Madeline
I jump back as a motorbike speeds right in front of me. The man atop the bike has no regard to my presence. I walked out of my hotel and I am now standing in the street. But there is nowhere else to stand. There are no sidewalks. I backed up into the walkway leading up to my hotel as another motorbike sped by me. I needed to find another place to stand as I figured out what my next move was. I walk down the road and find a pedestrian only street and I thank the travel gods for watching out for me.
As I walk, the pedestrian walkway turns into a courtyard beside a church. There are hundreds of chairs and tables, each grouped by different colors, shapes, and sizes and covered with tents.
A couple pushes past me and sits at a table near where I am standing. How rude. Both for the push and for the assumption that a table is free for the taking. They appear to be of retirement age. Her, in an unkempt short blond hair cut and a three quarters gray and white striped shirt. Him in a white hat I can only relate to fishermen with white hair poking out and a white polo shirt.
When I turn my attention from the couple I am back to taking in my surroundings, unsure what to do with myself. There are people everywhere when I notice an inviting menu on a wooden stand near a group of the tables and I approach it. As I flip through the pages, I notice there are pictures for every food item listed. The items range from eggs and bacon, to ham sandwiches, to tacos.
“Very good authentic Greek food,” a man is suddenly standing in front of me and speaking to me in a thick accent, “the best!” He continues.
“Okay,” my voice is shaky.
“Have a seat,” he steps, putting his feet together and motions to an empty table with a sweep of his whole arm folding slightly at the hip and I follow his motions. He then abandons me for foursome checking out the same pictures in the same menu.
“Still or sparkling?” A new man with a similar accent appears. I give him a questionable look. “Water,” he responds to my confusion.
I think about the question for a moment. At home, sparkling water has carbonation. So, does that mean that still water is regular water? Like it doesn’t sparkle? “Still?” I guess. He nods his head and disappears.
And I’m glad when he brings me a bottle and pours a glass of the clear liquid and it’s exactly what I expect. Along with the water he has placed a large menu on the table identical to the one I looked at over at the stand. I give a smile in thanks.
I thumb through it and I’m pretty sure that hot dogs are not considered authentic Greek food. And I ponder what I should order, something familiar or something new?
My dad’s cheerful voice during our goodbye’s echo in my head “be sure to try some souvlaki for me.” I find the Greek food section in the menu and find the souvlaki. The picture of the souvlaki did not seem scary. It looked like something you would get at a Greek restaurant back in the United States. Some meat on a stick, pita bread, letticue, tomato and a white sauce. When the waiter came back around, I pointed at the chicken souvlaki, not confident in my pronunciation enough to say it outloud. He nods, takes my menu, and is off to the next table.
“American?” Another man’s voice has come from behind me. But this accent sounds a bit more like home.
“Yes, California,” I say in a half turn toward the man.
“Chicago,” he responded as if I asked.
As I get a better look I notice his dark hair is tied back in a low man bun. A bandana of various flags is wrapped around his head. He has a scruffy beard which makes it difficult to guess his age. His beard says ‘man’. His eyes say ‘boy’. He has a small cup in front of him that I recognized as an espresso cup, yet I know no one who drinks that fancy stuff.
“Just got here?” He gives a soft smile.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“You have the looks of someone who is lost. Pro tip: even if you have no clue what is going on, pretend you do. Otherwise you look like a target,” he takes a sip from his tiny cup.
I nod as I take in his advice. I was told to look for pick pockets but that’s why I am wearing my under clothes skin toned wallet. It’s strapped around my body and out of sight. No one even knows it’s there. I accept his advice but I feel prepared to face anyone who might call me a target.
“Are you here alone?” He continues. I pause wondering if this was a trick question and he was the pickpocket I should be watching for. Suddenly, I am a little panicked but I calm myself.
“Yes…?” Again, my response sounds more like a question than an answer.
“Me too.” He pauses but when it’s clear I won’t say anything next he continues “I went to Barcelona with a few friends but when it came time to leave I just couldn’t do it. I felt like I was made to be a nomad. Like I am a citizen of the world. What is better than this?” He holds his arms out as far as he can without invading anyone’s personal space and looks around. “So, what’s your story?” He leans forward as if I’m about to tell him a juicy story and the few inches he’s moved will cause him to hear a better story.
“It was a bit of an impulse,” I start. “I had a lot of vacation time and Greece looked nice.”
“Really?” He tilts his head. “Greece looks nice? So does Hawaii and the Florida keys. Heck even Chicago looks nice. Come on. I’m a stranger. No matter what you tell me it will never come back to you or anyone you know. Here, all your secrets are safe. So, what is the real story?”
“That is the story,” I take a sip of my water. I get his point but I’m not sure if I trust it. That has never been my experience before, but it’s true, how will he ever find anyone I know?
“Do you know why I’m here? I mean my real story?” I shake my head with a bit too much excitement. “If I tell you mine will you tell me yours?” I paused and gave a quick nod.
“The whole part of going with friends to Barcelona is true. That happened. But in reality, it was one friend and the plan was to never go home. Neither of us were supposed to go home. He took off for Thailand but I wanted to see Greece before leaving Europe. So, I’ve been island hopping for the past few months.” He gives a final nod as he finishes.
“My boyfriend broke up with me,” I blurted out.
“Ah ha! But there is more, ha? This was not a simple every day break up. I can sense it. Women don’t randomly decide to come to Greece when they have never traveled before. They don’t just show up and look as hopeless as you. No offense.” I felt a bit offended. He scratched his beard and continued.
“It was not an everyday trip for us. I mean we didn’t really come here for vacation. I mean we did, not that was not the primary reason. We needed to leave Chicago. We needed to leave the States. What we did was highly illegal, but you are a stranger and we are in a foreign country and I can tell you anything and you can’t tell anyone, right?” I nod very curious as to what he was going to say next.
“We scammed hundreds of companies out of a lot of money. Like a lot. They were big bad corporations anyways. They didn’t need the money. And it was a lot of money. I mean I am not Kardashian rich but I could retire comfortably, outside of the United States. As long as we don’t get caught. We left while we were ahead but I’m not sure how much longer we could have kept it up. But you are a stranger, right?” I nod, taking in what he just told me. Digesting the pieces he just told me one by one. That story deserved my whole story.
“He cheated on me, got another girl pregnant, and when I found out, I booked the plane ticket three hours later telling myself that I still have my freedom and he is stuck with a child for the next eighteen years.” He started laughing and I felt relieved to tell someone the truth. My best friend didn’t even know the whole story.
“Revenge booking? Nice,” he nods his head.
“My name is Andrew…. Or is it?” He holds out his hand and then pulls it back a few inches to offer it back at me. The whole time wearing a smirk on his face. His eyes have a twinkle in them I didn’t notice before.
“Gabby,” I responded, shaking his hand. Andrew nods his head as the waiter sets down my souvlaki in front of me. It’s not as pretty as the picture but at least the colors are more vibrant.
“Have you seen the Acropolis yet?”
I shook my head. I had a mouth full of chicken and couldn’t respond to his question verbally.
“You know, that thing?” He shakes his pointer finger behind me. As I followed his finger, I realized the Parthenon was clear as day on the hill behind me. I was so busy with what was going on around me that I didn’t even notice the massive monument. This was part of the reason I thought Greece looked amazingI. I had studied the Parthenon in AP Art History in high school and have always thought it would be awesome to see it in person. And I can’t believe it is suddenly sitting in front of me.
I swallow feeling confident in correcting him, “you mean the Parthenon?”
He shakes his head, “well yes, the Parthenon is the temple on the hill. But the acropolis is what you go to see. It is the entire hill. The Parthenon is amazing but includes its surroundings and the history and the stories and you’re talking about an amazing history. Thousands of years of history.”
He smiles at me again. And I realize I am melting not just from the heat but with his smile.
“Eat up and I’ll show you. It’s a steep hike so nourishment and hydration is key.”
I take another bite and flag the waiter down. “Can I get the check?” I ask, trying to look confident to make Andrew proud. The waiter nods and disappears.
When the waiter comes back with the check I take a glance. Nine euros? Living in San Francisco makes Athens look like the cheapest place on earth. I lift up my shirt just a little bit and unzip the compartment with my cash. I expect to see praise from Andrew but I am met with a look of horror, not just from him but also from the couple who had pushed me earlier.
“You are such a target,” Andrew laughs and motions for me to pull my shirt back down. “Stick with me,noobie, and you’ll be alright. But first things first, let’s find you a real bag. Something that doesn’t say ‘I’m traveling for the first time. Please, rob me!’”
