The decision to venture to Athens came at a whim. I was sitting in an internet café in the Prenzlauer Berg section of Berlin, a neighborhood comparable to New York’s lower east side circa 1992 (on the verge of trendiness yet still a place of bohemian, underground thrills) when the travel bug hit. I felt a chill as I stared out the window watching the rain beat down cold and hard on Kastanienalle (the main drag), and decided I needed to head to somewhere warm, at least for a few days. As always I was working on a tight budget, and Italy proved to be out of my reach at the moment so I figured I might give Greece a shot and check some prices. I searched for tickets on a few budget airlines when I came across some ridiculously cheap tickets to Athens that left the next day. It would be a rushed departure, but then again the best ones usually are.
I called a few of my travel buddies that were in Berlin to see if any of ‘em were interested in going, but they had other plans, but I figured screw it, I’ll roll the dice and go it alone. I booked the tickets then found a cheap hostel only a few block s from the city metro called Aristoteles Hotel; it was only about 25 Euros a night for a private room with a bathroom, and not a bad deal at all. The rest I would leave up to chance, and in this mindset I jumped on the 52 Tram to head down to Oranienburger Strasse in the city center for a few pints, filled with reckless anticipation.
The following morning, I got my things together which included some non-perishable foods (trail mix, salami, even a chunk of hearty German bread) plus a bottle of good ole’ West Indies white rum, which would save me a few bucks on chow when I got to Greece. I hopped the commuter train out to Schoenefeld Airport, shuffled through security, then set up shop near the terminal with good a book to pass the time while waiting to board. Across from me two girls sat down and began a loud, animated conversation in English. They weren’t Brits, definitely Aussies or Kiwis, which is always a good sign as every Australian or New Zealander I’d ever met on the road has always been affable and up for good conversation and late nights at the pub. A few minutes later I noticed they were struggling to ask a stewardess something through broken German. I figured now’d be a good a time as any to introduce myself as I spoke decent German, it seemed a perfect icebreaker. They turned out to be great people – fun, friendly, and spontaneous and I decided I liked them immediately. They invited me to sit with them on the plane and so, my solo trip kicked off with some new faces and stories. This is of course one of the joys characteristic of traveling alone: you meet far more people because you’re not in that comfort zone as when traveling in a group – you’re more outgoing and adventurous than usual out of necessity. It’s a sure fire way to kick your own ass into social gear and for me it has always brought only favorable results. You tend to learn more about other people because you find yourself talking to strangers all the time, and more importantly you tend to learn a helluva-lot more about yourself. I remember hearing a quote from Socrates run through my head as I boarded the plane with these new faces: “The unexamined life is not worth living”. I suppose this stuck out to me suddenly because of my destination, among other things (I had used the quote in a paper only a few weeks earlier) but somehow I’d like to think it was because of something deeper than that.
After we landed, they gave me the name of the hostel they were staying at and the three of us decided to meet up for dinner the next night. We parted and I hopped on this newly completed rail system that takes you all the way into the city center for only about 5 Euros. From there I was able to transfer to the Athens Metro, which reminded me a lot of the Washington, DC metro in that it was easy to understand, impeccably clean, and safe. When I arrived at my station (Omonia) it was already fairly late, almost midnight, and the hostel was at least a 5 minute walk through a confusing mess of poorly lit and vaguely marked streets. I was approached a few times by some local vagrants around the metro, which for a moment put me a bit on edge, but they seemed fairly harmless. Plus, being a kid born ‘n raised in New York, I had dealt with my fair share of hoods back in my wilder punk-kid days hanging out down at the local train yards or on the Bowery, so I wasn’t too shaken. Besides, I was too damn excited to really care too much about anything else; I was walking past courtyards lined with palm trees, while that beautifully salty-sweet Mediterranean air was filling my lungs, and the moon shone brightly through a mist of clouds covering this strange new place with a heavenly aurora. I was feeling very good.
On the way to the hostel I stopped by a corner convenience store and grabbed a bottle of cola which would come in handy with all the rum that was sloshing around my pack waiting to be cracked with dinner. When I left the store, I saw that my hotel was just across the way and practically skipped the rest of the way there. That is probably the greatest magic to arriving in place that is totally foreign to you - you're suddenly a child again. Everything is immediately as new as the world is to a five year old: you can't understand anyone around you, finding a metro station or a hostel is a task, even buying a pack of smokes or ordering coffee becomes an adventure.
I checked in without too much trouble and clomped up the stairs with my rucksack all wild haired and sporting a huge grin, looking like some crazy beatnik that just hopped off a cargo train. I threw my bag down, stretched, then pull out my mini-disc player and some micro speakers I’d smuggled along and put some music on. I realized that I was starving so I fixed a humble spread of peanuts and salami sandwiches and filled myself with its delicious simplicity. Then, I broke out the rum and coke, lit a kretek and relaxed while Cal Tjader and Booker T & the MGs banged out wonderfully soothing beats through the little speakers. Pure ecstasy. There is something incredibly beautiful and freeing about arriving alone in a city you’ve never been to and having no idea what tomorrow will bring. Only thing to do is sip your drink, smile, and see what cards you’re dealt.
-- Chris Carsten, Athens 2004
