Payback really is hell

Hercules came by the casa yesterday to make sure I had not gotten swallowed up in the bowels of Athens. He offered me a ride on his moto as he was going down to the port to change his tickets. So I reluctantly agreed since I wanted to see the port, but assumed there would be no helmet or any element of safety involved. I was so right. He weaved in and out of traffic like he was invisible-cutting off buses and large cars, honking if anyone got near him. If I had stretched my knees out even another inch, I would have had my patella removed on more than one occasion. We went to the front of every line of traffic at a light. Hercules told me everyone in Athens has a motorcycle and I believe he was right about that. I saw people of all ages driving motorcycles, including someone I guessed to be about 80 as I could only see her bare legs sticking out of her "gear", which included a space helmet, thin yellow blouse with a fishing tackle jacket (for extra protection) and bare legs. Oh, plastic sandals of course-the mandatory shoe in Greece. Half of the motorcyclists were talking on their cell phones. Everyone is required to own a cell phone in Athens. That's why there are only 3 pay phones and 2 of them work. What's more, the cell phone is kept out, near the ear and at the ready for an phone call that might come and boy do they come. Constantly. It sounds like a call-in center on the train, everyone answering, cackling neh, neh (yeah, yeah) and talking at once. Anyways, I digress, back to me and Herc on the moto. He said the speed limit was 100k, which again, with my math, I guess to be real fast. Since I had no helmet my hair became a large rat's nest in no time, the skin on my face was stretched back and sunburnt, my butt squeezed so tight trying to hold on I could have lifted the bike with my ass, my toes curled white around the foot pegs. The car behind me kept running their windshield wipers I presume due to the large amount of sweat that was splashing off my legs and back. In short, it was great fun. Herc took me the scenic route, which was indeed very scenic, along the coast. But, while he was pointing out the coast, I was noticing the Starbucks, which I would have killed for at that moment. How do you get a damn cup of coffee in this town? And I'm not talking about a 2 oz espresso either. Also, I saw restaurants, real restaurants, where you sit down, they bring you water and offer you a menu written in greek and english, you see something you recognize and would eat, you order it, they bring it in the same day and later ask you if you want dessert. But I don't know how to get back there. It was on the way to somewhere else, which is here, where you order at a walk up place and they have a big rack of meat on a spit that they shave off for your gyro. Fine. I like gyros. But I DON'T WANT A FRICKING GYRO FOR BREAKFAST LUNCH AND DINNER. Please, someone give me an egg or a pancake. Can you tell I'm a little off today? Yesterday was not a good day for me in any way.

Herc was going to drop me off at the train station to go back to the Olympic center for tickets to the walk-through of opening ceremonies. But I forgot my pass. So I had to go back home and get it. But I took the wrong bus home. It was a #12 bus and I thought Herc said all 12's were ok. But he was kidding. The bus was Gamma 12, not Alpha 12 or Beta 12. Gamma 12 was driven by the same old man who was driving the last time I got kicked off. So I'm sitting on Gamma 12 waiting to recognize my street and the old man keeps turning, which isn't good. Finally I'm the last one on the bus and we're on some hillside and he shouts at me, "where are you going?" I'm assuming that's what he said and that he wasn't asking how I was feeling. I said Kamatero. He shouts, Kamatero, Kamatero, get your ass off the bus. Clearly I was at the end of the line and it wasn't my line. He pointed to some old men (bad sign-no english) so I went up and asked them in my best greek just where in the hell I was. They didn't know. Shrugged their shoulders. So I got back on someone else'e Gamma 12 bus and headed back to the train station to wait for Alpha or Beta to show up. I finally got back home, got my pass and returned to the area where I was told to go get the pass. After wandering up and down a hilly street about 4 times, asking everyone I saw where this secret school was, I finally found someone who knew. (This is going to be the fundamental problem with the entire Olympic experience-EVERYONE is a volunteer and doesn't know shit beyond where they are sitting). I go to the school and pick up my ticket. She tells me to get there by 6 to sit down. So I have to kill a couple hours and I wander around casually in the hot sun hoping to find a pair of sandals that I can wear to replace my tennis shoes which currently feel like Chinese bindings. I go into one sandal store and walk towards the back under the scowling, watchful eye of the shop owner who trusts no Americans. And she shouldn't because I go pull out a box containing sandals and she runs towards the back shouting Signome, kyria, ohi, ohi (which means excuse me mam, get your ass out of my store). She grabbed the shoe box and put it back and directed me to the front window, where I was allowed to look at the shoes, but clearly I was not to touch. No sandals for me there.

Finally I decided to go to the Olympic stadium and just go in and see what was going on. I waited in a very long security check line. As I got to the front, a greek woman and her Neanderthal son muscled their way to the front and cut in front of me. That's one thing about these greeks, they want to be first in line and they'll do what it takes to get there. I was really annoyed and even though the guard (also Greek) saw this, he let the woman go ahead of me to stand and wait for the screener. I was glaring at her back, shooting rays of ill will into her, when he motioned me to go. She was still there. See how far that got you, Atticus? So I continued to stare at her, glaring at her back, when I saw my golden opportunity. There was a thread hanging from the hem of her longish dress. So I stood on the thread. Then, when it was her turn to go in line, I stayed on the thread and I watched it as she went through the scanner to the end of the line and I still had my foot on the thread and I watched her hem gently unfold as she walked away. Oh, payback is hell, I was gloating to myself. Then it was my turn. They ran my bag through and suddenly got very excited and sent me in the direction of the gestapo who pointed at my bag like it was radioactive. Uh, oh, they don't like my camera. Sure enough, no cameras allowed, regardless of whether they have film or not. What do I do? They didn't know and sure as hell didn't care. I had to leave. What do I do? What would Willie do? Then I got an idea. I found an unattended area of dirt and gravel and buried my camera and put a little marker on top of the tomb so I could find it when I got it. Then I ran back and got in a better line. But it turned out not to be better because they asked to see my ticket and when I showed it to them, they pointed out that I had been issued a ticket for the show 2 days ago, not today. Well, payback really is hell I guess. I'm sure you can guess that I kicked and screamed and cried, but everyone is a volunteer so no one knows shit beyond where they are sitting. And no one is going to get up from where they are sitting. So, after asking about 600 people if they had an extra ticket I gave up and went in search of some dinner.

Part 2 of my delicious dining experience at the "Old Bakery" to come. And just as a prelude, they sell nothing baked and no baked goods at the Old Bakery.