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OUR
HANGOVERS were horrendous. I had
told Joy that you can drink as
much of this local wine as you
want without aftereffects, but I
had been wrong!
Still
dizzy I jumped out of bed and
threw on some clothes in order
to accompany Helen to the ATM to
give her some money to help them
over their financial hump.
Afterwards we took a taxi to
Alex’s local TV station for a
tour. The "local news" set was
not being used at that moment,
so Alex videotaped us in a mock
interview, asking us questions
about California and Oregon, the
Urantia Book, and having me
reminisce about my time spent in
Corinth years earlier.
Afterwards Alex presented us
with a copy of the tape. His
girlfriend Vera and sister
Christina were both working at
the station as videotape
editors.
After
a quick meal of chicken and
spaghetti back at Krokida 7, Joy
and I packed our bags, said
farewell to the Markellos
family, and made our way on foot
through the streets of Corinth
to the train station. We agreed
that we had way too much
baggage—me with my laptop and
videotape camera, a travel
coffee pot, breakfast bars in
case we would run out of food
(not even a remote
possibility!), too many clothes
we would never wear plus books
and papers we would never read.
After
waiting on the platform for an
hour watching the
ever-entertaining parade of
Greeks going about their daily
doings, we caught a train to
Pireaus, the port town south of
Athens. We were scheduled to
sail on the “Nissos Kypros”, a
ferry that would take us on a
three-day journey from Greece to
Israel, at 6 p.m. I had spent
weeks negotiating for these
tickets over the Internet with a
Greek travel agent named
Dimitris and we were looking
forward to a restful and
interesting three-day cruise,
with Cyprus being a port of
call. After Israel we intended
to visit Cairo, then Crete and
other Greek islands, ending up
in Athens before flying home.
Our original plan was to sail
from Athens Israel via Cyprus,
to Egypt, Crete and some other
islands, then back to Athens . .
.
Pireaus was a zoo. Finding a
taxi to the boat was a
nightmare. When finally we
arrived at the dock where the
boat stood waiting for us, we
were casually informed that it
would not leave for at least
three more days as there was a
customs strike. I flew into an
indignant rage but this did not
impress the Greeks, who merely
shrugged their shoulders and
shook their heads.
I
tried calling Dimitris, the
agent, only to discover he was
on Crete and powerless to change
the situation. He advised me to
call the shipping company, who
told me to call the agent, who
suggested I call the shipping
company, etc. We were spinning
our wheels in frustration when
an angel in the form of a taxi
driver came along and offered to
help us.
“Are
there any boats going anywhere
tonight?” we asked.
“There
is only one boat going tonight,
to Hania, on Crete,” he replied.
“Then
let’s go there instead!” we
agreed.
Dimitri led us to another driver
who took us to purchase tickets,
and the next thing we knew we
were on an overnight boat in a
luxury cabin headed for Crete.
This cost us around $50 each. We
wandered around the many decks,
explored all the public rooms
where passengers had staked out
sleeping spots, had a drink in
the bar and ate moussaka in the
second-class dining room. By 9
p.m. we were fast asleep with
the boat purring along over the
water.
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