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did it wouldn t knock the smile off my face.
No more hits for you, Acid Boy let s go. Miller
grabs my shoulder and I upsize it to a hug.
I reckon Lars would love this garden, Miller says
with a laugh, and we make our way back to the U-Bahn,
stopping for some currywurst on the way. This time the
food tastes a whole lot better.
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PART 3
THE ISLAND
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oday is D-day. D for Dream-come-true or more
Tlikely D for Disaster. After cramming more new
experiences into the last month than I d had in the
previous hundred, we are heading south. Like the birds
seeking warmth. Literally. Miller, having ignored my
persistent protests that people don t mean it when they
say come on by if you re passing their way especially
when they live at the end of the line has sorted us
some early morning tickets to Athens using Jake s
frequent flyer points.
We have no phone number for Cali even if we wanted
to see how our imminent arrival might go down, giving
her the opportunity to feign her grandmother s death or
the island s swamping due to global warming. Miller says
if we get a bad vibe then we ll simply enjoy island hopping
like we d planned to do anyways. This despite us never
having mentioned such a possibility before neither of
us being particularly surf and sun dudes.
And though we have no real reason to rush down to
Antiparos, where Cali enjoys life oblivious to our plans,
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we agree that we can t really afford to hang in Athens
longer than passing through. Our combined euros are
down to just over a thousand.
I m glad we held off leaving until the guys had
returned from their music festival in Denmark, looking
years older but with great tales of music, drugs and
instant friends. Saying goodbye to Lars reminds me
how he s offered the possibility that my friendship with
Miller might not be just a one-off fluke or a passing
phase. Lars, in this short time, has also become someone
who just might miss me if I weren t around.
I hug him hard enough to show that I don t want
this to be a short-lived and easily forgotten connection,
and he says he ll stay in contact and it sounds real. We
thank Jarmo for putting us up, and just as we leave them
all standing out front of the apartment block and start
the walk to the subway that will get us to the airport
that could get us to who knows what, Miller calls out,
See ya, Tobias.
It s Toby! Toby shouts back, adding in his best Lars
accent, See you, Yet.
The flight to Athens is cram-packed with my day-
dreams, and the highest rotation one is our arrival at
Antiparos. Cali just happens to be sitting on the beach
by herself, looking forlorn, as the ferry drops me and
Miller off and Cali s delighted expression immediately
means this is not the stupidest idea ever.
The Tie Rack, Body Shop and Benetton stores, and a
bunch of other generic chain outlets, have followed us
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from Singapore airport to those in Amsterdam, Berlin
and now Athens. If we re greeted at Antiparos by a
Starbucks, I ll just about puke.
The Greek metro map offers the excellent news that
it will take us directly from Athens airport to the port of
Piraeus. On the metro I realise that Miller is no longer
the standout tourist but rather it s me, given my lighter
appearance. Miller, in fact, seems quite at home, except
when he s saying dank u wel or danke schön to the
ticket inspectors. They reply efcharisto . As Hallmark
insists, there are many ways to say thank you .
At Piraeus we check out the ferry vendors stalls and
discover that we need to get to an island called Paros
first and then catch another ferry from there to Cali s
Antiparos. The next ferry to Paros is not for a few hours,
so we decide to wander the streets and soak up the
local culture. Then find a Macca s. I m trying to mix it
up but I ain t going cold turkey.
A soft warm rain has started to fall, and umbrellas
appear from nowhere, though some of the pig people
with them still insist on walking under the covered
sections of the pavement. Most everyone is smoking,
possibly due to the anxiety caused by the anti-cigarette
billboards attempting to frighten the fuck out of them.
The streets are crowded, as are the cars. I see five adults
in a small sedan and it occurs to me how weird it is that
this appears weird.
Again, the McDonald s is right next to an internet
café. What are they assuming about us geeks? I suggest
Miller surprise me with something exotic to eat which
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is so unlike the last season as I make a quick check
of my emails. As I d half expected, still nothing from
Drina. I don t even know if the club has passed on my
message to her. Evan has written yet again, which really
surprises me, but the contents are much the same as
the other recent ones: IDS, IDS, IDS. Back at the home
of consistent dining, Miller has got us both something
called The Greek Mac, which is two burgers in a pita
pocket with yoghurt sauce, tomato, onion and lettuce.
Seems a perfectly reasonable combination.
In case the islands have the same infrastructure as
Gilligan s, we decide to grab some stuff from a small
old-fashioned supermarket we passed on our way from
the docks. It s sort of fun buying foreign brands of
deodorant and shampoo that haven t advertised you into
submission. Some tiny old Greek lady gets me to reach
for something for her and then, rather than offering an
efcharisto , actually rips the item out of my hand, drops
it into her basket and continues on inspecting the lower
shelves. As if I worked here. Not that that would make
it okay either.
I tell Miller, who wanders up behind the head-
to-toe-black-covered midget and slips a large box of
studded condoms into her basket. We make sure that
we time it so that we re behind the cranky old lady at
the checkout, and then give her our best judgemental
looks as the cashier pulls the packet of knob gloves out
of the basket. And while whatever the cashier with the
confused expression and diverted eyes says to the old
lady is all Greek to us, we enjoy every word of what
seems a totally awkward exchange.
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Even closer to the port is a small string of businesses,
and we decide to choose one to loiter in as the rain is
heavier now and the ferry still has an hour s rest before
heading for Cali. The best option is a small pool hall
that owes its existence, I assume, to bored tourists.
The attractive woman looking after the place changes
Miller s ten euro note into coins and says something to
him in Greek which he has to merely smile and nod his
head at. She switches smoothly into English and says
we can order coffee or beer. We go for the beer and
end up talking to her a while rather than immediately
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