Oh, hello. I didn’t see you there.
Please step into my office. I would like to talk to you for a while about my second day in Greece....
As I mentioned in my first post – It was hot. After migrating from a 5C to 10C environment, to the 30C to 40C environment in Greece, we were having enough trouble to keep from just passing out due to heatstroke, during the day, let alone attempting to SLEEP at night. Needless to say, sleep was impossible, made all the more worse due to the magnificent taunting of the hotel staff.
Our room came equipped with an air conditioner. There it was, brazen and huge, perched at the top of the room near the bed. Sleek, modern and not a single button on its exterior....
Where was the remote?
Nowhere. That’s fucking where! They give us an air-conditioner and then remove our ability to turn the fucking thing on! After we woke up (sorry, we were already awake, so I guess; after we decided we had laid in a pool made of our own sweat long enough) we headed downstairs and I mentioned the missing remote to the man behind the desk. He informed me, matter of factly, that there was a surcharge to use the air-conditioning. He wanted us to pay him an additional 10 fucking euros per day for the right to the remote. Fuck you buddie, I can buy a universal remote for 5 euros and hack yo' shit.
Anyway, I hate the beach. I despise it. Detest it. Nothing irritates me more than a trip to the beach. Everything from the blazing sun that has the audacity to bounce back up off the white sand and sea into your face so it can burn you even if you try to hide in the shade, to the all pervasive sand and its love of clogging orifices and everything in between....
So. We arrived at the beach.
I drew more than a few odd looks, as I was clad in my black shirt, black pants and boots. Fuck your beach. I made an appearance officially to sate my girlfriend and unofficially to stare at her in a bikini.
After settling down on a fancy deck chair, under a gigantic sun shielding umbrella that was dug into a ground made of inoffensive pebbles (There was no sand on the beach, only trillions of small, flat and round penny sized rocks). I took in the sights for a while as my girlfriend went swimming (something I also detest). The beach was not crowded and while there were some stunning young females bouncing around in their beach underwear like a bad bay watch re-run, there was primarily fat and old white people from places like America and Russia, with their skin cooked red raw like boiled lobsters and their fat rolls flopping freely around their swimwear as though their skin itself sought to devour all it could.
While the woman was out frolicking and I was busy making social commentary with and to myself, I noticed there were men strolling up and down the beach like those hot dog vendors you see in American television at sporting events (or, for the Americans, like the hot dog vendors at every sporting event because Hollywood would never lie to anyone), selling various cold drinks and whatnot. I spied a gentleman somehow carrying a gigantic bread box full of huge doughnuts. He wore a bandolier of paper cups and from his waist, on each side swung 2 large, round Thermoses of coffee. I required his attention....
“YOU THERE! BEACH SLAVE! I REQUIRE DOUGHNUTS PRESENTLY!”
He sauntered over with all the swagger of any true coffee and confectionery cowboy and dropped to one knee, making me suddenly expectant he would propose to me then and there, but no – He planted his doughnut box burden firmly upon his outstretched knee and shouted directly into my face;
“NORMAL? CHOCOLATE? COFFEE?”
I flinched back, shocked by his outburst and wondered why he didn’t respond to my calling him a beach slave moments earlier.
“Uhhh” I managed.
“NORMAL? CHOCOLATE? COFFEE?”. It became clear these were possibly the only 3 words in English he knew. We conducted our transaction and I became the proud owner of a delicious, oversized, chocolate stuffed godnut, which was gingerly handed to me with a small handkerchief tied to his bandolier. He paused to scream his thanks to me, before taking a moment to exhale deeply and look at me sideways in the universal gesture of “sure is hot, huh?”. I nodded my reciprocal understanding and with that, he unceremoniously wiped the sweat from his brow with the doughnut handkerchief and was on his merry way.
Oh, also this....
Fuck the beach, we wandered back into town in search of more disgustingly delicious Gyros. You will be able to see from the glare in the photos just how motherfucking BLISTERINGLY hot it was at this time.
We wandered through a park of some kind and peeked over the fried out moat of old town briefly before finding out target.
We eventually stumbled upon a taxi rank, were groups of loud, open shirted, hairy and fat Greek men stood around shouting conversation at one another and eating Gyros with no concern for any of the scraps that fell from their hands or mouths onto the ground or themselves. This was where we needed to be.
The SEARING heat from outside was nothing compared to the inferno of this small gyros place. Inside it was well over 40C. Closer to 50, if anything. The spit grills were in full swing, and the young men working the stall were sweating like they all had sprinklers hidden under their shirts. We brought our Gyros for the insane low cost of 1.80€ and walked back into another section of the park to eat. Oh yeah....
Our eating place was out of the sun and hidden away a little. It smelled of trash and piss and it served to enhance the eating experience. Then I directed my gaze to my feet, following a piece of meat that fell from my hands.
You know what Greece? You can have that one. I don’t need that back.....
We left the underage sex corner and went short stroll to get dessert and then headed back to our hotel...... Like a boss.
After this we made ourselves beautiful for the evening and generally took it easy for a couple of hours. Something im normally against, but the heat was criminal and sex is fun. I also got to watch Greek television where all the women have breast implants and have dyed their hair blonde and all the men shout at one another on every channel. I was also afforded a rare treat – Greekomon.
Anyhow, before dinner I decided I wanted to revisit that epic moat we had seen earlier, but from the inside.
As you can see. This thing is fucking huge. From ground level, the walls are looming and impressive. But from down here, in the dried up moat – They are downright intimidating. They soar above you on both sides. Ain’t no way nobody was getting inside this place back in the day. Sadly, a lot of the walls are heavily ruined, however in many places you can still see the epic decorations that haven’t fully eroded away into nothingness and you can also see the different colour of the stones, marking the old waterline.
The place was, unbelievably, empty and as is typical in the Mediterranean, after a day of blistering heat – the rain clouds rolled in to blot out that rat bastard, the sun. No rain fell, but the Greeks and tourists had gone running for the hills in apparent terror of the damp...
As with all Greece, there was no fucking security whatsoever and I found a few EPIC rape tunnels that just demanded bitches be pulled into and dishonoured there. If only I had a god damned torch to explore them, I could have spend days under there. Sadly, only the brief flash of my camera managed to take the tunnel pictured blind, from the entrance....
Almost all the way around! We entered a less maintained part of the wall with epic battlements and defences as well as highly ruined sections.
After the long walk of maybe 6 to 7 kilometres we arrived at the end, where it opens up considerably and they had placed a badass amphitheatre in the shadow of the castle. The perfect place for some Greek power metal.
As we walked out there was a little plaque with information about the place. There was the most HILLARIOUS picture of some kind of medieval painting depicting a battle at Rhodes and what happened when stupid fuckers tried to assault the castle and moat. I photographed it, but later discovered that the spotty, dirty glass case obscured the image totally, so I did a little google fu and found this copy of the picture. Its small and shit, but you can see what I saw....
I glanced up and noticed the sky had cleared and the remaining clouds had turned orange. “Oh cool”, I thought. “That’s kinda nice”.
Then I rounded the corner and was met with an image so spectacular no camera could ever do it justice.
As you can see, I mashed the shutter button for all I was worth. The streaks of gold layered upon a pink and purple sky, jutting up from behind the walls of the castle like spears of flame. I also turned my gaze eastward, across the ocean and found that the mountains of Turkey were visible and bathed in a dark red glow, which I also photographed. The photos look ok..... But you really had to see it....
After this, we went back inside the city walls to stroll for a bit more. We walked through some stores and whatnot and I walked past a place, glanced inside as we passed it, walked on for maybe 20 meters and then decided “Fuck it”. I doubled back, giving my woman a savage tug on her arm, and we walked into the fucking fish spa.
A fish spa is a traditional Turkish remedy for the skin. You stick your arm, foot or whatever into a tank full of hungry fishes while they proceed to eat you alive.
I’m not kidding. These so called, “Doctor fish” are parasite fish who comb the skin of larger fish (or in this case, people) for dead skin flakes and proceed to eat that shit. APPARENTLY They don’t eat living flesh. Its a risk i was willing to take.
I stuck my food in there and let the hungry little bastards feast upon my rotten old feet.
How to describe having your feet probed by dozens of hungry little teeth from every side at once? Squirmy? Tickly? Bitey? Perhaps all 3 at once? It was a very “invasive” feeling and you have to constantly battle against your reptile brain screaming at you; “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?!? THERE ARE THINGS EATING US!!! GET YOUR FUCKING FEET OUT OF THE WATER!!!!”. The same way you cant flinch away from the needle when you get a tattoo, actually.... But more bitey.
After that, we headed into a place we had spotted earlier. The man outside had spoken to us and made us swear we would come back for dinner. Not knowing just what it was to cross a Greek restaurateur, we returned as promised. However, before we went in there we collected our super secret weapon in the fight for superior treatment and service in a Greek restaurant;
The entire restaurant’s army of waitresses and the owner herself emerged to fuss and fawn over the little children. Their blonde hair and blue eyes were like catnip to them and they played with their hair, running it in their fingers, smelling it and kissing the children. We recieved their complete attention for every request.
The man returned from earlier and spoke to us about the menu. He spoke with a bouncing cadence, playing with each syllable in his mouth, giving each of them a fresh new take each time he used them, as if words were fun.
I asked him what was good, and he told me everything was good. I told him I could not eat everything and he told me, he would work something out.
This is what he sat before me.
Alright motherfucker. Lets do this shit.
That was the best I could do. I used all my emergency backup stomachs, but I just couldn’t finish. He returned to the table and stood at the end next to me and said nothing. He stood there, with one hand on his hip and the most reprehensible glare on his face for what felt like forever. He said not one word.
“I tried my best” I managed to squeak out.
He snorted once and collected my plate and left. I had failed the test....
Also, the food was fucking amazing, as was the service and restaurant. At one point, they found out it was someone else’s birthday and all the service staff burst out into song and dance, which then spilled out onto the street. They dragged patrons up and out of their chairs and forced them into their dance. I laid low, fearful that plates would begin flying at any second. When they came for me, I offered up the children and their mother as a sacrifice, which they gladly accepted. They tried to get my woman also, but she sternly refused to stand.
Only in Greece.
After this the owner came out to talk with us. She pulled up a seat and inserted herself at our table and talked about just about everything, while pausing occasionally to shout angrily at one of her staff. She demanded to pose with me for photographs, while wearing my girlfriends sunglasses and that I post her on facebook with me.
She then collected other random pieces of our personal belongings. My girlfriend's mother's purse. The young boy’s cap. She adorned herself with our things and posed with the children and then called all the other women over to fuss over them again. The super secret weapons were in full effect.
We were given free desert, which consisted of a giant icecream sundae for the children and the rest of us got a slice of “grandmother's cake”. Apparently granny makes this cake every day with her secret recipe. It turned out to be a really tasty coconut cake.
Oku and I had both eaten so much that while we walked home, we had to stop on several occasions to prevent us from decorating the ancient cobblestone with our dinner.
We made it (just) and retired to bed. We had a plane to catch tomorrow....