Not really a superpower in the strictest sense of the word, I suppose. I cannot use it to save anyone from a burning building, it will not help heal the wounded or see through matter to locate treasure. More accurate than superpower would be to call it a remarkable ability to go in the wrong direction each time I disembark from a ferry on a new island. That must be worth something, no?
It is really quite extraordinary how I always choose to head in the opposite direction of satisfactory accommodations.
The familiar sounds of rolling wheels staggering along newly discovered streets are unmistakably me for the first several moments after arrival in any new destination. Sometimes the roads are paved smooth, other times they are made of tiny pebbles or large cobblestones causing me to feel ever so much more self conscious rambling around the newest maze. I am louder when I am lost and uncertain in these new towns.
And so begins the hunt for a clean, perhaps even inspiring, room for my temporary stay in each new village or town.
With my head up – always, or so I hope… so I think… so I try.
After a kilometer, more or less, without success café patrons see me retracing my steps as I do the Charlie Brown return walk to the port with my head tilted downward in shame and disappointment.
And then I begin again, this time to the…. Left?
This reliably consistent method now makes me laugh. And try as I do (and I do try) to sense the new environment with an open heart, get a feel for the area, a clear picture of the surroundings and make the smart choice. Oh, for God’s sake, Beth, won’t you just read that Lonely Planet book a little more carefully, it is filled with instructions! And all along, I am making good choices, decent ones at least, but still the hunt for accommodations bedlam always starts out somewhere between something of a silly mishap or, in the worst of times, a complete disaster. Time and again I manage to take a left when I ought to have made a right. Or I walk right when the best path would have been straight ahead.
This is my newest personal challenge.
Those who dare travel with me in the future would be wise to remember that I am unreliable with the first steps out of the boat and onto the port. It is actually creepy how confidently I walk in the wrong direction.
For me, it is the long haul, I suppose.
It should be noted, this phenomena does not happen when arriving by bus.
Winter is starting to take over Greece now. The tourist season is waning all over and many businesses have closed down for the season.. The Cyclades are rainy and cold, as is the lush green Pelion, and parts up north. I had thought of a stop in Ikaria, an island near Turkey, but the weather there now is threatening and gloomy, and so, longing for the sun, I have headed further south.
I have learned that I want to be near the sea as much as possible and to stay mostly out of the cities.
One night in Athens with beautiful Michele was fantastic. We first met in our beloved Paros and arranged to come together again in Athens, which worked out perfectly. Funny to meet people in distant places and feel you feel you have known them for lifetimes. Michele and I became fast friends; we did not have a lot of time for the slow get-to-know-you, acquaintance dance. Lovely Michele is among the greatest surprises on this journey.
Athens is fun when you share it with someone. We stayed in Plaka and dined alfresco with the picture postcard Acropolis staring down at us. We drank too much Tsipouro, Ouzo and red wine and now I am nursing a hangover on the ferry to the still warm and sunny Saronic Gulf Islands off the eastern coast of the Peloponnese.
I am on the speed ferry to the island of Spetses, farthest of them all but still only two hours away from Athens. The speed ferry is a different boating experience than my usual trip. It is not nearly as friendly nor as comfortable as traveling on the slow boats. We are racing away in the enclosed pod in pre-assigned seats and I hope I will understand the Greek announcements so that I get off on the correct island. I am ready for relaxation, a few good walks, and the sun soaking into my body again.
We make a short stop in Poros on the way to Spetses. I am not trusting my instincts this time when a quiet little voice in my head whispers, “Perhaps you should leave the boat now?”
Instead, I ignore the mumbling in my mind. Maybe it is the name of the island reminding me of my Paros paradise. I am fooling myself and return to reading my book, and I choose not to watch as we pull out of the harbor and onward to Spetses.
This will turn out to be a mistake.
In Hydra harbor it is impossible not to gaze out of the scratched plexiglass window. In the appealing little village people laugh and sip coffee at cafés so close to the water’s edge they might fall in, or at least get splashed by forceful waves reaching over the cement wall. The town rises high over the low port and up into the hills.
Yet again, I am ignoring my sense of this town and the warm feeling I have just looking out of the window. I am determined for Spetses.
There are hardly any other tourists on this ferry now. Just myself and the blond woman in a seat up front who keeps staring back at me, why? And there are a dozen or so locals returning home again. And the surly boat staff who tossed my bag around like it was a sack of potatoes when I got on back in Athens. I am suspicious of the vibe here and try to temper my irrational judgment.
Create your reality, I tell myself. Expect good things. Here too you can learn something.
I am disregarding all signs, humming and sticking my fingers in my ears to make it harder to pay attention. I should have gotten off the boat an island or two ago. I am going against my instincts, looking down, closed heart…. all of it. Not kicking and screaming, rather it is with resigned acceptance that I will soon relinquish my power and give it over to the man who decides for me when he takes the handle of my suitcase and tells me to come see his hotel.
I am disregarding the dark energy that wrapped around me the moment I lugged my bag off the boat without any assistance at all from the three strapping ferrymen smoking their cigarettes in the exit.
Or, perhaps I am making it all up, you create your reality, remember. Maybe I am bringing the darkness with me.
Never mind being ignored by the strong seamen who will not help any of us heft our luggage off of the boat. Not everyone needs to be cooperative. I am not taking it personally; nor do they lend a hand the elderly woman with bungee-corded boxes attached to her overfilled rolling suitcase which is splitting at the seams. See, I we are all invisible here on Spetses.
I lift the bottom of her awkward contraption over the lip of the ferry exit door and she accepts the assistance as if it were her birthright. I can hear the two people behind me sucking their teeth and feel them pushing ever so gently on the back of my thighs with their suitcases to move me along faster. The older woman slaps my hand away when we clear out onto the flat cement port and rolls her heavy suitcase over my feet as she waddles away.
I do not like it here.
There are no cars on Spetses, only thousands of motorbikes and some horse drawn carriages. Now a professional, I set out on foot away from the port determined to find a nice room with a balcony and a place to write and read in the mornings. I am sensing go left, it will be only another mistake in a day filled with them. It is early afternoon.
After a few minutes it occurs to me that I am, once again, headed in the wrong direction so I turn around and there is Pavlos, the aggressive hotel owner who had been following me, and now insisting I go to his small hotel up the hill from the ferry dock.
Pavlos is oozing counterfeit charm all over me. He asks where I am from and continues to pressure me to tell him how long I will be staying on Spetses even though I repeat four times that I do not know.
“I have not decided,” I tell him, “It depends if I like it here.”
Later he will accuse me of misleading him when I leave his hotel and the island abruptly. He will change the rate of the room from what we agreed in the beginning. And Spetses will turn out to be an unfortunate stopover on an insignificant little island.
Why choose now to depart from what I have learned is always the better plan, Beth? Why now become frightened and close down? This is exactly the time to trust myself and I am failing completely. I should have gotten off the boat back in Poros.
Consider whispers in the future, Koritsaki.
It can get better, I think, and I remind myself to open my heart, even in this place. Dodging motorbikes trudging up the hill to the hotel Pavlos tells me about the weather and the several beaches on the island. He suggests I rent a bicycle to tour around but he cannot give me the name of a good restaurant.
“And how long will you stay on Spetses, two days or three?” He asks for a fifth time.
There are wonderful lime trees growing out of the ground in the enclosed courtyard which could turn out to be a decent exchange instead of a balcony I had hoped for. Pavlos makes me a cup of coffee and unfolds a tiny map to tell me about the roads and beaches. Things are changing. The rooms are clean, if also boring and I will stay here for the night, and see about tomorrow. I am hungry and sunset is coming fast and soon.
I drop my bags and take off to explore a little of the area and find out a few things. Evading motor bikes on this car-free island is the main form of exercise and it could be effective, but I seem to be the only one who is getting in the way. The drivers are swearing at me in Greek even though I inch along carefully plastered up against the sides of the dull buildings. I am looking for something interesting, something inspiring, and something to eat.
This is the worst meal I have ever had and I cannot finish the tiny fried red-bull fish and cold beet greens, I do the best I can and wash it down with the swill he called red wine. The first bad meal I have had in Greece. I can no longer fight it, I felt safer and happier in overcrowded Athens and Thessaloniki. At eight o’clock I am taking my life in my hands attempting to get back to my room put on a face mask, give myself a pedicure and eat a dinner of chocolate covered biscuits I hid in my suitcase for just this kind of an emergency.
