Touring England

The south of England doesn’t have any comprehensive bus service so I had to go back to London from Canterbury to go to Brighton, my next destination. Upon arrival in London, I grabbed a quick snack at a café because I was starving and ran to board the bus. When I got there the driver said with a sneer, “No hot food on National Express buses,” and walked away from me, not bothering to load my backpack on the bus. I had just heard him yelling at two other people so I figured he was just mean to everyone. I still had a few minutes before the scheduled departure so I stood outside the doors and shoved my food into my mouth, burning my tongue in the process. When it was still two minutes to 1pm, the driver looked at me and said rudely, “Any time you’re ready there sweetheart. Don’t rush yourself.” I could have hit him – I still had two minutes left! I tossed the last remnants into my mouth and went to board the bus, but the driver first made me walk all the way back to the terminal to throw out the paper the pastry had been in, as if it would contaminate the garbage bag on board. We ended up not leaving on time anyway. The two people who the driver had been yelling at came back and he grudgingly accompanied them to the office to sort out the problem. He kept grumbling about how he had to leave on time and we were putting him behind. I wanted to point out that National Express buses usually run about ten minutes late anyway, but I thought he might actually hit me.

When I got to Brighton, I found my dump of a hostel easily, and headed out to call home for Sam’s birthday. When I dialed the phone card number, the voice came on and said I had insufficient credit to make the call. What? I had just bought a 5pound phone card and I’d only called home for 20 minutes. I’m supposed to get 300 minutes. I was pissed and called the customer service rep to take it out on him. He explained that calling from a payphone incurs a 20pence per minute surcharge. I said that it doesn’t say that anywhere on the card and doesn’t say that when you dial the number, which usually it does. “It says it in the fine print on the poster,” he retorted. Of course it would be in the fine print. Isn’t it always? I started going on about how that should be clearer and asked if there was a way around it by using a local access number like I did in OZ and NZ. He told me that once I dialed from a payphone, no matter what number I used, it would incur a surcharge. I was livid. He suggested I use a friend or relative’s landline or mobile to make the call. I wanted to reach through the phone and wring his neck. Did he think if I had another phone to use I’d be calling customer service to complain? “I have no access to any other phone but a payphone…obviously,” I said. “You should really make phone cards for people calling from payphones. They’re the ones who usually use them anyhow,” I added. We had reached a stalemate – there was no way to remedy the situation so he said, “I’m sorry ma’am,” and I said, “Thanks,” and hung up. I felt like a jerk for yelling at him as he was only a customer service rep and not the genius behind the sneaky 20pence per minute surcharge scheme but someone had to take the brunt of my wrath and that time it fell on him. Suffice it to say; no one will hear my voice for a while.

Brighton is known as the home of the “dirty weekend” and I arrived on a Saturday so I should have gone out and enjoyed myself but instead I read in my room. England is way too expensive to do anything – anything at all. The pound to dollar at the moment is two to one so my money immediately halves in value. The prices here are the same as at home except it costs double because I’m on dollars not pounds. It’s absolutely ridiculous. I almost have a breakdown every time I buy dinner, debating incessantly if I should go for the Subway sub of the day again for 1.99pounds or an actual meal for a pound or two more. It takes me longer to decide what to eat than to actually eat it, and I feel guilty no matter what I decide, like I shouldn’t be eating at all. Accommodation is the same. I drive myself mad trying to find cheap rooms online. The cheapest I’ve come across is 10pounds, which is still 20USD a night, which really isn’t so cheap when you think about it. Can someone please do something about the value of the dollar so I don’t end up panhandling by day and sleeping on the street by night?

I spent a few days in Brighton just bumming around town and walking the Brighton Pier, basically a carnival on the water. My last night I looked out my hostel window to see the sun setting over the water, and I ran outside to get a few pictures. On my way back, I looked across to see a huge sign reading: “Ricky Gervais Tonight” at Brighton Center. I love Ricky Gervais, and I immediately ran over to see if I could get a last minute ticket. The opening act was set to start at 7:30 and it was 7:15 so I was right on time. The counter lady told me they only had limited viewing (due to a handrail) seats left and they were 25pounds. I thought that was a little much but decided to follow my whim, took the ticket anyway and charged it. Good old credit cards. Besides, I was in need of a good night of comedy. Gervais was hysterical and my favorite part of the show was when the mic broke unexpectedly. I think a true comic should be able to handle the unplanned with humor and he pulled it off brilliantly. I walked out of the theater totally pleased that I’d be at the right place at the right time for once.

I took the bus back to London the next day and the underground to my hostel. I had forgotten to check the address of the hostel but remembered how to get there so I figured I’d wing it. I walked out of New Cross Gate station, made a left and continued on down the street. After a bit of walking, I stopped into an internet café to check the address to make sure I was at least walking in the right direction. It turned out the hostel was two doors down…if only I’d walked another 30 seconds, but my impatience got the best of me. I headed out immediately to start my London sightseeing. I started at London Tower, but decided to forgo the tour because they were charging 16pounds – that’s 32USD…the nerve of them just to see some lousy crown jewels. Pictures from the outside were good enough for me. I then made my way over the impressive Tower Bridge and walked along South Bank toward the not so impressive London Bridge. I found the reconstructed Globe Theater and took a fantastic guided tour. The guide was funny and full of information. The reconstructed theater is beautiful and as authentic as you can get without actually being the original. They recreated the theater exactly how it had been in Shakespeare’s time and even used all of the same materials such as oak for the whole building and thatch for the roof. Unfortunately plays at the Globe don’t commence until May, otherwise I would have inquired about tickets.

Outrunning the Snow

My last night in Prague, it actually snowed. I was thankful to be leaving because I was in no mood for the snow. I have tried to avoid any semblance of winter whatsoever. I was up at 5:30am, surprisingly with ease, especially after having a fitful night of sleep. New roommates showed up at 1:30am commenting loudly on how big the dorm was, as if unaware that they had booked themselves into a 36-person dorm (did they think it’d be the size of a closet?), until they finally left. They reappeared at 4:00am completely drunk and started yelling to one another about how drunk they actually were. Johnny, my Australian roommate, apparently able to hear them over his earplugs, yelled at them to shut up. I had a hard time falling asleep again because though they weren’t yelling anymore, they were snoring extremely loud. I finally drifted off but I awoke again to the buzz of my alarm less than an hour later.

I made it to the airport effortlessly, a pro at Prague’s public transport system, and landed in London after an hour and a half flight. I had a harder time getting through customs in the U.K. than anywhere else I’ve been. The customs officer was disconcerted because I didn’t have a UK address (who does while on holiday) and because I was staying in the UK for a “month-ish.” She made me dig out my onward ticket from Ireland to prove I wasn’t covertly planning to live here. After I told her I just came from Prague, she became super interested in every detail of my trip asking me where I’d been, how long I’d been traveling, if it was self-financed or if I borrowed money and, to my total astonishment, how much it cost in total. She also marveled that I was traveling on my own and was intent on hearing my thoughts on Prague because that’s where her husband-to-be is from (though she’s never been). I didn’t know if she was testing me and trying to throw me off-guard with her rapid-fire questioning or if she was truly intrigued. I just kept answering as every other person who had been in line behind me swished past me toward the exit. I didn’t think they were so tough on Americans (we are allies after all) visiting the UK, but I guess I thought wrong.

I took the underground to my hostel from the airport, which was a quite convenient 30-minute trip. Everyone on the train had just come from the airport so the floor was littered with luggage and one old man left standing. I was sitting on a seat with my huge backpack still on my back, too lazy to remove it, and I waited one stop to see if anyone would offer him his or her seat. When no one did, I asked if he’d like to sit down and the elderly man said, “No, thank you.” But I watched as he swayed unsteadily with the rocking train and insisted that he take the seat. Me, the one with huge backpack, stood while everyone else sat there with blank stares. I was honestly appalled at how rude and selfish people can be. I could not, with a good conscience, let that elderly man stand there while I sat on my 24 year-old ass. There was one man who even had a piece of his luggage on one of the seats and made not one motion to move it. I wanted to yell out, “You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” but I figured it would fall on deaf ears anyhow so I kept quiet. I just hope that when they reach a “certain age” not a person stands to offer them a seat out of courtesy.

Once I got to the hostel, I checked in, deposited my bags in the room, and set out for my mission of the day – not to see London, but to buy a jacket. Until now I’d only been wearing a fleece and I broke the zipper the other day during a tantrum. It’d been sticking, and I yanked it to un-jam it, but I guess I used too much force. The zipper had become so impossible to undo that often I had to shimmy out of the fleece, pushing it to my knees, letting it fall to my ankles, and then stepping out of it. It was really not the most convenient maneuver in the world, especially in public. Though I arrived on a rare beautiful spring day in London, it’s still very cold so a fleece wouldn’t have sufficed for much longer anyhow. I spent all day scouring the stores of Hammersmith (where my hostel was) and Oxford Street in central London. I finally gave in and bought a jacket at Zara for 19pounds, which was double what I actually wanted to pay but half of what every other jacket cost. I figured I’d get enough use out of it to justify the purchase and besides, I don’t want to freeze, now do I?

I happened to find a Topshop, the one place in London I truly wanted to see. I was completely overwhelmed by the enormity of the store and its offerings. It included three floors of clothes, a vintage section, a shoe parlor, a nail salon (just in case you wanted to see how a certain dress looks with your nails done), a café (for a much-needed mid-shopping caffeine fix), a concierge (?), and style advisors. Unfortunately, I barely have enough money to eat, let alone buy clothes so I didn’t linger too long. I was also the least stylish person there dressed in the backpacker uniform of jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt so I felt out of place among London’s wannabe hipsters and fashionistas. Now if I ever come back to London with extra funds, that’s a different story. You’d probably have to send a search party.

By the time I had purchased the jacket, after mulling it over for some time, and reached the underground station, it was smack-dab in the middle of rush hour. London is like NY during that time and the train was packed to the gills. I was close enough to smell what kind of liquor the guy next to me had with lunch. All of a sudden, an argument erupted behind me. I twisted my head to watch the commotion and saw it was two middle-aged women yelling at each other. Apparently one had been too close to the other for her liking. I started to laugh when one gray-haired lady pulled a sneer and rolled her eyes at the other. She looked like a petulant child. The fight lasted for a good three minutes, which seems interminable for something as trivial as brushing against someone on a jam-packed train. I couldn’t help but laugh at their immaturity. You’d think they had never ridden the subway before.

When I got back to my room, I could hear music before I even had a hand on the doorknob. I walked into a room blasting rap from a portable CD player. At first I didn’t even see anyone in the room but then I spied one of my roommates tucked into bed with the covers pulled to her chin reading. She didn’t even acknowledge me until I pointedly looked at her and said “Hi” with a too-big-on-the-verge-of-sarcastic smile on my face. She just smiled back – actually smirked would be more accurate. Ok, I thought, we obviously aren’t going to be friends. She then rolled over and went to sleep not bothering to turn off Eminem. I immediately disliked her. She seemed not to care that there were five other people staying in the room (though at that moment it was just me). I should have guessed from the state of the room that she’d claimed it for herself. It looked like a college dorm, and I think she actually lived there. There were shoes scattered over the floor, masses of toiletries strewn across the sink, odds and ends cluttered the desk, and framed pictures adorned the walls. I didn’t even bother unpacking anything because I was leaving the next day and I was too afraid to put anything on the floor for fear it’d be swept into a pile with her stuff.

I took the bus the next day to Canterbury, a little south of London. That morning, it had started to snow in London, but it was a beautifully clear day in Canterbury. I seemed to keep out-running the snow. Canterbury is a quaint little town renowned for its Cathedral. I walked around the bustling town center for a bit enjoying the uncharacteristic weather and had lunch at an outdoor café before heading to the Cathedral. I always enjoy churches when I’m not forced to be there. I find them peaceful and calming. Canterbury Cathedral is massive and I walked around for a bit admiring the different chapels and dedication statues while trying to avoid the hordes of noisy disruptive students crowding the interior.

The next day I woke up to gray wetness outside, but I still made the trip to Dover as planned. The weather cleared a little when I arrived but the wind froze me from head to toe. I had wanted to take a boat ride to get a view of Dover’s famous White Cliffs, but the boats only run during the summer. I headed to Dover Castle instead, and as it was the first castle in England that I visited, I was enthusiastic to see it. I’m sure by the tenth, I’ll be sick of them. How different can stone fortresses get? I took a tour of the Secret Wartime Tunnels, which was actually really interesting. The tunnels were of great importance during WWII and served as a base of operations. I thought the funniest fact the guide mentioned was that if in the event of a nuclear attack, a tunnel had been excavated where Churchill and other high ranking civil and military officials would stay until it was safe to come out. The fact wasn’t funny in and of itself, but she sarcastically added at the end, “In the event of an attack, radiation from a nuclear bomb would easily penetrate through the chalk cliffs and wouldn’t have protected them at all. It’s really just basic physics…but that’s ok.” I guess they hadn’t taken that into consideration during the excavation.

Culture Culture

I explored the Jewish Quarter of Prague the other day. I got a pass to visit the Jewish Museum, which consisted of four synagogues, a ceremonial hall, and a cemetery. Katie, a girl I met at the hostel, lent me her school ID so I could get a discounted ticket, but the lady didn't even ask to see it - she just took me as a student on my word. Learning about Jewish history in Prague was really interesting and I found the last synagogue, Pinkas, fascinating. The entire synagogue is dedicated to the memory of those from Bohemia and Moravia who perished during the Holocaust. There are thousands of names scrawled all over the walls to commemorate the loss. It also houses a small section devoted to the art of the children who passed through Terezin, a Jewish camp that was wrongly promoted by the Nazis as a Jewish "refuge" during WWII.

The other night I joined a few people for a night of culture at the opera. We got tickets, which only cost 4USD, to Samson & Delila in French at the Prague National Theatre. It was the first opera I'd ever experienced and I really enjoyed it. I thought the set, which consisted primarily of different-colored beanbags (what? - exactly), was a bit too minimalist and Delila lacked any real stage presence, but Samson was fantastic and carried the show. It definitely whet my appetite for the opera, and I'm eager to see another one when I return to NY.

I'd already seen all of the major sites in Prague so I decided to spend a day at the Center for Modern & Contemporary Art instead of walking, once again, around the Old Town. To my delight, I claimed to be a student at the ticket desk and got a discounted admission to the gallery without even having to show any form of ID. I should have started doing that right off the bat instead of paying the full adult prices. While I'm not big on museums, I do really enjoy galleries and I love getting lost in the maze of paintings. The gallery was a massive five floors, and I spent hours wandering among the different exhibits ranging from Czech Art of the 20th Century to French Art in the 19th Century to Modern Foreign Art.

Afterwards, I ducked into a small pub for a meal before I headed back to the hostel. Though I wouldn't normally order it, I got roast turkey, potatoes, and spinach. It wasn't the best thing I've ever eaten, and I don't think the turkey was even edible. While I love Prague, I definitely don't love the food, the standard being meat and potato dumplings. I've been eating pizza most nights to avoid main Czech dishes, which aren't really pleasing to my palate, but I'm even sick of pizza now. Ideally, my diet would consist mostly of fruits and vegetables, but produce isn't really much of an option here. I think I've eaten one banana since I've been here and only vegetables that come on pizza.

Greek Quirks and Prague Sightseeing

I treated myself to a really nice Greek dinner my last night in Athens at Taverna Byzantino down in Plaka. The combination of an upset stomach for most of the trip and subsisting on gyros to eat cheaply left me craving authentic Greek fare. I ate like I was never coming back to Greece again and had bread, a greek salad, moussaka, ice cream, and retsina (a Greek wine flavored with pine resin) to wash it all down. It was a fantastic meal made even better by the atmosphere of Plaka, and I thoroughly enjoyed my last night in Greece before flying to Prague the next day.

Ruminations on Greek Quirks:

1. There are beads in Greece that are sold on every corner, in virtually every shop that are neither necklaces, bracelets nor keychains. Because I didn't ask, I don't know if they serve any purpose. What I do know is they are infuriatingly annoying to listen to. Everywhere I turned, a man was standing idly swinging the beads around his fingers again and again; winding them around and then unwinding them unceasingly. All I ever heard was the clink-clink-clink as each bead hit the one next to it. It was like I could tune out all other sounds but this one, and everyone owned these beads. Why? I just don't know. All I know is I wanted to take the beads and wring their necks with them.

2. I could not walk down the street nor sit in any public place without being accosted by a Greek man uttering "Where are you from?" or "How long will you be in Athens?" It was painfully irritating when all I wanted to do was sit in the sun and enjoy a cup of coffee, but every man felt the need to strike up a conversation. I've never seen anything like it. Are Greek men taught at an early age that every woman on her own is just waiting for him to engage her in conversation? I was perfectly happy sitting alone, thank you.

3. I thought that the use of pay phones was on the verge of obsolete with the advent and prevalent use of cell phones. Well not in Athens apparently. In NY, you'd be hard-pressed to find a working pay phone, while in Athens, you'd be hard-pressed to find one not in use - no exaggeration. Virtually every pay phone was in use during all hours. Even the ones in busy public squares where one could barely hear the person on the other end above the surrounding din were always occupied. Not only that, but at many busy areas there were actually lines for the phones. Even in not busy areas, like right outside my hostel, I more than once had to give someone a snotty look to get them to back away from the pay phone while I was on it. I can't stand when someone is standing over my shoulder with imploring eyes waiting for my conversation to end. It makes me want to talk longer. More than once I've told someone, "I'm going to be a loooong time." What I really wanted to say was, "Why the hell don't you have a cell phone?"

4. The fruit cart vendors are ruthless and I was turned away more than once for trying to break a banana off a bunch. "But I just want one," I've said. Then the vendor would usually hold up the lone half-rotten or tiny banana that was sitting in the middle of the cart. "But I want this one," I'd say, indicating a nice ripe, good-sized banana. "No," they'd mutter and actually shoo me away with their hand. I don't understand why they'd rather not make a sale than, god-forbid, split up a bunch of bananas.

I arrived in Prague after a two hour flight from Athens and didn't land until around 5:30pm. Though the hostel had attached explicit directions, I still got lost on my way there. I easily found the bus and metro I had to take, but from there, I never found the street I was supposed to turn down. I stopped a Czech man on the street to ask him but he didn't know so he stopped another man who was a bit iffy about the location of the street as well. He sent me in the direction I had been heading, and it turned out, I was only one block over from where I needed to be. I checked into the hostel and almost fainted (I'd already been carrying my 65lbs. of luggage for 45 minutes) when the receptionist directed me toward the 36-person dorm on the 9th floor - and no there was no elevator. I was winded by the time I made it to the top. The only advantage to having to walk 10 flights of stairs daily is that it's inadvertent exercise. The disadvantage is that I want to cry whenever I make it to the bottom and realize I forgot something on my bed.

My first night in Prague I joined a group of people down in the hostel's bar. What started as a quiet drink or two turned rowdy when someone grabbed a deck of cards, more people showed up, and we got a game of Kings (aka King's Cup, Circle of Death, Ring of Fire, etc.) under way. It was complete chaos trying to explain the rules, which everyone's are different, when there were French who spoke no English; Germans who spoke no English; and English, Canadians, and Americans who spoke neither French nor German. It seemed drinking was a universal language though (especially in Prague where a pint of beer is cheaper than water) and we all got along splendidly despite the language barriers.

As I have a whole week in Prague, I decided to split the sightseeing up rather than cram it all into one day. I walked around the city a bit my second night through Old Town Square and over Charles Bridge admiring the breathtaking architecture and enjoying the old-world feel of the city. I headed to Prague Castle the next day, passing through Old Town Square (which reminds me a lot of La Grand Place in Brussels) and over the Charles Bridge once again. The Charles Bridge is a much better sight to see during the day so I was happy to cross it again. The numerous statues that line both sides weren't lit up at night and the features were hard to make out, but in daylight they were beautiful. I made the uphill trek to Prague Castle and walked around the grounds checking out the imposing yet remarkable St. Vitus Cathedral with its towering spires, St. George's Basilica, and other on-site historical buildings. The architecture was stunning, and Prague Castle has the distinction of being the largest ancient castle in the world. I made my way back to Old Town Square afterwards and checked out the Salvador Dali Exhibition. It contained less well-known mixed-media works by Dali and a photographic collection of Dali by Vaclav Chochola. It wasn't a very large exhibit, and I breezed through it quickly.

Quiet Time

I took the ferry from Piraeus, the port of Athens, to Santorini. Greece is known for its islands so I figured I had to venture to at least one. I have to say my first day there I was not totally impressed. Unable to get in touch with the hostel I wanted to stay at, unsure even if it was open, I ended up at Hotel Perissa for 15Euro a night, which isn’t really expensive but more than I wanted to pay. Santorini, which people rave about unseemingly, was virtually desolate. It lacked any landscape or people. Most of the architecture is typical Cycladian (white buildings with blue trim for which Greece is known for) but it wasn’t as whitewashed and polished as I expected. And once again, I was the only person at the hotel where I was staying. The owners were extremely nice though and the man drove me up to a viewpoint to watch the sunset that Santorini is so famous for. The sunset was beautiful, though I felt awkward sharing it with a 65 year-old hardcore Greek man. I appreciated him driving me up to the top of the hill to view it though – he didn’t have to go out of his way like that.

I went out to dinner at the only taverna anywhere near my hotel, at which I was the only diner. The owner seemed unprepared for anyone to show up as he looked like he was relaxing in his living room instead of at the restaurant. When I asked to see a menu, he laughed, said he had none, and started to rattle off different food items. I ended up ordering spaghetti with beef meatballs/sausages because I couldn’t deduce what else had been on his verbal menu. I thought I was in trouble when I heard him pushing the buttons on the microwave, but in fairness, the dish was very tasty, microwaved or not. And so I sat and ate my dinner while he watched a soccer game on TV. It was like Nafplio all over again.

After my lone dinner, I went straight back to the hotel and dove right into my bed on which I’d arranged two heavy blankets. The room was nice enough and included a kitchenette, bathroom, balcony, and two double beds (in case I spawned three companions), but there was no heat and it was too cold to sit anywhere else but under the blankets. Even then it took a while to warm up. I fell asleep early though with my entire body covered to keep the cold out. It was like sleeping in a cocoon.

My next day didn’t bring any great revelations about Santorini either. I slept for as long as I could so I’d have less waking hours to waste and then sat on my balcony eating breakfast for a good part of the morning. I decided then to head to Perissa Beach, a black-sand beach that stretches along the east coast of the island. Santorini also boasts a red-sand beach, which evolved due to the volcanic eruptions, and apparently it really is a crimson red. But it wasn’t anywhere near where I was staying so I spent time at the black-sand beach instead. After, I walked the 20 minutes into town just for a cup of coffee (anything to warm me up), and I was also trying to spend as little time as possible in my room because having my nose run and my fingers stiffen from cold wasn’t my idea of a good time. I stayed at the cafe in town for as long as one drawn-out cup of coffee would allow and then headed back.

Rather than go to the same taverna for dinner and suffer through being its only customer, I opted to pick up a cup-of-soup at the supermarket along with some bread. My room had an electric kettle and a hotplate, but the kettle smelled and looked like it’d been painted on the inside (maybe they were boiling paint?) so I was left with the hotplate. I filled two small metal cups with water and waited and waited and waited and watched an overdramatic Greek soap opera. I wondered if sometimes water never reaches boiling temperature and if this was one of those times. After an hour, it still hadn’t boiled, and I was halfway through my loaf of bread, so I decided it had to be hot enough and poured it in. I probably should have just gone to the taverna where a steaming meal would have been set before me no longer than 10 minutes after I’d ordered.

I took the ferry back to Athens the next day. I was originally going to stay in Santorini another night but I couldn’t bear the cold or the boredom any longer; I was tired of my own company. The ship was set to sail at 3:30pm, but check-out was at noon so I had the owner drive me to the port then, which left me with 3 hours to kill. I holed up at the only restaurant that was open in the port and nursed a cup of coffee and a tuna sandwich, for which he charged me a steep 7Euro. Finally after almost finishing my book, the ferry arrived. I landed in Piraeus a little after midnight and caught the last metro back into Athens’ city center, where I walked the short distance back to the hostel.

While I loved Greece as a country and all it had to offer in the way of scenery, culture, and food, I wouldn’t recommend visiting in the off-season, unless you think counting the hairs on your arm is a worthwhile activity that you’ve been meaning to find some quiet time for or you’re a misanthrope. Barring Athens, which is a city that will always be hectic, the rest of Greece sleeps during the off-season and I was bored to tears most of the time without anyone to commiserate with. I’d love to come back again…just not in March.

I Just Couldn't Shake Him

I made an excursion to the seaside city of Nafplio on the Peloponnese for a few days. The old town was charming and quaint with restaurants and cafes lining its streets and the formidable Palamidi Castle towering 215m above. I wandered around the first day and hung out at a small cafÈ with coffee and a book. There wasn’t much else to do on a Sunday.

My hostel was a bit out of the way with no nearby eateries so I had to venture back into the old town for dinner. Though it was bustling during the day, at night there were only a handful of people milling around. I stopped into a small restaurant that I wasn’t even sure was open because the only people occupying the small interior was the family who owned it. It turned out they were open, and I ate my Greek salad (which by the way isn’t served with lettuce in Greece) quietly while they watched a soccer game on TV. I felt like an intruder.

The next day I set out to accomplish what I went to Nafplio for – climb the 999 stone steps up to the Palamidi Castle. I don’t know why I do these things to myself. It actually wasn’t that bad of a climb, and the view was fairly worthwhile. I should have taken in the view from outside the ticket office though instead of paying 4Euro to look at more stone walls inside. If I were a student, the price would only have been 2Euro, which was a more reasonable price for entering, I feel. Now that I think about it, I should have gotten a student I.D. card on the streets in Thailand or better yet, remembered to bring my old Binghamton one. For most sights in Europe, a student card almost halves the price. How sad is it that most people get fake licenses so they can get into places where they’d ordinarily be underage, but I want a fake student ID card so I can pass as underage to get a discount?

After descending the 999 stone-steps to street level, I treated myself to a spinach pie (my new favorite snack) and a coffee, sat on the sidewalk and people-watched the minutes away. While I was on my way to the cafÈ, a man on the street off-handedly asked me if I wanted to get coffee. Though that was my intent, I said "No, thank you," and went on my way. After my snack, remembering there was a nearby beach, I headed there for a quiet afternoon in the sun. Just as I was making myself as comfortable as I could be sprawled out on a stone wall, who should appear, but the man who asked me to coffee. At first I thought he’d been following me, but he said that he had just come to the beach for a cigarette (suspicious if you ask me) and saw me lying alone on the wall. He proceeded to chatter uncontrollably, awkwardly standing in front of me while I stayed in my prone position, only stopping for me to say "uh-huh" or "mmm" in response. I tried my damndest to be aloof so he’d leave me alone, but to no avail. "Perhaps I could take you out, listen to some Greek music, and have a beer tonight. It is up to you but you are a sweet girl and maybe once you know me you have feeling for me too, yes?" he said almost in one breath. I had to stop myself from laughing – have feelings? Was he crazy? "Um no thank you," I responded after a pause. "Or maybe I could just keep you company or something?" he suggested. I couldn’t stop him if I tried. He continued to talk though I kept my eyes closed and barely uttered a word. "Or maybe you want to be alone?" he finally said. "I’d prefer to be alone, thank you," I said, relieved that I’d been given a way out of the conversation. He left me alone at last and I settled back into my position on the wall.

About half hour later, I spotted him heading in my direction once again. I groaned, hoping he was headed for the stone steps up to the street and not toward me. No luck! "Sorry to bother you again, but I just want to talk to you for a bit. I’d like a companion, you see," he said by way of explanation. I sighed visibly. Apparently my first brush-off hadn’t been so effective – he was a persistent one. He started to ask about my travels and where I was from and then said, "I just thought since you are a nice girl, that you’d like to have a nice night out with me and get to know me a bit." I stared straight ahead as he tried to engage me in conversation. "So what do you think?" he asked. "Um no thanks. I’d rather be left alone," I reiterated my original response. "Well, ok. I just thought I would ask again. I put the proposition out there and you have answered no so…" he trailed off. "Well take care then," I said hurriedly connoting that this was the end-of-conversation. I felt slightly bad as a pained expression crossed his face as he got up to leave again. "Well goodbye then. Take care of yourself," he said. I smiled, waved, and watched him walk away to make sure he was actually leaving this time. I really wonder what goes through people’s minds at times. Isn’t one rejection enough? Who goes back for another?

New Continent Please

I left Thailand for Greece on Sunday night. Ironically, I actually felt that I could have spent a little more time in Thailand. Just as I was finally warming to the country, it was time to leave. My initial impression of Thailand was wholly negative, but she redeemed herself little by little, and I really enjoyed my last few days. It didn’t matter though; I was off to Greece to start the European leg of my journey.

After arriving in Chiang Mai International Airport, I stood on the check-in line for Thai Airways for 45 minutes. At first I wasn’t even sure if I was on a line, groups of people and school kids were scattered everywhere in no real order, but I ended up on a line that despite having the fewest people, progressed the slowest. To make it worse, I had one of those really annoying, obnoxious women behind me – the sort who has to point out constantly how slow the line is moving though those of us on the line are fully aware we’ve barely moved. She also rammed me twice in the foot with her cart in her eagerness to get to the counter. It was as if she thought those few extra inches would speed her check-in process. She apologized both times but I wanted to say, "If you’re so sorry, then stop doing it." Of course she ended up in the seat across from me on the huge Boeing-777 to Bangkok. What were the odds that she’d be on my flight in the first place and next to me secondly? I suppose pretty damn good because she was. Thankfully, she’d been separated from her friends so I didn’t have to listen to her yapping the entire time.

The flight from Chiang Mai to Bangkok was only an hour, and then I had an hour and half layover before my flight to Greece. I headed to the food court straightaway to see what I could buy with what little baht I had left. I was astonished at the astronomical prices (I guess it was an airport after all) and scrounged for any change I might have overlooked. I found 113 baht total on me, leaving me with few options. I wanted a tuna sandwich but it was 120 baht – just out of my price range. I felt like a pauper. I could have afforded a different sandwich but my dilemma was that I wanted something to eat and water, but even the small waters (and I mean small) were 40 baht each. I searched the food court up and down several times for food that was 70 baht so I could eat and drink. I had no luck and decided to forgo drink for food, ordering a bagel with cream cheese, knowing full well it wouldn’t be a real bagel (I have to at least try one in every country), for 95 baht. The bagel left me so thirsty though that I decided, out of sheer desperation, to change 2US dollars I’d forgotten I had to baht at the money exchange. There were no ATM’s in sight – I know you were wondering why I just didn’t take out more money. The man standing behind me spied my measly $2 and said in disbelief, "Is that what you’re changing? You’re kidding me." I shrugged and responded, "I want a water and I have no baht left." He laughed at me in pity and unfolded a fist full of baht and change. "I’ll give you 40 baht for one dollar. Keep the other." I agreed and handed over the dollar. "I’m not missing my flight so you can change 2 bucks," he said and handed me the money. "Now get out of my line," he said mock-annoyed with a laugh. I smiled and said, "As long as I get my water, I’ll happily move out of your way. Thanks." I walked away, purchased my puny water (I still couldn’t afford a big one), and proceeded to the gate for my 11-hour flight to Athens.

The flight from Bangkok to Athens went by quick enough, and I slept for a good part of it. My only irritation was the man behind me who kept kicking my seat and asking me to move forward. I kept my seat reclined anyhow – who was he to tell me to sit straight up so he’d be more comfortable? The man next to me was two times his size, and he fit fine into the seat so I don’t know why the man behind me was having such a hard time. His legs couldn’t have been that long. He was also sitting in the aisle seat – did he not think to keep his legs to the side like every other person in the aisle?

I arrived in Athens shortly before 7am and took a taxi to my hostel. I was pleased to notice, as we pulled out of the airport, that they drive on the right. It’s the first country I’ve been in where they don’t drive on the left. I have no concept of the Euro and I’m sure I paid more than I should have for the taxi but I always like to take a cab straight to my destination upon arrival in a new country. It’s too confusing trying to navigate the bus/train systems right after getting off the plane. The ride took a good 40 minutes and the taxi driver seemed a bit lost – he went around in the same circle six times. He also had to check his map directory, which tipped me off to his confusion. We eventually did find the hostel though and I checked in.

I spent my first day in Greece in bed. I had started to feel sick at the airport but it really hit me later that day. I don’t know what caused it, but I felt like I was going to throw up anytime I moved and my stomach was painfully contorted. I figured I would let myself rest and start my sightseeing the next day. I didn’t get a chance to plan Greece at all beforehand so I tried to look over the hostel’s Greece guide. Obviously Athens is a lot of sightseeing, but it’s the off-season for Greece so island hopping wasn’t the most logical itinerary. I spent half my time in bed trying to decide how I would spend the rest of my time.

I woke up the next day still a bit sore but it was much more manageable than the day before. I had wanted to go on the hostel’s walking tour, but I decided to push it back a day because it was also raining. Rain – what is that? I hadn’t seen rain since mid-January. I decided to venture out anyway and get some sights in and some errands done. After paying a ridiculously exorbitant sum to send a package home at the post office and hitting up the internet for a bit, I decided to go the National Archaeological Museum, which houses the world’s largest collection of Greek antiquities. It had tons of interesting sculptures and ancient artifacts but I got tired of looking at "Marble Head of a Youth" after awhile and headed out. Since it had started to pour by then, I stopped into a small bakery to wait out the rain. Out of the three stools by the window, two were occupied so I took the last. The man to my right, who could have been old enough to be my father, immediately tried to engage me in conversation by asking where I was from and how long I’d be in Athens. I was not in the mood for small talk and tried to deflect his interest by giving short, curt answers. Finally, him and his friends took off, but not before he patted me on the back and said, "It was very, very nice to meet you." It made me laugh because I’d been warned about Greek men, and I’d only been in the country for a day before what I’d heard turned out to be true. The rain finally abated and the rest of the day I spent strolling around Athens, familiarizing myself with the city.

The next day was crisp and clear, and I joined the sightseeing walking tour around Athens. At first I thought I was the only one on the tour, but we picked up another two people from a different hostel, funny enough both also American. We spent the day visiting all the sights that Athens has to offer including the Acropolis and the Parthenon, the Ancient Agora, the Temple of Olympian Zeus and Hadrian’s Arch, the National Gardens, the President’s House where we watched the changing of the guard, the first Olympic Stadium, and Zappeion among others. It was a full day, and I fell in love with Athens. I don’t know if it was the weather that reminded of an early spring day in New York or the fact that you could walk down any random street and see something that’s been standing for centuries, but I just took such pleasure in the city’s buzz. After the group disbanded, I walked around the neighborhoods of Monastiraki and Plaka, and enjoyed getting lost in Athens’s narrow, cobbled streets before heading back to my hostel.

I got lost the next day trying to find Terminal B to catch the bus to Delphi for an overnight stay. When I boarded the city bus, I asked the driver if he went to "Praktorio B" and he nodded yes. After a half hour on the bus I got suspicious that we’d passed the terminal, I didn’t think it was that far out of town, and asked the man sitting in front of me. He, in turn, asked the bus driver, then informed me that yes, we had passed it, and I would have to get off and get on a bus in the opposite direction. The man actually escorted me off the bus, ushered me to a different stop, and pointed out on the map where I’d have to get off for the terminal. I was totally surprised that he’d gotten off the bus to personally show me where to go, but I was grateful for his help regardless. I eventually made it to the terminal after asking the next bus driver if he was going to "Praktorio B" and could he actually signal me when we were there. Fortunately, I’d given myself enough time to get to the station; otherwise my little mishap would have caused me to miss the 3-hour bus to Delphi.

When I boarded the bus to Delphi, I was surprised to see a young, hip guy with spiky hair wearing a maroon button-down and jeans was the driver. I’ve never been on a bus where the driver wasn’t a short, pudgy, balding or with a comb-over, man in his mid-50s. The driver even blasted Greek dance music the entire ride. It was like he was on his own personal road trip, paying no mind to those of us along with him.

I arrived in the enchanting little town of Delphi right as scheduled and set out for accommodation. As it is still off-season, most places were closed. However, I did find a cute little hotel to stay in for the night after a kind salesman phoned his friend, the receptionist. It was a bit on the expensive side of budget, but I was paying three times less than high season prices, so I took it and headed to the archaeological ruins of the Sanctuary of Apollo. I roamed around the ruins for a bit and then the town, taking in its quaint shops and quiet streets. I could have seen the ruins and the museum in one day and took a bus straight back to Athens, but I left the museum until the next day so I wouldn’t feel rushed. Besides, it was nice to stay somewhere other than Athens for a night.