Train

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Train

This story was written by Joan Marie M.

With my gratitude

To those who wonder at the end of the story, they both survived!

Your train ride and the hotel reminded me much of one of our own overnight trips taken long ago. We also chose off-season to conserve costs and were traveling around the tip of the Peloponnese as a diversion from the ancient ruins and the endless shopping districts found in Athens. As any respectable American tourists would do, we bought first-class tickets for the ride... thinking we would be served tasty wines from the region, perhaps some local feta cheese with freshly baked pita bread.

The first thing that happened when the train finally arrived was a mad rush by the locals to board. As luck would have it I immediately noticed a very old woman laden with packages, almost as large as she, trying to negotiate her way. Ever the helpful person that I am, I offered her assistance which she gratefully accepted since there is no language barrier when it comes to kindness.

The next thing I know, both of us were literally pushed up into the traincar and we continued to jostle our way among the increasingly vocal passengers already compressed into a limited space. Some were carrying caged chickens, there was a goat tied with only a frayed rope to the arm of a small child, and crying babies filled many plump laps. The noise was incredible, the smell indescribable... and along we were swept, she juggling her packages and me balancing her bags trying to find her a seat.

For reasons never clear to me, several young men grew quite angry at us as I attempted to squeeze this tiny woman and all of her bulky belongings into one of the few remaining seats. This nonsense continued as the train left the station and I was nowhere near the first-class traincar Alan entered at departure, thinking I would only be a moment. Soot blew in the windows, the young men were growing ever more boistrous and, surprisingly, that fragile old woman was apparently a true match for every word they spat. At the very moment when claustrophobia was about to close in, Alan appeared... pushing his way to find me and then defend me. Eventually, he was able to grab my hand and we wedged ourselves through the ever tightening bodies to the doorway. I remember the rush of fresh air never felt so good, never smelled so good, before we entered the first-class traincar.

There we found no tasty wines, no local feta cheese, no warm pita bread. What we did find was startling quiet and multiple spacious seats offering large windows to view the rolling countryside. And so, we settled in ourselves and laughed at our escape and how the locals assumed I understood every word thrown at the old woman and me. I guess I looked enough like a young Greek woman that they thought I was related to the old lady I tried so hard to help. And on we traveled to Kalamai for a romantic one-night stay.

In due time, the train chugged into the dusty seaside village of Kalamai. It was early afternoon, the skies offering a varied shade of turquoise matched only by the calm and inviting sea. We headed into town on foot and the first thing we noticed were the cracked sidewalks and buckling streets. Many of the windows were broken, some of the older buildings were clearly fractured and unstable.

We weren't sure if we had walked into the aftermath of a riot or what, especially since Athens was loaded with political activists at every turn. The first hotel we investigated wanted our passports before even answering our questions which, of course, we weren't comfortable about and immediately exited. As we walked on, we found many hotels were closed but eventually we found another open for business. This time, the management was a little more forthcoming and explained what we were seeing was the aftermath of a huge earthquake. Since this establishment realized tourists were treasured they showed us one of the few rooms that was made useable and we snapped it up. It was then that we realized all tourists were required to turn in their passports before any keys were exchanged... a practice we were still not easy with but accomodated.

It didn't take us long to unpack and we headed for the shore to find something, anything to eat. This is where language did become a barrier but it was shortlived when the server realized we weren't locals. Astoundingly, we were invited to the kitchen to see what we would like to have. We found the aromas enticing and investigated each simmering pot. Some carried pastas, some offered stews, and there was even a piglet roasting in the oven. Honestly, we wanted everything but as I recall we decided on a lamb and vegetable stuffed stew served with that long yearned for warm pita bread. The local wine was sparkling and the waves danced with gentle breezes as we ate on the beach in the late afternoon sun. Contentment was ours and we stayed there until the sun set as the waiter kept filling our glasses.

The next day we waited for the train, well-fed and well-rested... still laughing about the shower in the middle of our room without so much as a curtain and the bed that rested solidly on the marble floor because the bedstead and much of the furniture had apparently been broken by nature's recent assault. As beautiful as it was in the little village of Kalamai, we were still glad to leave before another earthquake took its toll, carrying us and the hotel down with it.

The train was predictably late and when it did arrive it was stuffed with the same kind of local characters that the first one was. This time, we headed straight for the back of the train with plenty of goodies packed to fill in the gaps of our "first-class" expectations. It was a beautiful ride and I wondered often, and I still do, if the locals ever notice the beauty that surrounds them on a daily basis or how fragile that beauty really is.

Joan-Marie M. and in the role of white knight, Alan J. M.

Alan and Joan-Marie wrote in 2003/2004 a book about the experiences of Alan as Pilot.