Lost in Touristland
Well, it had to happen! Last night I got lost here in Athens. Or, to be more precise, I lost Boak...or he lost me.
With my love of shopping and Boak's love of, well, sitting and drinking coffee, it was bound to happen sometime. Feeling satisfied after a delicious meal in one of those charming little outdoor tavernas in the Plaka, Boak suggested I go looking for a skirt I'd talked about buying. "I'll catch you up", he said, settling back with a Greek coffee (so thick and gritty you can almost eat it) and lighting up a cigar. Now, every second shop in the Plaka sells these peasant skirts, t shirts, cheesecloth shirts and such and has the facade festooned with stock, so it's rarely necessary to even enter the shop to make a purchase. The streets are narrow, almost pedestrian thoroughfares. Except when the occasional Vespa rider roars up behind and sends shoppers scattering to seek refuge on the narrow footpath.
Notwithstanding the Vespas, I set off along the little street leading from the taverna out to the edge of the Plaka area, and after some serious price comparison I (almost) made a decision. I just needed Boak's opinion.
So I waited...and waited.
Eventually I walked back along the street to the taverna. But at the table where Boak had been sitting a party of high-spirited Scandanavian youths was now enjoying a bottle of Macedonian red.
My heart sank. There was only one direct route out of the Plaka from there, if Boak used the most obvious route, and I'd walked it and he hadn't passed me. Buying a skirt was no longer important. I decided to wait for him at the edge of the Plaka - on the corner where the cheerful, welcoming halogen lights of the Plaka end, and the gloom of a not-too-salubrious area of Athens takes over.
So I waited...and waited.
One by one the shops began to close their doors. But a combination of fear of the darkness and concern for Boak kept me there. Eventually I gave up, prayed for protection, and walked, with as much of a courageous swagger as I could muster, back to the hotel. Boak wasn't there either.
Reluctant to face the dark streets again, but reasoning that I was at least less likely to be attacked if I wasn't carrying a bag, I pocketed my room key and set out again. It was around 11pm and I imagined Boak frantically searching the streets of the Plaka for his wayward wife. So I positioned myself on a well lit street corner near the hotel, where he'd see me when he approached.
And I waited...and waited.
Some passers by gave me some very strange looks, perhaps surmising that I was working my way around Europe in a most unusual way - for a 56 year old! Around midnight I gave up and retreated to the hotel room - It was no longer empty but reverberated to the snoring of my sleeping husband!
You'll have to ask Boak for his version of the tale, but I hasten to assure you he was blameless. We have now instituted a "Rendezvous Policy".
I can't lose him yet - he has all the tickets!
With my love of shopping and Boak's love of, well, sitting and drinking coffee, it was bound to happen sometime. Feeling satisfied after a delicious meal in one of those charming little outdoor tavernas in the Plaka, Boak suggested I go looking for a skirt I'd talked about buying. "I'll catch you up", he said, settling back with a Greek coffee (so thick and gritty you can almost eat it) and lighting up a cigar. Now, every second shop in the Plaka sells these peasant skirts, t shirts, cheesecloth shirts and such and has the facade festooned with stock, so it's rarely necessary to even enter the shop to make a purchase. The streets are narrow, almost pedestrian thoroughfares. Except when the occasional Vespa rider roars up behind and sends shoppers scattering to seek refuge on the narrow footpath.
Notwithstanding the Vespas, I set off along the little street leading from the taverna out to the edge of the Plaka area, and after some serious price comparison I (almost) made a decision. I just needed Boak's opinion.
So I waited...and waited.
Eventually I walked back along the street to the taverna. But at the table where Boak had been sitting a party of high-spirited Scandanavian youths was now enjoying a bottle of Macedonian red.
My heart sank. There was only one direct route out of the Plaka from there, if Boak used the most obvious route, and I'd walked it and he hadn't passed me. Buying a skirt was no longer important. I decided to wait for him at the edge of the Plaka - on the corner where the cheerful, welcoming halogen lights of the Plaka end, and the gloom of a not-too-salubrious area of Athens takes over.
So I waited...and waited.
One by one the shops began to close their doors. But a combination of fear of the darkness and concern for Boak kept me there. Eventually I gave up, prayed for protection, and walked, with as much of a courageous swagger as I could muster, back to the hotel. Boak wasn't there either.
Reluctant to face the dark streets again, but reasoning that I was at least less likely to be attacked if I wasn't carrying a bag, I pocketed my room key and set out again. It was around 11pm and I imagined Boak frantically searching the streets of the Plaka for his wayward wife. So I positioned myself on a well lit street corner near the hotel, where he'd see me when he approached.
And I waited...and waited.
Some passers by gave me some very strange looks, perhaps surmising that I was working my way around Europe in a most unusual way - for a 56 year old! Around midnight I gave up and retreated to the hotel room - It was no longer empty but reverberated to the snoring of my sleeping husband!
You'll have to ask Boak for his version of the tale, but I hasten to assure you he was blameless. We have now instituted a "Rendezvous Policy".
I can't lose him yet - he has all the tickets!
posted by Di at 1:16 PM
5 Comments:
Hi Di
Well perhaps you should include in the policy a fee for waiting! The stories and photographs are just magical and such fun to share - quite voyaristic to say the least.
Mia and I send our love to you both - from the country - that is Cremorne!
Robyn
Hi Di, your first post about Singapore was included in the church bulletin this morning. What a fine writer you are! Unless genetic "reversion to the mean" kicks in, I am in awe at the thought of how talented your and Boak's children must be . . .
The URL for your blog was included in the bulletin, and I stopped in just to leave a message (1) to say how much you and Boak are missed (2) to comment on what excellent writing you are doing and (3) to say that Brian King is a pleasure to hear in Boak's absence. But now I see what a great blog you've developed. I love the pictures as well. I hope you find the time and energy to keep it going; I intend to check in regularly.
We heard this morning that you and Boak are not well in Cairo. Hope you recover soon and are back in action as soon as possible.
Please give my greetings to Boak . . .
Best wishes,
Chris Coffman
Hi Di,
sounds like a clever ploy to stop you spending money! Should this happen again I insist you instigate a purchase for every hour missing in action - this will probably prove vey effective. Seaside quilt with Erica and we have had a chat. John is finally starting to feel better, all ready for the next round. Keep on enjoying yourselves and keep up with the wonderful photos and sterling commentary.
Take Care.
Jan McEonnell
Hi Guys,
Mum rang us after Boak's phonecall but the e-mail didn't reach me.Hope you are recovering well, Di, with the top care you are no doubt receiving, via none other than a quilting contact! Amazing!
Something else amazing (though not entirely unexpected) has been the quality of images posted on your blog. These are no 'happy snaps'.
Lost in Touristland could have been captivating fiction if it wasn't actually true. What a great read! But can I suggest you take 2 'trusty mobiles' next trip for connecting with each other. Nah..., too boring. Forget I said that.
Bye for now,
Phil.
Gidday Di
The grapevine tells us you've been in ICU of all places! Trust everything is OK. We can't have these interruptions to the great stories... so get well real quick, and see what the shopping.. and the sweets.. are like in Cairo!
Thinking of you - Robbo
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