Waylaid!

My ferry to Mykonos leaves at noon, so I plan an hour to check out of the hotel, catch a taxi, and drive the four miles down to the port. But as I set off to the taxi stand, the hotelier gives me a nervous look and wishes me luck in a way that inspires panic. When I get there, a disorganized line of people peer back and forth across a one way street. “Who’s last?” I ask the crowd, and no one answers. I wait ten minutes and no taxis come. I walk down to the bus stop and the one loading up is heading to the airport and doesn’t know if one’s coming for the port. It’s that same feeling I get when my subway isn’t running, I’m late, and there are no cabs.

I start walking, but I know it will take me longer than I’ve got. So I stick out my thumb. A few cars pass that are mostly full. A few pass that are mostly empty. And then a little one stops and waits for me to pile in. I sit in the passenger seat with my suitcase on my lap, both so I can make a quick departure, and as protection against stabs to the chest. I was raised on a healthy diet of fear against hitchhiking and this is my first time. Somehow I survive. She’s Grecian, on holiday for a week. We share pleasant chit chat. All the while I’m bursting with excitement that I’ve hitchhiked. But she can only take me half way and drops me at the top of the sheer cliff wall, meters above the port. A series of sharp switchbacks leads down to the boats. There’s no way I can walk it. So I walk back a bit so I’m not standing at the hairpin turn and stick my thumb out again. Within seconds, an older man, speaking no English, pulls over in his pickup truck. I pile in, again with the chest stabbing protection method I’m perfecting, and we barrel down the road. When we get to the long line of cars waiting for inspection at the port entrance, he gestures me out and I walk the rest of the way. I’ve made it with fifteen minutes to spare.

The ferry’s been canceled.

There are large ferries and small ferries and when the winds are high, the small ferries get canceled. Many have been canceled over the last three days, so there’s a backlog of people waiting to travel to Mykonos. At the ticket counter, there are pleas and explanations and phone calls to travel agents, and many many wan looks. I feel equally guilty and proud over how little this affects my travels. When it’s my turn at the counter, I take my refund and ask where else I could travel today. I buy a 6pm ticket to Paros on a big ferry. I should have bought my ticket to Mykonos for the next day right then. The morning one sells out and I end up with a 9pm ticket.

I head over to the internet cafe to find a hotel in Paros. I pick a pretty random one near the port and beach. While I’m messing around, a girl next to me gets into a huge argument with the morbidly obese man running the cafe. I think it’s over the fact that she purchased a soda for “take-out”, but is drinking it in the cafe. I think there’s a price difference. They’re screaming at each other in Greek. People are very quick to yell and scream here. It might not even be out of anger. But the woman is very upset and the man is spewing forth a litany of hateful sounding words. It sounds like cursing, but I can’t be sure. The whole thing ends when she pays him four euros to keep her drink, but she keeps yelling at him so he kicks her and her friend out of the cafe. He just turns off their computers.

There’s a feeling of camaraderie at the port. Most of us had our ferries canceled, and we’re sharing plans as they’re made. I join a group of australians who are on my ferry to Paros. They’re living in London and working to travel. Their trip is almost as solidly planned as mine, and they take our detour in stride.

The ferry is huge, and the strong winds don’t push us around too much. But out on deck, it buffets me like I was back in the ancient city. I hold on to my sunglasses.

Paros is a small island, and it’s tourist population has ballooned thanks to the ferry cancelations and it’s proximity to Mykonos. There’s a lively atmosphere as we all shuffle off the boat and wander into town. The aussies leave their luggage in my hotel room. They’ll hobo it this night, sleeping on benches or at friendly cafes. It’s hard for me to accept, but I’m also envious of their freedom. We walk down the main drag and settle into dinner after one of the barkers calls them out on being Australian. They’re Asian, so they mostly get ethnic slurs from Greeks and tourists who’s senses of humor are outmatched by their cultural ignorance. It’s kind of amazing this dude calls them out on being Australians without hearing them speak. He explains that he has a gift for it, and points out a few other nationalities. We can’t confirm his picks, but the food looks good and we’re hungry.

After dinner, we buy a bottle of ouzo (the girls also share some wine coolers) and get drunk as we wander. At the end of the main drag is a fancy hotel with a pool around back. The place is deserted so we sit by the pool and drink from the bottle. I can’t resist and go for a quick swim (showing off my newfound diving skills). It’s cold, but the ouzo helps and it feels great to be sneaking into someplace. I finish it off with some very solid climbing; making my way up to a second story balcony that leads into an open maintenance closet. But it’s locked from both sides and I have to climb down again.

On the way back into town we pass a playground. There are swings and jungle gyms, and see saws. The girls get a laugh out of the term Teeter Totter for reasons I still don’t understand. The bottle’s gone at this point, and it seems like a great idea to have a round of obstacle course competitions. “Gladiator Games” as the girls call it. It’s a grueling course. Especially the monkey bars (I opt for going over, instead of under), but I think I pull ahead at the end. Maybe I cheat a little.

The whole trip, I’m on an early schedule. The habit of getting up early for the build site is hard to break. I need to get back to my hotel, but I feel bad leaving the girls to the cold hard streets of Paros at night. But there’s nothing to be done so we make plans to meet in the morning and try to sneak onto the early ferry together. I wish I could say it was difficult to sleep, knowing they were out there bedless, but I sleep hard and wake up early.

After a light breakfast, we head over to the port and wait with the crowd for the 9am ferry. There’s a question over whether it will be canceled. The wind is blowing, and when the ferry pulls up to unload, it bobs up and down against the dock like it’s on hydraulics. A couple times they stop passengers from disembarking while the water calms. Two more Aussies the girls met in Santorini are there with tickets for this ferry. They wait with us while we decide whether to make a go for it. We’re nervous about being turned back, also about getting sick from the choppy water. At the last minute, as the final passengers are climbing the gang plank, we decide to try for it. We put all our tickets in a pile and follow close behind the boys. But there’s confusion. Their tickets get torn at one line, and then we’re all directed to the line a the back of the ferry. In the shuffle, I board between them and the girls get left behind; a crewman explains their tickets are for the evening ferry. I bid them adieu with a quick glance over my shoulder and try my best to blend in with the ticketed passengers. I’m a stowaway!

Very quickly I realize I’ve made a horrible mistake. This ferry is tiny and all the seats are assigned. It looks like I’m the only one without a seat. I wander in the general confusion as people find their places and end up standing by a locked door looking out at the dock as it shrinks behind us. All the doors and windows are closed and I can’t feel any air conditioning. The boat convulses against the wind and waves. I focus on the horizon as I recount everything I ate for breakfast.

On the plus side, the unending stream of people to and from the bathrooms, and the slew of passengers standing to look out windows mask my intrusion. The crew passes out barf bags. I’ve got my headphones in, so I’m saved from any soundtrack, but I’m standing right near the bathrooms. Many go in looking sick and leave looking sicker. There’s a wheeled hard-case stored near me that’s constantly trying to slide across the deck. I lay it on it’s side and sit down for the rest of the voyage. I don’t lose my breakfast, but I’m overcome with cold sweats. Dripping. It’s only an hour to Mykonos, but it feels like three. It feels like years. I no longer feel like myself. I’m just some machine built to sweat and see spots.

Almost as soon as my feet touch solid ground, I start to feel better. It’s like I’ve been holding my breath for an hour and finally taken in a lungful of fresh clean air.

I commiserate with the Austrailians for a bit and we promise to meet up through our mutual friends in the next day or two. They pass me off to some more Australians who are staying at the same hostel as me and we board the bus to the beach.