Chapter 5 - Southern Europe - the dark side of figs

The train into Athens was obviously not going anywhere in a hurry, and was filled with bored young servicemen in uniform who watched my every movement, a little disconcerting. A hawker dressed in white sold souvlaki and bread to train passengers thrusting drachmas out the train carriage windows. I bought a bag of dried figs and decided to park myself between carriages where I got the benefit of occasional fresh air while escaping soldiers’ stares. I love the figs of Greece. These ones were particularly sweet.

Sharing my open space was a Belgian woman, two Italian youths and a Norwegian man of about 30. They were all in Greece for two or three weeks, tourists rather than travelers, inserting a quick break from their lives. Tourists escape their lives, travelers try to find theirs. I am a traveler.

One of the Italian fellows plinked away on my guitar, glad to have the practice, and the other one played his own. It was a delight to hear them while I ate my figs. No one can believe I am travelling around with a guitar that I can’t play. My lucky guitar. I owe it to learn a tune or two.

Once in Athens, I found a place to stay close to the station. The room was really chilly so I went downstairs to ask for a blanket after memorizing the Greek for “My room is cold. Could I have an extra blanket please?”, which I got out haltingly and probably very badly, but I received great smiles and profuse assurances that blankets would be sent up momentarily. Things looked good when two heavy blankets arrived, then a quarter of an hour later an electric heater made its way in, borne in the arms of a little boy of about six. I think my squeals of joy frightened him.

Despite the warmth of my room, I was fated to wake up anyway. This time it was from a wretched stomach ache. It started as a full feeling like heartburn, then I started to feel nauseated in little waves. I lay there and tried not to think about it, but the back of my throat got that hot, sour taste and I knew a bathroom was where I had to be. Not wanting to wake anyone else up, I stumbled along the hallway in the dark trying to remember where the bathroom was. In a growing panic I surely made more and more noise as I tried every door I came across. At one point I ended up in a spare bedroom – at least I hope it was vacant! Finally, and with no time to spare, I found the bathroom and teh toilet. I was there for what seemed hours until I felt well enough to head back to bed. There was absolutely no doubt it was the figs. No more for me for while, that’s for sure.