I met up with Doug after lunch and we spent a couple of hours talking with several pipe vendors in the Bazaar. Doug finally picked one and began serious negotiations. I enjoyed the banter so much that it was impossible for me to keep composed while negotiating. I inevitably started to laugh at some point; the whole experience was so different from buying something in the States. I had to walk away occasionally for fear of having our Turkish pipe dealer kick us out. I let Doug continue the battle while I looked for something to drink. I finally found something in a bottle, presumably safe to consume, and sat down on some folded rugs being readied for shipment. A Turkish teenager sat down beside me.
He leaned over and said, “English, my name is Zeheb. I am like golden for you; I have just what you want; you need to come with me, and I’ll show you.”
Caught off guard, I asked him, “And what do you think I want? We’ve never talked before.”
“English, you like the women, don’t you? I have a woman for you. She is just right, perfect for you.”
“Really, right here, in the middle of the bazaar, you have a woman? What are you trying to sell me? No, no.”
“English, this girl is beautiful; you won’t be sorry.”
“Listen, Zeheb, I’m leaving Istanbul later today on my way to Athens. So sorry,” I replied, trying to end the conversation.
“Not just for an hour, English. This girl is yours forever for the right price. I want to sell her to you; she is my sister.”
“Are you crazy? You can’t sell your sister.” I thought with horror of my sisters at home.
“Yes, English, I can. I already sold one sister last week. Now, do you have $50? I will show her to you.”
“No, I don’t want to buy your sister! I have to go and meet my friend, sorry,” Exasperated, I got up to leave.
“How about your friend, would he want a woman? Or if not, English, maybe you want a Kalashnikov?”
“Do you mean a Russian machine gun?”
“Yeah, English, just like brand-new with many, many ammo for you.”
By the time I was able to extricate myself from Zeheb, I was offered four different kinds of animals, three of which I believed were on the endangered list. One of them needed a cage, which he said he didn’t have, but if I bought right then all I needed to do was just give him twenty minutes, and he’d find one for me in the Bazaar. Zeheb was persistent; you must give him that.
Doug had found me and handed me a bag with a couple of pipes he had bought for me, and even returned some of my money. Doug was apparently a very good negotiator.
As we walked through one of the huge doors leading out of the Grand Bazaar, I turned around and stared for a minute or two. This truly was a different world. I couldn’t imagine another place as interesting, exotic or potentially dangerous. For thousands of years, some of the most fascinating characters in the world had bought, sold and stolen almost anything and everything inside those walls.
We rushed back to our hotel to pack for our trip to Athens. Looking at the pile in front of me I knew I had to decide about my clothes. I still had two bags I was dragging around on my shoulders. I had abandoned a few things in our Paris hotel room, but it didn’t make any sense to carry around what was left. I again had to make some tough decisions as I departed my hotel room, to discard another sport coat, some dress slacks and more than a couple of starched dress shirts. Although my big duffel bag was now considerably lighter, I still grimaced when I had to carry it for any length of time. My smaller carry-on also had gotten a little more awkward with the purchase of the 14” x 8” sketchbook
After checking out we taxied to the train station. We got some good news when we bought tickets; apparently, we could even get our own compartment. The bad news was we had to hang around until 9:30 p.m. when the train was scheduled to depart.
Athens
I have always dreamed of going back in time,
to a point in history where I could see
what all the words in all the history books
I’ve ever read really meant.
Now I was truly traveling back in time to Greece; home to Athens, Sparta,
the Trojan Horse and
Helen of Troy, by chance?
5.
The Night Train to Thessalonica
9:30 PM, April 20, 1970
The Athens Express streamed through the Greek countryside as I gazed with wonder out my open window. In the thick darkness I could feel the pulse of history throb in this ancient land. By now we were far from the oppressive bleakness of Yugoslavia and Bulgaria. We had left Istanbul the day before, and although our compartment was full, the trip had been, thankfully, quiet so far. The calm was a much-appreciated change from our days on the Orient Express.
While having a cigarette in the hallway, I heard a conversation that was somewhat concerning; our days of peaceful travel were in danger of ending. There had been another coup in Greece, and the military was in charge again. I wondered what that might mean for us.
Despite my new worry, I was feeling reborn, remembering my joy earlier in the day as I watched the sun-drenched landscape glide past. The morning had flown by as I surveyed the small, white, sun-drenched buildings peppered among pale ancient ruins, winding in and around picturesque olive and fig groves.
I called our train the Athens Express, but it was in no hurry. Distinctively highlighted with unusually colorful markings, its flamboyant exterior was in stark contrast to its very sluggish route. We stopped, it seemed, at every small town on the way, and although Istanbul to Athens isn’t that far, our trip was expected to take thirty-six hours. But there was an unexpected peacefulness to the slow train heading south and I enjoyed the relaxed pace.
Perhaps it was because I had made my peace with the inevitability of deciding, once in Athens, that my great adventure was over. I would explore options, but with my diminished funds, those options were few. Without a plane ticket home, I’d have to make my way to Luxembourg and then home from New York somehow soon.
One of the conductors walked by, announcing something in Greek. I glanced at him, confused, and he stopped and turned to look at me. He gazed at my face, sizing me up, deciding whether I deserved a translation. After two seconds he turned away and walked down the corridor. Whatever nationality I was, I wasn’t worth his time of day.
Although I didn’t understand most of what he called out in the car, I did hear the name of the Greek city of Thessalonica. Our map told us it was one of the biggest cities in Greece, so Doug and I assumed we would stop there.
I felt the train slowing a little. As Doug woke up from a nap, I told him I thought we were pulling into a station.
“Good, we can exchange some money. The heck with these Turkish lire; let’s get some Greek drachmas.”
Just about then, our conductor, let’s call him Zeus, came back, and Doug stopped him to ask how long we’d be in Thessalonica. Well, Zeus didn’t want to be interrupted, and even though Doug was obviously English-speaking, Zeus immediately started waving his hands above his head and yelling unintelligible words that sounded like Greek numbers. Doug asked him a couple of times, “You’re saying a two-hour layover, right?”
I thought Zeus was agreeing, yes, two hours. But Doug was unsure as the train pulled to a stop in the very large modern station.
We walked one