Waxing philosophical

Well, the end is finally here. Tomorrow is my last shift and I leave directly after work to go to Amsterdam, where I will stay until Tues pm and then head back to Austin. So this will probably be my last posting. It has been 3 weeks already and after 2 weeks, time really flew by. You wouldn't believe how long the hair on my legs is. I haven't been able to figure out how to shave in this bathtub set up so I thought I would go euro and stop shaving. Except that women in Greece do shave. Maybe it's France I was thinking of. And I think I've learned more French being in Greece than Greek, as my roommates have taken it upon themselves to give me a lesson a night in spelling and pronunciation. Unfortunately, most of our conversations are limited to how France is doing in handball and how many times they have visited the Acropolis. But I will miss them. They're kind of like Mutt and Jeff, more like sisters than mother/daughter. They brought their binoculars to the handball game today to look for me (The finals of basketball have moved to another stadium and the finals of handball are in my venue) despite the fact that the arena/seating area is so small you can practically see the face of everyone sitting in the farthest seats. They are one of very few devoted handball fans so they move to the closest possible seat to see all the players at every game. And I believe they have tickets to every single handball game, which is hard to believe because it might be one of the most boring sports in the Olympics, besides, Tae Kwon Do or Racewalking.

Anyways, I'm ready to come home. I miss everyone and I miss my dog and cats. But I'm glad I came and I've had a great adventure. It hasn't all been fun, but the parts that weren't have certainly been funny (I'm still not laughing about the Dafni debacle yet) and that's what makes a great adventure. I've really gotten to love Athens, warts and all, although some of the people I work with tell me Athens isn't always this clean and well lit and nice. yikes! At least keep those ladies cleaning the bathrooms. Please.

Thanks to everyone for your emails and comments of support and encouragement. They made me laugh as much as I made you laugh. It has been a wonderful, hot, crazy, frustrating, sweaty, hilarious, hot, educational, sweaty and fabulous journey. If I had to do it over again, I definitely would, although I would certainly pick a different neighborhood to live in.

After all, it's all about the journey.
As my roommates would say every day when I would leave-
bonne journee et bonne courage.

See you soon.
xoxo
Kathy

PS: Did I mention that I have been sweating for 3 weeks straight?

Please to don't put the paper and other mysteries

I'm almost done here and just now starting to get everything figured out, even though it took me almost two weeks. I have randomly seen signs in the bathrooms with pictures of someone throwing their paper in the garbage. I always assumed it meant not to throw paper towels in the toilet. But when I saw the sign the other day that said "please to not throw paper in the toilet seat", it dawned on me that you are not supposed to throw toilet paper in the toilet. This explains why the person cleaning the bathrooms gave me the evil eye when I would come out of the bathroom and there would be shards of toilet paper floating in the toilet. I can't help it. 40 years and my hand reflexively drops toilet paper in the toilet. How can you have a national septic system that doesn't accept toilet paper? And what do you do with it? Well, it was pointed out to me. You put it in the trash can. aaaccckkk. No, that is wrong on so many levels. But I try real hard to comply. And sometimes I remember. But not very often. And when I don't, I stand there in the stall repeatedly flushing until all traces of paper are gone so they won't peg me as a foreigner who doesn't know the proper way to dispose of toilet paper. The amazing thing is, the majority of the bathrooms are spotlessly clean and the garbage cans are emptied frequently. In fact, I think the cleaning people hang out near the bathroom and that's why I've been pegged more than once as a paper flusher. Damn American.

The other thing I figured out is that I have accreditation to the Olympic Village. No one can figure out how I got, it but not only can I get in the Village, I can get in the residential area. (None of the doctors have it.) And I finally found the bus that takes you there. So that's where I went after work today. And the venue manager where I work gave me a staff meal pass, which at my venue, is no prize. It consists of a "hot dog" which is a wiener shaped food product stuffed in a bun shaped bread product slathered with ketchup and mustard. It is really bad. So bad that when a Greek says, "I like hot dogs, but that isn't right", you know you shouldn't be eating it. That comes with oregano potato chips, yogurt and a roll of chocolate cream cookies, which if you close your eyes, taste suspiciously like the cardboard roll they come in. If you don't want the hot dog, you can get a sandwich, which is a big submarine bread with a few leaves of cheese and something they call ham/zamboni but looks like salami and if you close your eyes it tastes suspicously like the chocolate cookies. The only other partially edible selection is a pasta salad, which is pasta, little tiny chunks of ham and cheese and a lot of olive oil. If you close your eyes, it tastes suspiciously like the submarine sandwich. So, needless to say, the food at our venue leaves a lot to be desired. But it's free. There are other things that taste better but they cost money. So, back to the Olympic Village. I get on the bus like I go there all the time. I knew it was the right bus because it was filled with athletes. I just hoped it wasn't the official Athlete bus and they would kick me off and say I was the Olympic Village Idiot. But they closed the doors and off we went. 30 minutes away. They don't want the common folk to find this place. Once we get there we go through several levels of clearance before passing through the golden gates of the village. At every point, they just waved me through. Could it be this easy? Why haven't I been hanging out here all along dammit? Sure enough, it was that easy. Next thing I know, I'm in a village about the size of Pflugerville, maybe even Round Rock. It looks like a giant new apartment complex in Europe (which it is I guess). Except that athletes from around the world are living there. Each complex has at least a flag hanging from one balcony and some have signs and other things announcing their team or country. Since I am limiting my walking to 20 miles per day, I decided not to hunt down the USA apartments as it looked like they went back as far as the eye could see. In the shopping village they have a post office, hair salon, internet cafe, flower shop, dry cleaners, souvenir store, etc. There were athletes EVERYWHERE. It was the Olympic Village after all. But they stood out. They were tanned and buff and big and skinny, all shapes and sizes but they all had a presence about them. I lurked. Went shopping at the store to see what today's athlete is buying. Damn, they're buying those stupid mascot dolls. Why? What do you tell your kid? Here is an upside-down cone shaped thing with rolls of hair, giant floppy feet and arms that stick straight out the side. I hope it doesn't give you nightmares. Anyways, back to the Village. Then I got really bold and took my meal ticket and walked into the massive athlete dining area. Got about halfway in before someone gently pointed out that I wasn't allowed in there. I almost made it to the fruit bowl. The dining area is probably 300 yards wide and deep and has wonderful fresh food as far as the eye can see. So close and yet so far. They steered me to the volunteer dining area, which I assumed would be the same delicious selection I am offered every day. Wrong again. This place serves up hot food! And I'm not talking about a microwaved cheese pie. And they serve fresh baklava. I was clearly assigned to the wrong venue. You get in line and it's a little like Luby's, which I know isn't all that impressive to most people, but after 2 weeks of submarines, it looks like heaven. AND a huge bowl of cut up fruit. Now, THAT'S what I'm talking about. Too bad it's so far away or I would come here to eat every day. So, I ate my meal like I always do at the Olympic Village, then I wandered around snapping pictures, waiting for someone to arrest me. But no one did. Walked around to the Village Center, took more pictures and once I reached my 20 mile limit, decided to head back. Hopped on the bus with the US women's soccer team, all giddy and yakking, ready to go shopping.

This is the life I was meant to lead.

Sunbathing in Santorini

I am back from the island of Santorini where I've been the past two days. Santorini is the island that is most often photographed with the whitewashed buildings and blue doors and churchs. They have about 2 internet cafes there and they charge exorbitant rates, along with everything else on the island being overpriced. The island itself isn't all that attractive. It's scrubby and brown and, in the Greek tradition, has lots of unfinished buildings scattered around. But the views. The views are to die for. The majority of the hotels/villas are near the highest point on the island so looking out from the balcony is breathtaking. The sunset, billed as the best in the world, is also great, but I hate to say nothing compares (from my travels) with the sunset you get from layers of pollution on the skyline of Redondo Beach/LA. But that's not the Greek Islands either. My "villa" and I only use that word because that's what they called it, was perched at the top along with a thousand or so others, crammed so closely together that if you walked up the wrong staircase, you were on someone else's balcony. I found this place on the internet and emailed a reservation. They didn't get back to me very fast so I had to have Herc call for me and see if they got my email. I had requested the A#1 super duper room and they told him they only had a suite (this is a step down?) and it was less money. Something aint right there. But I took it. Turns out I got the honeymoon suite. I think they called it that because angels were painted on the walls. The guy made a special point of showing me all the angels. That's the only thing I can figure out because the bed WAS A BOX SPRING. I couldn't believe it. I guess they don't have mattresses here. Only different grades of box springs. This was a grade higher than the one I have been sleeping on for 2 1/2 weeks, but not much higher. Anyways, I don't want to complain about the room because it really was pretty nice and it had a private balcony with a fabulous view. But I will complain about the 79 steps that I had to climb to get out of the maze of villas. 79. I counted them every time I went up to distract myself from the wheezing and severe shortness of breath I experienced each time. The day I got there the guy at the reception desk told me to follow a route that was downhill from where I was staying and in just about 10 minutes, I would be in town. That is assuming I took the correct steps, which I mostly did not. Once I passed the landmark he told me to aim for, there was no obvious route, so I started climbing steps. Apparently there is one way to get to the main part of town and the other ways end up on someone's balcony. So I huffed and puffed my way in and out, up and down, every set of stairs I came to and 45 minutes later, I was on the main street in town. Heart rate 210. Respiratory rate 60. I'm not going THAT way again. Too bad I stayed out after dark and didn't know another way home or drop bread crumbs. Because, in the dark, you can't even SEE the damn stairs, much less figure out where they go. Also, in the dark, every villa looks exactly the same. And there are no visible signs identifying each villa. So it took me about an hour to weave my way back and another 20 min to find where I was staying. I swear, I'm definitely not going that way again. That's how I found the 79 steps.

I sampled the wine there. Their specialties are a slightly sweet red dessert wine that was excellent and white wine, which was also excellent. (Perhaps this is why it took me so long to figure out how to get home.)

In the morning, I had breakfast delivered to my room and I ate on my balcony overlooking the Aegean Sea and several other islands. You can't really beat that for breakfast with a view. I had decided I was not walking anywhere else the next day so I bit the bullet and rented a car. They only have small cars and motos and I didn't want a moto. When I say small car, I mean you can reach into the backseat into a bag of groceries and barely rotate your shoulder. So I headed out in my manual transmission, teeny tiny clown car for a beach recommended to my by one of the Greeks I work with. He said "you should go there, everyone is nuuude" and he stretched out the word nude. So, of course I had to go there. It took me a few tries to find the place (as no maps are given out at the rental place). They did tell me the area I was looking for wasn't as crowded as some of the other tourist areas. A definite bonus. I parked the car and walked down to the beach area. It was one of the black beaches, which is black from the volcanic ash, and very rocky. I saw umbrellas in the distance, which was the only sign of activity. Well, I think "not as crowded" would be an understatement. There were 4 people there, not counting the guy renting umbrellas. And they weren't nude. The girls were topless, but they weren't nude. Topless? I want my money back. You can get topless at the pool. Anyways, I rented an umbrella and joined the topless throngs, took my top off, and laid there waiting for the sun to tan my shockingly white chi chis. But I got too nervous and ended up covering them with a bunch of suncscreen. The water was blue green and beautiful and I tried to swim but it was a crippling walk to get even ankle deep because it was all very large rocks. So I went back to my sunbathing. I kept looking at the umbrella rental guy wondering what he did all day long. He basically stared at the floor. I never saw him look up, never saw him checking out the topless girls, no book, no TV, nothing. Just staring at the floor. Not even a dog to keep him company. I stayed a few hours then drove around some more before heading back to the villa. After changing (to a nicer t-shirt) I went to eat at a fabulous restaurant called Vanilia, with great food, great wine and of course a fabulous view.

I flew back to Athens today and tomorrow I work at 7:30. So now I have to get back to the day shift routine. Sunday is my last shift and my last day here.

Hangin with Herc

I have just a short post today because I am on the island of Santorini waiting for what is billed as the best sunset in the world. I'm in the honeymoon suite (something is missing from that equation) at a villa at the highest point on the island with a patio and a spectacular view. This is a wine region because of the volcanic soil, although the grapes are grown on the ground rather than on vines. I'm about to go get a bottle (or two) and start sampling the goods.

But I just have to relate the story of Herc taking everyone out for dinner.

He had come by the apartment last week and said he was taking me and the French girls to dinner on Monday night at 8. I thought he said we were going back to the place he took me on the first night I was there that was all Greeks but good food and a lot of it. So I had a small lunch around 3:30. Good thing. I would have been unconscious by the time we actually ate. Herc arrived around 8:30 on his moto (I knew we weren't all getting on that thing) sporting some pants that were so tight I could see the numbers on the key pad of the cell phone he had in his pocket. Front pocket. And much to our surprise there was also a large group of Spaniards joining us. Apparently there are Spaniards staying at the apartment-8 of them to be exact. Staying in a place the same size as mine. I guess they are sleeping on the Ikea furniture. Anyways, it was a family and some friends and most of them spoke some English. So Hercules' plan was to take everyone out to dinner. Which was very nice of him. He is a nice guy and tries to be very helpful. But I could smell trouble with 12 people and no car. So we walked to the bus and then to the metro where we got off at my favorite place, Syntagma Square. It's the center of the universe there. Lots of activity all night long and the Parliament is there where they have the changing of the guards at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier every hour all night long. So we arrive at Syntagma and go straight to the Parliament. It's about 9:30 by that time. Herc wanted to show the Spanish and the French the guards. I had already seen it twice and taken a ton of pictures. But let me just point on here that, although I am just visiting, every single guide book and Greek publication I have read says that if you don't eat dinner before 10 pm, you're not eating dinner until midnight. I have followed that when I've been out on my own and eaten pretty early (and got crappy service even when no one was there.) So, we watch the guards for a while and leave about 9:50. Getting pretty hungry. And head towards the Plaka, which is a lot of restaurants. But we passed the Acropolis on the way and it is lit up at night and very beautiful. So we had to stop and look. Uh, 10:10. Danger, warning, tables are disappearing. I have seen the Acropolis, taken pictures, etc. I want food. But the Spanish haven't been here that long. So they look at everything. There are street performers everywhere. We stop at the teenage belly dancer. Hey, that's not Greek. But it's a half nekkid girl so who cares.10:30. So hungry, blood sugar beginning to drop. Must eat. We leave the belly dancer and enter the restaurant area and begin circling as there is not a single free seat or table at any restaurant we pass. We circle that area TWICE and it's not a small area. Herc says we have to try a different area. The Spanish say they want to go to the Acropolis so they are going to leave us, which seems to hurt Herc's feelings and I really feel bad for him. It was a rude thing for them to do. But I think they were starving and getting frustrated too. So, now it's just me, the French girls and Herc. Going to another neighborhood. Food. Please get me food or I will have to kill someone. The other neighborhood is even bleaker in terms of availability. 11:10. Blood sugar is 30. Delirious, speaking in tongues, thinking of taking bread from a dining strangers basket. Finally, on about our 4th round of the 3rd neighborhood, just before I was about to collapse, we spot a table in the corner of a restaurant. Take it and push anyone out of the way who tries to get there first. We sit down. Corner table. In the dark. I predict we won't eat until midnight, IF the waiter even sees us. Luckily, Herc chased the waiter down, got us bread and water and placed our order. 11:30. Better, but need more than bread. 11:50-Herc gets up and goes over to the waiter and gives him the business, waving his arms about, hopefully telling him that we are about to start eating other people's food. 12:05 am. Dinner arrives. I almost don't care what it is at that point, but I have to say if it was fish, I would have probably just eaten some more bread. Herc ordered several different dishes for us to share and wine for me and him (the French don't drink). The food was excellent. Everything was good. Even the tablecloth which I had just started to eat when the food arrived. Unfortunately, the wine wasn't very good. Herc even said it wasn't good. He said it had turned to vinegar. But no sooner had he said that than he said I wasn't drinking my share. So, I figured I better swig my big glass of vinegar and get on with it. The whole dinner was less then 40 euros and Herc paid for it. He still looked kind of sad about the whole thing. We headed home, all of us chatting, me talking to the French so much that the daughter said "your French is very good."
Amazing what a big glass of vinegar will do for you.

Bad boys bad boys, whatcha gonna do...

The Greeks are very passionate about their teams (as are most countries), but certainly since the Olympics are in their country, they are even more passionate. As I was walking home last night, it seemed like everyone had their TV turned on to the Olympics watching, I think, Greek basketball. Everyone had their windows open and the volume turned up as high as it would go. My apartment is on the corner of the street and across the street on another corner is what can best be described as a hovel, a shack. I call it the crack den or sugar shack, depending on who is sitting out front. It is by far the rattiest, most run down place in the neighborhood. I think it has electricity but I'm not sure. I never saw any lights. Maybe the TV was running on batteries. I think several families live there, which is fitting for the neighborhood. There is always a lot of trash in the front yard, torn curtains, etc. Anyways, as I passed the crack den I heard a man shouting and cheering, obviously watching the game. By the time I got into my apartment the game had ended and Greece had lost. And that guy was pissed. And drunk. And he started shouting like he was possessed by the devil-aaaarrrgggggghhhhh, aaahhhhhh, ayyyyyyyyy. I went outside on my balcony where I was afforded a front row seat to a most entertaining show. He continued on with his moanaing and screaming. There were 2 women trying to shush him. That's all they would dare to do is keep saying shhhh. After all, it was 1:00 am. The more they shushed, the madder he got. Then he started breaking bottles. He went in the shack screaming and came out with a bottle and smashed it on the concrete. aaaarrrgggh, aaaahhh, more shouting, then back inside for another bottle. He did this until presumably he had broken all the glass in the house. If this guy was in the US, the cops would have come long ago, cuffed him and thrown him in the pokey overnight to sober up. But here the cops don't mess with this kind of trivial thing. For that matter, they prefer to try to talk to someone who is causing an outburst, rather than just arrest them. Case in point, a woman who was standing in front of the main Olympic accreditation area that was heavily guarded. I was there getting my accreditation and she was screaming at the top of her lungs at some poor volunteer. Her neck veins were pulsing visibly from a distance and I thought she was going to rupture a vessel. She drew quite a crowd and the more quietly the volunteer talked to her, the louder she got. What did the police and Army do? They watched. From a distance. They didn't want anything to do with her and who can blame them. Finally, they intervened and started talking to the woman who was even more enraged by then. I lost interest and went somewhere else. When I came back about 15 minutes later, I saw the woman laughing and walking down the street with one of the cops. Obviously, they could not get a Cops: Greece together here because they don't arrest as many people as they do in the US and I assure you there are plenty of drunk and disorderly here. Probalby the only thing that will land you in the slammer is trying to take some antiquity. When I was with Herc on the moto he pointed out a wall at the beach that was part of some village or something (I couldn't quite understand what he was saying) that was 2000+ yrs old. Right there near where you lay on the sand. I said I couldn't believe people didn't try to take bits of it for souvenirs. He said oh, no, you can't do that. They put you in prison for life. Oh. Well, that wouldn't make a good Cops episode if you ask me. Anyways, back to the sugar shack. Once the guy was done breaking all the glass, he moved on to the tableware. He brought a plate out and threw it to the ground. Unfortunately for him it looked like they had bought the Pyrex-No-Break dishes at the local county fair. Guaranteed not to break no matter how hard you slam them on the concrete. Oh but he tried. He kept picking up the dish and throwing it down. Damn, it wouldn't break. He went back in and got a few other dishes, but they were from the same set so no luck. Then he went for the flatware, which I don't think he expected would actually break but they would make a good racket. And they did. The poor shushers had their hands full. They couldn't stop him. Someone call the cops before he starts on the pots and pans! But just more shushing. Finally, the women successfully got him in the house and must have hog tied him to the bed because he never came out again, although you could hear a few shouts from inside. In the morning when I passed by I saw the 4 piece place setting, flatware and all the broken glass strewn around the front yard.

Another thing that might get you arrested is taking improper photographs. I was in a McDonald's the other day and a guy was just about to take a picture of the menu board when the manager started waving her arms frantically and said "no pictures in here." No pictures in McDonald's? What, they don't want you to copy their Greek Mac or the McToot? That's the strangest thing I've ever heard. When I was in the museum a man was about to take a picture of a statue. From the back. His bum. And one of the high school docents guarding the 4000 year old statues said "no pictures of the private parts, only from the waist up." Whew, just in the nick of time. That guy could have gotten 20 to life for an infraction like that.

Worked again yesterday, day 3 in a row. Lots of patients, and only Greek doctors on duty. One of the Chinese basketball players ruptured her ACL and messed up the rest of her knee in some terrible way. Still more referees with problems. The mascots, which are two freakish looking cone shaped things, are done by 2 guys who work for the NBA-at least in the basketball arena. Apparently those mascot suits are really heavy and off balance because both of the guys came in with back problems, really bad back problems. The Greek doctors are great, for the most part, but let's just say, I wouldn't want to sprain my ankle here. One doctor told me for ankle sprains, he puts a plaster cast on for 6 WEEKS. Yikes! But they're nice and friendly and pretty much agreeable to anything.

So, today I go for my 4th shift in a row. I'm going to need a vacation after this. Luckily I will have 4 days off so after dinner tomorrow night with Herc and my French roomies (that should be an interesting language challenge), I'm heading off to Santorini, where I am staying in a hotel that has a box spring AND a mattress.

By the way, according the the McDonald's manager, a McToot is "a piece of ham and 2 leaves of cheese." I think if you want bread with that, it's extra.

Taxi Hell

I read in a local paper here that "Athens is heaven, it just looks like hell." On at least one count I can agree. And trying to navigate the taxi system is a rapid descent into Dante's seventh circle of hell. The metro system here is outstanding. The trains and stations are immaculately clean, no smoking is allowed, trains run frequently and there's plenty of seats. There is no trash anywhere in the metro stations and there are police everywhere, and always plenty of people so you feel safe. Taxis, well, it's the last bastion of an uncivilized world. I already reported about my taxi debacle in Dafni and I was hoping that was an aberration. Some Aussies I met in Delphi told me they had no trouble with taxis going to and from the place they were staying and the metro. Of course they didn't live in Kamatero, the armpit of Athens according to my taxi driver last night. I took two taxis yesterday but was actually in about 5 taxis. The first time was on my way to work and everything was crowded so I thought it might be quicker to take a taxi to the Metro station where the Olympic bus lines meet the Metro to take people to the area where I'm working. I asked about 5 cabs before I found one who would agree to take me to the Agios Demetrios metro station. Unfortunately he didn't know where it was. So every cab he saw, he honked and shouted at the driver something which usually included the words Agios Demetrios. I'm assuming he wasn't telling his friends where he was going. After stopping the 3rd taxi, he apparently got some directions and we headed off on a harrowing drive towards who knows where. His driving was legendary. I'm sure he took the gold medal at the International Taxi Olympics. But he was busy staring at me in the rearview mirror. And smoking, his cigarettes perched in front of the No Smoking sign near the meter. After he drives around and around (I knew I wasn't going to make it to work on time), he finally stops at a metro station and says "Agios Demetrios here." Now, I've been to Agios Demetrios and it's basically at the beach and this station was not at the beach. In fact, the station looked very familiar. Hey Homer, this is the Dafni station. You can't fool me. I've been here before. So he gets out and asks someone where the correct station is and jumps back in the cab, closes his eyes and peels out into traffic. He does eventually end up at the Agios Demetrios station, about 20 mintues later. By metro it's about 8 minutes.

Yesterday was my first day back at work and I'll be working a grueling 4 days in a row. The shocking thing was that I actually had to work yesterday, and I don't mean work, I HAD TO START AN IV. Did anyone think I would be doing this? MLD, yes, wrapping sprained limbs, yes, handing out aspirin, probably, but starting an IV and cleaning up vomit? Uh, no, this is why I left the hospital. One of the volunteers was sitting there happy and perky one minute and doubled over in acute pain and vomiting the next. They thought she had appendicitis and said "someone" ought to start an IV but no someone came forward, in fact they all went to sit down. So I said I would do it and I gathered all the stuff. Greek stuff I might add, which is not quite like ours, so that made me a little nervous. As soon as I was ready to start, all the doctors and staff appeared to watch me, which was really helpful under the circumstances. I was looking for my friend Mary to come over and say she would do it because I was too nervous (like she sometimes has to do at work), but no Mary. Anyways, I got the IV in and they ended up shipping the girl off to the hospital. Whew. That's enough work for one day. Time for a coffee break. But about 30 mintues later another volunteer came in who had fallen 3 days prior and sustained a class 3 sprain of his ankle. His foot was huge and purple everywhere and he said it wasn't getting any better. They had him in a walking boot even though he couldn't walk. So here was my first MLD (lymphatic massage) patient. I worked on him for about 30 minutes. We had a few other patients throughout the night-2 referees (don't know why they keep getting hurt) and 1 coach.

I was pretty tired when I headed home at 1 and usually I have to wait about 20-30 minutes for the bus to go home. I had already decided that if I waited more than 5 minutes on this night, I would take a taxi. Of course I did wait and decided to hail a taxi. Which is not really what you do. You stand in the middle of the road and hope the driver stops, then you hope he'll take you where you want to go. Since I wanted to go home, I knew the odds were against me so I thought I would just shanghai a cab, get in and THEN tell him where I wanted to go. So, that's what I did. The first guy drove me about 50 feet and when I told him Kamatero, he basically told me to get my ass out of the cab, which I did. This repeated itself one more time until one cab driver agreed to take me. Luckily, I guess, he spoke English. He asked where I was staying and when I told him Kamatero he said "what in the hell you staying there for?" I tried to explain to him that I had not intentionally chosen this neighborhood. I had found a place in Athens to stay and it seemed like the only place I could find that was less than $150 euros/night. He asked how much I paid and when I told him of course he told me I was getting screwed. Then he said, "I can't believe you're staying there-it's all gypsies and drug dealers." Great, excellent. I knew it was a good neighborhood, but thanks for confirming that. But enough of the pleasantries, could you just get me home? But he didn't know how to get to Kamatero so he consulted his map, all the while shaking his head. He turned out to be a very nice guy and talked to me the whole way. When I recognized my bus stop, I told him to let me out there. When I opened the door he said "Do you notice that smell?" Well, yes, I admit I had noticed an occasional stench. But it seemed to go with the neighborhood. He said about 10 km away is the city garbage dump. That's why it stinks over here.

So, I was really kind of depressed to hear this news and I walked home in the stench, past the rattiest crack den in the neighborhood. Tomorrow I'll have to tell you about the Cops episode that came out of that house shortly after I passed it. But I have to go home now. It's 1:45 am and I won't get home until about 2:30. Because I"m waiting for the bus tonight.

Piss and Friendship

My roommates arrived the other day. And they're not from Spain like Herc said, they're from France. But the countries are close. Too bad they don't speak the same language. Their names are Jeff (short for Jennifer) who is 27 and Joelle, who is 46. They are mother and daughter but look a lot closer in age than that. Jeff speaks a few words of English and I speak a few words of French so there's a lot of fumbling around trying to figure out what the other one is saying. Joelle claimed to speak no English but once she saw me trying to speak French, she would try to use some of the few English words she knew. They are here for team handball. They are handball fanatics. They have tickets to every single match of the Olympics and of course believe that France will win. As you may know, handball in the Olympics bears no resemblance to the handball played in the US on a court with 2 players and a wall. This is more like soccer except played with the hands instead of the feet. The people who follow handball are generally obsessed with the sport and it does look like a lot of fun. I"ll be seeing the finals of handball at the stadium where I'm working. Joelle wants me to get autographs but I already know that won't work.

They have been asking me where the grocery store is because they could only find the corner market which is worse than a 7-11 for shopping. So I took them to the market this morning. Not the 5 aisle market but the one across the street, where I have been essentially ignored every time I went there. Well, apparently I found the golden goose by bringing the French in. I had 2 employees following me around showing me where milk and wine were located. They could see I was sort of translating for them what everything was. They couldn't have been more helpful. And amazingly, they all spoke English today. What's up with that? So, they mill around the store, filling their basket with all kinds of things, bringing me things saying "Katty, iz zees yogurt or fromage?" Finally they finished. We went to the check out lane and I went first with my fruit and milk. At the end, the cashier hands me a travel hair dryer. Uh, no thanks, that's not mine. I don't need a hair dryer. So I just ignored it. Then the French started checking out and another cashier comes up and gives me an orange beach umbrella. She says "this is for you." What in the hell? Am I the 1000th customer or something? Are you really giving me a beach umbrella and a hair dryer? Could I trade these both in for a bottle of wine? There was no explanation for this windfall. While the French were checking out they pulled out a back pack and gave it to them. They were squealing with joy like they had never seen a backpack before. Of course, they spent 70 euros to my 6 euros so maybe that's why they got the jackpot prizes. So we took our booty and left. I'm quite sure if I went back by myself later today alone, I wouldn't get a second look.

Once we got home they had all kinds of other questions. They wanted to go see volley. (I don't think the Europeans say ball after their sports). So I said volleyball? They said no, bitch volley. Bitch volley? Do you mean beach volley? In English we call it beach. Bitch is not a good word. Yes, yes, that's right bitch volley, they say. Ok. Got it. So I get out the map to direct them to the stadium. They also want to buy regular volley t-shirts afterwards, which are located at Peace and Friendship stadium. I point to the place and say "Peace and Friendship Stadium". They look at me quizzically and say "Piss and Friendship?" Yes, but in English we say peace, not piss. Piss is a different thing. So we get that all worked out and Joelle is getting even braver and she shows me some lettuce they bought and tells me in French they call it "Fur of the Cat". I don't know why. It doesn't look like cat fur. She is telling me something about the colors and says red instead of green and then under her breath says "sheet.". Then she looks at me and says "sheet?, is that right?" Uh, are you trying to say merde? Oui, oui, merde. Yes, it's sheet, but in English we say shit. Sheet is something else. Ah, oui oui, sheet, she says. Hey, at least in French I know my merde.

Yesterday I went to the ruins at Delphi. It's a 3 hour bus ride up into the mountains. Fortunately for me (and the bus driver) he drove really slow through the winding roads leading up to the place. Delphi is set in the side of a hill overlooking a beautiful valley that looks like Lake Tahoe. The town right before Delphi is a ski village, very cute. Who knew they had skiing in Greece. The ruins at Delphi were amazing. The things that are still standing that are thousands of years old are incredible. The climb up to the top where there is still a stadium intact, complete with starting and finishing lines, is grueling and not for the faint of heart. But I managed to do it and it was worth the view from the top. Now, where's the burro to take me down? I went to the museum afterwards, which also has some amazing pieces that were found at the site. It was a long day, but well worth it.

I'm heading off to work now for my 4 pm - 1 am shift. Get the coffee pot brewing.