The next morning, we woke to our alarms and reluctantly dragged ourselves out of bed. We got some breakfast as a nearby restaurant, which had a beautiful view of the ocean. Our cook ended up seeing us there for supper later that night, prompting a question as to their hours. It turns out in the tourist season these “lazy” Greek workers work over or around twelve hours a day! And people want to blame the economy on them.
Kalimera!
Our breakfast was a strange egg, tomato, and greasy bacon sandwich. It was a bit filling for first thing in the morning, and my hands looked like they had ripped personally into the pig itself, with the grease and red tomato juice dripping down my fingers, but quite good!
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Aaaand I may never eat bacon again, now thinking of Barney’s teacup piglet.
We made the switch over to our new hotel, and very grateful to do so. The elderly man at the last hotel insisted on making a copy of my passport to hold onto, and when we came back from the club, offered us a nightcap. While there’s nothing wrong with sharing a drink, he gave us a rather creepy vibe.
Already at the front desk, looking perfect and well rested was Hot Niko. Maria and I felt none the worse for our night out, but still, getting an average 3-6 hours of sleep every night was having its effect on us. Who knew how these underpaid, suave and beautiful Europeans did it?
We asked Niko for advice on how to get the most out of our time here. We showed him the map we were given, and in his posh accent he said, “Well, here you have Knossos Palace, but you are young, you would not be interested, so, you want to go to-”
“I’m interested.” I said quickly, confused by the generalization. He looked bemused. “I was a History major.”
“Yeah, she’s weird.” Maria said. “So how do we get there?”
Niko laughed with Maria, smiling a perfect white smile as he did so. I ignored both of them, feeling a superiority associated with the rampant oppressive anti-intellectualism I experience as a geek.
We took a couple of buses to get to the palace, in the adjacent town, after stopping at a tourism shop and purchasing tickets to Santorini for the next day, at only 75 euros, including bus, the ferry, and bus tour. We were impressed with ourselves for making a good deal with Maria bringing up another tourism shop had offered it for a cheaper price. The woman accordingly lowered it, and Maria later expressed regret she had not said the price was even lower.
Onto the palace!
The famous bull horns, a symbol of the Minoan Empire
While in an enormously long line waiting to get into the palace, Maria and I spoke about how disappointing our East Texas town was for dating. It was difficult to find someone your age who was eligible, employed, and not “good-naturedly racist.” Two girls ahead of us in line turned around and spoke to us in their beautiful European accents, asking who these men were, were they Israeli, and did they hit on us last night?
Ancient artwork replications, the originals are in the museum.
These two, statuesque women proceeded to tell us how two men had been hitting on them last night, only to find that yes, they really were not going to sleep with them, and they parted ways after being disgustingly narcissistic. That morning, one had been texting them to ask if they were going to meet up at their hotel. The man called her another name, and they realized they had met two new girls that night, and were trying to hit them up accidentally. The girls played along, and got the men to come into their hotel lobby. The men looked around, saw them, got flustered but said hello anyway. They left, texting “where are you?” and the girls sent them a reply “oh, we went to your hotel, mistake!” They viewed it as a victory for women with standards.
Their adventure led to a conversation with us, and though the men we were referring to were in East Texas, where they would live forever with people who thought like them, dressed, ate, looked, and talked like them, we decided to travel through the palace together. We joined an English speaking tour that cost 40 euros, and deeply regretted it. The woman’s English was not all that good, and she used many words that were in fact not even English, leaving us rather confused and feeling cheated. Thankfully the two ladies, who were from Romania and very educated, had both studied architecture and could tell Maria and I about the ancient ruin regardless of our subpar tour guide.
Maria in the throne room, a spectator to all the political going-ons in the kingdom
The actual throne of King Minos! Mind if I sit here…?
This palace had three stories! And the queen had her own room. Hmm…problems in that marriage?
Making memories in ancient places!
The famous red bull depiction
We ended the tour recounting our histories in learning Greek myths, near the exit, sitting on a bench and staring at that ancient road. This had me wondering how many countless souls had ridden in, selling their wares or visiting the palace, over the centuries. Such a place of magnitude and history. I couldn’t believe the impact this place had on the Greek mythology ideas and even leading to the English word clue from the yarn Theseus apparently used to retrace his way out of the Labyrinth. ii Not only did this influence a way we tell adventure stories (involving a maze or intricate problem for the hero to find their way out of, i.e. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire) but depictions of even the original story exist and continue to be made today. That’s just the story legacy, the memory imprint that is made in the modern mind.
Our Romanian friends Cerasela and Iulia joined us in walking down through the city to the shore. We discovered an ancient ship dock that predated their modern one, and found a relatively empty restaurant to have dinner. We compared cultures, spoke of the Communist regime of Romania (of which I had been ignorant) and its effect on their families, Donald Trump (because Donald Trump), churches, womanhood, relationships, and then some more Donald Trump. It’s not just that every European is dying to know why Americans seem to love Donald Trump, it’s just so much fun to dislike that man and everything he represents…bigotry, white supremacy, xenophobia, sexism and basically an encompassing hatred for all those not exactly like him.
Don’t want to be closed-minded? Travel and meet people different than you!
We got a bus back to our towns together, and got a picture with the help of a friendly lady working the little cute station. We said our goodbyes, and took down names for later contact. They had been very interesting and intelligent traveling companions.
Maria and I made it back to our hotel, briefly considered swimming, but our night jaunt outside found the water entirely too cold for our taste. We got ready for bed, only to have her movie star handsome friend Nasos come over to hang out and talk. I call him that because he looks like Josh Duhamel. He admonished me for not contacting his friend, I had seen a girl in his profile picture and thought it was better to not hang out with them again. He assured me it wasn’t like that, and I got to ask him what it was like for young people in Greece with the economy so low. He informed me of his salary he made as a physical therapist (lower than my meager teacher salary in a small town in East Texas) and that he was forced to instead to work at his father’s business. He told us excitedly at one point, that his sister would soon have a baby.
“I’m going to be an aunt!” Nasos said with such genuine excitement, Maria and I forgot our manners and howled with laughter.
“You mean uncle.” I snorted. We apologized, and told him truthfully any other case we wouldn’t have laughed, but for his excitement made it such a funny moment.
I showed him SNL’s Greek God sketch for a laugh, and we parted, Maria and I gratefully sinking into our comfortable beds, knowing we would have to wake very early for our bus to Santorini, a place Maria had been wanting to see more than life itself…
Santorini!
I thought Maria would suffer a heart attack and die on me if she did not see the beautifully smooth blue rooftops and white buildings of Santorini. We woke early, and managed to grab a quick bite as they were setting up for breakfast. Rushing through and picking up some bread and quickly sipping an espresso before running to the bus stop, we sat waiting about thirty minutes for our bus.
Up with the sun, to a deserted beach!
Our bus took us to the ferry, where I instantly connected to the Wi-Fi and started taking a nap listening to Twenty One Pilots on Spotify. Maria had to close her eyes on planes and boats so as not to get nauseous, and I had a little too much fun teasing her for it. I was paying for it now.
Maria was in hog heaven.
Once we arrived, our bus took up the mountain in a very steep, sharp turning road that had me wanting to close my eyes, but like a bad soap opera, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The streets were so crammed with people that we moved like cars in Austin morning traffic. Some people squeezed through with luggage, snapping irritably at people who elbowed them out of the way. I thought one older woman and a man were going to start fighting over him blocking her way until she shoved by using the luggage as a battering ram. Tourism sightseeing at its best!
Maria and I were both getting hungry, and quickly becoming irritated and frustrated with the other pushy tourists. We couldn’t stop anywhere to look at anything without people standing too close to you and pushing you along, when you definitely don’t want to go anywhere.
“…Don’t stand, don’t stand so close to me…”
Finally I had had enough, and told Maria we should eat something before we started choking someone. We fought against the crowd, bought some sandwiches. We were eating them outside the restaurant, but soon started choking on the revolting cigarette smoke people kept blowing in our faces. It was unpleasant, trying to enjoy your bite of sandwich when, along with the taste of tomato, cheese, and turkey, you got a breath full of nauseating smoke. We took our leave of the restaurant, and brought what was left of our food to a square with a good view of the water.
Finally in a place without fellow tourists bumping elbows with you, Maria and I got some good pictures, and soaked in the scene. Taking slow, relaxed bites of my sandwich, I looked over the square. Foreigners selling their wares and demonstrating their toys to the passing children, being dragged along by their parents, with the Greek gentleman playing his guitar next to an old and magnificent in appearance church, and the sound of his music and the water was soothing my ears.
A passing tourist couple took our photo for us. I trusted they wouldn’t run off with my phone.
From this stop, we were taken to the next town by the bus, and left near Black Beach. Maria and I were excited at finally being able to get in the water after being disappointed last night. However, upon changing into our suits, we discovered that the beach was inhabitable to human beings. The ‘black’ part of the beach described the small, sharp stones that littered the ground instead of being mostly sand. Under the crystal blue water, with the water itself being clean, below were slippery, sharp stones that kept the area shallow and not fun in the least. We ended up sunning ourselves and drinking local beer, and with me reading some on my phone.
Why are all these people still trying to get into the water? Are their feet made of stone?
We were quite happy when the time came to make our way to the bus stop, at the old abandoned hospital. (You don’t need those on an isolated island, right?) We had a hard time finding it, and when I decided to risk looking stupid to the locals, I asked a preppy couple sitting on a nearby brick wall.
“You need directions?” He laughed at me.
“Never mind then.” I said, taken aback at his rudeness.
His boyfriend gave him a look, and he changed his mind. “Wait, the hospital is that way.”
“Thanks a lot.” I said, wanting to go into Teacher Mode and threaten him with going to speak to his mother. Maybe next time.
We made it to the bus stop with time to spare, and took the ferry back. The view was incredible coming back down the mountain.
Our ferry waiting for us
We returned to our hotel, and decided we weren’t going to let the sexist treatment we had received last night keep us from renting a scooter. Our ride through Athens was still sticking into our heads, so we stopped by to rent one. The man was decidingly against letting us rent a scooter.
“Have you ever driven a scooter before?” He asked suspiciously.
“No, I’ve driven a mini motorcycle, pretty similar.”
“No, is no good. If I give you scooter, you drive, you crash, you break face, you break arm, is no good. I give you four wheeler.”
Um…thanks…?
He charged us full price for the day, despite the fact we were taking it for two hours instead of twelve, and tacked on fifteen euros more “for gas.” I was really not enjoying the “extra” charges we were accruing due to being young single women in a foreign country. Maria and I took turns driving it down the main street, and ended up in another frustrating situation with a male. A guy came over, turned off our engine without asking, and tried to get us to go to his restaurant. After we refused him, we had to call him back to help us turn it back on. I was getting really frustrated with the men of this country.
I momentarily lost us down a highway that seemed promising at first, but ended up going into another town. Thankfully Maria realized this, and we turned around before going to too far.We were faced with the issue of what we were going to do now, turn the four wheeler in early or go eat? We ended up using it for little more than an hour, and were decidingly more broke from the experience, having used all of our cash.
We returned the four wheeler to our misogynistic “friend”, and grabbed dinner at a nearby place. Because Maria detests cats, all the homeless cats in the area managed to find her and try to woo her over.
Needless to say, it was not working. But I finally got Maria to split a meal with me!
After we had dinner, our friends Nasos and Panagiotis wanted to take us out, and I’ve never been one to refuse a drink. We stopped at a Irish pub, and I of course got a car bomb. The guys were quiet for the most part, interjecting at times that sitting at the table with us was like “being in an American movie,” while we were wanting them to talk more to hear their beautiful Greek accents. Glad to give you a new experience!
After drinks they took us to a Greek club (finally! Greek music after listening to lame American songs we can hear anytime!) and we all danced, not oblivious to the weirdly fixated stares of older Greek men sitting at the bar with a lot of free time on their hands. We stayed up far too late, but enjoyed walking around at this hour much more when we were with males, because they kept the hawkers from touching us.
I asked Nasos why he had his cat in almost all of his Facebook photos (Maria once again hates cats, and this did not bode well for them), and he questioned why that was strange. I told him cat ownership/obsession is mostly associated with girls in the US. The “crazy cat ladies.”
Nasos started preforming for us, talking about his cats and holding his hands out dramatically.
“What are you doing?” We laughed.
“The reason is I am the cat crazy aunt.” He said, smiling at us. “The gay cat crazy aunt, I like the women!” We laughed sheepishly. He wasn’t very secure in his English, we should’ve been more considerate.
Panagiotis and I walked around the pier, stopped for pizza, and didn’t get back to our hotel until 5 am. Maria and I had to leave at six am to get to our flight on time, so the guys hung out with us for a bit more so they could talk to our cabbie and make sure we weren’t scammed again. Maria and I realized then that we were out of cash, and forgotten to get more. Thankfully Nasos covered us, and made sure the cabbie didn’t take a longer route. They were modern Greek heroes, and we were quite grateful we didn’t end up making it a close call.
Goodbye Crete, thank you for the memories! Back to Athens and our snooty hotel.
Summary
- People in Greece don’t need sleep to function.
- You can’t visit Greece without going to Santorini.
- Somehow riding a donkey is important too.
- European beaches are not for swimming, they are for showing off your body.
- Sand can be quite painful when it’s surrounded by millions of sharp rocks.
- Don’t go barefoot to Black Beach on Santorini.
- If you ride a scooter, you can “break your face.”
- Cats play hard to get.
- Cigarette smoke goes with everything in Europe.
- There are still Greek heroes.
Thanks for reading!
i. Credit to How I Met Your Mother.
ii. “The Origin of “Clue”.” A Way with Words. N.p., n.d. Web. 03 Sept. 2016.
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R.J. Proffer 