the shoe’s on the other foot

I survived the metro! Actually it was really easy. And quick. The worse thing about it was that the minute I stepped off the bus to buy tickets for the metro I was accosted by begging children who would not leave me alone. I remembered all the stories about being robbed, necklaces grabbed so I held onto my bag and tried to pry 3 euros out of my purse without showing how much money I had in there.
I had heard that the metro had a lot of ancient ruins in it but never got the chance to see it. Apparently when they were digging to build the metro they kept running into ruins. The greek solution: put it behind glass and make a display of it.
Wonder if that approach would work for Australia where they dig and find aboriginal burial grounds…?
Nah. Maybe not. We just divert the highway.
Anyway, my high school friend Helen was meeting me at the metro station and while I waited I noticed that there was a parking lot right outside the station. There’s a house with a garden in front and a parking lot at the back. Some enterprising farmer took advantage of the fact that they put a metro station opposite his farmland, asphalted his paddock and put in a parking lot.
He still retained some character in his small garden – an old wheelbarrow holds flowers with a view of parked cars.
As always, parking remains imaginative in Athens. Sometimes just plain fearless. Like this red car. Notice the dints… obviously his parking style has left a few scars.
But more than that, notice the clearance underneath. I doubt I could fit a Tally-Ho between the curb and the undercarriage.
Helen hasn’t changed a bit since we were kids. If anything she’s more beautiful than she was back then. Me on the other hand… I decided to sprout some kind of pimple on my eyelid the size of Mount Everest. And its not showing any indication of leaving any time soon.
Me and Helen. Or Helen and I, if you want to be more grammatically correct.
We had an iced tea in a great little cafe/bar which was decorated in my style. I’ll be sharing pics of that in another post.
Then my cousins Zefi, Mina and Rita picked me up and took me out for a souvlaki. My first real souvlaki in 3 years. Not one of those souvlaki wannabes you get in Australia…
Little Zefi, me (aka the original Zefi), Mina and Rita
Here’s an example of a real greek salad minus onions.  YUM. Mina reads the blog and ordered it minus onions especially. Sometimes a blog is a good thing.
And greek bread… the best bread in the world!
Last but not least a real greek gyros souvlaki in a greasy greek pita. Nothing like the souvlakis they sell in Australia, which are just kebabs on lebanese bread with aspirations of becoming a souvlaki. These have a pita which is lighter and greasier, having been grilled on the hotplate in olive oil – very tasty despite, or perhaps because of, its 120,452 calories per bite. And tzatziki. YUM I repeat.
Note, these are big souvlakis compared to the ones we used to get in the neighbourhood – see hand for size reference.
We sat, ate and chatted. We talked about whats been happening in our lives in the last few years, how the crisis is affecting them, and laughed a lot. Its always fantastic to see my family. I never realise just how much I miss them till I spend time with them.
Mina asked how I liked the metro ride – I said she could read about it on my blog…
Seems my blog might not always be a good thing… I’m not to be trusted – “Don’t tell her about that! It’ll be on her blog tomorrow!” (This about Mina’s ghost who keeps rearranging the coffee canisters in her house – see Mina, I told you I wouldn’t put it in the blog!)
When we were little we’d call Little Zefi “newspaper reporter”. As far as nickname’s go, this one wasn’t clever but it was descriptive. We didn’t trust her. She’d go running to mom with anything she heard us say that we shouldn’t have.
She hated the nickname, which made it all the better.
Now the shoe’s on the other foot, isn’t it? Payback’s a bitch!
Unbelievable. Its now 1.30am (cause staying up half the night seems to come easy in Greece… probably cause once the sun’s gone you can move without melting into a puddle of sweat)… Its 1.30am and there are idiotic youths in the square opposite our house playing games and using their outside voices, making so much noise you’d think it was midday.
Actually these idiots are quieter at midday. There’s an enforced noise restriction in the middle of the day. Not so at night.
In a city where people live so close together that you can hear your neighbour change his mind, people need to be considerate of each other.
These rude,  inconsiderate youths who call eachother “testicle”,  “poofter” and “wanker”, as terms of endearment, are the future hope of our world. What chance do we have?
Boy I’m getting old…
z
I’ve had to wait till morning to post this cause my supposed mobile broadband USB stick has decided that its not so mobile, and not so broadband either for that matter. Its as slow as our satellite connection in Tasmania and much more unstable. Here I thought that Greece was way better than that even in the most remote spots, not sitting on a verandah in the middle of Athens. Oh well. I guess I’m luck I have my own connection at all. 🙂

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