May 13, 2012
We were now on a roll when it came to visiting ports and today was not going to be an exception. The dock at Rhodes, Greece did not do too much to excite the imagination, but across the main road there was the wall of the ancient city only a few minutes’ walk. Tim was back in action today so our gang of four was now five. And then we were six, as Alrico, our South African production dancer, met us on the dock. Our expanding roving troupe dodged the traffic and headed into the old city. Once inside, I was struck by the counterpoint of the ancient and beautiful buildings and structures with the modern bustle of shop, café’s, and people. We all agreed that food would be the first order on the agenda today and so we headed straight for the center of the plaza. Even before we made it there, though, we lost Iaroslav. He felt he was long overdue in Skyping his mom and with laptop in hand stopped at the very first restaurant he saw that advertised free WiFi.
Moments later, as we entered the town square, the shouting started. No, we had not walked into a local protest, but instead into the maw of the competing vendors each trying to entice you to patronize his restaurant. It was the most aggressive sales approach I had ever seen. From each direction people were shouting and quickly closing the gap on the five of us trying to get us to sit at their restaurant. Tim was still not feeling in top form and was not taking kindly to the verbal assault. I quickly backed them off by loudly announcing that the first person who stopped yelling at us would probably get our business. True to my word I identified the first person who complied and we headed to his restaurant. That didn’t stop the other vendors who were now shouting criticisms at us for our poor choice. Our choice was the Parrot Cafe and two noisy and colorful birds squawked at us as we entered the outdoor seating area. We were very hungry when we took our seats, and unfortunately let our hunger direct our choices as we ordered WAY too much food. To top it off the experienced travelers among us said that we each must order a ‘Boot’ of beer. This is a local custom, here, and it is beer poured into a glass the shape of a boot. A boot, I might add, that could have matched the shoe size of Andre the Giant! My best guess is that this was the equivalent of 4 to 5 bottles of beer in this glass.
The meal commenced and the hilarity level was increased by the efforts to drink from the Boots. The trick is to drink it without an air bubble forming in the toe of the boot which would cause a mini-eruption of beer into one’s face when you attempt to tip the glass back down. This was not just a meal, it was an adventure. More pictures were taken of people drinking from these Boots than of any historic, cultural, or natural wonder on this itinerary. We never quite succeeded in either emptying neither one of our Boots nor the plates of food on the table. But the owners knew a good thing when they saw it, as we had obviously contributed mightily to their profit margin that day. A complementary round of ouzo arrived at our table and we toasted our friendship and fond memories.
Then there were the parrots. I told you this was the Parrot Café guarded by two of the avian sentries. As we departed the waiters offered us pictures with the parrots, which I guess will happen when five people spend close to 200 Euros on lunch. I was game and decided to convince Paola to do the same. She agreed, reluctantly, but only later did I realize how terrified she was of having the parrot on her shoulder. I also imagine that the bird’s claws on her bare shoulders were probably not the most comfortable moment of her life. After several more group pictures we found a quaint back alley out of Rhodes to the ship.
There were also the accordion players. It is sad when people in a nation need to beg for donations in some way. However, it takes on a strange twist when those who are begging are small children . . . playing accordions! Given the fact that there was one at every intersection and on every corner you expected to see Fagan from Dicken’s Oliver Twist hiding around a corner. I felt sorry for the children, but never quite reconciled this bizarre accordion addition with the typical picture of poverty.
And the adventure continues . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment