Travel Day

I’ve long wanted to visit the Peloponnesus and now have the opportunity. Pa, student of history that he is, shares my enthusiasm.

Homer tells us it’s here that Paris lured away Helen,

igniting the Greek world in the decade-long Trojan War.

And here that Pan, the goat-legged god of shepherds and fertility,

wandered the forests of Arcadia.

Intent on exploring, we soon discover that getting around is no easy task.

Train service ends in Kato, roughly mid-way between Patras and Athens.

Bus service, though widely available, is difficult to figure out online.

And renting a car in Patras, impossible.

So we decide on a plan. Go to the station, buy the necessary tickets, and the next morning take the bus and two trains to the Athens airport and a car rental.

It all went well . . . until I broke the cardinal rule.

Arriving at the station an hour before the scheduled departure, we go looking for coffee. An easy walk, we find an outdoor cafe serving Americano with milk and sugar - in very large cups.

It was nice sitting in the morning sun, observing the university students in the company of the opposite sex. I recall those days with fondness.

Time flies when you’re in pleasant surroundings.

Pa nudges somewhat forcefully. “We’re going to miss the bus.” I look at my watch, grab our bag and run, arriving just as the last passenger boards. And then,

“What if there’s no toilet?”

Panic. But half way back there it is, next to the steps and the exit door. One of those types you’ll only find abroad. A mini-kaibo. Panic subsiding, we take the first window seat on the right. 90 minutes to Kato and the first transfer. All is well.

Twenty minutes in, the urge. Thirty minutes, the necessity.

I squeeze past the rather ample woman to my left. Three steps and I’m there. The door won’t open. It’s locked. I know the room isn’t occupied, having fixed uninterrupted attention on it since boarding. I shuffle back to my seat.

Twenty minutes, near agony. Then the bus stops to take on a passenger. I approach the driver. “Do you have a key?” “There is one,” he says, “but it’s lost. Stolen probably. Thieves will take anything.”

Painfully, I make it back and pull out my phone. Perhaps a review of recent photos will divert my attention.

Maybe Brindisi.

Big mistake.

Messina?

That’s where we inadvertently turned onto the rail tracks, were trapped, and I nearly peed my pants.

How about photos of the Basilica in Patras?

But Mother Mary can’t help,

whispering “Just let it be.”

And Jesus, well, he says, “Just get off.”

But we’re in the middle of nowhere.

I try counting sheep,

but to no avail.

I look at my watch. We’re going to be late.

But we make it,

three minutes before the train is to arrive.

We see the sign - “WC” - and make the decision. We’ll miss the train and take the next. But this is Greece and the train is late, by twenty minutes.

Taking a seat just beyond the toilet, 20 minutes pass. The urge. But the door is locked.

Somehow we make it to the airport and grab the first WC we find. With unspeakable relief, we locate the Eurocar desk, greeted there by Tassos and impeccable English.

“I see you reserved a Fiat Cabrio. Too small for you. I’m giving you a free upgrade. A very nice Toyota. Oh . . . it has no gas. I’m giving you a Suzuki. Not so nice, but it has gas.”

I remind him that it’s Valentines Day. “Did you buy your wife flowers?”

“No way. It’s a commercial holiday. Legal thievery.” We go over the paperwork and I sign, having already paid the 83.35. “But there’s a 200 euro deposit. You’ll get it back in about 21 days. Legal thievery.”

We shake hands, pick up the Suzuki, and drive the two hours to Nafplio without incident.

Dropping our bag off with Maria, we find a quiet place for dinner, vacant but for the couple who own it.

The wife takes my order - Fried Calamari and a Greek salad. She looks at her husband. “No calamari today, but we have sardines.” Having missed lunch, what choice do we have?

Taking our time, we study the old man between bites.

He doesn’t move for an hour.

We think he could be a painting.

Back at the Polyxenia,

Maria welcomes us with bedtime refreshments.

We chat briefly then exchange good nights.

Up three flights and down the hall, there’s the sweetest Valentine’s greeting.

We let ourselves in.

Tiny and a bit crooked,

but very pleasant.