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Greece |
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Romania is now in a social, political and economic transition, a stressing time for everyone. If you want to break out and forget everything, book a group holiday in Greece. But, can you really get rid of the problems back home ? *** The Iron Maid. A very efficient contrivance of the very creative and ingenious Middle Age mind. A human body shaped, vertical, hollow box, carpeted inside with knives. For a poor victim, pinned down inside, long hours of atrocious pain follow, not so much from the stabbing of the knives, but the impossibility to move, and one feels the pain growing inside, every hour more unbearable, your legs pulsing heavily with blood as they swell, every bone sore inside you. How do I know so well the feeling ? Because I was the beneficiary of a modern version of it, a 25 hours trip to Greece in a tired bus, dragging its wheels on slopes with incredible speed of 40 Km/hour and which never knew anything above 80 km/hour, even on highways. The comfort of all passengers has been considerably improved, by adding several rows of chairs, so you could measure your leg room in negative numbers. The handles that adjusted the incline of the back of your seat didn’t work, and many had plumb line verticality. Some of the passengers had small children, under seven, and they spent a very large part of the trip standing on the aisle, to allow their children to sleep, sensing their bones melting into one another. Does all this give you an iron maid feeling, do you smell the creepy, musty, humid air of a dungeon ? *** We came to this trip lured by a “legend”, created by TV and newspaper advertising and direct information from the travel agency. The trip will be in a luxury bus, with toilet, TV, air conditioning (only this existed). You want to book an additional seat for your small child ? No need, was the answer, because the bus is very spacious and never completely full. I’ve asked, do they have air conditioning in the hotel ? Yes. Others asked, do they have a swimming pool ? Yes. The advertising said luxury hotel. The food will be plentiful, the breakfast is Swedish buffet style. We will have a Romanian and a Greek guide. In a neighbor city there is a very cheap market where everything costs one drachma, from clothes to French perfumes. Very few of those asking knew that one dollar is 286 drachmas. Even now I cannot understand how someone could lie so much, not one piece of information was true. I knew only one piece of it, air conditioning in the hotel. When I began to hear the whole list in the bus after the trip started, I knew we are in trouble. *** We set course to Greece one morning at a quarter to eight. The bus appeared at 7:45 sharp, very impressive. The look of it wasn’t so impressive, but we were not here to say yes for a lifetime marriage. After more than half an hour of waiting, the owner of the travel agency appeared and we could board the bus. We also met the guide, a 25 year old woman who was sent to a nice trip by her aunt, the owner, as a reward for just finishing college, with zero knowledge what a guide should do. After 25 hours trip we set foot on the Greek island Thassos, all of the 56 passengers having the iron maid syndrome, a load of 56 gun powder kegs waiting for a spark. No one waited for us. The guide disappeared and after more than one hour popped up with the Greek partner, Giorgios, who was upset that we had not called when we entered Greece and that the group was so numerous, 56, when all the other groups were maximum 30. The word spread immediately, not all of us will have a room. Giorgios vanished for another hour and reappeared again to tell us to take our luggage and follow him. He was surrounded by the furious mob, shouting at him from all directions. He gave up, everybody on board he said, we’ll take the bus to the hotel. I heard a woman say, “what if we have toilets at the end of the corridor”, another one repeated, “you know, we are going to have toilets on the corridor”, a third one burst out, “it’s outrageous to give us rooms with toilets on the corridor”. We arrived on the island at the end of a Greek holiday, with all the streets of the village blocked by cars, waiting the ferry to return to the continent, but we knew nothing about it. When the bus made a detour to avoid the blockage, getting out of the village, another wave of despair passed through the bus, God knows what shabby hut will be our hotel. We returned to the village and stopped at one hotel for the first three families. Another scandal, people wanted to see what rooms they received, one family wanted to be with another family that was not at the same hotel, while Giorgios kept on repeating, like a robot with a programming error, “we cannot stop here, we are blocking the traffic, please take your luggage”. Finally we arrived at a second hotel and the bus stopped in a cross section with the nose in a very narrow street. Immediately a motor bike, then a car parked behind the bus and the drivers left, blocking the bus. The bus was stuck in the middle of a traffic chaos and we all had to unload our luggage. Giorgios tried disparately to keep afloat the surge of madness, “please take any room, we’ll make changes later, why do you want a toilet on the corridor ?”, everyone around shouting, swearing, demanding, quarreling. I was more than happy to take a room, any room, to get out of it. I had the impression that I was cast by mistake in an Italian new realistic movie and someone forgot to tell me anything about it. *** The island is a paradise for tourists, like all the other Greek islands. A little bit too crowded for me, but a 120 km bus tour around the island unveiled here and there nooks and crannies of pristine silent nature, with no sound of motorbikes around. To access them we made the obvious choice, we rented a motorbike. Thassos, this island mountain, with a top peak of 1200 m, is very much different than other Greek islands that I’ve seen. Thickly forested, green, it resembled the vegetation of Romanian mountains and the hard Thassos cedar wood is in high demand for boat building. The asphalt road is cut in a rock called marble, yes, pure, white, shining, fit for palaces marble. It is amazing to see white marble boulders on the side of the road or polished to perfection marble pebbles on the beaches. I was impressed when I saw at Makriamos beach a jetty built of marble blocks, then I understood it is the most natural choice. On our island motor bike trip we came across a marble quarry. I looked around, I made sure no car was coming, then I revved up the bike to get a quick U-turn crossing on the other side of the road, where a German car was parked in front of the quarry. My problem was that I didn’t have complete automatic control of the bike, and I had no time to look where the brake pedal was, so I used an alternative solution to stop, propping my feet strongly in the dust on the side of the road. Fortunately for me I succeeded not only to leave behind me a trail of dust cloud, but to stop at a distance from the car that could still be measured. My performance was observed with high interest, open mouth and popping eyes by the German, who was next to his car. He immediately summoned his flock back to the car and they quickly disappeared. The road took us further to a mountain village, its white houses clinging to a bluff overlooking Golden Beach, the most famous beach of the island. The tourists make their presence felt, but the village is still an old timer. For a long time we walked its steep narrow streets, we admired the white and dark blue houses adorned with hanging flowers, covered with stone ledges instead of tiles, we followed the large, inviting gestures and words of old men and women sitting in front of their houses, come on, have courage, if you want to see it, come and see. When the sun gave us a hint of the incoming dusk we decided to put a stop to our roaming of beaches and villages and return. The air was cool, colder than we would have wanted. I told Lia, hug me tight, you’ll be warmer, which she did. A hug of my wife always gives me special sensations, but I never experienced such an instant, electrifying, stinging effect. A wasp, resting its wings on my chest, was squeezed by Lia’s arm, with foreseeable results. I was surprised, but perhaps even more was Lia, why on earth I started shivering, moving the handle bar left and right, and why I had to stop the bike with no reason whatsoever. *** That night we went to a restaurant, Zorba’s, attracted by two people playing buzuki (boozookee), the old traditional guitar-like Greek instrument, with a longer neck and a body the shape of half a pumpkin. One of the musicians also sang Greek folk songs. The restaurant is not big, but the parsimoniously used space allows about 130 seats. It is full every evening and the charm of it is the show, where the stage is not only the platform in front of the two players, but the whole place and the clients become passive or active actors. The waiters, quick and busy like bees, buzz along the words of the songs, as they swiftly move between the tables. They do it from time to time, but so wholeheartedly, so spontaneous, that it is an open invitation to be as happy as they are (It could be some staging, but I think a large part of it is real). Then a customer, an old woman, dances something traditional, accompanied by the clapping of four spoons she had in her hands above her head. She even takes the microphone and sings two songs while everyone applauds. The players start an old Etheria song, the secret organization that led the fight for freedom from the Turkish yoke two centuries ago and all the Greeks sing along. The owner smashes several plates on the floor, then together with two waitresses, perform an elaborate dance on the shards with backward and forward movements, unexpected hesitations, ducking and jerking. You almost see the wild movement of palicari, the Greek freedom fighter. At the end they make a dancing tour, passing by all the tables, followed with enchanted eyes by all customers. After several songs an old Greek customer stands up from his table and begins a bear like dance. He is clumsy, he moves slowly, but he certainly has an attracting grace and a contagious joy of life. He even invites several women, tourists, to dance with him and, at the end they kiss and make pictures. And this goes on and on, music and dancing, smashing plates, drinking and laughing, the perfect place to be as a tourist. The first time we went, we stopped at the bar, for a drink, but mainly to hear the music. I ordered “mia carafa rezina”, one half a liter decanter of rezina, the dry Greek wine tasting of fir resin and the bartender filled our two glasses. Soon we were completely caught up in the show, we clapped our hands in the rhythm of music, we laughed, we even tried to sing along. The waiters and the bartender smiled at us, they liked our participation. When we had no wine in our glasses, one waitress filled our glasses saying “from me”. When this vanished, another full decanter appeared, on the house. The next evening, when we showed up, everyone greeted us and smiled, we were their friends. No surprise that we spent all our evenings here and brought many other Romanians with us. *** Not all of the group had the same happy life, in fact those without initiative had a miserable one. They enjoyed only the “negative group therapy”, where in every moment at least one was displeased with something, loudly communicated to the rest. And reasons to be displeased were plentiful, remember how we arrived. Our meager breakfast of one sandwich, one coffee and one juice, heavily “baptized” with tap water, didn’t correspond at all to our definition of buffet service. The first day we were told, breakfast at 10:00. Many protested, we want it earlier, and we settled with Giorgios for 9:30. The next day all the group was there at 9:30, but the waiters started to think of preparing something only after ten. And everyday we had to wait for the whole group to come until they started making the food, kind of permanent surprise, is it quite sure that we are coming ? They should have had everything ready in advance, after all it is not such a high tech to make 50 sandwiches and pour water into some juice. Accommodation was very different from family to family. Our room was all right and the ants didn’t trouble us very much. But human relations were not what I expected, I knew that all Greeks are extremely friendly and ready to help. When I arrived I had asked Eli, our receptionist, if I could put something in a fridge, something the size of a plate. She started to explain me that it is OK, but her refrigerator is “micro, micro”, little, little, and she hold the cups of her hands like holding an apple. I gave her the small parcel, then I had serious remorse, probably I’m using her own personal fridge, so I asked for the parcel back and I threw it in the garbage. Several days later, by accident, I could admire the “small” fridge, something for industrial use, at least four times my own fridge at home. Another day we wanted to get up at 7:30 and I asked Eli, if it would be possible to wake us up. It took me some time to explain her what I wanted, because she spoke only Greek, then she gestured she will wake up only at 8:00, then something completely unexpected happened, she threw her bundle of keys on the ground and started to shout angrily, so I quickly disappeared, I didn’t know where she kept her cutlery. Organizing was remarkable, remarkable meaning something that one cannot miss, being so different from any other normal experience one had before. One evening Giorgios organized a Greek music and dance show at his discotheque, starting at 22:00, and lasting maximum until midnight (important for those who had children). For the rest of the evening, I copied from the captain’s log: 22:00 all the group gathered in front of the discotheque, on the door a huge lock bid us welcome; 22:10 some Greeks knock hard at the door and the door opens, followed by the confused and uninvited Romanians, nothing happens; 22:25 the guide shows up, still nothing; 22:35 Dorel and Lia ask for the money back, then go to Zorba’s where they have a wonderful evening. The rest of the group admire two sets of ten minutes dancing, every two persons drink half a liter of wine instead of one promised, every four persons eat one fruit salad instead of two promised, and return home having an acute feeling of being cheated. Another splendid initiative was a shopping trip to Kavala, a big city on the continent (fortunately we didn’t want to do any shopping). The group arrived in Kavala close to two o’clock, to see that any time a Romanian gets close to a shop, the shopkeeper hurriedly locks the shop and lowers the metal protective grid. Why didn’t they like Romanians ? On Saturday all shops close at two o’clock to open only on Monday. The only shopping the group did were the ferry tickets, and everyone said that they will never go to anything organized by this agency, not even a walk to the end of the street. *** The climax of our stay was for me and Lia a sea trip with a very classy, mahogany and brass plates yacht, together with an English group. After breakfast on board we went out to sea for a fishing party, everyone trying his luck. As a refreshment we stopped for a swim in a primeval bay where a Greek God dropped his bucket of colors in the pure, clear water, from dark, frightening ultramarine, to turquoise, and the delicate fresh Irish green. Another stop for lunch in a similar bay, a juicy grilled steak, cole slaw, rice, fish and plenty of free drinks. After a well deserved siesta, back on board, and the captain showed us how powerful the engine of the yacht is, a sea roller coaster version. Pushed forward by the strong propeller, the bow hovered above the waves for a short moment, then swooped down splashing tons of white foam and spray in the air, to be instantly jerked up with incredible force, and again hovering, splashing, hovering, splashing, to my complete, unfettered enthusiasm. My ecstasy was not completely shared by some green-turning faces on board, looking for a place to deposit the lunch, and after a while the ship resumed the trot. After one enchanting day the ship brought us back to the harbor, a day to remember for ever. *** Bottom line, how was our trip ? Reasons to be unhappy were many, I presented only some examples. But Lia and me didn’t want to spoil our holiday, and worked hard to feel well, even if work was not on our schedule. We discovered a new beach and told anyone about it, we learned how to rent a bike and what to visit, we found out Zorba’s restaurant or how to book a yacht trip, we visited many travel agencies and saw what they offer, and again we informed everyone. We had maps and a description of Mount Athos, an important tourist objective, that we shared with everyone. We informed them about the history of Greece, that I like so much, about the island’s economy, what you can eat or drink in Greece, how to bargain. In the end many said that they will gladly come on a trip if we are the organizers. What happened to us is not typical, I’ve been with another company in Egypt, and they were really professional. I hope that the company that organized our trip will soon disappear. Meanwhile they convinced so many Romanians that Greece is not a country worth visiting, which is a total error. For me, Greece will always remain a marvelous country. *** I’m back and already some hazy monsters start to loom around to win control of my life. My job whispers, come back baby, fix your eyes on the computer screen and give me your sweat. My TV spreads its tentacles of soap operas and movies and shows to grab another victim. My newspapers are eager to inform me about crimes, wars, crisis, hurricanes, droughts and floods. But in the turmoil of life I’m sure that, at least for a while, I will be able to close my eyes and hear the faint crystal buzuki sounds trickling into my ears and see a blurred blue and green wavy movement of a far away Greek bay. Dorel Jurcovan |