It was past midnight. Christmas Eve had turned to Christmas Day and I was quickly losing any presence… of mind. Someone at the youth hostel had told me I should contact the Airport Police if I had any problems,

but when I asked for them, the Security guards said no such police existed!

Eventually it hit me and what had been only a flighting fear now took hold and challenged the reality of what I’d hoped for all these last 2 weeks while traveling the Mediterranean.

The truth finally broke: I was alone… in a strange land, no money, no friend, abandoned!

I lost it and I broke… into tears!

(Little did I know that only a few years later, this very room would witness greater tears than mine.

Japanese Terrorists allied with the PLF -Palestine Liberation Front, would pull machine guns out of their suitcases and massacre scores of travelers… right here!)

People tried to help me, but no more flights arrived and Arrivals was closing. They told me I had to leave.

But where could I go? A few shekels was all I had and everything was like the folk song, ‘Blowing in the Wind.’ Subconsciously, I stumbled outside and with my last coins and somebody’s help, I paid bus fare back to Tel Aviv.

We drove for what seemed an eternity. I sat and looked emptily out the windows into the darkness.

Then the bus stopped. The driver told me and a couple of Americans on board to get out: it was the end of the line!

I had no idea where I was, but I could tell it was about 2am in a very dark Arab part of the city.

No street lights shone to lighten my darkness.

The Americans started walking towards the train station in the north of the city to catch a train to Haifa,

so I figured I might as well walk with them, as it was in the same general direction as the hostel I’d stayed in.

None of us knew the way; we just followed whichever road seemed to lead north.

At one point, we met another group of Americans (why so many foreigners were wandering around dark Tel Aviv streets so early on Christmas morning, I’ll never know?) and they joined us.

One of them, a young 20-ish student, walked alongside me and asked me how I was doing?

I told her candidly: ‘Not good!’  and then my whole story of the last 2 weeks burst forth in all my confusion:

‘I’ve raced to Israel on $45! I was so close to winning, but now I’m broke – financially, emotionally, hopelessly!’

Her response surprised me. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘God will work this all out for good for you!’

I thought to myself: ‘That’s easy for you to say!’ but her faith and confidence exuded peace in the midst of my distress and I inexplicably felt a whole lot better. We continued walking.

Soon both groups of Americans went their separate ways and I walked alone again.

Not too far to the hostel though, and even if I didn’t have any money, maybe the caretaker I’d gotten to know over the last couple nights would let me stay even if I couldn’t pay?

But when I got to the hostel, no one was at the desk and the door inside was locked.

What to do? Plan B: climb up over the wall!

So I found a place where I thought I could hoist my pack up, throw it over, and then jump over after it.

Brilliant idea! However, I naively failed to consider some vital realities.

I threw my pack up and over, but it landed on the chicken coop, woke them all up and a furious uproar erupted!

3am: How do you quiet a bunch of squawking Israeli chickens in pre-dawn darkness on Christmas morning?

You don’t… and my predicament worsened: not only was my pack inside the compound, but as I tried to follow it over, my pants got caught on some barbed wire (set there to stop intruders like me?) and I was trapped.

I tried to hush the chickens, but a light came on and the watchman appeared to find me hanging over his wall! Mercifully, he recognized me and didn’t call the police. Rather, he let me retrieve my packsack, and although he couldn’t allow me to stay without paying, he directed me across the street where he said I could sleep quite safely.

‘Thieves and robbers shouldn’t bother you there,’ he assured me.

His ‘shouldn’t’ didn’t, and I wasn’t. But it was my only option.

I was exhausted, and so I found a place behind some bushes where I felt secure enough out of harm’s way.

I unrolled my sleeping bag, climbed in and with my jacket for a pillow, tried to get some sleep.

I did… only 3 or 4 hours; but when the sun rose, I did too.

8am the hostel opened and the caretaker allowed me to leave my packsack there till Check-in later in the afternoon. That freed me up to at least go for another walk. But where to?

‘It’s Christmas morning!’ I thought. ‘So why not head for the beach?’

I figured that would be west, simply opposite from the eastern sun-risings, so that was my direction.

I had no map, no idea of which streets led where. If a street went straight, I went straight; if it curved, so did I.

I simply went where I felt led because I had no idea how to lead myself.

After all, I was flat broke, 10,000 miles away from home and no one knew where I was, least of all me.

Christmas Day in Jewish Tel Aviv was like any other normal workday.

Shops were open. People were heading for work. I alone seemed to have no purpose, no real sense of direction.

But walking along one busy street, I suddenly heard my name called out of nowhere: ‘Henri!’

It was my French friend I’d met in Limassol, Gilles Noel (yup, his name just had to be ‘Christmas’) and his girlfriend, who’d told me about the student flight that already rescued me once.

They crossed the street and joined me.

‘So Henri, good to see you! Ca va? Did you get to meet your friend?’ he asked, all in one sentence.

I answered all in the negative and he sighed and replied,

‘Ah, c’est dommage! And you don’t know where is your friend? mais… you have no money left?

Again negative.

‘And so… you need money. Voila! I just changed money at the American Express.

  So here, you take this and when you can, you send it back, OK? n’est-ce pas?’

And he handed me a bunch of Israeli Lira.

I was so surprised with their kindness and I immediately felt a deep remorse for all the nasty things I’d ever thought, felt or said about those nasty Parisians.

‘Mais non… now I just gave you my money, so I have to change more… comprends?

  But you are not going anywhere, eh? Why not you come with us?’

For sure, I wasn’t going anywhere… so I followed along to the AmEx.  It wasn’t far.

We arrived and I sat down against a far wall while they got into the money-changing line.

But I noticed another line: travelers picking up mail from back home? AmEx offices used to office this service free! Out of nowhere, I sensed a voice clearly speaking what sounded like a preposterous idea:

‘It’s Christmas morning. You’re far away from home, far from anyone you know; and no one knows where you are,  

 yet it’s Christmas, and you should have a Christmas card, so get in that line!’

I protested: ‘Forget it… no one knows I’m here… in Israel, let alone at the Tel Aviv AmEx office.

There is no way there’s any mail for me, so voice: Be quiet!’

But the voice would not be silenced, it didn’t give up, but prodded me out of my seat and pulled me into the line.

About 10 people moved forward in front of me and as each approached the wicket and spoke their name, the teller looked down to the Poste Restante letters for their name and either handed them some or sent them away empty.

I felt out of place, awkward, embarrassed; the line moved forward… 4 – 3 – only 2 left and I readied myself

to turn back to my seat, out of the way, away from this ridiculously presumptuous impossibility!

And suddenly it was just me and that teller and the voice.

I stepped forward, weakly uttered, ‘Schmidt, Henry’ and turned away, not wanting to face further disappointment.

I’d already had enough of that for this Christmas.

But to my complete surprise, the teller looked down and looked back up at me… with an envelope in her hand.

‘Here’s one!’ she said.

And then almost in the same breath, ‘And another one too! It’s Henry, right?’

Totally baffled, I fumbled a feeble Thank you, took the outreached letters and walked back to my seat. I couldn’t believe it! No one knew I was here. I had no intention of coming to this office this morning on my walk to nowhere! But here I was, holding 2 envelopes with my name on them. I looked again: they were actually addressed to me!

I recognized my friend’s handwriting on both.

I opened the first and read how he had had to return home to Canada. I immediately felt consoled, knowing he was safe and our meeting here in Israel would definitely not be happening. 

I opened the second: also from him, a $50US bill with a note: My donation to the ‘Help-Henry-out-of-Israel Fund’.

Wow! In those few short minutes, I’d gone from destitute to plenitude. From nothing to everything!

Later that afternoon, I bought another ticket… this time to Athens where I further could access money sent for me.

My airline ticket cost $49.50! … I even had money left over!

My American friend’s words from a few hours before now spoke even more loudly in my heart:

‘Don’t worry: God will work this out for good for you!’

Somebody definitely had been working, connecting the dots to turn on the light and awaken revelation

And I now knew this much for certain: neither my intellect nor my own hand had worked this for good.

Someone much greater had worked this Christmas miracle for me, Someone connected with That Voice inside.

Who that was and my next steps would reveal that mystery.

 

A Christmas Odyssey II

 

All these changes happened so very quickly: I left for Rhodos that same afternoon, December 10.

My friend turned west while I headed east, in very opposite directions; but we agreed and hoped to meet up again.  The Kariskakis was not a ship, merely a large fishing boat, and my fellow passengers were no longer tourists, but Greek peasants. It was cold and we all hunkered down in the hull together, encircling the engine cover to stay warm.

It was noisy: the engine was loud enough on its own, but the gregarious Greeks shouted even more loudly to make themselves heard above its clanking and this all made for an even greater cacophony!

No one spoke English; one young girl spoke a little German, so we talked a bit. I sat in that hold quite stunned for much of the trip, but fled up on deck a few times just to get some breathing-room, both literally and figuratively.

I was at such a loss for a way to keep myself occupied that I even bought a pack of cigarettes, though I only smoked a couple and gave the rest away the next day. I was already counting the days till the 24^th would arrive.

We stopped in 3 other small islands along the way: no marinas or docking facilities, so they had to send smaller boats out to pick up and drop off passengers. I watched in amazement as the crew laid only a simple board over the choppy waves and people ‘walked the plank’ as it heaved and hoed between the two vessels.

Timing was absolutely crucial for their success: while one boat was riding the wave’s crest the other was bottoming out and the walk between the two was anything but secure. Athletic and youthful passenger-types even found it difficult to navigate this tumbling tightrope, but when a couple seasoned and pretty hefty Greek grandmas stepped up to cross over, they gave the heaving seas little more than a casual look and courageously bridged the gap! However, the last part of our voyage saw even rougher seas and as we huddled closer round the engine cover, the grandmas didn’t hide their dislike for sailing. They let it all out! Every time our boat heaved, their stomachs heaved also and pretty soon the stench in our common hold became quite unbearable!

…but it all made for a truly memorable journey!

That evening, we sailed into Rhodos harbour, through its Colossus remnants and windmills beating in the wind!

I didn’t know how long it would take to catch my next boat further east; some told me just till the next day?

I hoped it would be soon; after all, I was in a race to make it to Israel asap before the little money I had ran out!

I found Nikos’ Pension: cheap, less than $1/day and figured it should be good for however long it took.

Little did I know I was in for a much longer stay than what I expected! A pattern was beginning to form.

Rhodos is a very beautiful and intriguing city, surrounded by a Crusader castle wall; but I didn’t feel much into sight-seeing. A strong wind blowing out of Turkey turned everything very cold over the next few days and with central heating unknown in Greece, I found myself again huddling, around a space heater in Nikos’ common room.

Next day news? No sailings scheduled to Cyprus till next week, so I faced the prospect of having to over-stay my budget. A reliable ferry timetable proved hard to find: one Travel Agency promoted sailings which others claimed were non-existent! Prices conflicted too: some insisted Student Discounts were not valid on their boats while their brochures clearly affirmed the opposite? One said the ticket alone would cost $20, over ½ of my funds!

Plus, there was no reliable information as to whether Cyprus Immigration would even allow me into their country with such little money. Just getting off Rhodos before Christmas suddenly seemed highly unlikely, let alone making it all the way to Israel! Overnight, my $45 had shrunk to not enough?

Boston Paul, a friend in both the same pension and predicament, and I passed the days shivering and exploring:

the Castle of the Knights Templar of St. John, the beach with the wind-driven waves breaking high over the rocks; giant poinsettia trees dwarfing my memory of them as only Christmas flowers!

And the wind kept blowing… so cold we had to return to our pension and thaw out. Paul got very sick with a bad cold and never left his bed till we left. I was lucky and got through with only a few sniffles!

Niko let everyone use his kitchen, so I cooked my own food: spaghetti. He also had a bunch of cats around.

They crawled all over, even sat in the kitchen sink; especially one little black monster became an absolute pest!

Time dragged on and my money ran out. I tried to find a boat to Cyprus via Turkey? That route might be cheaper, but when I asked the tourist agencies, I was met with blank looks: Greeks didn’t want to give any business to Turks?

By Sunday, I was considering giving up, even taking a boat back to Athens?

But finally… good news! I actually booked and paid for a reserved ticket for Tuesday overnight passage to Cyprus, with a $1 student discount, and that same Knossos actually sailed as scheduled… with me on board!

I arrived Wednesday morning in Limassol. With my little money, Cypriot officials allowed me in for only 5 days. And I definitely had to be out by then. But at least they let me in! I figured that was no problem as Red Sea Travel in Rhodos had assured me boats left Cyprus for Israel every couple days. Oh really?... I soon found out otherwise.

No boat was scheduled till Monday and the cost: $22 = BIG problem: that price was more than I actually had!

With this info, everything now looked and felt strange: even the cars drove on the wrong side of road and they used shillings and pounds for money. But did that matter?... I didn’t have enough regardless of which currency in use!

I wondered what to do… so I went to the beach. And if lack of money wasn’t bad enough, a sudden rogue wave sneaked right up and soaked me! Only thing I could do? buy an ice cream cone and suddenly, everything felt better!

A few options surfaced: I could head north into Turkish-held Famagusta to try and catch a freighter?

Probably a cheaper way, but then I heard the port was on strike and many waited weeks for ships that never sailed.

At Mantovani Agency, a rumor surfaced that if boat capacity was already full, they wouldn’t take any more on?

 ... but then their agent offered to sell me a discounted ticket and I didn’t know if anything was true anymore?

I was tired, returned to the hostel, had a great supper and went to sleep.

Next day all my plans turned around.

The Egyptian hostel manager tended to be a legalist (some people just follow the book so stringently they become prisoners of their own narrowness) and insisted everyone leave for the whole day or pay 2 shillings, so I had to find a place to get out of the cold and how to get to Israel at the same time. I did and also met some new friends: a French couple just come from Turkey bearing captivating Mid-East travel stories, like discovering Cappadocian cave cities!

But they also bore bad news: Monday’s prospective boat was now postponed to Tuesday… and I’d be too late!

But then the best news: a cheap student flight was leaving from Nicosia for Israel earlier: on Monday…just in time!

Almost too good to be true? I called the hostel in Nicosia and Duncan, a fellow Canuck, confirmed it: True!

Next morning, I hitched inland to Nicosia. The rain poured, and I fled for cover to dry off in a roadside restaurant, the owner gave me free hot tea and a group of soldiers taught me the Greek alphabet and everyday phrases.

Things were looking up! One of them, Trifon, even helped me hitch from under the cover of his sentry post.

A Canada-UN police officer drove me right into the capital. I’m sure the Canadian flag on my backpack helped too!

I found the Nicosia hostel and in a short while I’d bought my ticket to Israel for Monday for only 5pounds, only slightly more than $5! It held all my hopes, and I held onto it tightly.

Only 1 remaining problem though: would Israeli Immigration now let me in with only $15 to my name?

I had 3 days to wait, so I checked out Nicosia. I walked the Green Line, dividing the city into warring Greek and Turkish factions. Cyprus was beautiful, but suffering. Barbed wire and burned-out car wrecks littered barricaded streets; it resembled a walled, divided broken Berlin. In the Turkish sector, Christian churches had their steeples knocked off and replaced by minarets, while in the Christian quarter, former mosques suffered a similar fate.

I stopped at the UN base and talked with Canadian soldiers from a Victoria battalion. They were not enthused with their peace-keeping work: watch Greeks on one side and Turks on the other and make sure no one crossed the line! It was sad to see such a small island: only 620,000 people (18% Turk + 80% Greek) unable to find peace.

Monday finally came. Issam, a Canadian student from Beirut, had a ticket on the same flight, and on the way to the airport, we stopped at the Israeli Embassy to verify they’d let me in with only $15? They assured me: No Problem!

Yeah… I’d heard that before? Issam covered our taxi fare to the airport and that helped me save some money!

We checked in and made it through the tight Israeli Security.

Our plane was rather old, a small, older, prop-driven antique, but I didn’t complain … it only cost $5!  

Just a 1-hour flight and we landed in Lod-Tel Aviv, Israel. Another hour and I was through Israeli Border Control. No problem…just like they’d said!

Another Canadian had agreed to vouch for me if need be, but here I was now in Israel, my destination, and I still had enough money to pay my bus fare to the Yarkon youth hostel…  and after that I still had $2.50 left. I felt rich!

And I was even 1 day earlier than planned, so I spent the next day in Tel Aviv markets and beaches and, believing my friend would surely arrive the next day -- with more money, I splurged for supper and almost spent it all…

except I kept enough to stay the last night at the hostel and catch the airport bus.  

Christmas Eve had come and I had reached my destination! People greeted one another with Shalom! All was peace.

I hung around town till late afternoon. I didn’t know his arrival time, but assumed it would be an evening Olympic Airways flight from Athens, so pocketing my few shekels, I boarded the bus to Lod.

I got there in plenty of time and found my spot right in front, facing the Arrivals door from Immigration., so I’d see him right when he came through, part of a steady stream of travelers which poured out that door that evening.

Jews were celebrating Hannukah and it seemed half of New York arrived that evening to be in Israel with their families. Planeload after planeload unloaded more and more. And I rejoiced with each happy reunion, looking forward to seeing my friend and his money. But the hours went by, my friend didn’t arrive, and I began to lose hope.

I pressed closer, trying to get a better view through a narrow window of who was arriving even before they actually exited. Sometimes luggage appeared first and I searched the packsacks for a Canadian flag.

I strained to see them, but no packsack and no friend. Finally, the flow of passengers stopped. And that was it!

The word was that no more planes would be arriving, especially no more from Athens. That was all for tonight?

But just when all seemed lost, through that narrow slit of a window, on the floor, I saw a backpack just like his, with a Canadian flag just like his. It lay there for an agonizingly long time and a young guy, who looked a lot like my friend, even blonde hair, came round the corner, picked it up and walked out, right towards me, but…

it wasn’t him!

My exuberant joy turned into extreme disappointment!

A Christmas Odyssey I

We had hitchhiked across Europe: around the Alps, through the Communist East and finally arrived in Greece: cleaner, whiter, warmer, musical Greece… da-diddle-da-da over and over again! 

The autumn sun shined brighter the further we headed south, and when my friend and I reached the Aegean, it felt like summer! 

But the political climate wasn’t that warm. Greece may have been the original birthplace of democracy, but it was no longer a democracy in 1970. A military dictatorship had deposed the constitutional monarchy; General Papadopoulos had overthrown King Constantine and age-old prophecies that a Constantine would once again reign in Constantinople-Istanbul faded into a fantasy past. Oh great! 

I’ve never been in a military dictatorship before: I wonder what that’s like! 

Right away I liked Greece and its culture: prawn feasts on the beach, cheap hotels, cheap wine, oranges to pick right off trees in the town squares! 

 We arrived in Athens, visited some of the sites I’d long read about in the history books, hiked around the Acropolis, toured the Parthenon, and also tried to discern the next step on the way to an even warmer destination – Israel. Maybe Kriti?... but we met a couple of travelers just returned from the eastern Aegean and they told us people were still swimming in Kos in December, so we decided to head for that island off the Turkish coast! 

Life is meant to be explored, enjoyed… even exhausted to the last drop if need be! Merely knowing our destination beforehand was not most important. The journey itself was the essence; each day in itself opened up a new destiny. 

We tired of Athens’ gray, smog-filled atmosphere and decided to leave for Kos as soon as we found a ferry. I’d never heard of Kos before, but somehow the schedule felt right – overnight, so we could sleep on board and arrive next morning, hopefully refreshed enough to check out the island in daylight. We got Student cards from a German Student Office – that would be useful later on! and checked out discount flights to Israel. I also bought a copy of Lord of the Rings and lazed around, reading in the Greek sunshine! 

Sometimes the best travel memories happen unplanned and one afternoon, we had quite the revelation of what lay beneath the surface of the seemingly serene Greek life. We’d been checking out the menu in the window of a rather fancy restaurant and gasping at their prices when a passing young man shouted, ‘Expensive!’ We nodded in agreement and ended up walking together with him for the next 5 blocks. 

A short distance, but we learned a lot. Never got his name, but he was from Kriti and had been looking for an interpreter job for the last 3 months in Athens… but no luck. 

‘Why no job?’ we wondered. ‘I’m too old,’ he said. 

 He didn’t look old, so we pressed him a step further, ‘How old is too old?’ ‘30’ ‘That’s not old!’ 

 And he then recounted his family story. During the war, his father had fought for partisans and now his name is recorded, and so are all his family, and none of them are able to get work under the new regime. ‘Have a nice trip. Adio!’ and he left us flabbergasted by his tale! 

It was hard to conceive of a social system which did not allow people to work because of a relative’s political involvement so many years before. Plus we were amazed at how he’d so freely confided this truth to us foreigners! 

We took the subway to Piraeus, bought our ferry tickets to Kos and boarded the Knossos. As our ship pulled out, we watched the diamond, emerald, ruby and sapphire necklace that was Athens slip away. Its lights disappeared; I had my first taste of ouzo and settled into our overnight deck-class airline-recliner seats. No staterooms for us; we’re travelers, not tourists! 

830 the next morning, the Knossos pulled into Kos. It was barren! only a few palm trees poked through what looked like Crusader castle ruins. We explored downtown: narrow streets; an old dried-up Turkish-looking fountain; a few minarets still standing amidst ancient Greek columns scattered randomly in the now vacant fields. The people seemed friendly and we stopped to eat our breakfast: bread, cheese and wine, among the ruins. 

Unfortunately, our overnight seats on the boat hadn’t left us much refreshed for the day ahead. Nor were we much prepared for camping out. We had sleeping bags and a portable propane cooker for food, so we bought spaghetti, potatoes, and onions …but what about water on this island? We filled an empty pop bottle and the Tourist Info guy assured us there was plenty of water along the south coastal route, but the further we hiked the less water we found. 

We’d wanted to camp on the beach to save money, maybe even go swimming? After all, we’re in a warmer Greece! Where’s your sense of adventure, guys? So we chose the dusty-dirty road less traveled. And there were definitely fewer people that way, eventually even none! 

Our road soon became a one-lane path, then a dirt rut, suitable only for goats and donkeys? 

And then it led to a fork: either follow along the edge of the cliff or down to the beach. 

We left the path and headed for the beach. That worked well until the beach ran straight into a rock face jutting out into the sea, stopping any further progress. So… back to the path, up and over the cliff and back down again. 

This time we descended to a beach in a deserted cove, surrounded by fantastic rock cliffs and wind-weathered caves. It was a postcard-perfect beach, except for one lone building, squeezed up against the rock face. A good place to camp for the night, eh! We were both tired from walking, must have covered a couple miles in 3 hours since we’d left the town, so we decided to stay there. 

We checked out our beach: couldn’t see anyone around. 

All the house windows stood closed and shuttered. We called out to anyone around, but … no answer. Most likely our English scared them off if they were… or more likely, our lousy Greek! The beach was bare… no sand, only rocks: small, smooth, black rocks; and around us, only a stark, treeless cliff. 

On closer inspection, the building wasn’t just a house, but more like a summertime bodega or Greek cantina …a confectionary beach house? And now summer was over and both clients and proprietors had moved back to their villages for winter. I thought: a ‘Magus house’? It was empty…or was it? 

All around us was lots of water… but the Aegean, beautifully blue and clear, was still salt water and although we tried hard and long, we were unable to get the water to boil and cook our pasta! 

To tell the truth, we couldn’t even get a steady fire going in the even steadier wind either! 

Maybe there were some goodies left in the house to sub for uncookable pasta? 

Or perhaps there might even be taps inside and we could get some good water to make good pasta? 

All we had to do was get in through one of the shutters? 

It didn’t take long and we found one with a loose hinge that didn’t quite hold together when slightly forced. Just a little extra prying and it came off … just like that – almost on its own!

And in a few minutes, we were inside a dark basement of what appeared to be a now empty restaurant. Smoking has its advantages… at least you carry matches. So I scratched one up against the plaster wall and as the paper match flickered and failed, we could see nothing of value to augment our camping needs: only a couple pots and some firewood. We used up a few more matches to search out the darkest corners, when suddenly a sharp ‘Crack!’ outside shattered the silence. 

‘What was that?’ We looked at each other in shock. 

Our matches all burned out, we timidly edged from the darkness towards the light outside our broken shutter. Our illicit entrance had become our only exit and we wondered what ominous form might now confront us there. We peered out the window slit as inconspicuously as possible: high up on the cliff behind us stood a silhouetted figure, both feet planted solidly atop the rock, looking down on us, holding a rifle across his chest!  

We froze! 

 Not exactly what you want to see in a country ruled by a right-wing, fascist-like, shoot-first and ask questions later military dictatorship. It felt like trouble… deep trouble! 

We watched the mysterious figure, but I felt he was more watching us… our every move. His eyes seemed to sense our every shiver, but we were unable to see any of his shadow-covered face. 

 Five minutes seemed like an eternity as he stood there, without moving… and neither did we.

 And suddenly he disappeared, just like he’d first appeared! Retreated into the sunset… or did he? 

 And was that a gunshot we’d heard? Was he military? Police? 

We knew we were definitely in the wrong. 

Was he now making his way down the cliff to apprehend/arrest us? Was he only 1? Were there others? Would we have to fend off the whole Greek army? What were those whistles? 

Other such fantastic and ridiculous thoughts raced through our minds. We both realized we had to quickly get out of the building, so we hoisted one another up through the window and replaced the broken shutter on its broken hinges to hide our trespass as well as we could.

By now the shadows had lengthened against the setting sun and we hid ourselves under their cover for a time, waiting to see if our ‘friend’ would reappear. Cooking supper was no longer a priority and we settled for a meal of raw carrots and cucumbers - a quickie Greek salad with some very salty half-cooked potatoes. Our unknown ‘friend’ did not make himself known, so we tried gathering peace and wood to get a fire going. 

Everything happened quickly. 

The sun went down quickly… a red ball behind the black Turkish mountains. 

The wind rose quickly from off the Aegean and it quickly grew chilly. 

The only thing not ‘quickly’ was our fire. Our boy-scout fire-starting skills weren’t very skillful (we hadn’t even thought to bring any paper) and with the gusting wind, our every effort proved futile. 

So…scratch the fire. 

It was dark and we were on a deserted beach, but unsure if we were indeed alone by ourselves? 

Out came our reserve chocolate bar… an excellent resolution to any threadbare meal and fearful situation! We both felt better instantly! Only ice cream could have made it better! 

We talked: shared our concerns about the stranger; and after a while concluded we were more the strangers and he was the island’s resident! Amazing what a change in perspective does for truth, eh? Even in small doses! Nothing better to do: no movies to watch, no games to play or books to read, so we just sat on the beach, gazing out in the darkness across the sea, entirely lit up in the moonlight… a shimmering, idyllic perfection! 

We called it a day and climbed into our sleeping bags on a beach pebble mattress with rock pillows. Next morning, we woke with the sun: groggy but awake. Surprisingly, we’d both had quite a good sleep! Our ‘friend’ had thankfully still not reappeared and the wind had died down, but not before it had loosened my sleeping bag stuff-bag during the night and blown it away! But my bag was bright blue and I figured it should stand out against the tan beach and cliff and shouldn’t be too hard to find? 

It couldn’t have gone very far, for only 100 yards further, the beach ended in that massive cliff jutting out into the sea. But I couldn’t see that bright blue anywhere against those bleak brown rocks? 

Perhaps it had blown around the cliff and was waiting for us to find it on the other side? 

So we took off our shoes, waded out in the water, skirted the cliff...and that’s when we made our amazing discovery! Walking close to the cliff, the water felt much warmer! 

And instead of my stuff-bag, we found bubbles bubbling up from under the cliff’s base. 

I put my hand up against them: they were hot! Really hot! Right away, the light came on for both of us! We started pulling rocks away from the cliff, dammed a separate pool and in minutes, the bubbles had become a pool of steaming water. And soon we had -- our own hot tub! 

Our search for my stuff-bag had led us to our own Fountain of Youth; we stopped just looking and jumped in! It was wonderful: must have been 110 degrees! and when it got too hot, we’d just pull ourselves over the pool’s edge and chilled in the chillier Aegean. 

We spent the whole morning in our own private hot springs! Some Greek fishermen passed by. We waved; they shouted in approval! We were kings in our own private resort! 

I forgot about finding my stuff-bag; in fact, never did find it: but didn’t really miss it compared with what I did find! 

 (Many years later, Erica and I sailed past Kos again, right past our beach and wouldn’t you know it? someone had opened a Hot Springs Resort in that very spot! Guess we should have had more of a developer-entrepreneur vision! Years later I sailed by again, on my way from Patmos and …more development! We might have been millionaires!) 

But back to my story… 

That morning I realized I no longer needed to measure time on my wrist and I left my watch there on the beach. 

But we also couldn’t spend all our lives or even all our trip in this Eden. We needed to move on: we needed food! So… we walked back to Kos-town, bought supper, got a cheap hotel, and that’s when my friend decided he needed to turn around, go back to Athens, get some letters he’d missed and clear up some unfinished business. So we agreed: he would return to Athens while I continued by boat to Israel. In a couple weeks, after he’d done what he needed and picked up money for both of us, he’d then fly to Israel and meet me there on Christmas Eve. 

We pooled and split our resources: I got $45US to last me over my next 2 week journey. 

My prospective itinerary: get a cheap boat to Rhodos and another boat to Cyprus and then all the way to Israel? Sounded good… but would this $45 be enough for my travel, food and lodging expenses for all those 2 weeks? 

Even at 1970 prices, this mony would have to stretch a long ways to make it so long so far! 

I penned this on leaving: 

Of Kos 

With pain and death in the one hand 

And joy and life in the other 

He walks amid the valleys of our minds 

Seeking meadows to receive His Seed; 

Sowing children for love’s growing hope, 

Reaping the aged: seeds of springtimes past, 

Searching out the youth which sleeps 

Within the willows’ grasp, 

Unaware of His close passing. 

Prisoners of the reeds – We struggle. 

Raised upwards to the sunlight, 

Tenderly kissed with rain – We grow. 

And eagerly reaching for a greater part of all, 

We strike out on life’s highway

 In quest of Elysian Fields 

Somewhere in the future, 

Oblivious to the warmth of His Presence. 

Passing lonely winter hours within canyons of self-doubt 

Or lengthy summer afternoons in citadels of self-confidence, 

We dwell among the feasting and the starved, tread upon the clover and the thorns 

Feeling their pleasure and there pain, 

Inflicting ourselves on those among the grasses 

Ignorant of life’s final sting. 

Of the stream, we drink its crystal waters, 

Yet think nothing of the life we take. 

Of the tree, we eat its golden fruit 

And feel only the void filled within our-selves. 

From selfish joy to unknown pain, 

Fate blows us from our course. 

Our rafts lie wrecked upon islands of ego, 

And we, stranded, gaze longingly ‘cross The Pacific, 

Seeking out the albatross to bear our burden and the eagle to bear our selves 

Homewards to security. 

Frightened, we hide 

Within fortresses of isolation, 

While seas boil ‘round us 

And wait… 

Till the wall is breached and the tide rushes in 

And the blood runs warm from the open wound; 

A soul weeps crimson In pain we pray 

Begging trees to wash our sorrow free 

And once again reveal the joy which we no longer see. 

Clinging to pillars of our past 

We are swept up by waters, 

Tossed high from wave to wave 

And finally thrown upon shores unknown, 

Soft with a mother’s sigh. 

And there against the cliff – a new-found land, 

We meet Our selves Within His eyes – 

The image of sense within Imagination. 

From the rocks resound His Word, 

Above us are the gifts He holds on high, 

Wrapped in love’s rainbows, 

Embraced in bonds of truth and understanding. 

Life and death 

We behold but a breath Apart, 

Within His Hands they are as one: 

Natural complements our souls need not fear, 

Each the merciful fulfillment of the other 

Revealed as history continues to unfold And men live and die and live again – 

Brilliant flowers on the human landscape.