Every day, Ken and I take an hour (or two) walk. Sometimes it includes "settling-in" destinations (e.g., bank, Fulbright office, translation agency, etc). More and more, though, we just head in a new direction away from the apartment, checking out what is happening in the 'hood for ordinary Greeks. (We have yet to intentionally visit any tourist attractions.)
Today we walked for about an hour on a street we hadn't tried before, then turned toward what we thought might lead us to a park. We weren't entirely sure, because we had walked far enough that we were no longer on our map. We found what could have been part of the park we were looking for and meandered through it, exiting in a direction that seemed reasonable in terms of heading back toward the street we had started from.
In the way of Greek side streets, we zigged and zagged a bit, having little adventures along the way. (We saw an elderly woman who was walking with a cane up a very steep hill, carrying a full bag of groceries. When she put down the bag and stopped to rest, I offered--in sign language--to carry it for her. As we walked, Ken engaged her in conversation, learning that--so he thought--her husband was 20 years younger than she. Later he realized she really said he had died 20 years earlier! Here's the two of us. How old do you think she is?--answer at end of blog.)
Then, more quickly than Ken expected, we came to a major cross street we knew the name of. We had walked on it for quite a distance a few days earlier, as it is the closest cross street to the street we live on. Elated, we turned toward our apartment, imagining it was less than a mile away. (We were also getting hungry, as it was past lunch-time, and Ken doesn't have much fuel stored.)
When, several streets later, we passed a large produce market having a sale on oranges (.48 Euro per kilo, or about .30 per pound) we bought the standard sack, which turned out to be 10 kilos. No problem, we thought, we're less than a half-mile from home. We lightened the load by eating half-a-dozen and then started trudging up a hill toward an even steeper hill. "But," I said, "we know this street--we walked all over it yesterday. Where is such a steep hill close to home?"
Ooops. We had turned left instead of right onto this street and for the last half-hour had been heading further away from our apartment--now with over 20 pounds of oranges. But look! We're right opposite a bus stop for the #730--which we have seen at our end of this street! And, hooray!--here comes the bus!
Ooops. You need a ticket to get on the bus. Where does one get the ticket? Not enough time to find that out--bus pulls away. Ken approaches kindly stranger who describes the shop that sells bus tickets. Only four blocks away right near the next bus stop. Miracle! We get the tickets just in time to take the next bus. We know we'll recognize our stop because we've seen the bus drive down our street.
Ooops. As we get closer to our area, there are many one-way streets set at odd angles to one another. Our bus makes several interesting turns, too quickly for Ken to find the street names (not always prominently displayed) and then find them on the map. The bus finally turns onto a street that may be parallel to ours (which we now belatedly remember is one way in the wrong direction). When we decide we are close to where we need to go, we get up....ooops!, how to signal the driver to stop? Oh, well--the next stop will have to do.
At last we get off on a street we know well, only 6 blocks from home, having mastered several new survival skills.
(She's 79, she tells us proudly. I forebore from telling her I was only 10 years younger.)
Today we walked for about an hour on a street we hadn't tried before, then turned toward what we thought might lead us to a park. We weren't entirely sure, because we had walked far enough that we were no longer on our map. We found what could have been part of the park we were looking for and meandered through it, exiting in a direction that seemed reasonable in terms of heading back toward the street we had started from.
Then, more quickly than Ken expected, we came to a major cross street we knew the name of. We had walked on it for quite a distance a few days earlier, as it is the closest cross street to the street we live on. Elated, we turned toward our apartment, imagining it was less than a mile away. (We were also getting hungry, as it was past lunch-time, and Ken doesn't have much fuel stored.)
When, several streets later, we passed a large produce market having a sale on oranges (.48 Euro per kilo, or about .30 per pound) we bought the standard sack, which turned out to be 10 kilos. No problem, we thought, we're less than a half-mile from home. We lightened the load by eating half-a-dozen and then started trudging up a hill toward an even steeper hill. "But," I said, "we know this street--we walked all over it yesterday. Where is such a steep hill close to home?"
Ooops. We had turned left instead of right onto this street and for the last half-hour had been heading further away from our apartment--now with over 20 pounds of oranges. But look! We're right opposite a bus stop for the #730--which we have seen at our end of this street! And, hooray!--here comes the bus!
Ooops. You need a ticket to get on the bus. Where does one get the ticket? Not enough time to find that out--bus pulls away. Ken approaches kindly stranger who describes the shop that sells bus tickets. Only four blocks away right near the next bus stop. Miracle! We get the tickets just in time to take the next bus. We know we'll recognize our stop because we've seen the bus drive down our street.
Ooops. As we get closer to our area, there are many one-way streets set at odd angles to one another. Our bus makes several interesting turns, too quickly for Ken to find the street names (not always prominently displayed) and then find them on the map. The bus finally turns onto a street that may be parallel to ours (which we now belatedly remember is one way in the wrong direction). When we decide we are close to where we need to go, we get up....ooops!, how to signal the driver to stop? Oh, well--the next stop will have to do.
At last we get off on a street we know well, only 6 blocks from home, having mastered several new survival skills.
(She's 79, she tells us proudly. I forebore from telling her I was only 10 years younger.)
No comments:
Post a Comment