend was continued by European rulers who used national museums to give identity to the countries they were trying to create. Good idea! The Americans started creating museums for profit (yay capitalism!) and the rest is history.

Unfortunately, back in the real world, it is only 11:30 and still raining. Having thoroughly learned about the Byzantines, we set off, rather in the wrong order, for the Museum of Archeology

Musuem Shot

. Here, we learn about neolithic man and his struggle for survival (yep, setting off all sorts of feminism alarms there) before progressing to the foundations of Macedonia.

A long time ago, there was a king named Kassander and according to local tradition, he was not allowed to eat lying down on his pillows, because he had not killed a boar by the time he was 35. Whether he was bitter about this or not, history does not tell us, but we do know that he ordered the inhabitants of 26 towns in the area to move to one location and found the city of Thessaloniki. Many years later, Phillip II got the empire of Macedonia going and after his assassination, his son Alexander (the Great) expanded it as far east as the Indus River.

Unfortunately for the people of Macedonia, Alexander died at the age of 33 and his generals spent so much time squabbling over what to do with his empire that is disappeared. A few centuries later, the region came under the rule of the Romans, which I think suited the locals well enough, and by the time western Rome was falling, Macedonia was an important part of the Byzantine empire.

Leaving the museum, it was definitely time for lunch as aside from the fruit, the three of us had spent the day subsisting on a shared bar of chocolate. "Cheaply" fed at a fast food joint (our quick lunch in Greece cost more than our nice dinner in Bulgaria the night before) we headed for the market. The girls weren't keen on the smell of fish and even less enthused by the sight of skinned rabbits, so we didn't stay very long. Instead, we found a cafe in which to while away the rest of the afternoon. Let's just not talk about how expensive the tea was.

Just before seven, I boarded my train for Skopje. The Canadian girls, needing visas for Macedonia, could not come with me and headed south to Athens. I was joined on board by two Croats who made sure the four hour ride seemed shorter. They regaled me with tales of their hike up Mt. Athos and told me all the places in Croatia I must visit. They also stuffed me full of food: potato chips, mini-chocolate croissants, and a huge ham and cheese sandwich. Customs went smoothly (4 stamps in 24 hours) and soon, I was in Skopje, taking a cab to the hostel, and falling into a real bed.