Meet Conner

Kat has returned home to Texas. I spent a week by myself in Athens-an experience I would decline to repeat. Now I have a new traveling companion and I felt it only right to properly introduce him.

This is Conner, my boyfriend whom I love and cherish. He's a wonderful musician and carpenter, and absolutely knows the success rate of the pick-up line, "Hi. How's it going?" Because that's what he used on me at a bar in Austin and voila, I fell for it. He's never been outside of North America before, so off we go to Greece.

Cultural References

I've noticed that when I travel alone, I tend to hide a bit. I read up on all the Lonely Guide picks for best restaurants and cafes. Of course, these dining establishments have been chosen as the fabulous few for good reason, and as such, they are inevitably crowded. I seek them out on my highly crumpled Athens map, and cruise by only to be intimidated to actually go in.

I feel much more comfortable finding the quietest cafes and generally just walk around a lot. Having a second person seems to boost my confidence, adventurousness, and fearless attitude 10-fold, and makes for a much more interesting traveling experience. And there is of course, the added benefit of having an arm nearby to punch when finally looking up and seeing the Acropolis floodlit at night to say, "Wow! That looks way more majestic at night now that all the restoration cranes have been blocked out by the light."
So, I whiled away the hours at the pool today until my next traveling companion will arrive, reading McMafia, until it closed and then marched myself down to a cute little bar off a side street on Monastiraki square, to read some more and nurse a very large Amstel beer. Henekin and Amstel are the main two beers to be found in Athens; they're considered 'local'. This is funny to me since they are both decidedly Dutch beers.

The music mix they were playing at this bar is worth noting; they started off with a very cheezy French pop artist and then dove into a succession of 70's musicians.
*Sounds of Silence-Simon & Garfunkel
*Friday's Child-Nancy Sinatra
*Jackie-Scott Walker
*And then Willi Nelson!

I'm sitting in a bar in Athens, Greece, and they're playing Willi Nelson! Musical god of Austin, TX! Different parts of the world, all listening to the same music.

I just finished reading John Peel's biography, hero of British Radio 1 who was the first to play death metal, grime, British hip-hop, and reggae on the air. He also hosted the famous Peel Sessions that had live sets from PJ Harvey and the White Stripes. He talked about traveling to different countries, devouring records from local music shops, and taking them back to England to play on his shows. And at the time, because there weren't quick and easy ways to travel in between different cultures, nor was there the Internet or satellite TV, being exposed to something created in Asia or Greece was exotic and wholly different. Now it all kind of blends together; and now it's almost impossible to find contemporary music not sung in English, from which ever country you go!
Athens, when I'm being honest with myself, it's actually not that alien in terms of cultural references. They played all this music that I know, McDonald's is around the corner, Ikea can be reached on the metro, and there are 2 H&Ms here.

One of my couch surfing hosts had a small dinner party comprised of two Greeks, an Australian, and me. We all sat around discussing cartoons that we all grew up with-why is this a typical bonding practice among kids of the 80's? Some of the cartoons were all the same across the board: Captain Planet, Fraggle Rock, SheRa. Then there were others, imported from Japan, that the Greeks and Australian could bond over; those were lost on me.

Amazing. Various parts of the globe, all watching the same Saturday morning cartoons.

Proliferation of Athenian Dogs

I here by forth forbid myself from traveling alone, especially to countries in large, hectic cities to which I have never been before.

I've been a poor budget traveler since stepping off the metro three days ago. I have once again checked myself into a hotel despite every intention of hosteling it tonight; the breakdown occurred around 3pm after dragging myself around the very packed, very new New Acropolis Museum. The museum just opened in June of this year, as yet another member of the designed museums that you go to more for the modern glass architecture and less for their collection. It is however, only one euro until December, making the trip semi-worthwhile. The coolest bit by far was the miniature models of the north and south pediment sculptures of the Acropolis.
It's really the heat that truly did me in. There was no wind to dry a bit of the sweat that was dripping down my back only to be soaked up by the waistband of my underwear. And it was Sunday. Sundays are the bane of my traveling existence because everything in Europe seems to be closed on these holy days. In fact, there is a far greater amount of open establishments in the God fearing land of America on Sundays than anywhere in Europe, an entire continent that seems to be moving further and further away from organized religion. With only museums and cafes open today - and having no more energy for more exhibits and having spent my allotted per diem on coffee already - I yearned to escape the stale heat of the street and go back to a roof-top pool. So, I caved and found a different pool than I had already visited. While Kat and I may have ice creamed and H&Med our way around Northern Europe, I seem to be roof-top pooling it around Athens.

My mom informed me that Rick Steves, travel guide god, said one can do Athens in two days. I say that indeed, Athens can be done in a maximum of two days, but those days must be spent in a nice hotel equipped with a pool and air conditioning. The charm of Athens I must confess, is entirely lost on me and I can not wait until my boyfriend, Conner, gets here and we run off to some of the more relaxed Cycladic Islands.

Things I've noticed about Athens:

a. It's expensive. Ice cream cones in Western Europe generally run around 1.90 for two scoops. Here it's 3.90 - 3.90 I tell you! Absolutely ludicrous.

b. Sure are a lot of stray dogs hanging out, sleeping in the shade of metro stations. In Amsterdam every shop, restaurant, grocery store, has a cat to hunt the mice that are simply a fact of canal life. In Athens they have dogs hunting-well, I have yet to figure that out, but they all look quite robust and healthy.
c. Greek men have flirting skills that require the same level of patience as a Planet Earth filmographer trying to capture footage of the rare Costa Rican Quetzal bird. They just stare, and stare, and stare; sometimes for the entire length of a 45min tram ride. Occasionally they do break the barrier and talk, but usually in Greek, which still baffles me. I obviously look like a tourist and well, don't they know that while English has become the universal language of business, it is also the language of the global pick-up line: the most effective being, "Hello. How are you doing today?" My main way to combat all of this nonsense is simple ignorance. So, if I return to the States and now ignore anything that is not said directly to my face, well, you know where it comes from. Hopefully after having returned to Texas for a couple weeks, this will have all vanished without a trace and I will once again be the super friendly Southern that now lies dormant.

Greek Carresses

I've spent the better part of my 3 days in Athens lounging by the roof-top pool amongst young and topless French and German couples. I flit between the safety of the umbrella shade and the bed-like cushions in full sun, trying to even out my bikers version of a farmer's tan. The tops of my thighs, my hands, and the backs of my calves-go figure-are quite brown while my stomach is still pasty white. My foreign pool-side female colleagues bask uninterrupted in the harsh Greek sunlight, their nipples becoming a dark shade of coco instead of the pink they started began with. Their male counterparts sport small, solid colored manties.
I must confess that I checked out their bikini line, because surely, if I have to do summertime maintenance, then so do they in the face of such a small amount of Lycra. It turns out they do, at least the Donatella-Versace-dark Greek man sitting in front of me.

I did venture out briefly yesterday, determined not to be intimidated by the crowds and noise of Athens. I went in search of the little gelateria the receptionist referred me to and after finding it got two scoops. Bad idea. I'm a leisurely ice cream eater and in the Greek heat, this concept does not exist. By the time I finally chomped down on the last of the cone, I had dripped the chocolate hazelnut cream all down the front of my white shirt. I had quickly turned into the gouche tourist, only needing a fanny pouch to complete the look.

Another incident caused me to retreat back into my roof-top hide-a-way. I was absent-mindedly window shopping down a side street from the hectic Ermou shopping district--they even sell really cool exotic chickens! As I was gazing at some clothing a group of young boys passed behind me and the smallest one let his hand casually pass over my butt. Little punk. I turned around and raised my leg to kick him but thought better of it at the last minute. Ah, to be a light-haired, pale-skinned obvious foreigner in a Roman land; one of the reasons I vowed to never return to Italy without a tall strapping man to discourage such unwarranted caresses.

Nasty Words

I warn readers that I am about to say several mean, nasty things and that I mean no offense by them on a personal level.

I hate the British. They drive me absolutely up the insane on multiple levels. I feel like a couple direct quotes would illustrate my problem; all taken during my layover in the London Gatwick airport.

Little girl sitting across from me:
"Dah-dy! Dah-dy!"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Can I wear this in the pool?" (small charm bracelet)
"Of course dear."
"Good. Because I want to look good."

At the airport bookstore:
"Would you like a bag? 6 pence."
"Uh, no. But could I borrow a pen real quick?"
"89 pence. Nothing's for free in this world honey."

On plane. Girl standing in aisle calling down:
"Cah-ly! Cah-ly!!! I'm so upset right now I'm about to have a fucking melt-down. I'll clean up my language soon but right now I'm fucking upset!"
(exclaimed as she hovered over a poor elderly couple desperately trying to sleep)

Old man sitting next to me, speaking to his wife:
"What a fucking stupid selfish cow."
In response to reading the newspaper headline, 67 Year Old Mother Dies Leaving Twins Aged 2, as wife studies Greek phrase book.

On the bus that took Kat and I from the London Stansted airport to the London Gatwick airport (a 2 hour ride!) at 4am, the driver gave us trouble about getting on the bus with our hot chocolates, said they were forbidden on board. He relented as we started chugging the hot liquid saying to just dispose of our cups at the end of the ride. Ugh.

Sometimes I feel like they try to 'out-American" us by being the loudest, most obnoxious, most Paris Hilton-esque, most unstylish people ever.
By first roomate is college was British and she was wonderful. My mother is a huge Anglophile and went as far to spend 6 months living in London. She loved it and it's the happiest I've seen her in ages. I think British humor is brilliantly awkward, 1960's Brit rock and punk is legendary. Coming from Germany where everyone is quick to be helpful and laid-back (yes, 'tis true despite common assumptions), to London where everything is an ordeal and nothing is done without expected compensation well, it just made me want to die--let's call it a slight case of 'culture shock'.

Sunken Yachts

We're not used to public transportation, that much is clear. We tried really hard to maintain our optimistic and positive outlook on life through the long and chaotic lines of Ryan Air although we were both struggling. We got through another long line passing by customs into Croatia and changed some money, only to wait with 40 other people for the bus that was supposed to come in 10 minutes and whisk us into the city center.

We waited and waited for well over an hour. Several people jumped the bus line and shared a taxi together, taking them one step closer to the promise of the clear Croatian sea. Several more people did it too and we looked on with increasing envy. Finally we shared a taxi with 2 other American girls who were "backpacking" their way around Europe by way of B&B and hotels; they had 7 pairs of shoes stored in their packs, each. 7 each. They had just graduated from high school.

Once we got to the city center we caught a bus over to our haven, Villa Lippa. It's a modern house that was split up into 6 apartments. Our apartment takes up one half of the top floor and we have two balconies. Everything is white and airy with tiled floors and french doors. White curtains billow in the wind and there are sliding blond wood floor-length shudders that can be slid in order to block out the sun without blocking the view.

We dumped our stuff and ran to the market for fresh fruit, bread, and wine and then off to the beach by the yachting club, a 10 minute walk south. The "beach" area is a short collection of rocks before it plunges into the clear, cold, blue ocean. The small jagged rocks are brutally hot and sharp and make entry and exit from the water one of the least graceful acts ever.

Zadar seems to have the quiet laid-back vibe of a beach town but with an underlying desolation. Old wrecked yachts act as diving boards, gray stuccoed structures have missing roofs, buildings outside of the 2-building financial district don't rise above 3 stories with the trees not getting much higher. They are currently revamping the quick post-war concrete rebuild that occurred in the 70's (I think) and the Sea Organ and the Sun Salutation are at the forefront of that effort. The Sea Organ below is amazing! It's so calming and just fabulous. There's an explanation of how it works at Wikipedia.

Croatia's lovely and makes the flight and non-existent bus worth while.

Ryan Air

I question our sanity in deciding to go to Croatia at the end of this trip. At the current time I classify it as a bad decision. Ryan Air, when on the ground in the comfort of your own home, seems like a brilliant idea, to fly cheaply all over Europe. When actually going on a Ryan Air flight, it's the worst conception of an 'air taxi' ever.

Kat and I checked in online several days in advance and we had our confirmation number. But because we didn't print out the boarding pass for lack of a printer, we had to "counter check-in" for a fee of 20 British Pounds. Totally ridiculous! First we had to go through security where they made us throw out all liquids over 100ml, which you know, is nothing new. But still, they made us throw out the sunscreen, and we're going to Croatia and a pale-faced girl like me is going to curse Ryan Air later, I can feel it. My saddle bag with all of my bike equipment had to be searched and I was preparing myself to throw a hissy fit. But no, it had nothing to do with my bike parts, they were unhappy with the cutting knife that I had just chilling in my bag. Haha, whoops. Then there was the matter of Kat's carry-on bag being overweight and they charged her 30 pounds. It's just a series of regulations that they are absolute about; they leave no room for error. And coming from laid-back Germany, the hard-nosed Londoners were quite a pain to deal with.

Plus, it's like a freaking cattle run to get onto the plane. They don't assign seats and it's just a first come, first serve kind of thing. Everyone's pushing and shoving to be one of the first people to get on the plane and plop down in the coveted window seats away from all the children. A freaking mad house and I don't understand why they don't just save everyone the stress and print seat numbers on everyone's tickets. Ugh.

Funny thing is that they always have some sort of classical music playing on the plane once you do shove your way onto the plane, in a feeble attempt to calm us all down again so they can dole out water for 3 pounds each.

Breaking Through To The Yellow Side

Ah, ha, ha...ok, bad. That was bad, I know.

Kat and I took the opportunity to "work through" a couple things on this trip. Mine was to figure out what my new five-year plan is to be. Being 26, I feel like it's high time to get my act together and you know, get a 'real' job or at least start down that road-I say this what the same feeling as, "Aw, Mom, do I have to clean my room?" Kat wanted to work on living in the here and now. Kat quote: "Forget the ants, focus on the State Of Now Kathleen." Both objectives are slowly being reached to one degree or another, however, there are other things we have improved about ourselves as well.

Apparently for years Kat has been unable to pee without the faucet running and absolutely no one around. Spending so much time on the road, and most of that on scenic bike paths, peeing in nature with one of us acting as a look-out makes Kat's previous peeing requirement obsolete. Even through she was beginning to get a stomach ache from how bad she had to go, she couldn't as we rode up the coast of Denmark. But by the time we reached Dusseldorf, I am happy to report that it is an issue of a bygone Kat-ian era. Haha, ok, that was a bit of an over-share, I admit.

Oh! While I am on this most ridiculous subject, I forgot to mention that in Amsterdam they had such a problem with the lack of public bathrooms, drunk tourists, and an overflow of late-night peeing on the sides of buildings that they put in "public urinals".
But they're only for men and you just pee up against the make-shift wall. Ah! Even though we know how to pop-a-squat really well now, this isn't going to help Kat nor I for any late-night drinking. We saw some men in bright orange jumpsuits cleaning one of these with scrub brushes while we were in Amsterdam. I think that has to be one of the more unpleasant jobs in that town.

Bike Abandonment

After our night of imaginary hell, we rode the 22 remaining kilometers to Mannheim. Needing security and comfort, I figured that because I used to live there 6 years ago, that would be the closest we could get to proverbial chicken soup from across the ocean. It's amazing how little the town has changed in all these years; my favorite cafes are in the same place, the awesome antique jewelry store is still on the corner, the medical library still has free Internet, and ice cream cones are still 1 euro-the cheapest we found the whole trip.

The first stop we made was to the medical library Internet where Kat scoped out hunky doctors-in-training and cheap hotels, because there was no way we were getting on our bikes again to camp. It turns out the most affordable hotel in the center of town, Hotel Luxa, was the one my mom and I stayed at when she first dropped me off in Germany, and which I had totally forgotten about. Kat and I were so worn out since we got in to town that we ended up staying 3 days when we only planned for 1. The thought of moving at all filled us with dread. We became very, very boring. Our idea of a perfect day was to spend several hours reading at Star Coffee, followed by several hours of Internet, some window shopping, always to retire to our room by 7pm for dinner, a bottle of wine, and watching music videos - some cheezy, some brilliant, and some just with fun songs.

On the 2nd day we had to finally deal with getting our bikes home. The plan was to ship them back to the States and then frolic on Croatian shores sans cycle. Getting the bikes to Europe was not really a huge problem, the bike shops in Austin even offered to send them from the store and then there was always taking them on the plane. Getting them back to the States proved to be a greater issue. Kat investigated through a few shops around Mannheim and they all said they would provide a box but we would have to deal with the German freight companies ourselves. Total pain in the ass.

One of the boys at the bike shop said he would buy Kat's Crosscheck because they're coveted in Europe and apparently olive green and gray are super rare colors over there. She sold it for just slightly less than she had hoped, but not by much. Success for Kat!

Mine was a slightly different story. Because my bike was homemade, it didn't fetch any buyers. I decided to do a little cycle surgery and take all my 'good' parts with me. Armed with a large glass of wine and my multi-tool, I went down into the hotel basement junk area where we stored our bikes-the part they don't want the customers to see. I took off the tire tread and tubes, my girl seat, the rear rack, and the derailleur and chain; unfortunately I had to leave my peddles because they were welded on and despite my best efforts of my newly formed biceps, they wouldn't budge.
The parts combined were more than the $50 frame and my boyfriend, Conner, said in a worse-case-scenario to just leave it and we'll build another one back in Austin.

Afterwards, on our way to get one last ice cream cone, I unceremoniously left the poor remnants by a dumpster and quickly walked away before anyone saw. It was actually really sad; we rode over 1,500 miles on those bikes and well, damn it, parting..yadda, yadda...sweet sorrow. End of a biking adventure.

Died And Gone To Heaven

Holy Shit, I've died and gone to heaven!

Kat left this morning to fly home and I ventured on to Athens, Greece. Being with one other person for 5 weeks with no time apart - I kid you not - and to have them gone and then going to a country where I've never been and can't even read the alphabet, well, it's terribly unnerving. So in order to make the transition from cohabitation to being again, a "strong, young, independent woman", I felt like a needed some training wheels for that. In my yuppie-in-training mind this obviously meant to throw down for a really nice hotel and hibernate for a couple days before I feel strong enough to venture out once again and reclaim my adventurous spirit. I did some research and settled on Hotel Fresh : Athens Design Hotel.
It's freaking awesome! I'm on the 8th floor, everyone has their own balcony and mine faces the Acropolis, they have a sauna and a steam bath, a rooftop pool. Sigh. I plan to employ all of these services to the fullest extent tomorrow and then I feel confident that I will quickly regain my mojo. Plus, I am supposed to be working on some scarf designs for my mom and I have yet to begin them. Tomorrow is the day.

Athens has a lovely transit system they put in place for the Olympics several years back. After visiting Croatia, I totally appreciate having it be super straight forward as to how to get around. Nothing like getting to the airport and then being stuck waiting for a bus that was supposed to come in 10 minutes but yet still has not come in 2 hours. When you can smell the ocean but only see the black tarmac, well, it sucks. But anyhow.

The hotel has computers and Internet that are at my disposal and so I shall be catching up on so many missed stories. Yay! Mojo returns!