although I rather wish that I wasn’t. It’s wet, depressing and miserable, just like I am.
And compare that to the photo here that I took of my plane at Athens Airport – bright gorgeous sunshine enough to put a smile on the face of anyone. I can understand why people who live in countries like Greece and Italy are so happy. Who couldn’t be, with weather like this?
Our ‘plane was an Airbus 319 which was quite comfortable even if there were 150 – 25 rows of 6 – of us aboard. What was rather funny (or not, though) was that there were two toilets on the plane, one for First-Class passengers (of which there were about 30) and one for the huddled masses such as Yours Truly, who were kept well-and-truly curtained off from our elders and betters.
On the ‘plane though, dressed in the traditional habit of an Orthodox Monk, was a dead-ringer for one of my childhood heroes, the Cypriot champion of Enosis and clandestine leader of the EOKA, Archbishop Prekarios.
The morning was totally beautiful, though. I was up quite early and went out to take a few photos of the sunrise and that didn’t disappoint me at all.
And what was so funny about that though was that the Transcendental Meditationists were already up and about, encamped upon their little terrace, presumably to stop Trixi and Yours Truly invading it for our morning session on the mats (followed, of course, by a little yoga). Clearly even Western Transcendental Meditationists are allowed to have issues over possessions and territory here on the real earth. Perhaps they are just beginners.
I found that almost as funny as the leader of another group storming up, rather aggressively, to another bunch of people, adopting a menacing pose and shouting in a voice loud enough for those on the island of Angina to hear clearly “would you mind being quiet – I’m trying to give a seminar down here and you are disrupting me”. That was the leader of those engaged in the “Non-Violent Communication” sessions.
We went around afterwards and photographed the complex where we were staying. This is part of one of the blocks of accommodation – my room is down there in the bottom right-hand corner and even though it looks right out of the way, it’s quite deceptive because there’s a substantial slope down to the cliffs and I had a small terrace with a view over the sea and that suited me.
All in all, we had a very good time here. I was certainly glad that I came and wouldn’t hesitate about coming a second time, even if it was just for a holiday and not for a course of something.
Our ferry back to Piraeus sails from the port of Megalokhoros – “Big Village” and, true to form with everything else that has happened so far this holiday, it was late and so we had to loiter on the quayside for quite some time.
The bus ride back to the airport was quite uneventful – no-one killed or injured and no luggage sailing up and down the bus. Somehow it was quite a disappointment, even though I did quite clearly see an old white Wolseley 6/80 in a scrapyard at the side of the road. I can see myself needing a much bigger suitcase next time I come here because what with the Wolseley and the Zundapp pick-up, I’m going to be rather overloaded.
The plane was late too, just for a change, and so we had a final coffee together. She then went for the train to Athens and I headed for my plane. Greek security was thorough, but cheerful. They were smiling, saying “please” and “thank you” and generally relaxing the passengers rather than stressing them out in the British, French, Canadian and American style.
There was some real excitement though. A couple with a baby were trying to take all of their worldly possessions onto the aeroplane as cabin luggage, even though it would clearly not fit into the measuring gauge. When the girls at the ticket desk tried to explain this, the woman became quite hysterical, and, shame as it is to say it, rather nasty and offensive. I’m not quite sure how the situation developed but when I passed them by on my way to board, a senior Greek airport official backed up by a quitedetermined-looking policeman, was saying patiently to them ‘but Madam, this is Greece. What they do in the USA has no relevance to what we do here”.
On arrival at Paris, I had to go to another hotel, as my Comfort Hotel at Le Mesnil was fully-booked. And in an irony that only ever happens in books and never in real life except to me, I had to wait hours for the bus to the “Ibis Budget” to arrive, whereas the bus for the “Comfort Hotel – Le Mesnil” was the first to arrive, and by a country mile as well.
