PROLOGUE:
If you want to be a writer, you have to write.
Yeah, I know I do.
Yet here I sit unable to put the pen to paper, metaphorically speaking, of course, I’m on a computer. What is preventing me from following my dreams?
Nothing.
This is a weird impasse that I have come to at so many times in my life.
Two years ago I looked in the mirror and tried to figure out what would make me happy. Isn’t that the question we are always asking ourselves?
Or maybe we don’t, maybe it’s only me.
Anyway, I was crying, looking at my reflection in the mirror asking my soul what it needed to be happy.
My internal monologue went something like this:
“Travel dummy. You know that. You’ve known that since you were old enough to cognitively realize that your world is very small and there are different people and cultures that you will never know until you go.”
“But I can’t do that. Travel is something that is entirely out of reach. I don’t have the money, smarts or balls to take that leap.”
Then I did. I realized all of the things “stopping me” weren’t real. I saved money, stalked cheap flights, found inexpensive housing, took a deep breath and walked off the cliff.
You learn a lot about yourself travelling, at least the way I did. Alone, uncomfortable, having to push yourself everyday to get out of yourself and do things. I remember being in Greece the first day and just being paralyzed to leave the house. Having to interact in a world that doesn’t speak your language, with people from a different culture who might not really like you at all.
I laid in bed a long time, talking myself into going out.
Then I did.
Where am I going with this.. I don’t mean to do some waxing poetic -- Travel to know yourself bullshit. I mean we all love a good motivational travel book, but that isn’t really my style.
So what do I want to do? I want to tell stories, I want to tell the truth. I want to de-glamourize the journey. Let you all know the gritty details of what it’s like to actually do it.
Chapter 1: Midnight Train
My palms were sweaty. I wiped them on my jeans in the backseat of the cab.
“Tu parli italiano?”
“What? No. Sorry! Do you speak English?”
“No, no English no good” The driver swerved around a car stopped in the middle of the road, narrowly avoiding the cars parked on the sides of the street. I closed my eyes and reminded myself he was used to the chaos of driving these streets.
“Tu habla espanol?” I tried to find a common tongue to communicate in.
“No, but I understand?”
“Oh! Yo hablo español. Lo siento.”
“Bien.” He slammed on the brakes at a traffic light and my knees clinched as they smashed harder into the seat in front of me.
I wondered briefly if it was weird that I sat in the back of the cab. Where do Greeks sit when they get into a cab? I briefly thought of trying to ask the cab driver in our weird Italian/Spanish/English dialogue but couldn’t remember enough Spanish to work out the question. I could have asked my last cab driver, he spoke English very well, but I hadn’t thought of it when I was in his cab at 1AM on my first night in Athens.
The cars around us spread into about six lanes even though there were only enough lines for threes. I realized really quickly that lanes were more of a suggestion than a requirement, and the courtesy spacing we do with our cars in the US was non-existent in this place.
“Here” He didn’t pull to the side of the street, but it was so packed with cars that I don’t think he could even move any direction if he tried.
“Oh! Grazie!” I glanced at the meter his thick finger pointed to and pulled 3 euro from my pocket and handed it to him before climbing out into the busy street.
I walked quickly to the side walk and tried to get my bearings. I turned around and my breath caught. The Parthenon stood over Monastiraki Square in the dimming evening light, completely illuminated to enhance the looming esthetic.
“This is fucking Greece” I whispered under my breath, shoving the lump of excitement down before it bubbled out of my mouth as an obnoxious giggle. I covered my smile and scanned the cars to see if I could safely cross the street into the square proper. They were moving at snail speed so I squeezed myself around bumpers.
The sky was dark, not yet full night, but the sun had recently set. The square was full of hundreds of people. Music, lights, conversation filled my senses in the warm evening air. I soaked in the bustle and let out a little bubble of laughter despite trying to hold it in.
I stepped into the square, my eyes continuing to go back to the Parthenon standing proudly against the dark sky over our heads.
A woman suddenly appeared at my side and shoved a rose at me.
“Ochi” I waved her away.
“Nai! Pretty flower for pretty girl! It free!” She continued to shove the flower at me. I held up my hand to her and firmly repeated my decline. The streets toward the center of the city were filled with immigrants desperately trying to get money out of tourists by offering them something for “free” then demanding money. Being that I was on a budget, I wasn’t able to give to them all.
She seemed irritated at my brush off but turned away. I let out a long hard breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding. I don’t like confrontation.
I glanced at my phone, ten more minutes. I took a deep breath and walked to the other side of the square to a little market stand. I pulled open the drink fridge and was greeted by a loud whirring alarm. I grabbed a Fanta from the shelf and brought it to the register with a little smile for the shopkeeper.
He gave me my total in Greek. I chose one euro from my pocket hoping the amount was less than that. He threw a small plastic straw at me along with some change. I celebrated having estimated the amount correctly and slipped the straw into my purse. I cracked open the lemonada Fanta and drank a big gulp allowing the bubbling lemonade to relax and refresh me.
I wondered briefly if it was rude to drink sodas without a straw in Greece, then pulled the straw out of my purse and stuck it in the drink before I continued drinking. I found a low concrete wall and sat down. I was nervous again.
I pulled my phone out and opened the Tinder app to reread the message again. “Meet you at Monastiraki Square at 8!”
7:55. What was I doing? I was alone, 8,000 plus miles from home, meeting a random guy on Tinder. Maybe he wouldn’t show up. Hopefully he wouldn’t. I realized that I had emptied my drink.
I stood up and threw it in the trash can next to the market and decided to walk around the square again. I hadn’t walked very far before I was stopped by an African man who insisted on putting a bracelet around my wrist. He was very very cute.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” He asked with a big smile.
“No”
“Why?”
“I don’t want a boyfriend.”
“Oh, you’re lesbian?”
“No, I mean, I like girls, but I like men too. I just don’t want a boyfriend.”
“I will be your boyfriend?” He moved closer to me and tried to grab my hand. I tried to move away from him but he stepped in closer.
“I… no. I can’t” Just then I saw a man who looked like Mr. Tinder approaching behind the man.
“Candice?” Thank god, I let out my breath.
“Kostas?”
“Oh I see. You meet someone, you are lucky man!” the bracelet guy smiled at Kostas and walked away.
“Thanks, I was kind of in a pickle there.”
“You were a pickle?”
“No, I just…. He was being a little pushy, thanks.”
“Yes, no problem. Are you ready to go to the bar?”
Oh right, now I was supposed to go somewhere with this stranger. I took a deep breath and smiled, “Yeah, totally. Lead the way.”
He started walking toward the far back left part of the square, where it flowed into an alley. I walked quickly to keep up with him. He was kind of cute in a weird way. He looked kind of young, I reminded myself that he was younger than me.
His profile said 24 on Tender, I was on the verge of thirty. I felt even weirder remembering that I was older than him. He was taller than me, just. His hair was a light brown and his nose was strong. He was wearing a shiny “leather” jacket that was a little big on his shoulders, and he walked really quickly.
I concentrated so I wouldn’t fall behind. “Where are we going?”
“This good bar I know, not too far.”
“Okay.” I struggled to keep my voice and breath even, so he didn’t know that I was having trouble walking this fast. I preferred mosey-ing whenever I went somewhere, so this was definitely not my preferred pace.
We arrived in front of a bar called James Joyce. I started laughing.
“That’s funny. James Joyce.”
“Funny? You have been here? There’s a futbol game on. We should go somewhere else.”
“No, he’s an author. Like an obnoxious author. It's funny to see a bar named for him.”
“An author? Oh, it's just a bar here.”
“Yeah, I just. . . where would you like to go now?”
“This way.”
He led me to what looked like a storage shed with a small unassuming door beside it. It did not look like a restaurant or bar or anything except a quiet place to kill a girl. I started to feel nervous again. We hadn’t really talked at all in the last five minutes, which I was glad for because I would have been out of breath if I had to focus on walking and talking to him.
“This? Is it a bar?” I focused to keep my words steady.
“Yes, up there.” He pointed up to the top of the building.
“Fuck it. Show me the way.” I do that a lot. Give in to whatever is going to happen. It could end well or it could end awful, but no matter what, everything ends eventually. Into the doorway we went.
I feel like at this point, a lot of people would judge my choices. Did I follow a strange guy into an unmarked door, blocks away from the busy parts of Athens in the middle of the night without informing anybody I was doing so? Yes, yes I did. But obviously it went fine since I’m here telling you about it, so sit down and let me finish. Okay?
The door opened into a little hole in the wall restaurant that was mainly empty. He led me to a staircase hidden in the back of the room. Up Up we climbed to the very top of the building onto a small deck bar that opened up to the lit up Parthenon twinkling even more brightly now that it was proper dark now.
It might have been the stairs, but the sight caught my breath and I used it as a ploy to cover up how close to hyperventilating I really was.
“Holy shit. That’s amazing.” I gasped as we were seated in a low booth, the acropolis shining in front of us.
“Yes, I like it here.” Finally I could look at him and try to have a conversation. The waitress handed me a menu and I looked at it for a couple of seconds before I remembered that I don’t speak Greek and I couldn’t understand it even a little bit.
“Well, it's all Greek to me.” I said, setting the menu down with a big sigh. My heart beat once.
“Oh my god, did I really just fucking say that?” I couldn’t help myself, I started laughing hysterically at myself. My partner was laughing too. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think. Jesus, that was super cringe.”
“That’s alright. It was funny.”
“Thanks for understanding. Do you think they have vodka Redbull here?”
“Yes, I’m sure they do. I will ask when the waiter comes back.”
“Thank you. So, how did you learn English so well?”
“In school we learn it.”
“Right, but like, I have talked to a couple people since I got here and most people know a little bit of English, but you are fluent.”
“Thank you for saying that. My best friend moved to America three years ago. We speak often and I guess I am better because him.”
“That’s great. I tried to learn a little Greek before I came here and it really makes me appreciate people who are able to speak more than one language.”
The waitress walked over and asked what we wanted. Kostas asked if they had vodka Redbull and she confirmed that they did indeed have them. I breathed a sigh of relief because my anxious brain literally couldn’t have thought of a different drink to order, and since I couldn’t read the menu, it was my only choice.
“Thank you. I wish I was able to understand Greek.”
Sometimes the reality of what is going on hits you. One year before that moment I was having an existential crisis, ready to blow up my life. Needing to blow up my life.
It all started when the moon blocked the sun in a field in Salem, Oregon. My entire existence was shattered when the day turned to night and the air went still. I realized that my life wasn’t what I wanted, that the abuse that I had grown accustomed to wasn’t normal and that I was tired of dimming my flame to check a box on a list of life.
So I left my husband, got a job, saved money and impulsively bought plane tickets for a place on the other side of the world even though I had never flown on a plane and had only ever been to four states in my whole life.
I continued sitting on the low couch at the edge of the rooftop bar, gazing at the Parthenon and trying to convince myself that this really was happening. I was really on a Tinder date with a young greek man in Athens.
The waitress brought our drinks as Kostas told me about how he was a baristo at a small coffee shop in some place I could not understand. I pretended that I knew where he was talking about, probably a neighborhood in Athens, I assumed.
I decided that he wasn’t actually cute, just kind of funny looking with a too large mouth, too large nose, and eyes that were too far apart. He missed being cute by such a small fraction that I decided to forgive the fraction and continue on like he was cute anyway. Not that I have room to judge. I am a fat woman, and not like a ‘kinda thick but still have a narrow waist and big boobs so I call myself fat’ kind of woman -- but a ‘need two seats on the airplane, special order clothes online’ kind of fat.
I have been fat all my life, and I honestly think that I am a beautiful person. I also know that fat bodies are seen as disgusting in society and I am always prepared for anger, disgust, and even violence from folx I meet online. I try my hardest to accurately represent my body with mostly full body, some partially clothed pictures -- but I am never going to believe that somebody will be okay with my size once they meet me for my own protection sake.
I could tell that Kostas wasn’t particularly interested in me, but I could also tell that he was horny so he’d probably make a move anyway. I figured that I probably would let him just so that I could have a good story about the time I went to Greece and hooked up with a Greek guy from tinder.
Remember, we have decided that we weren’t going to judge my life choices, right? Sometimes when you are trying to rebuild your life and you are a writer who is questioning everything, you take some risks. Hopefully it pays off. I thought maybe he might even get me off. Probably not, but maybe?
The conversation was uninteresting. The only thing I really cared about was the view. But I faked my way through the next hour and offered up my part of the check when the waitress came back. I’m awful at letting other people pay for me. Unless they really impress me, I’d rather buy my own drinks, thanks.
I mumbled my approximation of “thank you” in Greek, and we descended the rickety steps onto the cobblestone pathway back into the hustle and bustle of the city. Athens will always hold a special place in my memories. It feels like a heartbeat, beating to the sound of street musicians and conversations in many languages. It will fill you up with hope and love and leave you craving more.
We walked along the dark alley, twisting and turning toward the west when we came across a small dark park away from the lit restaurants and bars. He steered me toward a little bench beneath a tree and we sat next to each other, not quite touching.
“Do you know of a song called Harlem Shake?”
That was not where I thought the conversation was going. Not that I thought there would be a conversation.
“Uhm, yeah, of course.”
“We did a huge flash dance in this park to Harlem Shake. I was in it. I stood right over there.” He pointed a small ways off.
“Oh fun. Sounds interesting”
“Yes, very fun. Not as fun as you?”
“What? Me?” he scooted closer to me and placed his hand on my thigh where the jeans were torn. I desperately tried to remember how not to be awkward and failed. This was an awkward moment, in the dark park thinking about the Harlem Shake with a not cute guy’s hand on my thigh trying to seduce me even though I could tell neither of us was really into the idea.
I let him lean in and kiss me with his too large mouth and tried to lose myself in his lips. They weren’t bad lips, full and soft, a little too wet. He tried to move his hand up to the waistband of my pants and I pulled away.
“We are in public”
“So?”
“Sorry, that’s not how I roll.”
“We can go to your place?”
Sigh. “Okay, let’s get a cab”
This was stupid. Why was I willing to go through that amount of effort for what I knew was going to be an insignificant night. But the plans were in motion and I was unable to step out of the current. Away we walked to find a taxi.
We found one easily and climbed into the back seat together. I gave Kostas the address and he relayed in Greek where we were going. Away we went, sitting awkwardly apart in the back of the cab, at a loss for what to talk about and trying not to make eye contact because we both knew that we would find reluctant eyes waiting.
We pulled up in front of the familiar building I was staying in. I handed the driver two euro and we went to the elevator in the lobby. Why do we feel like we are forever committed to an idea once we’ve agreed to it? In the apartment, we sat on the couch and he took off his shirt and started kissing me. I moved to unbutton his jeans. Together we pulled his jeans to the ground revealing his intact penis which I actually was quite excited about, since Americans tend to have circumcised members.
He was ready and so I wrapped my lips around his dick and started sucking. He almost instantly filled my mouth. It was so fast I almost didn’t believe it. I am forever worried about protecting other people’s feelings so I quickly swallowed the load and smiled at him. He didn’t seem embarrassed though.
“I can cum again.”
“Like right away? Or like in a while?”
“I don’t know, want to go to the room?”
“Yeah, sure.”
We went to the room and I realized that he was fully naked, and I had on all pieces of clothing still. He laid on the bed and I removed my shirt to lay next to him. We started kissing again and soon his dick was once again ready to go. I was very surprised when I realized he was attempting to encourage me to go down on him again, although I had already made him cum once and I hadn’t gotten anything yet.
I complied with his wishes remembering that he hadn’t truly been able to experience my blowjob abilities yet, and I also just wanted more experience with his dick to be honest. I assumed that since he had already cum once, he would be more sensitive, so he would be able to last for a while and we would be able to move on to more fun activities.
He did last longer. Like thirty seconds longer.
Okay, this is okay. He’s able to continue going after he’s cum. That’s a rare skill. One that I’ve always had fun with in the past. I collected my thoughts and thought about what we should do next.
“I need to go. The last train to peerowshhh is at midnight.”
Startled, I glanced at the clock.
“It’s only eleven”
“But it's three buses and almost an hour to get to the train. I might not make it. You know you’re going there tomorrow, yes? To the boats?”
Motherfucker, he had been saying he was from Piraeus all night. THAT’S how it was pronounced? I had looked at the name over the last month trying to guess how it would be pronounced--Pie-ray-us? Pier-us? Nope, I was completely wrong, it was Pee-row-shhhh (rolling the r in row). I tried to hide my stupidity from him and nodded.
“Yes of course I am. Okay, yeah, you should go” no way in hell I wanted him to spend the night. I grabbed my shirt and we stood up and headed for the living room. He slowly got on his pants and went to the entrance to the apartment to put on his shoes.
He glanced at my camera bag as he was sitting there. I am a photographer and for my first trip out of the country I had made the executive decision to bring my huge, heavy as fuck professional full frame Nikon with me. I had yet to even look at it even though I was on day three in Athens. My phone was just so much more convenient.
“Is this your camera?” He knew that I was a photographer.
“Yeah. That’s my baby.” I said, stepping closer to remove my camera from the bag for the first time. I fiddled with the settings for a second and took one single picture of this topless man in my Athens apartment. To this day, it is the one and only picture I have ever taken in another country with my big camera.
We said goodbye and away he went.
I couldn’t help but to feel a little empty after our encounter. This wasn’t the first time I had felt that way and wasn’t the last. I feel like I am constantly trying to figure out how to fill the emptiness and random hook ups with people I’m really not into who clearly are also not into me is definitely not the way.
I laid in bed repeating “Pee-row-shhhh” over and over to myself so I didn’t sound stupid the next day on my journey to the Greek Island of Paros.
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