No Dogs Allowed

My favorite movie as a kid was a toss up between Garfield's Halloween and Snoopy, Come Home. The first was and always will be great even long after Garfield ceased to be amusing to me. The second is possibly the saddest movie I have ever seen. Or, at the very least, the saddest animated movie I have ever seen. The most glaring memory which seems to daily reinsert itself into my thoughts, however, is the line, sung slowly in a deep voice, "No dogs allowed!" sung just about whenever Snoopy tries to go anywhere or do anything in the movie. I will likely go to the grave with that as the chorus in the back of my mind.

This last weekend I felt Snoopy's pain. I was thrown from a swanky Houston club, the Drake, for no good reason at all. Officially it was because of my lack of shiny shoes, but I believe reverse racism somehow played a role. Either my awesomeness or my excellence were clearly being discriminated against here, perhaps both. Although I could not hear it over the thumping base emanating from the club, I believe a distant baritone could be heard saying, "No tennis shoes allowed!" I had even specifically put these not shiny shoes on (and a button up shirt and pants) per the request of my friend, Ro, who I thought had been properly informed specifically to avoid such discriminations from happening. After failed attempts at then going to see a movie and renting a movie -- they were both closed -- we ended up spending the night playing two man Trivia Pursuit until Ro experienced trivia fatigue and began feeding me the answers in order to bring the game to its long delayed conclusion. Clearly the people of the Drake missed out.

In other news, I finally stopped at a Buc-ee's (the Beaver) Gas Station on the drive home just to see what there was to see. It was nice and clean and full of jerky and various Texas themed knick knacks. Oh, and about 3,000 people. I have never before and likely never will again see so many people in an isolated gas station in the middle of nowhere. Although I am not sure, I think this to be a good thing.

"Arrr, I think you be havin' a bit too many peg legs there, matey!"

Greeece

Aside from not riding mopeds, I did other things in Greece as well. Specifically, I went places. And these are some of those places:

Houston - Not only did I make the mistake of deciding to take public transportation to the airport, I made the mistake of doing it in Houston. The price for this error was about three hours of commuting, abrasions on my feet where my new sandals were not in agreement with my anatomy, and my arrival into the check-in area just as the KLM personnel were pulling up the ropes. That and the standard layer of sweat and grime that seems to perpetually cling to the humid air in Houston. Ro was gracious enough to let me stay at her place so that I could attempt this foolish endeavor, and I am grateful for her kindness. Especially when she kindly let me steal her Obi Wan Ginobli shirt which, it turns out, has no actual power to make the Spurs play better.

Amsterdam - I was here long enough only to hear my name paged overhead as my flight threatened to leave without me. Thank you Dutch customs.

Thessaloníki - The regional capital of Macedonia and the graffiti capital of the world. Here we all collectively, save Megan I guess, learned that Greeks, though generally friendly people, are terrible at giving directions. I am pretty sure Paul, Rachel, and Liz would have had to camp out in Liz's giant green suitcase had we not found them. Once settled we saw some sites, played some Uno, and, later, caught a train. Despite the locals' recommendation of Applebee's for a good restaurant, we had our first Greek dinner at a popular tourist trap after being advised by what may have been a prostitute.

Meteora - We arrived at night, wandered a bit, and then conveniently found the only French place in town where, despite the limited English spoken by the owner and the limited French spoken by us, we stayed for a night and were comforted by the French iconography and pictures of Charles de Gaulle. That was actually in a small town called Kalambaka. Meteora itself, a collection of towering stone spires and medieval Greek Orthodox monasteries, has no hotels and is an amazing and unique little enclave nestled in the middle-of-nowhere Greece. We taxied up and visited a few, but the real adventure began when we took one of the mapped out "hiking trails." In reality, however, these were less "hiking trails" and more "suggested places for a good hiking trail." The path started out accessible and clearly demarcated enough, but it quickly gave way to a difficult to penetrate collection of holly, silkworms, and loose rock. Never ones to back down we continued on towards our goal, a fourth monastery, only to completely bypass it and have Liz somehow lose her glasses along the way. A dapper looking Greek monk or goat now undoubtedly has a nice pair of light green lady shades. We departed the next day via bus as the trains were not working thanks to some May Day strikes. Where's some Pinkertons when you need 'em?

Athens Part 1 - Not much to say. We had some gyros, Megan had a crepe, Liz replaced her glasses -- I am pretty sure Liz and I saw an 80 year old transvestite -- and we went on the ferry. After I ran to four or five different ferry ticket queues stupidly looking for our tickets at the wrong place that is, but I've said too much.

Paros - Our first island. Lots of little towns spread out over a fairly large, relative to the rest of the Cyclades, island. Here I learned to drive like a Greek though I cannot say I quite ever learned to park like one. Here we also learned that we had arrived far too early in the season to actually enjoy anything in Greece. Megan couldn't find her kayaks, Liz's butterfly reserve was closed, and the mine/cave on Antiparos was inaccessible. Thankfully there was ouzo; unfortunately it tasted only partly like licorice and mostly like alcohol. As a result of the limited options we spent a lot of time at the grocery store, examining the cheeses. Actually that was the girls' thing; I couldn't decide on how much coke to buy. (Friendly coke, not coke coke.) It was also here that we learned that for Megan the louder you shake the plastic Yahtzee cup the better. I did not miss never playing that game again. We eventually left Paros again by ferry but this time without the ticket issues.

That's the first half of the trip in brief. Or, alternatively, "What I did in a Foreign Country for Nine Days in Two Hundred Words or Less."