12. Where’s a Rabbit’s Foot, a Horseshoe and a Four-Leaf Clover When You Need One?
The morning’s rain, lack of sleep and because Shannon and I were twenty-five going on twelve ensured the topics of conversation between us did not get very far out of the gutter. “Where’s this ferry?” Evelyn growled. Phillip stared at the cloud-ridden horizon. “I can’t see it.” “Maybe he couldn’t get it started this morning.” Shannon’s cheeky grin indicated what tack this conversation was going to head. “You are talkin’ about the ferry, aren’t you Shan?” I said. “Maybe.” She stifled a giggle. I shook my head. “You’re thinking about Erecthions again aren’t you?” “Well, if they are built correctly,” the giggle Shannon was holding in escaped, “they can be quite useful.” Strolling around the Acropolis, we’d come across a structure named the Erecthion. If we’d bothered to find out more about ancient Greek archaeology we would’ve discovered the significance of the building, but instead, while we waited for the ferry, Shannon and I came to our own conclusions. “But as you may have noticed, Daz,” Shannon said, trying to look serious, but failing, “sturdiness was not one of their strong points.” “I guess that’s why Greek civilisation fell into ruin.” I grinned. “Yeah, they just couldn’t keep it up. No staying power, these Greek Erecthions.” We fell over each other laughing. Phillip turned his back to us and Evelyn let out a deep sigh, which we ignored. When the ferry docked at Paros we discovered the bad weather was not limited to Mykonos. Weatherwise, this holiday from a holiday was not going as planned. I pictured long sunny days followed by balmy nights and certainly was not expecting rain to put in an appearance. If I’d wanted to spend time in rain jackets looking for shelter I would’ve gone to London. But I was not in London. I was in the Greek Islands and that did not change the fact that it still was raining.
Shannon studied the sea of faces at the port. “Let’s find our hotel rep and get outta this rain.” “Great idea,” agreed Phillip. “Anyone see him?” Five minutes later we still could not find anyone bearing the name of our hotel. “I guess we’re walking then,” Shannon said. “Great!” Evelyn spat with disgust. “Cheer up, Eve,” Phillip consoled, “the travel agent back in Athens said our hotel was within walking distance of the port.” Shannon’s eyes scanned the port. “If only we knew which way to go.” “Let’s ask someone,” I suggested. “Who?” Evelyn asked. “How about over there?” Shannon pointed to a travel agency, one of the many lining the port. While the others waited, I went inside. “Excuse me,” I said to the man behind the counter, “I’m looking for this hotel.” I showed him a piece of paper with the name and address. “Could you tell me where it is exactly?” “Down there.” Absentmindedly, he waved his finger back out the door and towards the ferry we’d arrived on. Apparently, our accommodation in Paros was located on the coast of Mykonos. Maybe I misunderstood, so I asked again. He looked up at me, surprised I was still there. “Down there!” He tapped the piece of paper I was holding and pointed in completely the opposite direction to the first time. I asked again, believing in that old adage third time lucky. “Down there and left.” His coffee-tinged breath singed my face as he thumped the piece of paper with two fingers to drive his point home before shooing me away. By now, I realised luck had nothing to do with it. It didn’t matter whether it was the third or the thirty-third time; from the looks of things we were going nowhere fast, not even slow for that matter. “It’s over there somewhere,” I told the others without pointing in any direction because I didn’t know where to point. “Where?” Phillip asked. “Who knows?” I shrugged. “I asked him three times and got three different answers.”
“These islands are fan-bloody-tastic!” Evelyn huffed, rolling her eyes, her hands on her hips. “What are we gonna do now?” “Catch a cab.” I began looking for one. “Hey, guys, isn’t that the name of the hotel on the side of that van?” Shannon said. We all turned. “Well spotted, Shan.” Phillip gave her a thumbs up. When we’d convinced the startled shuttle bus driver that we were not four random strangers wanting to use his van as shelter from the weather, but in fact had reservations, we were driven to the hotel. After Shannon and I were led to our room we laid on our beds and stayed there. We were in no rush to leave again; the rain had made sure of that. It wasn’t long before I was watching TV and Shannon was asleep. She woke forty minutes later. “Good sleep?” She yawned. “Yeah.” “What do you say, Shan, time for lunch?” “Most definitely!” I grabbed my wallet as Shannon draped her travel bag around her neck and we walked to one of the waterfront restaurants. Once our plates were cleared Shannon said, “How about a cup of coffee and then we check out the town?” “Why not?” “And hopefully we can find a place where I can buy some credit for my phone.” Shannon reached inside her bag and felt around. Her usual cheery face suddenly filled with panic. “Oh shit, where’s my phone?” “It’s not there?” “No. Fuck!” “Take it easy, Shan. It’s probably back at the room.” “I hope.” We forgot the coffee, paid, then dashed back to our room where we searched bags, drawers, even under our beds, but Shannon’s phone was nowhere to be found. “Mick!” she slapped the bed. “Sorry?” I glanced up from the drawer I was rummaging through.
That morning back in Mykonos Mick had barged into our room with a cheery somewhat drunken, “Hello”, rousing Shannon and I before he collapsed and passed out on Shannon’s bed. “I bet it’s still under the pillow. Damn! I usually check—” “It may still be there,” I tried to reassure her. “Mick might’ve found it when he got up, or even housekeeping, and handed it in. Maybe they can send it over by ferry or something.” We hurried down to reception and told the guy behind the desk what had happened and he wasted no time making the appropriate phone calls. All we could do was wait. “You know, Daz,” Shannon told me through pursed lips and a heavy sigh as we climbed back to the room, “I seriously doubt I’ll get my phone back.” “You never know.” “But you know what? It could’ve been worse. I could’ve lost my passport.” “You’re right there,” I agreed, “but don’t worry, I know what’ll make you feel better.” “What?” “Retail therapy.” The twinkle in her eye told me I was onto something. We power walked back into town, but in our haste forgot to check one crucial aspect— the time. Siesta in Greece takes place between one and four. It was two-thirty and the streets of Parika, the capital of Paros, were silent and the shop fronts dark. It was obviously not the best time to indulge in retail therapy or any other form of therapy for that matter. Among the few shops that were still open was one that sold the latest in ladies gear. I followed Shannon in and as she browsed through various Tshirts gave her my uninformed male opinion. The sales assistant quickly realised that while my mouth might be in a constant state of motion, nothing much of value ever comes out of it. She then succeeded where others have failed by managing to shut me up and at the same time contribute more than I ever could. She picked out a T-shirt and showed it to Shannon, all the while looking at me and emphasising the slogan. Shannon was bemused and somewhat grateful at my sudden silence. The T-shirt proudly proclaimed, "All Men Are Pigs".
“Still want that cup of coffee, Shan?” “Sounds good. Maybe the other shops will be open by the time we finish.” “Maybe.” We found a waterfront jazz bar-cum-cafe and were about to enter when Shannon suddenly stopped. “Honeysuckles!” I eyed the small yellow flower she was holding. “What are honeysuckles?” “You’ve never heard of a honeysuckle?” “No.” “Then you’re missing out, Daz. Here, you have to try one.” Shannon handed me the flower. Following her lead, I twisted the stem and removed the flower’s stamen to reveal a drop of nectar. “Now suck the nectar.” I did as I was told and was pleasantly surprised. “Nice, huh?” “You’re right, I have been missing out.” I went back for another. After realising how cheap and silly we must have looked standing outside a perfectly good cafe eating flowers, we entered and were directed to a table at the front. Overlooking the Paros waterfront, I could imagine that on a good day the view from our table would be sublime. Under a blue sky the streets would be filled with the raucous cheer of locals and tourists, while the clear water’s surface would gleam in the sunlight. A thunderclap brought me back to reality. I shot a sullen glance over to Shannon who was shaking her head as she watched the thick grey clouds lumber overhead. Ironically, the song that was playing at the time was the Gershwin classic Summertime. We finished our coffee and continued our exploration of the town, only to find that everything was still bolted shut. It was late afternoon when shops began to open. We’d just walked past the port and were dawdling back to the hotel when we stopped at the sound of Shannon’s name. “Clarissa! Jamie! How you sexy chickadees doin’?” “Great,” replied Clarissa who was the taller and more tanned of the two girls. “How about you?”
“Fantastic, except I left my phone on Mykonos.” After a round of introductions, talk moved onto travel plans and stories. “What are you doing for dinner tonight?” Jamie asked. “We hadn’t really thought that far, had we Dazzler?” Shannon said. “How about joining us then?” Clarissa said. “We heard the restaurant on the corner has the best seafood on the island.” “Sounds good to me,” Shannon said. “What about you, Daz?” “I’m up for it.” “Great,” Clarissa said. “See you there at seven.” Dinner was excellent, but when we made our move to leave we were stopped by the manager. We were about to ask why when four servings of dessert and a carafe of wine were brought to our table. Dessert was on the house and the wine came with compliments from the table behind us. Between entree and main course, we’d struck up a conversation with the French patrons sitting at that table. Apparently, the fact that we were Australian and not British was enough to warrant their generosity. Once we’d finished dessert, drank more than our fair share of wine and bade our French friends “Au revoir” we left to see what Parika could offer in the way of a good time. Paros was not as cosmopolitan or as lively as Mykonos. By nature, the island was subdued, but still had its fair share of bars and clubs. We went in search of one in particular, an Irish pub known as the Dubliner, but it wasn’t long before we were scratching our heads and intently studying the map. We voted to ask the girl behind the counter at a nearby convenience store for directions. She studied our map, consulted her workmate in the back room, scratched her head, rubbed her chin, looked thoughtfully at the ceiling, popped her chewing gum, then pointed to a boat on the water and told us it was “down there”. We thanked her, exchanged Oh that went well glances, left the store and ran into a balding man who looked as lost as we were. “Excuse me,” he said. “My name is Hägen and I am looking for bars or nightclubs.” His accent was distinctly European. “Would you know of good places to go?” “No, we are looking for a bar too,” Shannon said. “You can join us if you like.”
“We can use my car,” Hägen offered. We eyed each other. Why not? our expressions said, knowing if this was anywhere else but the Greek Islands the last thing we would be doing is hopping into a strange guy’s car. We piled into Hägen’s car and closed the doors. I realised too late that Shannon still had her fingers in mine, so for the next fifteen minutes my vocabulary was reduced to one word: "Sorry". Even in a car we still could not find the mysterious Irish bar so we decided to cut our losses and settle on an American bar instead where we found the good time we had been looking for. In Shannon’s case, a good time and a bucket of ice. Unlike our heads, the sky had cleared by morning and while the sun was a welcome sight it was still causing more harm than good. It wasn’t until that prerequisite morning-after coffee that Shannon and I could face the day, in which we spent the first half shopping, a task made easier since most of the shops were open. “What time are we meeting the girls?” I asked. “Eleven-thirty.” “Oh.” Shannon followed with the next question, knowing exactly what my reaction would be: “And what time is it now, Daz?” “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, feeling chuffed, “just let me check my brand new watch.” My old watch had given up the ghost in Mykonos and while I thought I could survive without one I soon realised I couldn’t. “Why, it’s eleven o’clock!” Shannon smiled. “You love that watch, don’t you?” “Yes. Yes I do.” “But you’re right. Let’s head back to the port.” Shannon took a left and began to cut across town. Minutes later nothing in the area looked familiar. “Shan, do you know where we are?” “Yes.” “Where?” “I’ll tell you in a second.” A few turns later we were standing outside a Greek fast food
restaurant that also sold a decent selection of health food. “Here we are, Dazzler, right next to Goody’s. Told you I knew where I was going.” “Didn’t doubt you for a second.” We picked up the pace and arrived at the bus stop to find Clarissa and Jamie waiting next to the bus. Driving across the island, I noticed how different Paros was to Mykonos. The countryside was greener and the buildings, while typically Greek were more flamboyant. Each house was painted a different colour from its neighbour and the walls were covered in creeping bougainvilleas. When we reached Naoussa, a fishing village at the northern tip of the island, the morning-after coffee was wearing off and the four of us needed a second dose of caffeine. We spotted a cafe near the bus stop and while the girls stuck to either a latte or hot chocolate, I wanted something stronger and more traditional and so ordered a Greek coffee. “Are you sure, Darren?” Clarissa asked. “Yeah, surely you don’t need that much caffeine, Daz,” Shannon warned. “Trust me, I do,” I replied through a gaping yawn. “Didn’t sleep too well then?” Jamie said. “Shannon’s snoring kept me up all night.” “Yeah?” Shannon shot back, “Well I had to put up with someone farting all night long.” The girls cracked up. “Touché,” I said, laughing. When the drinks arrived I soon learnt that you don’t drink Greek coffee; you eat it. It looked like bitumen in a glass and I’m positive if you had any left over you could use it to tar a road, build a house or even seal that pesky leak in the roof. Once the girls had talked me down from the roof we had a look at what Naoussa had to offer. Like Parika and Mykonos town, its maze of alleyways were lined with shops painted a blinding shade of white. Like yesterday, we were unlucky enough to arrive in time for siesta. That left us without any option but to find a cafe—the only type of shop we knew would be open—eat some lunch and wait until it was time to catch the bus back. Back at Parika talk turned to plans for the evening.
“What you guys doing?” Shannon asked. “Packing,” Jamie answered. “We’re leaving tomorrow.” Clarissa agreed. “It’ll be an early one. You?” Shannon looked at me and I shrugged. “We don’t know yet.” After saying goodbye to the girls we returned to the hotel. “You know,” Shannon said, stretching out on her bed, “I’m glad we’re not having a big one tonight.” “Yeah, I know what you mean. I’d be happy to grab some dinner and watch a movie.” “I am so up for that. Good idea, Dazzler.” While Shannon and I may have been twenty-five going on twelve, sometimes we were also twenty-five going on sixty-five. After dinner we decided to get some snacks from the local supermarket to keep us company for a night of watching telly. Like Greek music videos, I was slightly confused after I’d wandered through the aisles. The marketing strategy employed by the supermarket was obvious: buy something and get something else free, but what that free product was intrigued me no end. Getting a free a bottle of conditioner with shampoo made perfect sense, but why any lady would want washing powder with a leather handbag was beyond me. And what use was a disposable fork with a 1.25 litre bottle of Pepsi? By the third day Shannon and I were ready to leave Paros, as were Phillip and Evelyn. Two days was more than sufficient time to spend on the island. When Shannon and I caught up with Phillip and Evelyn over breakfast we decided the best way to use the time we had left was to drive around on mopeds. Unlike Mykonos, hiring four mopeds on Paros was a breeze, but I still had to question whether they should’ve let me drive one. It wasn’t that I couldn’t ride a moped, but more because I couldn’t read the uncomplicated dashboard. Before we left Parika we were told to fill up with fuel, so we rode to the nearest petrol station where I had a second look at my petrol gauge on the dash. It was flashing. But I decided the reason my petrol gauge was flashing was because my tank was full, not for any other reason, so I didn’t bother to fill up. My excuse was—and still is—it was all Greek to me. Before visiting any of the beaches on the island we rode towards the Valley of the Butterflies. Our guidebooks told us that in summer you cannot
see the ground for the butterflies, but we were disappointed to find the reverse—a whole lot of ground and only two butterflies! “Hey, is anyone’s petrol gauge flashing?” I asked as we were about to leave. “No,” was the unanimous answer. Thankfully, it was mainly downhill to the next petrol station. The four of us were soon on our way to a beach called Golden Paradise, but by the time we’d gone halfway around the island we still had found no signs leading us there. This was strange because according to our map we should’ve passed the beach a while back. In the end we turned into Logras to figure it out and grab a bite to eat. Shannon and I decided that instead of wasting an entire afternoon looking for a beach that may not even exist, we would relax at Logras. Phillip and Evelyn continued their search. Before I left Venice I’d joked with my mates back in Oz by email that I was off to paradise. Riding back to Parika, I realised that this wasn’t just hyperbole on my part and for once an assumption I’d made did not make me look like an ass. Under the afternoon sun the beaches were radiant and the surrounding sea glistened. Even with such a marvellous view to keep us company, Shannon and I could not dwell on it too much because the ride back to the hotel was much more hazardous than expected. It was bad enough we had to contend with crosswinds and wayward insects, but I also had to be wary of Shannon’s hair ties that would occasionally appear out of nowhere and wallop me in the face. After breakfast the next morning Shannon and I hopped on our mopeds and made for the tip of the island in the hope to spend some time at the beach we saw when we were at Naoussa. When we got there we realised that the beach was much smaller than we remembered and the winds that were lashing the island made working on our tans—let alone trying to read— difficult and annoying. Shannon looked up from the map she was holding. “What do you say we fang it to Faranga?” “Let's go.” We never made it. Instead, when we passed the entrance to Bounda Beach we decided rather than continue to Faranga we would settle for
Bounda and that way increase our time spent on a beach. All we had to do was execute a U-turn. This was not a problem for Shannon who completed it with ease. For me, however, it was a completely different story. Starting the turn posed no problem. I could do that. It was completing the manoeuvre that was the trouble. When I started the turn I immediately knew I would not make it, but being the optimist that I am I didn’t stop. Before I knew it I’d met the rear end of a bus with a crunch. To make matters even more embarrassing, it was a Contiki bus. Thankfully, for the rest of that day nothing else went wrong. If only I could say the same for the next day. Apparently my unco-ordination was contagious and Shannon was unlucky enough to be infected by my lack of dexterity. By day’s end, if anyone had called us unco or clumsy we would’ve taken it as a compliment. The day started well enough. The hot water didn’t run out, breakfast was delicious and the sun was out. It would have ended pretty nicely too if we hadn’t decided to leave the hotel and chill at a beach. Seriously, what could possibly go wrong? What indeed. Since Shannon was the better rider we kept her moped and returned mine, which I did after using Shannon’s nail polish remover to get off some bus tyre marks and make other cosmetic enhancements. (I knew all that time working in an automotive refinish lab in England would someday come in handy.) We arrived at the supermarket to grab some drinks for our trip to the beach and I glanced over at the deli section. “Shall we get some stuff for lunch as well, Shan?” “Don’t worry about that. Let’s just buy a roll from Goody’s. It’ll be less hassle.” “I’m always up for less hassle,” I agreed. “We should leave the moped here. It’s a short walk and it’ll save you steering through the port.” “Great idea, Dazzler.” We’d walked most of the way to Goody’s when Shannon suddenly stopped. “Darren, you haven’t got the key, have you?” “For what? The moped? No, why? Don’t you?” “Shit! I must’ve left it in the ignition.” With panic rising we sprinted back to the supermarket, pushing
tourists and locals out of our way, all the while running scenarios through our heads, which of course made us run even faster. By the time we reached the moped, which luckily was still there, we were extremely out of breath and fairly sure we’d broken the world record for two hundred metres. “Daz,” Shannon said some minutes later, “I’ll take care of the driving. You take care of the keys.” “Deal.” But the mishaps did not end there. In fact they were just beginning. Soon after we started riding, Shannon lost a shoe, meaning we had to stop, turn around and go back for it. In the process we almost ran into a donkey that literally came out of nowhere. We retrieved the shoe, avoided the donkey and were once again on our way.