Letters from the continent
I feel oh so very continental today. I am currently sipping espresso in Rome and e-mailing my friends about all the wonderfully European things I am doing while backpacking. Of course, only a select few hear the real story of motion sickness, stress-induced eczema and night trains from hell that have so far defined my backpacking experience.
Friday was D-day – departure day for yours truly and my two partners in crime, Amy and Megan. We were headed off to Athens to begin our fabulous three-week trip along the Mediterranean. Thoughts of tan lines, beautiful men and p’iacute;na coladas kept dancing through our minds.
The flight to Athens was normal enough, although the plane lurching from side to side as it landed was not very comforting. But we were on land in a country I had never visited before, and I was happy to be once again out on my own.
Trying to be economical, we bought a bus ticket in lieu of a 20 euro taxi ride into town. Little did we know the bus takes over an hour just to reach the city center – and it was another 45 minute walk to the hostel where we were to meet the bus to Corfu.
After nearly an hour on the bus, Miss Amy made the executive decision to get off the bus and hail a cab. Unfortunately, she forgot to tell Megan and me, who remained stuck until the next stop sardined behind a wall of Greek men and women on the bus.
Thankfully, Amy had found a cab driver who not only knew where we were supposed to pick up the bus, but who was also willing to pick up her two friends at the bus stop half a mile down the road. Things were starting to look up …
That is, until Mr. Taxi Man picked up another passenger while the three of us were still in the car. Apparently, this is a normal thing to do in Greece. At least we hope so, because the driver did it twice before finally reaching the destination. By the time we did get to the hostel, we were 20 minutes late for the bus. We assumed we had missed our chance to go to the Pink Palace that night. Luckily we had not, although Megan and Amy’s munchie-run almost made us late for the bus again. But the taxi and transportation hassles in Athens seem like cake compared to the ordeal that was to come.
Once on the bus to the Pink Palace, the world’s most renowned hostel resort (see www.thepinkhostel.com), the queasiness in my stomach started to come and go. Next thing you know, I am throwing up at a rest stop in a plastic bag from Sainsbury’s grocery store.
After much deliberation, we chalked it up to carbon-dioxide poisoning and tried to forget it every happened. The next two days were incredible, hiking along the beaches and cliffs of Greece, taking the ferry across the sea to Brindisi and eating gelato in Rome for the first time in eight years – perfect.
Of course, it wasn’t as perfect as it would have been if my boyfriend were here. That’s right girls and boys, I am dating a British boy. His name is Michael and he is half-Brazilian and half-British. His family winters and summers in Brazil, and spends the Spring and Fall in London. Oh, and he has pink hair, a tongue piercing and an amazing talent for writing music and playing the guitar. Basically, I have found myself a rockstar to fall in love with.
Whoa, sorry, I didn’t mean to gush like that. I don’t know what came over me, but I couldn’t help but talk about him … it’s disgusting, I know, and I honestly don’t know how I can look at myself in the morning.
Anyway, I guess my brilliant point this week is something I actually stole from a recent movie: You have to take the sour with the sweet in life, or how else will you know how sweet the sweetness truly is? Without the bus ride from hell (and the subsequent stress-induced eczema), how would I truly enjoy the beaches and breathtaking views of Corfu?
Oh, and the first five people to e-mail me the name of the movie that features the above typed sentiment and the actor who utters the phrase over and over gets a postcard from me in a city of your choice: Rome, Florence, Nice, Cannes, Barcelona, Mallorca, Valencia, Malaga, Gibraltar, Faro, Lagos or Lisbon. On your mark, get set … GO!
