Ever since the Western Intellectual Traditions program at Hendrix, I'd wanted to visit Greece. The history is rich, considering that it's the birthplace of Western civilization, and it helps that the weather is nice. However, circumstances always seemed to conspire against making my vacation dreams a reality.

Finally, though, the time and money came together. Ordinarily, tickets to Athens from Seattle cost about $1000 (or $1200 on US-based airlines), but I had a few ways around that. First, I had a $400 voucher from Delta Airlines, which I received after being bumped off of a flight to Tulsa. Next, Delta had a spring fare sale, and tickets to most places in Germany were only $480 plus tax. With my voucher, a ticket to Frankfurt came to about $130. Finally, I coordinated an Olympic Airways connection from Frankfurt to Athens for about $275. Although I was setting myself up for about a 20 hour trek wedged in economy (in each direction), saving $600 on the cost of a ticket was worth it.

The day for my flight came, and I arrived at the airport with an overnight bag, a backpack, and 3 days' worth of clothing. In my experience, travelling light is the best way to go. The last thing that I want to do when I get to to the airport is mess around with a baggage carousel, and carrying large amounts of baggage can severely limit your mobility. I arrived an hour early for my 8AM flight, since international flights require that you check in an hour beforehand for the first leg of the flight--even though, in this case, it was a domestic leg to New York. Unfortunately, I wasn't early enough. My boarding pass to Frankfurt indicated that no seats were available, and to attempt to receive a seat assignment in New York.

This did not bode well. Even though I checked in on time, and Delta was legally obligated to transport me to my final destination, it looked like their flight was seriously overbooked. A quick call to Delta's reservations number confirmed this. "Ah, baby, it don't look good," drawled the agent. "That flight is oversold by more than 30 seats!" A call to another representative indicated, however, that Delta's flight from New York to Athens had one unsold seat. This hatched a plan, which I executed when I arrived in New York.

Delta's gates are in a grimy, older terminal at JFK Airport, which is a hub of misery and chaos. In the middle of the noise, heat and craziness is a painfully understaffed customer counter. Fortunately, the only thing that the customer counter does is re-ticket passengers, which is exactly what I needed. After a long wait, I reached the front of the line. After launching into an explanation of the problem, and handing all of my tickets to the Delta representative, she stared at me blankly and said "What do you need?" Clearly, I hadn't done a good job of explaining, so I put it in simpler terms: "I need to go to Athens." "You need to be reticketed, then?" "Yes, whatever you need to do to get me there." After some confusion with the Delta portion of the ticket (Delta apparently isn't used to dealing with their own electronic tickets--this was to become a recurring theme), the Delta representative booked me direct to Athens on Delta. There was only one problem: she also took my Olympic Airways ticket from Frankfurt to Athens, which invalidated the entire itinerary on that airline. No amount of reasoning or persuasion could convince the Delta representative to also rebook my return itinerary on Delta, and since the plane was leaving in 10 minutes, I decided to deal with it when I got to Athens.

Athens has a nice new airport, which took 25 years to complete, and just opened. I walked through the shiny new departures area until I found the Delta counter. The Delta representative was very friendly and helpful, in strong contrast to the agent in New York. She understood my reasoning and agreed to help me. The only snag was that she didn't know how to deal with changing an electronic ticket to another city. It took two Delta representatives and a manager to do it, but my itinerary was rebooked direct to Seattle through New York on Delta. In case you ever need transportation to your final destination due to a screw-up by a connecting airline, this process is called "protection" in airline parlance. It goes much smoother if you explain to the agent that you need to be "protected" to your final destination, rather than detailing the entire situation. At this point, it was noon, and I wandered downstairs to get some Greek drachmas from the ATM. I also stopped by the Argo Travel counter to see if they had the ferry schedule to Mykonos.

The agent at Argo Travel was very friendly and helpful. Although he could not sell me a ferry ticket (he was out of blank ticket forms), the agent informed me that a ferry left at 5PM, giving me plenty of time to get to Piraeus, get a ticket, and do some sightseeing. Additionally, the agent made a couple of phone calls and booked me a room for the evening. He agreed to book me for only one night with an option to stay longer, so that I could leave if I wasn't happy with the hotel (it's sometimes risky business booking an unknown property sight unseen, if your travel agent isn't personally familiar with the property). Hotel voucher and drachmas firmly in hand, I set about getting to Piraeus.

City buses leave the airport every half hour for Piraeus, for GRD1000 (about $2.50). The bus ticket from the airport is valid on all Athens city buses, plus the Metro subway. An hour and 15 minutes later, the bus arrived in Piraeus, and I set about finding a ferry ticket. I wandered around until I reached a street corner full of travel agencies, and was immediately accosted by an obnoxious hawker who yelled "YOU GET FERRY TICKET HERE!!" Ordinarily, I hate street hawkers, but I didn't want to find another agency (and I suspected that they all operated similarly anyway), so I went inside and bought a ticket to Mykonos. It cost about $10, not unreasonable for a 5 hour ferry trip. The owner also agreed to store my bags until the ferry left.

Since still had a few hours until the ferry departed, I took the electric train from Piraeus to Monastriki Square in Athens. The electric train reminds me of New York subways before Giuliani. It's dirty, full of transients of all kinds begging for money, and operates from run-down, dilapidated, trash-strewn stations. Because operations are based on an "honor system" fare scheme, further deterioration is relatively assured. I was later told by an Athenian that a new subway system called the Metro has largely replaced the electric train; it supposedly rivals the London Underground in cleanliness and efficiency.

At Monastriki Square, I ate at McDonald's (something I would not normally do, but I really wanted a milkshake), then tried to figure out how to get to the Acropolis. Fortunately, a big arrow-shaped reading "Acropolis and Agora" led the way uphill. The road to the Acropolis is about double the length of a sidewalk, and in typical Athenian fashion is paved with cobblestones. Eventually, the road snakes its way to the entrance of the Acropolis.

I tried to walk through the gate, and was stopped by a brusque security guard who demanded a ticket. I was surprised to discover that it costs GRD2000 (about $5) to get in. I walked to the ticket booth, purchased a ticket, and was allowed inside. It seems profoundly strange to have to pay to visit one of the oldest pieces of recorded civilization, but as I discovered, paying for essentially everything in Greece is not unusual.

One of the strangest things about the Acropolis is that it's in the process of being renovated. Since the recent earthquake in Turkey, Athenians are acutely aware that without structural improvements, much of the Acropolis could be destroyed. Sadly, though, structural improvements may not be enough. After thousands of years, a half-century of smog and acid rain are noticeably taking their toll on the monuments. I was certainly expecting to find the Acropolis in a more "natural" state. Wishful thinking--the Acropolis is a huge tourist draw, and there are substantial areas roped off, and such additions as stairs and handrails. Most interestingly, the ancient Theatre of Dionysus has been renovated, and is used for concerts. It's really an amazing concert venue, and I think it's neat that Athenians are breathing new life into this venue.

There really isn't much to do at the Acropolis other than to marvel at the fact that you're in the same place as thousands (perhaps millions) of people have visited for millennia. This is really hard to appreciate, however, among guided tour groups of old British women and japanese tourists snapping photos of everything in sight. To its credit, there is (on a clear day, hard to find in Athens) a fantastic view of the surrounding city.

I walked back down to Monastriki Square, and wandered around the narrow, meandering streets. The narrowness of the streets, with merchandise overflowing from the adjoining stores, reminded me a lot of Tokyo. However, the prices did not--Athens is pretty cheap. With the strong US dollar, prices were comparable to Seattle (notwithstanding the 13% sales tax). Nothing caught my fancy, so I rode the Metro back to Piraeus.

At the travel agency, I reclaimed my luggage. The travel agent claimed that I could shower and change on board the ferry, and I was really looking forward to a shower after 15 hours cramped in economy class with hundreds of sweating, snoring people. Unfortunately, it was not to be--when I boarded, I discovered that showers were only available to first class passengers, and the first class upgrade was about $20. I decided that it wasn't worth it, though it was tempting, and found a seat.

The section in which I was seated weas clearly marked "No Smoking," but quickly became a sea of vile, Greek cigarette smoke. As I discovered, the Greeks like to smoke, and they don't like to obey signs (of any sort--traffic signs, no smoking signs, or otherwise). This was pretty irritating, but I was so jet lagged that, after watching Piraeus fade into the distance, I drank a cup of coffee and fell asleep until shortly before arriving at Mykonos.

There are two ferry docks on Mykonos, and I initially bypassed the cabs to walk into town. After passing through the gates of the terminal and seeing nothing resembling a town, I went back and flagged down the last cab as it was leaving. There was already someone in it, but he was going the same direction; we ended up splitting the fare (about $8 total). I arrived at the Hotel Edem, presented my voucher, and was shown to room 13. The hotel is very nice, and my room had a panoramic view of Mykonos and the harbor. I took a much-needed shower, and had no difficulty falling asleep.

I woke up obscenely early the next morning, and forced myself to sleep until 8AM. I showered again (out of habit), and went downstairs for breakfast. The Hotel Edem serves the same breakfast every day, as far as I could tell--a croissant, two packets of jelly, a packet of butter, and a basket with exactly six slices of bread. Additionally, on a separate plate, is a slice of provolone cheese and a slice of luncheon meat. I was never entirely sure what to do with these, so I made a sandwich with them each morning (to the perplexed looks of the receptionist).

Mykonos is mostly expensive shops and expensive bars. It's nice, but unless you're into spending lots of money, there isn't much to do. While Mykonos is considered a popular queer tourist destination, it's definitely aimed toward an older crowd. I didn't see many people under 30, and most of those were working foreigners. Lots of Australians and Canadians work "under the table" at restaurants, bars, and other Greek establishments. They make about $25 a day, sometimes working over 12 hour days. However, many people who work in this way enjoy meeting new friends from all over the world, and they don't really care about the low pay--after all, it's enough to live on.

The most famous place on Mykonos is Super Paradise Beach. This is much more impressive in the guidebooks and tour advertisements than it is in person. There is a fairly small beach where nudity is allowed, an expensive restaurant with mediocre food, a cheesy bar adjacent to the restaurant, and a cool--but expensive--bar on the ohter end of the beach, perched on a high cliff. The side of the beach opposite the restaurant is the queer beach, which is mostly full of nasty old trolls and gay German couples. Probably the most interesting thing about Super Paradise (aside from the cool bar) is the trip. First, you take a bus (costing GRD260, about 65¢ to Plati Vialoys, and then you pay GRD1200 (about $3) for a roundtrip ticket to the beach. The trip to the beach is on an old, creaky boat, piloted by crusty old Greek fishermen, and is an interesting journey along the coastline.

After returning from the beach, I wanted to see some more of the island. I stopped by the Avis office. The cheapest car was GRD14,500 (about $37) per day, which was more than I wanted to spend. The agent offered me a 20% discount, since I am an Avis Preferred member, and I drove off in a Fiat Seicento.

Driving in Greece is exciting, to put it mildly. The roads are very narrow--too narrow for two cars to pass one another. This makes for an incredibly complicated game of "chicken" for determining who has the right-of-way. In general, it appears that the bigger vehicle usually has the right-of-way, except in the case of a taxi, which always has the right-of-way. I read that Athenians will call a taxi rather than an ambulance in the event of a life-threatening illness or injury, and this is believable. Taxi drivers are crazy, in a very precise sort of way that would make a New York cabbie's hair stand on end. The Fiat Seicento is a very small "mini," which is slightly bigger than a motorcycle and has what I'd guess to be a lawnmower engine. As a result, I yielded to essentially everyone. Roads on Mykonos precipitously wind their way along and atop hillsides, often with vertical drops in excess of 1000 feet only a strong gust of wind away. There are more than a few "white knuckle" areas on Mykonos, and driving every one of them I could find afforded me not only entertainment, but some spectacular photography.

Argo Travel had done such a fantastic job of finding me a hotel on Mykonos that I visited their local office, Matt Holidays, to make arrangements for the rest of my trip. Theo, one of the friendly and helpful agents there, asked which places I wanted to visit. I planned to take "The Fly," as Greeks call Minoan Lines' Flying Dolphins, to Ios. From there, after a couple of days of heavy drinking, I planned to continue to Santorini, then fly Sunday morning back to Athens where I'd meet my noon flight to New York. Theo said "Why spend $80 on the flight and another night in a hotel when a night ferry from Santorini will have you to Athens in the morning?" This was a convincing argument--especially since it cost substantially less. For only $150, Theo promised to arrange the rest of my trip; hotels, breakfast, everything. I agreed to pick up the tickets after I returned from Delos.

Delos is an island administered by the Ministry of Ancient Historic Monuments and Collecting GRD1600 (about $4), and is reached by boat. You can either spend $28 on a ferry ticket and poorly conducted tour in the incomprehensively-accented language of your choice, or just spend $6 on the ferry ticket (plus the entry fee), and see the sights on your own. You can also tag along with a tour group--after all, the island is a public place.

Unlike the Acropolis, Delos is reasonably "authentic," for what it's worth after centuries of theft and vandalism. There is an excellent museum, and wandering around this holy site where over 30,000 people from all over the Mediterranean region once lived gives you a sense of perspective on your own mortality. Since it was a relatively cool (for the Cyclades) day, I hiked to the top of the island. This was a pretty strenuous trek, and when I finally reached the top, I was glad I'd brought water. The view was stunning; this vantage point unveiled a panoramic view of Delos, with Mykonos lingering in the distance.

There is a gift shop and cafe on the island. The gift shop sells cheesy and overpriced souveniers, and the cafe sells bad and overpriced food. I shelled out the GRD600 ($1.50) for a Coke, and promptly stepped in some chewing gum left on the veranda by one of the junior high age kids who were skulking around malevolently. After drinking my Coke, visiting the museum, walking to the one intact temple on the island, and taking a few pictures, I caught the ferry back to Mykonos.

When I returned from Delos, Theo had my tickets and hotel vouchers ready. I paid him $150 (Matt Holidays gladly accepts US dollars), and was on my way. Since I still had a few hours left before I had to return the rental car, I drove around the island semi-randomly. I stopped at the ancient city wall, which is across the street from a smoldering garbage dump. There seems to be a garbage theme with ancient city walls, since the ancient city wall on Ios serves as a backdrop for ancient Greek dumpsters. I drove around the north end of the island, and, running low on fuel, finally returned the car to the Avis agent. When I commented on the state of the roads on Mykonos, the agent broke into a broad grin. He slapped me on the back, and said "You are experienced now, eh?" Indeed, driving in Greece is an experience.

I spent the evening wandering around "Little Venice" after having an excellent souvlaki at Alexi's. The desk clerk at the Hotel Edem had recommended Alexi's souvlakis the previous day, but I'd fallen asleep before I remembered to try one. When I was buying my tickets at Matt Holidays, I asked Theo who served the best souvlaki on Mykonos, and he also recommended Alexi's without hesitation. Now, I recommend Alexi's--it's right next to the south bus stop, and is cheap, fast and excellent.

At a small shop in "Little Venace," I bought a sports bag (to bring back souveniers in) for GRD3500 (about $9). This also came in handy for dirty laundry, which I like to keep separate from my clean laundry until the end of a trip. I checked my email from Angelo's Internet cafe, and drank some ouzo. Then, I went to a rather unfriendly bar on the waterfront, got yelled at for using the restroom without asking first, and paid way too much for another ouzo so I could sit on the deck and watch the wacky big Mediterranean fish swim around the spotlights. At around midnight, since I had to make a 10:10AM ferry, I walked back to the hotel.

The following morning, I had breakfast and asked the desk clerk to call me a taxi. A few minutes later, a bus rumbled to the front of the hotel, and three young women grabbed their packs and walked out to it. I asked if they were going to the ferry, which they were, and got on the bus with them (assuming it was the cab the front desk had called). The rather gruff driver yelled at me and said "This bus is only for the girls," but it turned out that he was kidding. He drove us to the ferry dock, and it must have been a travel agency bus of some kind because there was no charge. The girls were all from Chile, and were going to Paros. They liked Greece, but thought that it was expensive.

The ferry was actually a hydrofoil. These are something of a hybrid between a boat and a plane, and the seating configuration is similar to a widebody jet. I grabbed a seat that looked good, and belatedly realized that there was assigned seating. Fortunately, nobody bothered me. After a brief stop in Paros, I arrived on Ios, and began asking where my hotel was. I was directed to a travel agency, who called the hotel shuttle for me.

Several minutes later, a battered blue Mitsubishi van arrived, driven by a woman with greasy hair and missing teeth. She drove me to the dilapidated Hotel Leto, on the trash-strewn Yialos Beach. The trash didn't stop at the beach either--it extended past a leaking sewer pipe into the overgrown courtyard of the hotel. In the run-down lobby, the desk clerk demanded my passport. I wouldn't let him keep it, leading to a heated argument and the eventual return of the passport. I was then shown to my room. It was dark, there was exposed wiring from inoperative fixtures, and the stench of stale urine hung in the air. I asked the clerk how much the room normally rented for. "GRD3000" (about $7.50) was his reply.

Clearly, this wasn't what I'd paid for, and I marched immediately into town to call Matt Holidays. I reached the office, but Theo wasn't in. I decided to go see the real beach, so took the bus to Mylopotas Beach and got off at the Far Out Resort. There are two pools, a waterslide, a mini mart, and an excellent bar. There is also a mediocre (but passable) restaurant. I checked out the scene for awhile, then placed another call to Matt Holidays. Theo wasn't in yet, but he would be shortly. I took the bus back to Yialos, and called Theo. He patiently listened to the problem, and asked me to call back in 10 minutes, promising a solution.

I went back to the Hotel Leto to retrieve my belongings. The owner rushed out and tried very hard to keep me from leaving, making feeble but heated arguments why I should stay. I could only presume that this is a common problem at the Hotel Leto. Eventually, I was able to return the keys, by claiming that the agent had booked me near the wrong beach. When I returned to Yialos, Theo had another hotel for me. The only catch was that I had to get the voucher back from the Hotel Leto, which was no easy feat. Theo was shocked at the condition of the property, as well as the owner's admission that she charges travel agents GRD10,000 but charges walk-in customers GRD3,000. An hour later, I arrived at the Marcos Beach Hotel. It was a much better hotel, with a decent view of Mylopotas Beach.

I spent the afternoon at the Far Out Resort, and then drank heavily at the Underground Club in town. Stephanie, a Canadian worker from Vancouver, accosted me outside and actually turned out to be interesting. We went inside, and I ordered a drink. This led to another, and soon the bartender was pouring free shots all around (there were no customers). Eventually, I had to stop drinking and walk back to the hotel--no easy feat, since the path is very steep and is difficult even if you're sober. I remembered, halfway back, that the tap water on Ios is not safe to drink, and bought a big bottle of water from an Italian restaurant that was just closing.

I had an interesting and murky night of drinking water and stumbling to the bathroom to pee--I'd really had a lot to drink. The following morning, I awoke at 10:30, but that was just in time for breakfast. Or so I thought. The signs in the rooms of the Marcos Beach Hotel are not to be believed. Breakfast had ended at 10:00, so I went to the Far Out Club for a bite to eat. I stayed there for awhile and my head gradually became clearer as the sun beat down and a Mediterranian breeze blew through the palm trees. There wasn't a newspaper available anywhere around Mylopotas Bech, so after loading up on allergy medication, I took a bus to town to find the bookstore. There, I bought a copy of the International Herald-Tribune, and Final Blackout by L. Ron Hubbard (a pretty good book, notwithstanding the author).

After wandering around town buying cheap souveniers, I went back to the Far Out Club and spent the day sipping cold drinks by the pool. Toward the end of the day, the weather worsened substantially, and I went to town for dinner (at a pretty good restaurant aptly named Delicious). A "toast" (Greek sandwich) and an Amstel (beer) later, I headed back to the hotel, where I read until I went to sleep. This was difficult, since the wind violently whipped the flags flying above my room.

The following day, the weather was cloudy and cool. It was about 70 degrees and very windy. After breakfast (which I didn't miss this time), I went to the Far Out club after stashing my bags at the hotel. Marco, the owner, assured me that I'd have plenty of time to make my 3:15 ferry if I caught the 2:30 bus. At the Far Out Club, I met some expatriate Australians on an extended holiday (the year-long kind of extended holiday that Australians are apt to take). They had no job, no money, no plane tickets home, and--in typical Aussie fashion--"no worries... she'll be right!" We swapped travel stories off and on over beers until 2, when I gathered up my things at the Marcos Beach Hotel and headed to the road for the 2:30 bus.

In Yialos, I stopped at the excellent Ios Burger restaurant, where I chatted with the owner over gyros and Nescafe. The owner and her brother were born in Canada, but returned to Greece with their parents. Now, they run Ios Burger, and proudly fly the red maple leaf above their business. I asked how business was. "The last five years, not good. Every year, the season gets shorter and shorter. Many reasons... people on Ios aren't good businessmen, visitors don't want to come back." Sadly, I had to agree with her assessment--I don't think that I'll be returning to Ios, either.

Minoan Lines runs on "Greek time," which means that our 3:15 ferry left around 4:30. For some reason, however, we arrived on Santorini only 1/2 hour late. I began asking at the travel agents posing as information desks where my hotel was located, all the while unaware that the owner of my hotel (the Sun Rise) was standing by the ferry holding a sign with my name on it. Theo hadn't mentioned local transfers when I arranged my trip, and I assumed I was on my own for transportation. However, the rental agent at Spiridakos rent-a-car made me a deal I couldn't refuse. For GRD7000 (about $15), including full insurance and collision damage waiver, Spiridakos provided a driver to navigate the dangerous roadway between port and the town of Thira. My drachmas netted me a Suzuki Swift, which is the same car as a Geo Metro in the US. For Greece, this is a nice rental car, and was a very good deal.

The only trick, after taking care of the paperwork with the Bulgarian desk clerk, was finding the Sun Rise Hotel . After driving past it 3 times, I finally spotted it--it is set back a bit from the road. The hotel was surprisingly good for the price. I got a nice room with two beds, a refrigerator, a color TV, and air conditioning. On Santorni, Theo's connections were obviously better than on Ios.

After breakfast the following morning (a paltry 3 slices of toasted bread and jam--far inferior to the Hotel Edem), I set about seeing Santorini. The first order of business was fuel for the car. I bought 4 litres at Eko for GRD300 per litre, which worked out to about $3 per gallon. I then set about sightseeing.

Santorini offers a lot of variety for sightseers, and one of the most interesting things for visitors is the prehistoric village of Akotiri. I wanted to visit there first, but took a wrong turn leaving the town of Fira, and ended up in Ia, at the other end of the island, instead. While the drive to Ia is spectacular, the village isn't really anything special. The downtown area is hundreds--if not thousands--of years old, but it is crumbling. There is a post office and a maritime museum (although I was told the museum is very good, I did not visit). I wandered around for awhile, took in the sweeping view of the Mediterranian, and briefly considered driving the very steep dirt road to Mavropetra Beach. Eventually, I decided to turn around and head for Akotiri.

The drive from Ia to Akotiri showcases the amazing variety of landscapes on Santorini. Along the coastal plain, small farms dot the land, painstakingly separated by short walls of volcanic stone. In many places, the road drops off steeply to unveil a sometimes startling panorama of sky, sea, and islands looming in the distance. Slightly past the midway point, an unassuming turnoff leads to a dazzlingly beautiful caldera, which looks like a combination of Crater Lake and a desert southwest landscape.

Eventually, I arrived at the ancient Akotiri archeological site, after stopping in the town of Akotiri for water. While there, I met a nice couple from Denver, who told me that the site was undergoing heavy renovation but was worth a visit anyway. This site, like most similar sites in Greece, is also run by the Ministry of Archaeological Historic Sites and Collecting GRD2000 (about $5). However, when I handed GRD5000 to the ticket seller, she gave me a student ticket and GRD4000 in change. Although really irritating when I want to buy alcohol, the fact that I look about 5 years younger than I am is occasionally useful.

The Akotiri archaeological site consists of an entire ancient prehistoric village, which has been excavated and is protected beneath a canopy. Many of the more valuable items have been removed and taken to museums around the world, but I attached myself to a tour group full of elderly German cruise ship visitors, and listened to the tour guide (who conducted the tour in English). I got dirty looks from the tour guide, and strange looks from the German tourists, but they couldn't exactly kick me out. The guide explained the intricate construction of the village, which included a town square and a working sewer system. There was a large collection of clay pots on display (the tour guide explained what each was used for), and I took a picture of them. Unfortunately, I couldn't figure out how to disable the flash on the camera, so could not take any other pictures.

It was getting close to lunchtime, and I wanted to visit the famous black sand Perissa Beach. Since the beach was in all of the guidebooks, I assumed it would be a strong bastion of commercialism. This assumption proved to be correct, and I had an excellent gyros platter at a restaurant a couple of blocks away. I also dropped off my clothes at a nearby laundry, since I wanted fresh, clean clothes for the trip home. The beach is lined with sun beds and umbrellas, and after buying a newspaper, I plopped down in one to relax. A few minutes later, a fat British guy waddled up and stood in front of me. "Hello, how are you? Holidays good? One or two sun beds? And the umbrella? All right, that'll be GRD1500 then." I was a bit perplexed, since I hadn't had to pay on other beaches (nearby establishments provide the furniture for free to encourage you to shop there), but I managed to negotiate him down to GRD1000 (about $2.50) since I wasn't staying long.

After an hour of relaxing on the beach and enjoying the sun, I began to drive back to Fira. I took a wrong turn onto a road that led upward, and while I realized I was on the wrong track, I didn't care. The road wound its way to the top of a mountain. At the top was an array of satellite dishes and antennas, marked by a sign that said "Military Area, No Photography." There was also what appeared to be an ammunition dump, with "NO SMOKING" signs in English and Greek on almost every available flat surface. I assumed that the "No Photography" sign applied to photography of the military area, and not the surrounding landscape. I assume that this assumption was correct, because nobody came to confiscate my camera. The vantage point provided spectacular views of the entire island, including the harbor and the airport.

Eventually, I drove down the mountain, and into Fira. On the outskirts of town, I stopped at the grocery store and bought some Greek sesame candy, a couple of beers for the ferry trip home, and an ice cream bar (it was beginning to get hot, which to me is about 80 degrees). I then decided to return the car, since I wanted to do some sightseeing in Fira (which is hard with a vehicle). The Spiridakos agent agreed to store my bags and drive me back to the port, and instructed me to come back an hour before my ferry.

The ancient city of Fira is stunningly beautiful, and is built on the edge of a dramatic cliff. Narrow, cobblestone streets are lined with shops and cafes, and a steep walkway (you can ride a donkey if you don't want to walk) leads to the historic port, from which fishing and charter boats operate. Overlooking the island of Nea Kameni is perhaps the world's most scenic payphone.

Eventually, it was time to return to the ferry. The driver was from the former Soviet republic of Georgia. As he negotiated the precipitous curves on the road to the port, he told me that he works up to 20 hour days, for about $600 per month. Most of the money is sent home to his family, who still lives in Georgia. "This," said the former hydroelectric engineer, motioning grandly around him, "It is all for Greeks. There is nothing here for us but jobs."

I attempted to board the ferry, but my ticket was lacking a tax stamp from the Santorini dockworkers' union. I went to a travel agency which sells the tax stamps, and while I was there, I upgraded to a cabin so that I could have a bunk. This also entitled me to sit in the first class lounge, and use the first class dining room (neither of which are anything special). Finally, I found a place where the interminable Greek cigarette smoke failed to permeate. In a cabin, nobody is allowed to smoke unless everyone agrees. Shortly after I checked in, two young Greek police officers arrived in the cabin. They were stationed on Santorini for the summer, and were looking forward to a weekend in Athens. "The islands, they are boring. I like Athens; my friends are there, my family is there," said the older of the two, who was 21. The younger police officer asked me if I liked British people; I don't really have any opinions either way, and said as much. "British tourists hate Americans," he said. "But I hate British tourists." I asked what they thought of Turks and Albanians, and that got a very enthusiastic response. "Turks, we hate them! And Albanians too, we hate Albanians!" There seems to be plenty of hate to go around in the Greek police force. Fortunately, neither of the two seemed to mind Americans or Canadians much, or at least if they did, they kept it to themselves

I took a shower before going to sleep, which I did fairly early, and settled into bed for the 10 hour ferry trip. At just before 5 in the morning, as the ferry was arriving at Piraeus, the steward knocked on the door to wake us up. Since my flight was at noon, this gave me a few hours for sightseeing around Athens, so I stashed my bags at a combination cafeteria and baggage locker in Piraeus. I then took the Metro back to Monastriki Square in search of breakfast.

Unfortunately, it was too early for many places to be open. Merchants were setting up displays of their wares in the Flea Market. After wandering around for awhile looking for breakfast, and meeting a group of visitors from Texas who were also looking for breakfast, I finally discovered an open restaurant. It was a chain restaurant called Everest, and they served coffee and obscenely sweet pastries, as well as hot dogs and other such items.

I decided to walk back up to the Acropolis (after photographing the colorful sunrise), since I wanted to spend a little more time in the museum than I had the last time I'd visited. I walked up through the Plaka via a slightly more dangerous route than I'd taken the last time I visited. This proved to be more scenic, taking me past an old Greek orthodox church, and some anonymous crumbling ruins. Unfortunately, the Acropolis gates don't open until 10AM, and with a noon flight to catch, I wasn't going to get another look. Instead, I walked to the trash-covered top of an outcropping (Athens is pretty dirty), and looked at the park behind the Acropolis.

I caught the Metro back to Piraeus, to retrieve my bags and ride back to the airport. The port of Pireaus was bustling with early-morning ferry travelers. I got lucky and timed my arrival perfectly for the bus--I had 5 minutes to get my bags and get on board for the airport. By this time, it was later than I would have liked, since I assumed I would need to be at the airport at least 90 minutes early.

At the airport, I got grilled by security before checking in for my flight. Because I'd left them unattended in Piraeus, they insisted on running them through a "special X-ray," whatever that meant. Because of the previous problems with my Delta ticket, I had to wait a half hour for the grumpy Delta agent to issue my boarding passes (again, with the help of a supervisor). Fortunately, Delta got the problem sorted out, and I was able to board without incident.

In New York, the INS stamped my passport for some reason, on a page nearly halfway through my almost unused passport. This struck me as odd, because I've never had my passport stamped upon entering the US. US Customs was much easier to deal with than in Seattle; they only asked if there were any fresh fruits or meats among any of the food I was bringing back (I had been careful to check on the declaration form that I was bringing back food this time, after my experience returning from Japan). Also, surprisingly, Customs didn't ask me twenty questions about whether I had more than $10,000 with me. Ordinarily when I cross the border, they think I'm some sort of international currency smuggler; they must have updated their "profiles" to reflect the new financial realities of the technical industry.

I checked my bags through to Seattle, called a few friends to let them know I was back in the US, and boarded my flight. Delta flies a 757 between New York and Seattle, and I had the aisle seat in the exit row (the door sticks out on 757 window seats, so the aisle seat is the best). This gave me a lot of additional legroom, which was really nice. I guess it was small compensation for the hassles I'd endured with my tickets. A bit over 5 hours later, I arrived back in Seattle, and it seemed strange to be back. Whenever I travel abroad, it feels like I've been away much longer than I have, and combined with the disorienting 10 hour time difference, I had a strange, but relaxing, first day home.

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