A narrow escape and temporary retreat
Trip Start
Apr 30, 2008
1
25
31
Trip End
May 31, 2008
Chania,
Crete,
Greece
Monday, May 26, 2008
The museum is closed for renovations, offering just a small gallery in an adjoining building with less on display than I found in Fira. By the time I reach the Venetian fort it's closed for the afternoon.
It's fiercely hot by now and I'm beginning to feel light-headed. I find a cafe in the shade and sip an iced coffee and water. It's a half hour until the next bus back to Chania. I decide to fold my tent.
I ask directions to the harbor from a woman in the square. "You go down this street. Turn left. And you will see."
Off I go. Moments later I her a whistling behind me. A guy is gesturing off to my right. "Harbor?" He nods and points in the opposite direction from what the woman had told me. I thank him and head off that way and stop. Given two opposing sets of directions, I trust my instincts in case they serve me well for the first time. I wait until the last Samaritan has time to disappear and then retrace my original steps. Rounding the corner he is there again. He seems disappointed, walks back up to me and again points off to the right. "Bus?" He nods then starts walking in front of me. I follow him back to the square and he points down a flight of steps that does indeed lead directly to the bus station. To be fair, the woman's directions did end with the possibly cryptic "and you will see." A camel passing through the eye of a needle? A sultan's harem? The error of my ways, more likely.
I'm tired and hot and beginning to feel a little out of sorts but the bus arrives a few minutes later and I slide into a seat and begin to enjoy the air-conditioning.
20 minutes up into the hills above Iraklion, I realize two things.
1) There is no bathroom at the rear of the bus.
2) I am about to be sick.
Thinking quickly, I empty the contents of my stomach into my shoulder bag.
At least I wasn't at a job interview or on a first date, but it occurs to me that there really is no ideal time to be physically ill in front of other people and especially ones who cannot readily escape.
Do I turn to my fellow passengers with a smile of relief? Do I raise my eyes and shrug as if to say, "Where the hell did THAT come from?" Instead, I turn as much of my back to the aisle as I can, rest my head against the window and pretend to sleep for the next two hours, deciding it would be better if everyone thought I were dead, which I earnestly wish I were.
The ride was a horrific blur. Two hours can seem forever when carrying what I have stashed in my luggage. Certainly no time to strike up a conversation.
Finally, we pull into the station in Chania and I'm out of the bus like a shot. Once more in the streets in the afternoon heat, I suddenly realize I'm still a long way from my room at the Hotel Dodgy. I cower briefly in a dead end alley, wondering if I might need to lie down. But I catch a second wind and soldier on back to the harbor and up to my room. I close the shutters and windows and crank up the air. While the room cools, I take a quick inventory of salvageable belongings and climb into bed.
Something very old, very evil and diabolical enough to make the devil blush has now taken possession of my entire GI tract. From whence it came, or what its infernal intent might be, I do not know, but I am ready to almost anything short of voting Republican to speed its exit. I lie there from 6.30 until well after midnight. Sleep comes fitfully and by morning, I'm ready to make another, somewhat tentative, sortie out into the streets of Chania.
