The Sad & the Pathetic: Issue 53

Yasou my wishful Grecians,

	Ti kannes? Come stai? ¿Como estas? Yes, I have managed to add another greeting to my list.
 Not including the hundreds of fabulous pick-up lines just waiting to be used. I didn’t learn any in
 Greek, but that just gives me another reason to go back. I was in Greece for three weeks. As Homer
 would say and I cheerfully concur, “Woohoo!” I spent one week in Athens and two weeks on the island
 of Skopelos. 
	It took me five minutes to remind myself how to get a ¿. It’s been a good five years since I’ve
 taken Spanish, but while discovering what all the letters make I have discovered some Greek symbols
 and will now wow you with my knowledge. You should probably be  seated. Athens. . . AøHNA(It’s
 actually a circle with a horizontal line, but oh well) Mary . . MAPIA( I saw it on a boat as well.
 Whoever owns the boat is what I call ‘smart people’) I also learned that ‘ne-ne’ is ‘yes’ and ‘ohi’ is
 ‘no’. I couldn’t find the ‘L’ so that’s it for your daily lesson. Geek talk is next week and dweeb
 lessons aren’t my forte. 
	As for the flight over it was the usual kid fest. Not for anyone else, but as I am the ultimate
 magnet for small children I do believe every child under the age of ten was near me. There was the
 delightful pair behind me, especially the one sitting directly behind me who kept kicking my seat,
 clanging his tray down and up; let’s not forget the little darling across the aisle who kept yelling to
 one of them “You’re cheating! You’re cheating! No! No! Now it’s your turn.” Hmmm. . . As well as the
 little Italian girl next to me. Don’t get me wrong. She was very behaved. The whole time I’m
 thinking that I should use this opportunity to practice my Italian. And hours later after I had
 returned from a trip to the bathroom, my courage swelled and I asked her “Quanti anni hai?” (How
 old are you?) To which she replied “Nove.” with a puzzled look. Ah ha! My successful ‘conversation’
 buoyed me for the next couple of hours. I took a little nap and briefly awoke to every child on the
 plane peering into our aisle for whatever tidbits they could pick up from her game. I closed my eyes
 and magically they were gone. Poof. 
	At the airport in Milan I was starting a letter which my roommate and I fondly nicknamed ‘The
 Novel’, because of its great length and weight. A toddler about 1 and a half comes over to me where
 I was sitting in my private space with no one around. She stares at me. Looks at what I’m writing.
 Does a penguin walk away, comes back. Decides she too wants to help me in my literally marvel by
 taking my pen and makes her own contribution by scribbling some artwork across my forged page. My
 only objection was when she began to remove her helpful presence with my writing utensil. She came
 back once or twice to witness my jet-lagged penmanship,which was something to be witnessed in and
 of itself.  Apparently metal detectors in airports don’t pick up the child-magnet in me. 
	I realized once I’d gotten there that I had forgotten shampoo. But being the cheap person I am
 I thought to myself, “I’m in a hotel for the first week, I can just systematically ‘appropriate some
 for when I get to the island.” Of course it was easy getting the first two bottles, but then they
 started getting stingy. Probably thinking, “Americans. . being frivolous with the shampoo. . . we’ll
 teach them.” So as we would leave our hotel room or come back from breakfast if the maid was at
 our end of the hall I would just grab one on the way. My shampoo triumph. At my fifth bottle I was
 giddy at having ‘tricked’ the hotel, but it’s so cheap I think my hair was the one that was really
 losing. 
	But let’s not forget the men. Tall, dark, and handsome. Well only some and I found the best
 ones to be somewhere in law enforcement, particularly the guards of the unknown soldiers. Or as I
 call them, ‘My boys.’ I probably saw them change guard about 5 or six times while I was there. They
 do change every hour, and it was only a block away from where we were staying so it’s not that big
 of a deal. (Just don’t ask Barb, my roommate.) Their outfits are the best. Skirts, rubber shoes with
 pompoms, long tassels on their hat, and thick white leggings. What can I say? Men in skirts. . .
 Mmmmm. . . Actually, they have 400 pleats for each year of Turkish occupation. Can you imagine
 ironing something like that? Yikes. They have a similar countenance to the British guards, who are
 known for not reacting to anything. I did try some of my pick-up lines. Didn’t work very well, but I
 like my men stoic. I have no problem with the strong silent type. Hey. .  the less they talk the
 better in my book. I did bring one home with me. It was kind of difficult because I had to procure
 one of those wheely things that people use to move boxes and wheel him out myself. I also wasn’t
 sure whether I was supposed to proclaim him as ‘wildlife’ on my customs form. Wanting to be
 discreet I didn’t declare him. Don’t tell the government, they’ll probably arrest me. Mario, my Costa
 Rican hunk, is a bit jealous; but he’ll get over it. It’s always tough to share me.
	My biggest worry was getting sunburned. By lathering myself in sunscreen I was able to keep it
 at bay until the second week I was there. Every morning I would have Barbara hold me by my left
 ankle and dip me in a vat of sunscreen. It all went really well until we were in battle trying to
 overtake Troy and. . . wait a second. . . wrong story. At one point Vicky, one of the organizers of the
 trip(it was a school trip through the art institute) said “When I get into a bathing suit I’ll be
 white here(pointing to her upper thighs) and here(pointing to her back and shoulders).” I said. . .
 “Yes, I know what you mean. I’ll be white here(gesturing to the upper half of my body) and
 here(gesturing to the lower half of my body). And indeed I was. I did get a slight tan on my arms and
 shoulders and back. Gasp! I know. . . my pasty white perfection is tarnished, but never fear it shall
 return quickly. And when I did burn it was in the best places. Behind my knees, and the hinge of my
 arms, and a small section in the middle of my back(besides the burn I had gotten on just the right
 side of my back and shoulder). For the next week it was painful to wear a backpack and it felt like
 someone was holding a lighter behind my knees. I would apply aloe(I had brought a whole bottle
 knowing that me+sun=burn. . . I used the whole bottle before I left) often and groaned with relief. I
 was fine as long as I wasn’t bending my knees or conscious. The next time you see that bright cherry
 red convertible drive by. . . you can think of my sunburns. The bad thing was that I hadn’t brought my
 new ‘toy’ soldier to the island with me to lather me with aloe and fan me with palm branches. Next
 time I’ll know better. 
	
Basta! More Greek tales to come later.

Hope you’re all well.
*huge hugs*

ci vediamo
-Mare