Ill Fated Address

AN ILL-FATED ADDRESS Being on holiday in Athens was truly the best 21st present my parents could have given me, stayed with my granddad, felt great, I traveled on my own, no more an adolescent. Sad that I would not see my grandma, she died five years prior. My grandpa had angina and my godmother who was grandpa’s cousin, suggested I stay with her, she could and would take me to see Greece from its length to its breadth, she was quite a lot younger and money was not an issue. And so, our journey began. I watched a sheep been fleeced, and was asked to help. What an experience, we went olive picking with an old man of 103, who still smoked and did not use a stick when walking. On one of the islands we rode donkeys but mine decided, he had to do what he had to do, and went back on his haunches in the middle of the village, I put my arms round his neck and held on for dear life. We visited the islands Aegina, Mykonos, Zakynthos, Kefalonia, Crete, Spitzes and Ithaca. We also traveled to the famous giant vertical mountains called the Meteora, with carved steps going circularly around each mountain, a peek into ancient history, a true revelation. These mountains are still inhabited by monks who live by the strictest of Greek religious rules. Even their dead remain there, their bodies thrown down into a very deep chasm on the side of the mountain, there are carved out parts allowing for basic living space. Once a monk has given himself to God and the church, he relinquishes his family and all earthly possessions. Women tourists who arrive in the heat of summer after climbing these intense steep steps are covered with a shawl if their legs, shoulders or arms are bare until they are ready to leave, and the monk looks the other way whilst covering them. No cheating, there are plenty of eyes watching him. This history lesson was unbelievable, still in operation from forever. The monk never leaves this mountain, he remains within it, until he dies. We had no more time I wanted to buy my family a few presents, but we hadn’t visited the Acropolis yet, or certainly not enough of Athens among a lot more sights and places and, naturally the famous flea market at where an amusing incident took place. I don’t look Greek, but speak it fluently. I was determined to buy Greek sandals and a tahari, a Greek embroidered shoulder bag as well and as a bracelet with a Greek evil eye bead. I asked how much I owed the vendor and walked down toward the end of the market, the prices got cheaper. I calculated what I had paid the first vendor a fortune, so I ran back swiftly, and I spoke in Greek, hey mister, what is the Greek price for the three items I bought. He answered me, why did you not tell me you were Greek, fifty percent refund! Tourists are ripped off all over the world, there should be some kind of policing but bribery is rife worldwide, so ces’t la vie. But the most unreal incident I have left till last. It is only because I speak Greek that I gathered that a calamity was unfolding. I never siesta when I go to Greece, too much to see and do. A taxi came round the corner, hey English Miss, you want a taxi? Yes please I replied but in Greek – gathered I was not Greek from Greece, told him I was from South Africa. He asked if a knew his cousin who lives in Cape Town and enquired if it was true that lions and leopards roam freely, I laughed, first of all I live in Johannesburg, and Cape Town is 1400 kilometer away so no, I don’t know your cousin and wild animals live in demarcated very, very large parks, and we drive among them but not allowed out of our cars. Suddenly a man appeared holding a bunch of flowers, he asked if he could urgently share the taxi with me and be taken to the address he gave to the taxi driver. Are you quite sure you want this address the taxi driver asked, he had gone quite pale. We arrived at the requested address which the taxi driver knew well. The passenger paid the taxi driver and hurriedly crossed the street and entered a 3-storey building, but had already arranged with the confused taxi driver who was now almost in tears, to pick him up in exactly one hour. The taxi driver now on alert, no he told himself, impossible, don’t fret. You come with me miss, please, I felt so sorry for him I agreed, we went up to the third floor and the taxi driver knocked on his own door. He first saw his wife, she was holding a vase with flowers, his own wife who had promised to be faithful for the rest of her life. At this point I exited this heart wrenching scene. What are the odds that in a town with thousands of taxis, a taxi driver discovers his wife was cheating, running her own business, and prostituting herself in their own home. I had so many stories to tell when I returned home.