Catching up on the notes at early breakfast. We have to catch the metro; Green Line for two stops, transfer to Red Line for two stops; the Thisio to Larissa Station to catch the 8:27 train heading about four hours north to Kalambaka, where the cliff top monasteries of Meteora hang.
The OSE train is pretty comfortable, especially considering how sparse the rail service in Greece is. Unlike other European countries, and more like Turkey, there are something like 3 or 4 rail routes through the whole country and that is it. But, the seats are wide, the cars new and in good shape, and the train fast, punctual, and quiet. This trip, four hours and a couple hundred kilometers, cost €15 a ticket. (Metro tickets around Athens are €1,40)
The train passes through beautiful hills of oak and olive trees, golden fields laid out before big dry mountains, then winds its way up through steep canyons, tunnels that lead out to bridges spanning massive gorges, then back down to a valley. An announcement of some sort (it's all Greek to me) and half the people on our car get up and hustle to the back. The train simply stops in the countryside, backs up on a side track, people get off, the back cars are unhitched, people climb on them and we pull away. I figure the track must have split off: we head north to Kalambaka and they will be hitched up and taken east to Thessalonica.
At least, that is my hope. Or are we headed east and they went north? We shall see, as we are a good hour past that, and still an hour from our (hopeful) destination. Well, we were assigned to these seats, 14 and 16 in car 3. Either way it is a beautiful trip so far. Staring out the window, listening to my iPod, wondering about the new highway they are building along the path we are taking; tunnels bored and bridges mostly complete but the roadway between just dirt and base, full of weeds. Reading my book. Will I finish today or the day after tomorrow? No dining car on this train and we did not think to stop and get drinks and food... good thing we had breakfast.
The trip takes five hours... a surprise to me, but then again not so much since the ticket guy hadn't been able to give me an arrival time. We walked into town, grabbed a seat at a cafe and downed a quick snack and 1.5 litre bottle of water before continuing up to our guesthouse. Kalambaka is surrounded by sheer, grey cliffs, and we are right at the base of them. The trail up to the monasteries starts right out our door. Great little patio off our room also, so we decided to pick up a bottle of local white wine for evenings on the patio.
We wandered back into town, bought our bus tickets on to some unpronounceable town near our next destination (for Sunday) figuring we will figure out the connections when we get there, and as the heat really settled in we once again retreated to a café for an hour or two. We stopped in a store for a postcard and the lady thought we were German. She literally came out to greet us in German, and I just automatically responded to her. Man, she was surprised when she asked where we were from, and I told her we were from California... in German. She tried to switch to English but we gave that up after just a few words and shrugs, and switched back. (Funny: in Germany we were often thought to be Swedes or Norwegians, a couple times in France other tourists thought we were French and asked hesitantly, “Pardon, parlez-vous anglais?”)
After a nice conversation I asked her where she eats when she goes out, and she pointed us away from the cutsie, touristy cafés by the fountain square (where we just had drinks) and up to a local taverna. We walked up to check it out and the owners came out to greet us. I noticed the prices were half the café prices, the food homemade, the setting quaint and comfortable. The owners were interested to know if we were German? I Laughed... What is it with the German thing? They explained that tonight is the Greece vs. Germany soccer match, and they wanted to be sure we knew the tavern would be full of Greece fans. German fans are welcome, of course, but they would be seated over a little separately... perhaps out of view of the TV, but in a safer corner… Reservation? Of course, of course, they would save us a table but best we arrive by 20:30 before the game start. When we left they thanked us for coming like we had just handed them €100!
Sounds like a plan.
So, we showed up at Paramithi Taverna about 20:30. After we sat, the owner spilled a little wine on our table cover. It is good luck, he said. If Greece wins, I will give you a bottle of wine! OK then, now we have a vested interest in the game! We had a great salad (so simple: lettuce, onion, dill and a lemon to squeeze over it) Greek lasagna (pastitsio) and shrimps in a tomato-pepper sauce. A half litre of rosé and we were set. Oh, the food was sooooo good, and as we stayed for the game we had another half litre of wine and the friendly café owner brought us a dessert, complimentary. It is these small kindnesses that I love so about traveling.
The owner, about five faithful customers, and Gail and I watched the game and drank. We drank to the Greek goal, we cursed the damned Germans (and their wanting to keep us Greeks down) when they scored... We made friends with the friend of the taverna owner, Christos Konis, who owns his grandfather's vineyard... and ended up drinking his red wine as well... debating Europe austerity vs. American 99% movement. (Christos is also a local guide, in English, French and Italian.)
Score is 4-1 Germany (DAMN those Germans! Always have to be on top, whether it is finances –EU- or soccer… Have more wine, my friend!), my wine is slipping away, an argument breaks out in our little group and two people storm off (They think we Greeks should be first place or nothing, it’s not good enough to simple be in the semi-finals… have some more wine, my friend!), interesting to listen and learn. This is a great evening, even if we Greeks end up losing 4-2. Bummer.
Kind of like my school’s soccer team: we, the poor, underprivileged street kids vs. the faux-rich newer school in the slightly newer, hardly richer but more delusional neighborhood. I’ll have to remember this trick; how the wine helps with the bitterness of defeat.
At least we put up a good fight. In the meantime, new friends and about two litres of wine... Lucky if I find my way home.
I think back to the family we stayed with in Goreme.
This is it; this is what I miss so much when I am not here. For a couple hours, an eye blink in my life, I was invited to join someone else's life; sit with them, cheer and share defeat, meet their friends and make the new connections, share food, laughter, stories and dreams... just for a moment they welcomed us in, and we felt at home. After 18 days it is a wonderful feeling.
The smallest kindnesses count.