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The journey from Chios
Entry 13 of 31 | show all | print this entry |
May 13, the last day on the island, car-less and carefree once again, with no more complex plans than a day on the beach and naturally it's raining. Skies stop dripping around midday, allowing for an afternoon with books on the beach chairs, white, overcast skies overhead, martini in hand. We decide to try dinner in Chios town for a change of scene on the last night. Alanah, the South African desk clerk at Erytha, recommends her favorite Greek restaurant and writes down it's name and the street it's on for us. The cab arrives and the driver has never heard of the place, but says he'll call in and get the address.
On the way into town, he tells us he's a former seaman and has visited ports all over the world, including San Francisco, Vancouver, the Great Lakes, Odessa and Leningrad. By the time we get to town he's forgotten where he's taking us. We give him the name of the restaurant and he calls it in. No luck. He drops us on the street where it's located, gestures down an alley. 9.50 euros.
There is indeed a restaurant at the end of the alley, although the name doesn't seem to match what Alanah has given us and there is a chain and padlock across the entrance. We ask a variety of passersby where the restaurant might be and to a man, no one has heard of it. A few suggest we come back around 9 or 10 when restaurants open. It's already 8, so we decide to give that a try and head back to the waterfront for a drink in a cafe. After 9, we return to the street where the cab dropped us by a random route of our own design (Bella's lack of any sense of direction is only matched by my own) and it is approaching 10 when we return to the alley to confront the same chain and padlock. Our flight the next morning is at 7.45 and we decide to forgo dinner in town, fold our flags and cab back to Karfas for a bite at one of the tavernas near the hotel. Striding purposefully off for where we imagine the waterfront to be, we are soon well out of town into a very dark residential area with few signs of life apart from the usual flea-bitten, urban dog squad, following our heels.
I vote for retracing our steps while there is still a chance of making it back to our hotel before morning. We do that, find the square and are soon back in Karfas. 5 euros. (Cab fares are determined by a very secret mental calculation by the drivers and vary a good deal. The fare to the airport the next morning, half the distance to Chios, is 11 euros). After a desultory meal of cheese stuffed hamburger and a Caesar salad, we plod on back to the hotel and call it a night around 11.30.
Up at dawn, packed and checked out, we're off to the airport with enough time to gulp a cup of thick Greek coffee in the check-in line and are airborne for Athens on schedule, landing about 40 minutes later. This marks the 5th time I've been here since landing early on May 2. My flight to Santorini leaves in two hours -- or would have if it hadn't been canceled due to a 4-hour strike by airport employees. The Aegean Airlines agent books me on the only other flight today at 5.45.
With 8 hours to kill, it's an unexpected extra day in Athens for me and we cab to Bella's hotel on Omonia Square through heavy morning traffic. Her room's not ready and we spend an hour over iced coffees back in Syntagma Square nearby. It's already hot. Even the pigeons look tired.
I leave my bags in Bella's room and we take the Metro to the Acropolis station to wander around the Old Town at the foot of the hill, the oldest streets in Athens. Its twisted cobble streets are now home to innumerable souvenir shops and packed with crowds of tourists. American accents, suddenly everywhere. Shambling hordes of elderly fannypackers following brisk, neatly coiffed tour guides bearing cruise ship signs. After a light lunch and a heavy mug of beer, it's time to reclaim my luggage, bid Bella farewell and ride the Metro back to the airport. She accompanies me as far as the entrance. We say goodbye, and when I turn around halfway down the stairs, she's gone.
My flight to Santorini isn't even on the board yet and I settle in to read Roberto Bolano's Savage Detectives. When they post the gate an hour later, I clear security and by the time I get there, the flight has been delayed 30-minutes and by the time we board and the landing gear groans back inside the belly of the plane we're an hour late. But, Santorini beckons and less than an hour later, the plane descends rapidly, banking into a tight spiral to land on the flat eastern side of what's left of the volcanic island of Thira.
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