Thursday, 24 May, 2012
I packed and laid out my travelin’ clothes last night before bed so I have little to do this morning save dress and pack my robe and makeup. I’m up early again, but my brother greets me with coffee. “Did you get ANY sleep?” I ask. “Sure,” says Mick. “I mean in the bed, not out on the patio,” I counter. “Naw,” he says. “Dana was snoring too loud.”
Greece has its own version of the Paper/Rags Man; theirs is a guy in a truck with a loudspeaker calling out whatever it is he has to sell today. By this time, Dana and her folks are down, and we ask Dana what he’s selling. “Cabbages,” she says, and then vociferously denies any snoring on her part having heard Mick’s comment.
The refrigerator is pretty empty compared to its former stuffed glory, but there are still some leftovers, so I assist with one of the Grecian sausages—they’re really good, even cold, and I’m hoping they’ll be available back home. Crilly appear, and oblige Dana’s encouragement to eat by loading their plates with the rice and stuffed whatever and bits of steak still to be had—twice!
Lily discovers the electric juicer, and since there are lots of oranges left, makes fresh orange juice. Braxony appear and use up cereal and yoghurt and most of the remaining honey. Meanwhile, we’re cleaning the kitchen, setting out what things (like spices and olive oil) the maid can have, filling the dishwasher one last time, and washing whatever is left over.
The maid, Dolores, appears around 9:30 and cheerfully tells us not to hurry—she can start with the bottom units. I go upstairs to get my bag and purse and to check the rooms to see if anyone has left anything, leave a 5€ note under my bedside table lamp for Dolores, and I’m ready to go.
As always, getting everyone ready to go at the same time takes a while, like “herding cats,” as Mick is fond of saying. Nevertheless, we all finally are down to the garage at 10:30, wave goodbye to Dolores, take one last look at the villa and view, and we’re off. I’ll miss the villa, and would have liked to have a couple more days there, but I certainly won’t miss the 88 steps from the street to my bedroom! (Papoo counted ’em—I’m taking his word for it!)
It’s about 40 minutes to the airport through little towns along the coast, and soon we’re in the now familiar Corfu town, threading our way between motorbikes that jet out from nowhere and autos that suddenly stop and double park to let someone jump out. There are a lot of females operating motorbikes, too—it’s a cheap and fast way to get around.
At the airport, we’re all dropped off while Mick and Dana park the vehicles; they soon join us for the farewell to Braxony, and there is much hugging and kissing. Mick says it’s the sixth time he’s been to the airport, and one more trip to go (me). We finally leave, waving frantically, and head for the parking lot. Jerky is being returned today, so our 7 remaining climb in Jumpy for a final tour Dana has planned.
We head back to Benitses, by the Achilleio, where the Corfu Shell Museum is, a private initiative of diver and collector Napoleon Sagias, who has brought back specimens from all over the world. Dana wanted to stop when we were in the area before, but the Museum closes at 3:00 and we weren’t able to do it.
We park under trees by the seaside and watch fishermen beat their octopi catch over the rocks. Dana says they have to do this to tenderize them, otherwise they’re tough and rubbery. We know the creatures are dead before the men do this, but still…
Across the road is the Museum, and as we start climbing the stairs, a man comes out to tell us the museum is closed. Dana wails nicely, and he says if we give him some time to clean, he will open it for us.
So, we head down a ways on foot, passing little shops and houses, until lo and behold, we are at the other end of the place we ate at for Dana’s birthday, Taverna Laopetra. Our host is there, smiling and welcoming us again, and Dana tells him we’re only there for frappes which he obliges. They are very good and, refreshed, we head back to the Museum.
The gentleman we spoke with is no other than Napoleon Sagias himself, and he takes great pride in showing us his collection. We asked him how he came to be named “Napoleon” since that is not a Greek name, and his story that the Bonapartes were originally Greek was so outrageous, no one believed a word he said, but we loved it anyway. He is a great schmoozer, but serious when it comes to the Museum, and our two Marine Biologists (Crilly) were very much in their element.
He makes a comment about Greeks being poor taxidermists, and indeed, the stuffed sea life along the wall is atrociously done, and Lily rolls her eyes and smiles. He even has a blue lobster in his collection! The Museum is a little gem, and we enjoy poking around and listening to Mr. Sagias tell us his stories. There is a small counter with pretty shell boxes and the like for sale, and I would love to bring a couple of them home, but they probably would arrive in pieces, so I give it up.
Back in Corfu town, we park Jumpy by the Hotel Konstantine so Joanne and George and Crilly can check in and we unload their luggage in their rooms before we look for a place to eat for a late lunch. There is a lift in the tiny lobby right out of the 1920s movies, and it can hold two people—three if there’s no baggage and the third is a small person. As in Britain, the ground floor is 0 and the first floor is what would be our second floor.
Across the street is an outdoor restaurant called the Black Cat we decide to invade. Our waiter speaks decent English and understands more. We tell him we want a light lunch, and he says he knows just what to bring: Platters of lamb chops, sausages, cheeses, olives, taramasalata (made with mashed potatoes this time), a cheese dip, veggies, plenty of bread, and the like—you know, “light.” As we’re eating, he comes back with a couple bottles of wine we didn’t order, telling us it’s “for me,” and pointing to his chest. It was very good wine and a very good lunch…and 177€!
We start wandering through some different little streets; I really would like to find some gifts to bring back, but so far most of what I’ve seen is cheap Chinese tourist junk, big blue eye charms (to ward off the evil eye) and stately rows of 6” hand-carved, olivewood penises, neatly lined up on the shelf (you should have seen Audrey’s face when she spotted them!). I can imagine what the Customs inspector would do if he found one of those in my carryon! There are nicer things here, but either too big for me to carry or too expensive to make it worth my while, so it looks like I’m not bringing much back.
It’s late in the afternoon—time to jump into Jumpy and head for the airport to drop me off. George and Joanne will stay the night and Mick and Dana will stay with them until it’s time to catch the 3:00 a.m. ferry to Venice. There’s a television in the room, and they all plan to watch the Eurovision finals, which Dana loves for its absurdity. Crilly has the room underneath; they will be catching the ferry to Albania early in the morning and will eventually leave Jumpy at the airport before their flight home.
The airport was busier when we dropped off Braxony, but now it’s dead again, and I have 2 hours before my flight. The gang all troops in with me, and either Mick or Dana is with me as I go to the various desks to get help with my boarding passes. Self-check in doesn’t help, even with the help of a nice young stewardess, and I patiently await the opening of the check-in lines. Finally the girls quit bustling behind their desks and I can get my boarding passes and ensure that wheelchairs will be waiting for me when I land in Athens, London, Chicago and Cleveland.
More hugging and kissing and some sniveling and waving, and I’m alone, waiting for security to open so I can board the plane. Security is not easy again—another pat down and much scrutinizing of the contents of my bags before I’m free, but I finally board my flight to Athens.
I have noticed that on all European flights and in their airports, it is classical music that is piped in. Very relaxing, and I always find myself humming along to the Toreador Song from Carmen, or Beethoven’s Ode to Joy.
The sun is setting as we leave, and it’s dark when we arrive in Athens at 9:00 p.m. Nope—no wheelchair, so I have to stump it, and after asking various agents, no one seems to know where to catch the Holiday Inn shuttle. I’m finally free of the airport, but all I see are city buses and lines of cabs. I finally ask a driver of one of the large tourist buses, and he tells me it left five minutes ago and that I should sit on the bench “over there” for the next one.
It’s now after 10:00 and I’m tired and grumpy—and there’s two other tired and grumpy people waiting with me. Finally I see a shuttle and wave it down. The driver tells us he’s loaded and it’s the last shuttle, so I’ll have to take a bus because the cabs are 20€. More whining from the three of us and the driver calls the hotel, who says they’ll send out another shuttle. So we go back to our bench.
After a half hour and no shuttle, my fellow travelers have had it and ask me if I want to share a cab. I agree, and soon we’re speeding along a tollway in an incense-scented cab with worry beads hanging from the mirror and, surprisingly, somewhat classical music playing softly. He’s got a GPS system mounted on the dash, and the drive is actually short, about 4 km. I pull out 15€ to offer as my part of the ride, but the woman refuses, saying they’ll get reimbursed from the hotel. And they do—it’s nice to travel with someone who knows what they’re doing!
The clerk has me fill out a form and hands me a card for my room with no magnetic strip—it’s just a piece of plastic. I get off the elevator into what looks like a fancy subterranean tunnel, all gray, with wide red stripes on the carpeting and mirrored room doors. Rather futuristic! Now I’m trying to figure out how the card works. There’s no slot to put it in, and after experimentally waving it around in front of the electronic thing on the wall, I hear a click and can open the door.
The lights come on, the air conditioning comes on, lights in the bathroom come on, and I get far enough inside to drop my bag by a bed when everything goes off, leaving me in the dark. I feel my way back to the door and open it, and everything comes on again. And goes off again a minute later. I feel my way around the room, finding switches that I push, but nothing works. Back to the front door, and this time I notice another electronic pad with a small angled shelf just inside the door. I wave my card in front of it and—presto!—everything comes back on! I prop the card on the little shelf and lights finally stay on. I really am a 20th century traveler in a 21st century world!
It’s now 11:30, and all I want is a shower and my bed. The bathroom is really nice—it even boasts a bidet!—and has a full-size tub, but there’s no time for soaking, so I just shower off. Each bed has two pillows; the top one has a ribbon and a note that says “firm,” while the bottom one is softer. There’s a white comforter, and I snuggle under it—it’s been a long day!
