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 24th
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!
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