Olympic volunteer Adventure

Waxing philosophical

2004-08-28T18:31:00.000+03:00

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

2004-08-27T19:52:00.000+03:00

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

2004-08-26T19:46:00.000+03:00

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

2004-08-24T18:46:00.000+03:00

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...

2004-08-22T12:54:00.000+03:00

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

2004-08-21T01:11:00.000+03:00

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

2004-08-19T14:53:00.000+03:00

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.

You say poTAto, I say potaTO

2004-08-18T22:44:00.000+03:00

Yesterday I was off work, after a strenuous 2 days in a row. I went to see a softball game-USA v. China. USA won, I think. I had to leave at the 7th inning because I had already lost 1/3 of my body weight from sweating. But they were ahead by 5-0, so I"m assuming they won. My plan for the rest of the day was to go in search of wine.

Summer wine. Have you ever heard this song by Nancy Sinatra? Strawberries, cherries and an angel kissing spring-my summer wine is really made from all these things. It's really a cheesy song and I"m guessing it's from the 60's. I heard it the other day while I was shopping at the 5 aisle grocery store. Heard it in English. And I sang along, not real loud, but just enough to cause the other 3 shoppers to avoid my aisle. Now the song is stuck in my head. I have heard music here that I don't think they even have the tracks for in the US. I heard the following songs recently on the radio (not even in a store musack system)-Private Dancer by Tina Turner, You Light Up My Life (a personal favorite from 1977) and a disco version of Killing Me Softly. Anyways, I digress again. Back to Summer Wine. Once that song got stuck in my head, I realized there was actually a message there-DRINK WINE. Why didn't I think of this before? They make wine here. I'm not talking about ouzo either, I'm talking about vino, fruit of the vine.

I read in my guide book that there was a wine festival in the town of Dafni from mid July to mid September. Also, there happened to be some ruins from a Byzantine monastery that were supposed to be fabulous. And wine. The book said if you buy a ticket to the site, you get to sample all the wine you want, which is more than 100 vintners. That works for me. I was quite sure I couldn't fine anyone to tell me about the wine festival, although I was certain it would be obvious when I got to Dafni. And the guide book said how to get to Dafni. So, from the softball field, I set out for Dafni. The trip there was going to involve a bus ride that was supposed to be 10 km or less from the metro station. No problem. I would have a glass of vino in my hand by 1 (current time was 11:30). So I took the metro to the designated station and when I got out there was a little information kiosk there so I asked where the bus station was. Bus station?, the guy says, like it was the craziest question he had heard all day. He goes to ask the ticket man who says "where you going?" I tell him I want the bus stop for bus A16 to Dafni. Dafni, he says, there's a metro stop for Dafni, it is much quicker. Hmm, I wonder why the guide book didn't mention this. So I get back on the metro and schlep all the way out to the Dafni metro stop, which was nowhere near where I was. I get out at Dafni and there is a bus stop there so maybe I'm in the right place. Except no one in the bus stop area speaks a word of English. So I wander around. Maybe I will see this Byzantine monastery from just walking around the block. It's got to be a pretty good size or at least there will be a sign. No sign. I walked into a store selling flip flops and Indonesian art. Luckily I found the one person in Dafni who spoke some English. After perusing the 50 sq ft store, I casually ask the clerk where the Monastery is. Monasteriki? she says. No, Monasteriki is a Metro stop, I'm looking for the Monasterio (I made up that word since she didn't understand Monastery). I told her I was looking for the Dafni Monastery. She says, ooooh, that's in DafNI, you are in DAFni, people get them confused sometimes. REALLY? I can't believe it. People get those confused? You have a word with 2 syllables and you name 2 different towns with that name and you distinguish them by calling one DAFni and the other DafNI? I cannot imagine why that would be so confusing. So, I go back to the bus area planning to spend the money on a taxi to take me to DafNI, no matter what it costs. I spent almost an hour going from taxi to taxi- "catalavenete aglica" "do any of you clowns understand english?" None of them claimed to understand english, but they would all point to a younger taxi driver and when I would get to him, he would claim to understand but never heard of DafNI Monastery. So I gave up and got back on the metro and went back to the original metro station and just decided to walk around until I found the bus stop, which took another hour. By that time, I had sweated another 1/3 of my body weight so I was delirious and the wine wasn't sounding so good after all. But I was going to DafNI, dammit. I found the bus stop and waited. A16 eventually showed up (it only runs every 30 min). The bus stopped at every loose person in the street waving their hand, whether it was a bus stop or not. I'm not sure this was part of the route, but what could I do? The guide book had said to get off at the stop called "Psychiatrico" since there was a psychiatric hospital across the street from the Monastery. I guess that would have been a capital idea if you had any way of knowing the name of the bus stop except to see it as the bus flies by and hope the first letter looks like a pi sign. God forbid the driver would actually annouce the name of the stop. So, I"m diligently looking for Psychiatrico and this greek old lady with no teeth and one eye sits down next to me and starts speaking to me in greek. I tell her in greek that I don't understand greek, but I think this was unconvincing to her because she continued to speak to me and unfortunately she asked me the one phrase in greek that I know the answer to (how are you doing) so she was convinced I really could speak greek. She kept saying something that sounded like "poo pah, poo pah". Sorry lady, in english that means something totally different than whatever I bet you're trying to say. (I later figured out she was saying where are you going-which is not quite poo pah). Luckily the sign for DafNI Monastery popped up and I pointed to it and she got very excited and motioned me to get my ass off the bus. So I did. Followed the signs to the Monastery. It looks really cool from what I could see. Too bad it was closed. No signs for hours of operation, although it was 3:30 by then, almost 4 hours from when I left the softball game. Exasperated, I talked to the 3 dogs and 2 cats on duty and then went back to the bus stop to go home as there was no other visible signs of life near the place and I wasn't willing to walk around looking for wine. While waiting for the bus (38 min) a Nigerian guy sat down and he spoke english and lived there. He said the wine festival is in September. Huh. I guess I'm 3 hours late and a month early.

The only good thing that came out of that day is that the area from the bus stop to the metro station is lined with little streets that have tavernas (spelled tabepna in greek) and cute restaurants all the way back. I stopped at one for lunch/dinner and had this awesome baked feta with olive oil and sesame seeds-with fresh bread to spread it on. Also, grilled chicken with yogurt and honey. It was probably the best meal I have had so far. And since it was 4:30 and no one eats dinner before 9, I was the only one there and I actually got decent service. So I might even go back there and try some more places to eat. But I think the Monastery will have to wait.

PS: To Dennis who sent all the Athens recommendations-thanks very much. Some I have already found, the others I will definitely investigate.

Ding Dong, Falun Gong

2004-08-16T16:49:00.000+03:00

The Falun Gong have infiltrated Athens. They are everywhere. The obvious ones are Chinese but they have also recruited some white faced anglo types to trick white faced anglo types like me. They are capitalizing on the fact that EVERYONE is handing something out to read in Athens. Maps, Olympic information, club information, etc. I accidentally accepted something from one of the Chinese last week that was a colorful brochure and a flyer. I promptly threw it away. But the Falun Gong are smart. They have people stationed at the garbage cans too and they periodically go through the trash taking their one million flyers back out and rehanding them out. So, by the time they get to someone like me, they've been in the trash hundreds of times. So at least I learned to avoid anyone of Asian descent handing material out. But when the pale white girl with a smile handed me something, I thought it might be an invitation to a free classical music concert. Turns out, she was a member. She probably accepted a flyer herself several years ago while on holiday and the rest was history. While I was waiting for the Metro last night, I spotted a group of Chinese, one of whom was carrying a metal folding chair. As soon as they got to the bottom of the stairs, she unfolds the chair and sits there at the edge, waiting for the train. Sister, they've got benches here. You don't have to bring a chair with you to the train. What's more, they do make lighter chairs if you really feel the need to carry a chair with you. So, I watched them closely and noticed they were looking at people. Then I saw the flyers. Of course, the Falun Gong. I went to the opposite end of the train when it arrived, but the only 4 seats available were right beside me. 3 of them were engaged in conversation but the 4th seemed intent on casually slipping me the damn flyer. The woman did not speak much english so you know what I had to do. I had to share my true feelings with her. She handed me the flyer and I put my hand up. She persisted. Finally I said, "I don't really object to whatever it is you're doing, I"m just sick of you handing me this shit over and over when I told you once I don't want it." She still had a smile on her face and said "sank you, sank you". I let her keep the flyer.

Yesterday was Day 2 of work. The schedule was very similar to Day 1, except I figured out how to get regular filtered American coffee, so I took 5 coffee breaks instead of 1. Yesterday was the preliminary men's basketball and, based on what I saw, almost every team could have beat USA. The team arrived (I was stationed at Lurking Position 3) when the US team arrived, all wearing sun glasses (hey, they took a bus-I can't believe it was that bright on the bus) and headphones listening to music. They all swaggered in, everyone one of them (damn they are huge.) and went to their locker room where I tried to follow them in but was promptly stopped, even though I displayed my medical arm band. Then the coaches made them clear the halls where they would be walking and warming up. puhhleeze. What, we don't want to disturb the legendary focus they displayed at the game last night? Anyways, my shift ended before the game started but I hung around and watched. I sat in the front row behind one of the goals with my homies from Angola. A lot of the other men's teams were watching and the only free seat was amongst some of the largest black men I've ever seen. There was an Angolan guy behind me with his legs draped over the seat next to me. His feet were twice the size of the seat next to me. Maybe he was 2 rows back, I couldn't really tell.

Dr. Dory has eased up a bit since he had to wear athletic shoes instead of the faux-euro sandals he had on the first day, which I think made him more cocky. I found out he is 31 yrs old and he likes to cuss, which really impresses the ladies, especially the Greek ones he was hitting on with his expansive 10 word Greek vocabulary.

Oh, the work. Right. We actually had a patient yesterday, but not an athlete, a referee. It was one of the referees from the women's games the day before. She was from Korea and spoke NO English. Luckily she had a Japanese translator with her. She spoke a few words of English. But only enough to tell us her foot hurt and then she left. So, the Greek doctor examined her and diagnosed plantar fasciitis. Then he told her a bunch of things in English, which was undoubtedly very helpful for her. He wrapped her foot with some type of Ace wrap and gave her 2 Tylenol. She came back a few hours later with a Chinese guy who spoke some English and told us the woman was afraid her foot would give out during a subsequent game and that she wanted physical therapy. Physical Therapy? You have got to be kidding. The Greek doctor was reluctant and started to tell the Chinese guy that the woman had a condition that she was born with called valgus and this was going to happen, blah blah blah. I think he lost the guy at "valgus". I said we ought to give her some PT, as long as we had a PT there. So we did. Basically the woman got a pretty darn good foot massage from the physical therapist, which I'm sure cured her condition. We'll see. Watch a women's basketball match and look for a small severe Korean woman. If she's limping, it's not my fault.

La Cucaracha

2004-08-16T16:43:00.000+03:00

I saw a cockroach yesterday for the first time. Looked just like the American standard cockroach.

Except it was smoking a cigarette.

It's all Chinese to me

2004-08-14T18:59:00.000+03:00

I had a conversation with Hercules yesterday about how Greeks learn to speak English in school. This came up because my chain smoking roomate, Agiolos, who looks to be in his 30s, does not speak a word of english. I don't think he even understands ok, which is not a word in greek. What Herc told me is that it's incorrect to say "It's all Greek to me" (even though I actually did not say it, I guess that is a common joke around these parts). What he said is that there are 4000 words in english that came from greek, so saying it's all greek is technically incorrect. Which I guess is true. Except no one probably has any clue what even 1 of those 4000 words might be. He produced a worn article he had cut out of the newpaper written in greek and english where the author wrote the article using only words derived from greek. I didn't understand most of it and the rest was just plain boring. Anyways, Herc was very proud of that article and told me that in Greece they say "It's all Chinese to me" since that makes more sense, being as how the Chinese have a different alphabet and their language sounds like nothing else. Wait, wouldn't Greek still qualify?

Today was the first day of the Olympics and my first shift working at the Helliniko Basketball complex. I arrived at 7 am (after much internal grumbling) and met the doctor I would be working with. His name is Dory. As in the fish from Nemo. But he's not that friendly or funny. He is an orthopedic surgeon about to start a fellowship somewhere in Vancouver. He's very impressed with himself (should make a great orthopedic surgeon) and his achievements, which he is quick to point out to anyone who is not listening. I used to date a guy like him. He knows everything and he is ALWAYS right. It's tiresome. And everyone around him is stupid and he has no time for them. Except for the Greek doctors, who he has time for but are still stupid in comparison to his brilliant self. For entertainment he read the Journal of Orthopedic Surgery while everyone else was watching the women's basketball games. C'mon Dory. So far, no one but you is impressed. There is another doctor from Greece, also an orthopedic surgeon. He said the Army called him and told him he would be volunteering at the Olympics. He is charming and delightful. He told me if I watched the Chinese basketball team warm up and they saw me, they would kill me. The coordinator of the medical support is Niko. He is also a character and gave me an important quote today. He showed me how to use the TV and then said there is a quote in English that goes-"I know my chicken." I am not familiar with this quote.
The really cool thing is they have video feeds at all the venues and you can just turn on the TV and switch to watch any event going on at that time. So, here's about how my day went.
7:00: Arrive
7:30: Coffee break. Get iced greek coffee with extra frothy cigarette butts on top.
8:30: Lurk around dressing rooms of women's basketball players.
9:00: Watch first basketball game between Australia and Nigeria. Aussies won and were pretty good.
11:15: Watched second basketball game between Korea and China. No player was over 5'6" and they were all a bit scary looking. China won.
1:30: Lunch break and lurk around women's dressing rooms again waiting for Team USA to show up. The first sign of them is one of the coaches who is well over 7 ft tall.
2:30: Watch USA v New Zealand. Not really even a close match and USA didn't play that well. I kind of felt sorry for the kiwis. Mikras, the greek doctor who watched all the games with me, decided we should have better seats so we sat behind the goal. Look for me if you watch the game. I'll be the ant on the corner of the screen near where the players enter and leave the playing field. They even had tacky half time entertainment with scantily clad women doing some kind of dancing and throwing things out to the audience. Did I mention we are stationed on the playing field, in a corner, but out of view for the most part but full view of the game.
4:00: Game over. Shift over. Whew, another hard day at the factory.
Tomorrow is all men's basketball, which I hear is sold out. Rest assured I will lurking near those dressing rooms.

Demetrious the Demented

2004-08-13T22:14:00.000+03:00

Demetrious the Demented, or fokker, as I call him for short. He was driving the Beta 12 bus when I got on last night at 1 am. He pulled up to the train station really fast then slammed on the brakes. Everyone got on and he started speeding away before most of us had our butts down in the seats. So I sat near the front and looked and waited for the landmarks I have picked that tell me my stop is coming up. Demetrious is literally weaving through the traffic on the road, passing other buses, tailgating a moto so close I was sure he was pushing it, slamming on brakes at the last minute sending the person standing, waiting to get off, spinning around the pole. Finally I see my landmarks and I press the Stop button. But I don't want to stand up because I just don't think I can hold on. So, what happens? Demetrious passes my stop, doesn't even tap the brakes. I kept thinking he would realize it and stop suddenly and let me off. oh no. I was dumbfounded which caused me to shout out, hey fokker, you didn't stop for me. He shouts back at me something that sounded a lot like prego, which I think in Italian means something akin to "bon apetite" in french. although I"m sure it wasn't. And he kept driving. There were a few other people on the bus who pretended they didn't hear my brief outburst. Then they got off. And the fokker kept driving, farther and farther from civilization or anything even remotely recognizable. I kept thinking, what if I have to get out around here. Where in the hell am I? It reminds me of the time I went with my BlueBird troop to Westheimer Stables to ride horses and my horse took off from the pack, running full speed, in the complete opposite direction of where we were going. All I could think of was, where can I jump off this horse and how many bones will I break. That's what I was thinking last night. And he was hauling ass down that road, so jumping out wasn't that viable of an option. Then I see a freeway, which is very bad since there are no freeways anywhere near my house. Finally he gets to the end. And I am steaming. He says something like alla alla, which I'm sure means "get your ass off the bus". I said "I'm not getting off. You take me home you little fokker." alla alla. Then I realize he is pointing to another bus going back my way, which I am willing to take, but not before I give Demetrious a piece of my mind. I got up and let loose a torrent of profanity that is only reserved for a select few, mainly people who don't speak English. And when I was done cussing, I moved back to the front door and started again. I don't know what possessed me but it felt great. I got on another Beta 12 bus that took me back the other way and I got home around 1:45 am. fokker.

This was especially annoying since I had to get up at 5:45 am to go on my one-day cruise to the islands. Herc told me I should take this one day cruise to these 3 islands because they were close and really nice. He went in with me to a travel agent and got me some information and said he thought I could get a better price than the one he got. I found a better price at the travel agent located inside this internet cafe. The one-armed girl doing the booking (I think it would be a stretch to call her a travel agent) showed me a brochure of the trip and then pointed to a picture of 4 different boats and said "you will be on one of these." Three looked like small cruise ships and one looked like the SS Minnow. I could have guessed which one we'd be on. She also said it leaves out of Corinth, instead of Pireaus. Hey, that's fine, what do I care? I don't even know where Corinth is but it must be near the water, huh? Well, it's an hour and a half away. No cruise ship would EVER dock here. It's the rattiest looking dock/port I'd ever seen. And there, in all it's glory, was the SS Minnow, dug up from the bottom of the ocean. And who is running the ship, but none other than Ginger. (None of the rest of the crew made it). Ginger, whose real name is Mary, is now about 89 years old, but someone forgot to tell her. She has the same red hair as Ginger, except it is teased and shellacked about 2 feet off her head. She has about 7 years worth of make up on and eyebrows painted in a curvy fashion that create a constant look of surprise. Plus they are quite a ways from where the natural brow would be, but this allows for several different rows of blue and silver eye shadow. She has her lips lined but not filled in. She has an enormous nose and a body that most 40 yr olds would kill for. And she speaks 7 languages fluently. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was a man in drag. In fact, she might be. She shuttles the cattle boarding the ship into different sections according to what language they speak. For some reason, I am shuttled with the french, despite saying "I speak english". Anyways, as we pass through the door they have a man and a woman in traditional greek dress and they snap a picture of you with them, which they will later sell for 10 euros. There is a guy with a plastic Trojan helmet and suit of armor on. Pure class. I go upstairs looking for the lounge chairs where I will be napping and I am dismayed to find-THERE ARE NONE. All they have is booths and naugahyde chairs like you might find in a bar. Hey, they had lounge chairs and smiling waiters in the brochure. Something aint right here. They said we could also go to the lower deck, for a more intimate experience. What, can you have sex down there? So I went down there and let me tell you, there is absolutely nothing intimate going on unless you consider the smell of gasoline, fumes, burnt greek food and sewage intimate. So, that was not an option. I couldn't stay on the main deck because they had 3 musicians playing lounge-type greek musick, whick was already starting to make me sick. Speaking of sick, I asked the one-armed non travel agent if this was a boat that you could get sick on. She said, oh, no, it's a big boat, very smooth. Well it was a big boat, sort of. But I would not call it very smooth. In fact, I would say it was like sleeping in a cradle while someone vigorously tried to rock you to sleep. Better take another Dramamine. So, back to the story. I find a booth and get comfortable for my first nap on the Minnow. It's hard to get comfortable sleeping in a booth with your head kind of tucked under the table. But I was really tired. And I blame Demetrious. The fokker.

After 2 hours we get to the first island where we have 30 minutes to explore. 30 minutes? It's going to take me that long to find a decent bathroom. Sorry, I was delirious there. I think I just said "decent bathroom". I was thinking I was back home. Anyways, I digress. Very little can be accomplished in 30, really 20 minutes, because you can't count the 10 to get back on the boat before it leaves. And I'm going to be living with this constant dread on each island that the Minnow will leave without me and I'll be stuck there for at least a day, maybe more. So we have our 30 minute stop at Port 1. I get back on and go straight back to sleep. They are already serving lunch to the first group, which I am not in. It looks like some kind of greek sampler plate, but all brown and darker brown. yuk. I better eat before my turn for lunch comes up. At the next place we have 50 minutes. wow! things are getting better. I go straight for somewhere to get something good to eat and before I know it, it's time to go back to the ship. This scenario is repeated again at the 3rd island. The islands are beautiful and all selling the same touristy crap. And pistachios. Mounds of pistachios. Apparently they grow pistachios out there.

So we get back on after the 3rd island and Ginger tells us we have a treat in store. Oh, I'll just bet we do. The first "act" to come out is a man dressed very badly as a greek old lady, trying to be funny and doing karaoke (in greek). oh geez, where do I jump off and how many bones will I break? This schtick is followed by the original man and woman in customary greek clothes doing all sorts of greek dances from the various regions of Greece. They all look the same and Ginger, as emcee, keeps encouraging us to shout "Opa!" opa opa opa. I've already had enough. Then the greek dancers start taking poor unsuspecting people from the crowd and force them to dance. Then the guy in drag comes back looking like some kind of cross between Jesus and Yanni. I don't know who he was supposed to be. But more karaoke. I felt like I was in the lounge at a bad Holiday Inn in Peoria. Then Yanni says he's going to do a stip tease and takes off some of his clothes and becomes Pavarotti. Again, karaoke. I think you can get the idea here. It just goes on and on. For an hour and a half. It's the kind of thing no person should have to forcibly endure. And I PAID for this? We finally arrive back at the trashy port at 8 (instead of the promised 7:30 back at the hotel) and don't get back to the hotel until 9:30. It was a long day and if not for the courage of the fearless crew, the Minnow would be lost...

I just hope Demetrious isn't driving Beta 12 when I get there tonight.

Viva el barrio

2004-08-12T14:54:00.000+03:00

The reality is slowly dawning on me. I was going to tell you that every other shop in Athens is a mechanic or some type of automotive dealer, that no one over 35 speaks english, dogs freely roam the street and the city is dirty, trashy and stinky. And while this is generally true, it is nowhere more true than in my neighborhood, which I have now come to realize is The Barrio. I discovered this harsh reality last night when I was wandering around looking for the Syntagma neighborhood I had read about in the guide book. I have been trying to find this place for the last 3 days because I felt it held my salvation from insanity. On the way to the museum yesterday I stopped at an "Athens, May I Help You" booth, which I have found to generally be helpful in the past few days. The two women at this booth however, did not speak english very well. Here's the general exchange-
kk: Do you speak English?
Non English Greek: Yes, what do you want?
kk: What neighborhood is this?
NEG: This is Plaka
kk: Where is Syntagma?
NEG: who?
kk: Syntagma-seen-tahg-ma
NEG: No, this is Plaka
kk: Where is Syntagma?
NEG: This street is Patissios
kk: Yes, I know but how do I get to Syntagma?
NEG: ahhh, museo. Yes, the museum is right here.
kk: ok, thanks, you've been very helpful

I went to the National Archeological Museum which is staffed by high school students carrying their purses admonishing visitors not to touch the glass or take photos and otherwise talking on their cell phones. This is who you want protecting your national treasures that are 2000 years old. I saw one guard but he was outside. Smoking. Anyways, I passed through there rather quickly as it was not as airconditioned as I would have hoped. Don't they have to keep those artifacts a little cooler than 85 degrees?

After the museum, I found a map that showed where the Syntagma district was and I set out to get there. After a few misses on the wrong trains, I finally found it. And I was right. It IS my salvation and I DO live in the barrio. It was a bittersweet discovery. Stores with bright lights selling real clothes made out of natural fabrics, shoe stores as far as the eye can see, restaurants where you can sit down, COFFEE SHOPS, internet cafes, everything you could ever want and a view of the Parthenon lit up at night. I wonder if there's any hotel rooms in the neighborhood. Even the buses in this area are properly air conditioned. In the barrio, the buses are air conditioned one of two ways-open windows, or the climate control method. The climate control method works like this: When you get on the bus all the windows are closed and there is a little bit of a cool lingering air so you know the AC works, even though it's not on. The bus starts moving, still no AC. There are sensors in the bus and once they sense that the collective core temperature of all the riders is around 800 degrees, the AC comes in. And full blast. And just when you're saying "now, THAT'S what I'm talking about", the AC shuts off. This cycle repeats itself about 10-15 times over a 30 minute bus ride, never really cooling you off, just preventing you from passing out completely. In the Syntagma district, they actually leave the AC on the entire time. It's a novel idea. But the poor working folk in the barrio are used to sweating.

I immediately started shopping when I got to Syntagma and I went in to this little artist's shop and started up a conversation with the owner-who actually spoke english. When he asked where I was staying, I told him, Kamatero and he scrunched up his nose like he just smelled something stinky. I knew then I lived in the hood. He tried to be polite and say he didn't know exactly where it was, which may be true since most sane people wouldn't venture into that area, unless they needed their car repaired, I guess.

I found a restaurant, sat down, had water brought to me, a menu in english and greek and ordered up all kinds of things from the overpriced, quasi-Italian list. They even had a long dessert list which had Tirimasu, chocolate cake, Baklava and some other greek things I had never heard of. I asked the waiter (not exactly a friendly chap) what the Giononni was. He said it was like Baklava. Oh, ok, that's helpful. Then I asked what the Ravoni was. He said "it's like Baklava, sweet". I didn't even bother to ask about the other 3 which I'm sure were also like Baklava. I just ordered chocolate tart and a greek coffee. The chocolate tart was great. Greek coffee is apparently espresso blended with crushed cigarette butts. It's grainy. I'm sure it's hard to complete get rid of the tobacco leaves. My spoon hit some chunky things and I was sure when I took it out of the coffee I would find whole butts, added just like you might add mint to tea. But nothing came up on the spoon, so I guess they just brew the coffee with the cigarette butts so you just get the flavor but not that pesky nicotine. The Syntagma stays open until 12 or 1 am, which is just my style and I found a 24 hour internet cafe where no smoking is allowed. So, I'm moving my operations over here, except for the sleeping part.

Bums of Athens

2004-08-12T00:05:00.000+03:00

Dogs are the bums of Athens. There are no homeless people as my friend on the bus the other day pointed out. But there are plenty of homeless dogs. In fact, there is one sleeping dog in front of every store front. They don't beg, like bums do, but they dig through the trash looking for food and occasionally stand in the middle of a crowd and bark until someone gives them some food. They run through restaurants and weave through traffic. They're not all as skinny as you might think as they are smart enough to hang around food establishments and tourist suckers such as myself give them my leftover dinners. Hercules told me there is a big dog problem mainly because "we don't take their balls off." Speaking from experience, I think this is a problem that affects more than dogs, but I'll save that for another time. But, he says brightly, we don't kill them either. Which I guess to their way of thinking is a great trade-off. You keep your balls, we'll let you live off the land as long as you want and we won't kill you. My brother said he hopes I'm not planning on bringing any of these dogs home and my answer was, No Way! Not unless I find a real cute one that doesn't have mange.

SOS

2004-08-11T23:47:00.000+03:00

Or as my dad claims they called it in the Army, Shit on a Shingle. That's what I had for dinner at the Old Bakery, minus the shingle I might add. I didn't go to the Old Bakery (or OB as the locals call it) because I thought it would be good. I went because it was the only place open where I didn't have to stand to eat and it appeared to be a restaurant where they serve you. But not really. I went in and the only other 4 people there were greek men who stared at me the whole time. I sat down, picked up a menu off the table and started perusing it, assuming the waiter would be by to bring me a cold glass of water and take my order. I perused about 10 times and the menu only has 3 pages and they are in both english and greek. The list of things I was willing to eat was very short as I completely eliminated the "fish" category which had various unrecognizable fish and/or fish parts (I was at the sea after all). The only actual meals were Spaghetti Bolognese, Spaghetti Carbonara and Spaghetti Neopolitonia. Everything else was a salad or appetizer. So, I sit there for the longest time and there's no way I'm leaving without eating. The waiter is sitting in a chair smoking, staring at me along with the other 4 men. Clearly I'm missing a step. Then in the distance I spy what appears to be a buffet. It's towards the back near the kitchen. I get up like I knew all along that I was supposed to go to the buffet and sure enough, the waiter gets up and walks to the buffet. I say Spaghetti Carbonara. He shouts "no Carbonara". I can see that because everything that is left on the buffet appears to be from the "fish" selections and it's all red or brown. There is nothing resembling spaghetti. Just for kicks I say Bolognese. He shouts "no Bolognese-only this" and points to this crusted over mound of cheese looking stuff. I ask what it is and he says "loaf". Loaf? This guy knows about 10 words in English and one of them is loaf? Do they get a lot of tourists in there asking for the loaf? He says the Loaf has pasta and beef. Oh, that's a winner. I'll take it. What do you want drink? He points to the display case of drinks like Carol Merrill and there is canned tea, canned 7up and some peach drink. I take the tea. He says "sit down, I bring you". Oh, NOW I get service. He schleps over the Loaf and tea and drops it at my table along with the receipt in an empty glass. While I'm eating the Loaf, a couple comes in and he jumps right up and tells them something in Greek, probably "look at the stupid american over there eating the Loaf." No one else will buy that shit.

Payback really is hell

2004-08-11T13:36:00.000+03:00

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.

Jesus is among us

2004-08-10T10:55:00.000+03:00

This is a continuation of the adventures from Day 1.

I managed to get myself to the volunteer accreditation place and get in line. Surprisingly it did take 45 minutes, but that was to get to the front of the line where you wait in line to be registered. The 45 minute wait was a crush of humanity from all over the world, desperate to get to the front of the line first. There were only a couple pockets of shade where everyone tried to bunch together, making it a suffocating, joyful experience. I would have pulled my hair back into a ponytail but I couldn't raise my arms over my head to do it. As I was scanning the crowd to see what we had there, I saw Jesus just a few people over. From the back you couldn't tell but from the side, it was definitely him. Or at least I thought it was until he started smoking a hand rolled cigarette or a doobie (I couldn't tell) and when the wave of humans started moving and he pushed me out of the way to get to the front, I was quite sure it wasn't Jesus after all. I could see him volunteering, sure, but not smoking a joint and shoving to be first. Didnt' he say the last shall be first? Well, he should have taken his own advice. So, I let Jesus get in front. I think I might have also seen Laura Dern but the guy she was with was very skanky looking so I might be wrong about that one too. In fact, at some point, I think I was so delirious, everyone looked like someone I know or saw on TV. Except THEY ALL SMOKED. All. If someone in line was not smoking it was because they either A) ran out of cigs, B) ran out of propane, C) were talking on the phone or D) were taking a few short breaths of clean air before lighting up again. In fact I'm sitting here in an internet cafe, which is very small and crowded and everyone is smoking. In fact, I'm quite sure I have the start of emphysema by now. And I haven't even been here that long.

But anyways, I digress. The whole processing took about 2 hrs including the "fitting" of the uniform which was "here, try this on. I hope it fits". It was a sample uniform that at least 50,000 other people had already tried on and let me tell you there was a powerful stink coming from that thing. I wasn't exactly fresh at that moment, having stood out in the sun with 55,000 other people, but that thing held onto odor like no fabric I have ever seen. And the changing cubicle, well, I won't even go there to tell you about that. Suffice to say, I was able to hold my breath for 3 minutes. The uniform is not as bad as I feared. It is primarily cotton, polo style with blue and orange stuff on the arms and other places. The long pants are convertible pants which zip off at the knees to convert to shorts. We got 3 tops, 2 pants, 1 jacket, 3 pairs of shocks (I am pretty sure they are just socks, but they called them shocks and I feared it was some kind of shoe/sock combo that was reminiscent of the slipper socks my dad used to wear), 1 white extremely dorky hat, which can only successfully be worn by skinny french girls or men over 70, a water bottle that holds 8 oz of water and a fanny pack that will accomodate the largest of fannies. A pretty good haul considering. Then there's the matter of the ID/pass. It is a monstrously large laminated card with a passport quality photo that hangs around your neck at all times. And you can't even turn it to the backside to hide the photo, like a lot of other ID cards because they put a picture on both sides! How wrong is that?

Well, I made it out of the center alive and then rode the train all day trying to find food and an internet cafe, which is not as easy as it sounds. I finally decided to head home around 12:30, hoping I would remember the route. The train was fine, well, sort of. I went the wrong direction and had to get off and go back the other way. A minor inconvenience as it did not involve much walking. However, I waited a very long time for the bus back to my apartment. It finally showed up and it was so dark I couldn't really figure out where I was supposed to get off. I thought I was getting near so I went to the bus driver (age approx 92) and attempted to speak to him in greek and tell him I wanted to get off at Kamatero street. He motioned in a way I took to mean next stop. Wow, that was surprisingly easy. Except the next stop was not right, THAT I knew. But HE MADE ME GET OFF. Started shouting at me, Kamatero, Kamatero, get your ass off the bus (or at least that's what I translated it to mean). So rather than try to reason with him that I didn't want to, I just got off and hoped my stop wasn't too far away. I found a young person (remember, they're the only ones who speak a word of english) and asked him where I was going. He said, only about 200 meters more, which according to my calculations to metric came to about 20 miles. But what choice did I have? Turned about to be not quite that far and I made it home about 1:30, sweating like a pig. Did I mention it's hot here and it doesn't cool off at night as one might think of a place that's surrounded by water?

So, that's my adventure from Day 1. Today I'm going to try to get tickets to the dress rehearsal of the opening ceremonies only available to volunteers and only at this little school on a side street that some Brazilian guy told me about. Which probably doubles as some kind of spy agency and the next thing you know, I"ll be Jason Bourne, running for my life but not knowing why. We'll see.

So far, the only thing I forgot to bring is a mattress.

2004-08-09T20:39:00.000+03:00

Hercules picked me up at the airport with his small sign written in tiny ballpoint using mainly greek letters. I recognized Kaffy so I figured it must be Herc. Hercules is about 5'5" and wears very tight disco pants with his hair slicked back. He is not bad looking. If it was 1983. He takes me to the apartment where I will be staying which is apparently nowhere near anything of interest in Athens, namely the Olympics. I almost feel like I'm in Mexico, in fact, this would be the Mexico of Europe. Stray dogs everywhere, constant construction and unfinished works in progress but no one actually working on them. My apartment is on the 3rd floor of what he claims is a new building and I think he is probably right as the building is surrounded by shells of unfinished apartments. The view out my window is into a lovely construction site next door. I am introduced to Angelo, one of the roommates, who speaks no english. He told me Angelo was staying there but he also told me 2 spanish girls were staying there and there's only 2 bedrooms, so I don't know where Angelo is going to sleep but I doubt it's on the clearance Ikea couch in the unairconditioned living area. The place is clean (unless you walk around barefoot and then it looks like they haven't mopped the floors since it was built) and white. ish. My room has a single twin bed, correction, box spring with brand new crisp 150 thread count sheets that are so stiff when I throw the cover off, it actually stands up on its own. I check all the closets for a mattress, but it looks like they did not purchase a mattress. I guess I got the budget room, although the second bedroom is not much better. The bathroom is big but that's where the washing machine is. Which is small. about the size of a microwave. And of course no dryer. You have to hang your chones out on the line to dry in front of everyone. Shower? no. It's a bath tub with a hose attached to the wall, which I recall seeing on a few occasions in France, where they don't spend much time bathing. I never figured out-do you sit or stand? I brought shower shoes at the urging of my sister so I didn't get some kind of fungus on my feet but it looks like I'm going to need some kind of butt tarp because the only way to reasonably wash my hair without getting water all over the bathroom is to sit down and use the hose. There are a number of cleaning products (nothing like 409 Libby) but none of them seems like it will be strong enough to disinfect that surface. So I spray Windex, or at least a clear blue substance that looks like Windex on the tub the next time I use it.

So I spent most of today sitting at the apartment waiting for my luggage. Oh, I bet I forgot to mention that my luggage took a side trip to Saloniki and didn't really want to come back. They promised it would be here between 10 and 11 so I waited until I was about to pass out from hunger (no food in the house, no working phone) and ventured out in my sweats to get some food and call and bitch at someone. Hercules and various other experienced greeks swore everyone in Greece speaks English. But that would probably be in the area around downtown, and I was about 10km from there so not only was no english spoken, no english was written and they really didn't seem to want to see my white face at all. I couldn't find a working phone to call KLM, almost got in a shoving match at the bank (I think I was at the bank), went to a bakery that Hercules said was "really good" which I guess would be good if you like flies on your pastry. Nothing was recognizable and marked-I guess what good would that do? So, I bought 2 little round things with sugar that looked like donuts and had the least number of flies on it (perhaps not a good sign if the flies don't even like it) but tasted liked a hard chewy round thing with sugar but no flavor. Then I went to the grocery store and bought, what I believe to be, milk, yogurt with possibly peaches or some yellow fruit, a loaf of bread that looks to have been formed by someone with only one hand and some cereal. No english spoken there I might add. Hauled my groceries up the hill back to my room to sit and wait for my luggage. There's not a ton of stuff to do in the apartment when you're looking to kill time. I could read but I wore out the Ikea couch in short order. The bed was out of the question as I still had spring marks on my back from the night's sleep. So I went into the closet, where he said all the linens were and loaded them up on the bed like a mattress. Turns out they're not linens in the sense of a bed, but tablecloths, which is what I had dragged out in the middle of the night when I was freezing because I had accidentally set the window unit at 12C, which I think is real low in Fahrenheit. Anyway, I couldn't take it any more and ventured out again to call Herc and ask him what the deal was. I found a working phone, called him and he finally brought my waylaid bag a couple hours later. So I set out to go get my accreditation and uniform.

More later when I find a cheaper internet cafe. I'm about out of time and nickels here.

2004-08-06T10:22:00.000+03:00

Leaving in 2 days. Now I know where I'm going, what I'm doing, what shifts I'm working and where to pick up my uniform. I'm just not packed, organized or anywhere near ready. But the news of a uniform is surprising and possibly good as it might reduce the amount of clothes I had planned to bring as my personal choice for a uniform. But I have visions of this uniform we are being given as a very high polyester (or other man-made fabric) count that is ill-fitting and pulls in all the wrong places. It will probably have big gappy pockets at the hips and slowly stretch at the seams every time I try to sit down. I can't be seen with Tim Duncan looking like that. Well, anyway, they said to allow 45 minutes to pick up the uniform (and the acompanying attractive Athens 2004 souvenir bag) as there will be 55,000 other volunteers trying to do the same. I think the math here may be a clue as to why there have been delays in getting everything finished in time for the Olympics because, while I have no experience handling large crowds, it takes me almost 45 minutes to get through the express lane at HEB with 5 people in front of me. AND THEY ALL SPEAK ENGLISH. Well, maybe they don't but that's beside the point. I think it would be safe to assume I'll be standing in line until Wednesday with 55,000 sweaty volunteers waiting for my 100% poly, no wrinkle, one size fits all, uniform.

2004-07-22T05:48:00.000+03:00

Leaving in 17 days for the Olympics. Don't know what to wear, where to go, what time, when, for how long, what I'll be doing, who I'll be doing it with or when I'll be done. Otherwise, in pretty good shape.