All these years, all this back and forth from my city and to another country, had made me forget about the littlest things that define and differentiate the place I was born from any other. . I’m not talking about the millions of coffee shops, almost around every corner and everywhere you turn your head to. Neither about, the kiosks or markets or any of these things.
I had forgotten how my city yawns, day and night. How it stretches in total boredom and tries to catch up with the madness of any other capital of the world. How it moves in slow motion and almost every time of the day some parts smell like the “piss-patrol unit” cruised around during the night and sprayed the whole place for our odour pleasure.
Just like every other capital it's got a lot to offer, plenty to admire and the same phobias, mentalities and "philosophies". After I spent couple of months re-living and remembering all these, we decided to leave the mainland and go to an island.
We left Athens to go camping on an island called Crete. We spent 10 days, sleeping under the sky, feeding ourselves with tin cans, getting drunk at night and taking dumps in little taverns. Pretending we were going there for their coffee or little local treats. It was amazing at least, eventhough their coffee was the worst I've ever tasted. You could actually chew on coffee or sugar bits in between every drag. I never knew that I can’t climb or walk on a rocky surface without falling at least twice. Now, I know.
I’d go through analyzing every single day we were there but I won’t. I’ll just jump to the last two days as they strike me as the most fascinating.
So, we had very little store of fuel in the tank and money to last us for about 3 days. Enough to ride for an hour or so, and the distance to the port where we were supposed to take our ship from, was 2 and a half hours away. All the petrol stations had ran out as well, due to a strike. So, we were either going to sit still and wait for the strike to come to an end or try our luck.
It was around 5:30 in the afternoon when we got informed that the strike had come to an end, and all the gas stations would be open and servicing the very next day. One of us talked to an acquaintance of his, that happened to be also at a camp site. About 45 minutes to 1 hour away from where we were staying.
From that same source, we got informed about a beach party that was going to take place there that same night. So with no second thoughts we packed our bags and at 10:30 at night we left our spots and hit the road. I don’t know if we did it because we wanted to push our luck or because we were dying for some partying and “socializing” but what matters is that we did it anyway.
It turned out that it was a beach party which was organized by the youth members of a “leftish” political party. We heard from a guy that even the chairman of that political party would appear at the campsite the very next day.
Before we even get to familiarize ourselves with that information, a bottle of wine, few beers, some raki and a couple drinks later we were partying up on the beach. Even if we tried to be reasonable and go to sleep early, as we had to get up at 6 in the morning the very next day, the "car surfing", "car air swimming" and plenty other activities didn't allow us to. Also taking pictures with strangers without them being aware and trying to talk to girls about playing golf using rabbit holes while they were discussing politics, relationship matters and what not, didn't help us go to bed either. All and all it was fun. At least for us.
I'm in Preston right now and the weather has some serious mood-swings issues. Well, I did my part, wrote another entry on here, you did your part by reading it...well,
Till hell freezes over and I stop goofing it up, bababooee.
p.s: the title is misleading, sorry fatties.
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