The Chronicles of Lars Ch. 03 -The Man, the Myth of Mykonos (Part 1 of 2)
Lars' first stop is the Greek Isles
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Author's Note: Thank you for reading my stories and I appreciate all your comments and ratings! I recommend starting this series from the beginning if possible.
As summer ended, I had my sights set on Europe and I was ready to go. Even though I'd never been across the pond before, my plan was to start in Greece and then backpack my way across the continent before catching my flight home next August. I had an open jaw ticket (I think they named that after me) and enough money saved to last me about a year if I was smart. And if I wasn't, well then hopefully I would be able to use my charm and good looks (and skills) and depend upon the generosity of strangers.
And so it was, in mid-September of '08 I flew Northwest out of Minneapolis to Athens with a stopover in Amsterdam, then I caught an Olympic
Scareways
puddle-jumper to the Greek Isles - or more specifically, Mykonos. I decided to start in the gay Mecca after hearing many stories of partying and debauchery from friends that had been there on holiday. Even though the summer tourist season was essentially over, I was hoping to find some sort of excitement to kick off my travels. I didn't have to wait long.
My plan was to find hostels to save on costs but I knew after a long day of flying I'd be fried so I went ahead and booked a couple of nights at the cheapest hotel I could find ahead of time. I arrived at my hotel late on a Wednesday evening after more than 24 hours of flying and promptly passed out. Of course I was up with the sunrise due to jetlag. Since I couldn't sleep, I immediately set out to explore Mykonos town and find some java to wake me up.
The streets were pretty well deserted at that hour - people no doubt sleeping off hangovers from their night out clubbing. I did stumble across an open taverna that was right by the waterfront. It had an outdoor patio that looked inviting so I slung my daypack into a chair and took a seat. While I waited for the waiter, I took out my journal and opened it up.
I looked around and noticed just one other person there sitting a couple of tables away from me. He was a silver-haired older guy dressed in a linen shirt that was unbuttoned far enough to show off his bronzed chest and the gold chains he wore around his neck. He was a bear of a man, thick but solid and definitely in shape for a guy that was probably as old as my father. He was wearing stylish sunglasses and looked like he was well-to-do.
Just then the waiter came up to my table and peered down at me.
"Uh hello? Do you speak English by chance?" I asked.
The waiter laughed, "Of course. Almost everyone around here speaks English. What can I get for you?"
"Could I please get a coffee, black?"
"Would you like the Turkish coffee?"
"Yes please," I answered even though I didn't know the difference between that and Starbucks.
As I waited for my morning jolt, I started making my first entry in my journal. When I first started planning my year abroad I knew I had to keep a journal of my travels, the places I would go and more importantly, the people I would meet. Since this was effectively day one, I figured I would get into the habit of making regular entries. As I was writing, the waiter showed up with my coffee and placed it on the table. It was steaming hot so I waited a couple of minutes for it to cool.
When it cooled down enough, I lifted the cup to my lips and took a big gulp, grimaced loudly and almost spit it out all over the table. I swallowed the bitter drink and immediately grabbed my water bottle to wash down the remnants. I'd swallowed a lot of things in my day but that may have been the nastiest.
Then the man sitting nearby started laughing at me. I looked up to see what was so funny and he was half bent over laughing.
"Welcome to Mykonos my friend!" he proclaimed in heavily Greek-accented English as he waved his hands in the air with a flourish.
I looked at him with a quizzical look.
"You know, to the uninitiated, the flavor of Turkish coffee on the palate is a lot like drinking motor oil. It is definitely an acquired taste," he said with another chuckle.
"That stuff was disgusting!" I answered, quickly taking another sip of water to get rid of the aftertaste.
"Let's get you something more agreeable to drink," he said. He then called out to the waiter and spoke in Greek. The only word I understood was 'Americano.'
"What part of the U.S. are you from my weary traveler?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"Well let's just say I've traveled enough to be able pick up certain accents. Besides, one can tell a lot just by observing."
The waiter brought me another coffee that looked a little more like the stuff I was used to along with a small side of cream.
I reached into my pocket to pull out some Euros when the silver-haired man spoke up.
"No, no, no," he said as he waved off the waiter. "it's on the house for our traveling friend."
"Thank you very much sir," I said, acknowledging his kindness. "I just flew in from Minnesota yesterday. I take it this is your business?"
"One of them," he answered as he took a drink of his own coffee. "You appear to be traveling alone so you are either passing through on a journey or perhaps you're just lost, hmm?" He posed it more as a statement rather than a question.
I pondered his comment for a moment then replied with a slight cock of my eyebrow, "You know, not all who wander are lost."
He didn't miss a beat before responding "And the old that is strong does not wither," he replied before breaking into a broad grin.
"Impressive. I see I'm not the only fan of Tolkien here," I gushed.
