28η Οκτώβρη, 23:00 με 2:00+

Βγαίνω κλασική βόλτα μόνος με το αμάξι προς αναζήτηση χώρου. Πρώτα παραλιακή - Βούλα, Βάρκιζα, Κορωπί, Βάρη. Σπάνια έρχομαι από αυτά τα μέρη πλέον και το τοπίο μου φαίνεται άγνωστο ή μέχρι και τρομακτικό κάπως. Αλλεπάλληλες στροφές και οι δυνατότητες για ανα/επιστροφή σπάνιες. Σε κάποια σημεία γίνονται (ακόμα μετολυμπικά;) έργα και ο δρόμος είναι κλεισμένος. Κάτι βρίσκω πάντως.

Μετα αρχίζω να επιστρέφω προς κέντρο από Βουλιαγμένης. Στην αρχή της ακόμα την αφήνω για τον περιφερειακό και τα περίπου νότια προάστεια των χιλίων πλατειών - τον πολυοδηγημένο δρόμο προς το Παν/μιο. Λίγο μετά την Μεγάλη Ανηφόρα στον Καρέα (εκεί ήταν το απόλυτο τέστ μου για το πρόβλημα φρένο-γκάζι-συμπλέκτη) αφήνω τον κυρίως δρόμο και χαζεύω τις κλίσεις στους απο πίσω δρόμους. Στη Μονή συναντώ σήμα απαγόρευσης της διέλευσης σε πεζούς και οχήματα μετα τη δύση του ηλίου. Τίποτα εδώ - αναμενόμενο.

Πάλι περιφερειακός και επιτέλους Πάν/μιο. Η διπλανή πύλη είναι κλειστή άρα πρέπει από την 'κάτω' - Ούλαφ Πάλμε δηλαδή. Εκεί, περιμένει το σύνηθισμένο νοσοκομειακό - αλλά και ο φύλακας ο οποίος μάλιστα έχει και μπάρα με stop πλέον καθώς και πινακίδα που προειδοποιεί ότι μόνο τα μέλη ΔΕΠ και οι φοιτητές επιτρέπονται. Όπως και να έχει δε φαίνεται να με προσέχει όταν περνάω τη κατά το ήμισυ ανοιχτή πύλη. Δεν έχουν αλλάξει πολλά εδώ. Μόνο που μας έχουν ασφαλτοστρώσει όλο το πάρκινγκ. Αν και θα πρέπει να έρθω μέρα να δω και τις τυχόν εσωτερικές (και ουσιαστικότερες) αλλαγές. Ο χώρος άπλετος πάντως.

Επιτυχής ξεκινάω προς κέντρο κέντρο. Συγγρού, Χίλτον, Ακαδημίας, Εξάρχεια και παρκάρω. Η κίνηση περιορισμένη. Κάνω βόλτες στους δρόμους γύρω από την πλατεία και κοιτάζω τις αφίσες. Βρίσκω που θα πάω αύριο. Από το Αν ακούγεται δυνατή μουσική - η Ελένη Δήμου (;) ειναι 'so excited and she just can't hide it'. Στο απο πάνω φαγάδικο ένας καμπούρης γεράκος έχει παρκάρει την μηχανή του που μοιάζει με πιτσαδόρου και πίσω της γράφει με μεγάλα κεφαλαία γράμματα: 'Ο βασανιάρης/ τσάκα τσούκας/ πάω αργά γιατί βιάζομαι/ η ζωή είναι ένα παραμύθι'. Πρώτη φορά τον βλέπω. Αποφασίζω να μην τον φωτογραφίσω - το φλας θα τραβήξει άσχημα την προσοχή. Ώρα για επιστροφή.

Μετριοφροσύνη

"'Δε θέλω να περπατάω στο μυαλό σας με τα βρώμικα μου παπούτσια'"

Ι. Χ. Σ., Καθ. Αστρ. Παν. Θεσσ.

The myth of crossing paths II: the hostel

Annete from Norway is a photographer with a degree in human rights. She has worked in immigrations for her country, the UN and has applied for a job in the Red Cross. She rents her appartment in Oslo and is currently using the money to roam Spain surfing. She rarely smiles but when she does her face lights up. Jenny from outside Liverpool has come to Spain to teach English to young kids and learn the language - she can't speak a word of Spanish so far. She will be volunteering to work for Greenpeace and she'll be joining a Spanish lessons class - that should help create a social circle in Madrid. She has worked as a librarian and is typically British in her modesty. Jarrod and his sister are half-American, half-Croatian visiting relatives and touring Europe. He is staying in San Francisco and he used to work in a boat fishing for squid. He likes to doodle in napkins when he tries to explain something. Ben is from Edinburgh and has finished a law degree - he will get a job in the City in a few months. He is funding his travels from a loan he will repay while working - 'he will have no life then anyway'. He tends not to believe all those stories people say about the places they travelled. Richard from Melbourne is working in the university and has taken five weeks off to travel Europe. He can be both sociable and quiet - but avoids looking you in the eyes when talking to you. Colin is from New Zealand and is temporarily staying in the hostel while looking for a job as a computer programmer. It's the only person who has to take care of a suit. Leena from Finland is 21, speaks no Spanish and little English and is travelling with her Europe bus pass. Last time she was in the continent she spent three months in Amsterdam - mostly getting high. Melissa is from Texas, USA and has managed to remind me that Americans are usually superficial. She is good-looking, arrogant and cold and uses all the expressions expected from a 'bimbo'. She had KFC at least once - in Barcelona.

Senora Margarita

Senora Margarita is short and plump, with tanned skin and a mole on her forehead. She wears a long and colourful skirt, a purple cardigan, a dark beret and a bowler hat over the beret with lots of small pins on it. She pulls a small trolley with a bag on it.

Senora Margarita is half-German, half-Maltese. She has children and grandchildren. She lives six months in Madrid and six months in Frankfurt. She has spent ten days in Greece in 19... 82.

Senora Margarita owns 5 square meters in Parque del Retiro in Madrid (near the Puerta de Alcala exit). She has a proper license to tell the future - she´s an astrologer. The police do not bother her. She also works as a translator and she writes - sometimes she even publishes.

Senora Margarita has studied sociology and literature in London for 13 years - she knows things. She doesn´t like her job though, she doesn´t do it for the money - she studies for herself. People in Madrid don´t like to spend money anyway. However, she makes 2000 euros a month in the summer, 1000 in the winter.

Senora Margarita thinks that the Spanish are warm and lively on the outside but hollow on the inside. She thinks that the German are actually better in bonding with somebody and are more likely to invite you in their house for a meal. That´s why Madrid is full of restaurants after all. So that the Spanish can take people out for meals instead of inviting them over.

Senora Margarita thinks that a little exercise is necessary but too much exercise is actually harmful.

Senora Margarita is happy. She is healthy, pretty and therefore happy. She is also with Vodafone.

Senora Margarita has only one question. If somebody (he or she) whom she´s known for 15 years answers her calls for ten days and then ignores her for the following ten days, what does this mean? I told her that they are uncertain about what they think or feel. But she says that that doesn´t help her.

The myth of crossing paths

Picadilly line. Somewhere in zone 2. Incredibly sleepy - contact lenses hurt. 'Goth' girl walks in the train. Very tall, very pale, not very pretty but intense light blue eyes. She is all dressed in black - boots, long, heavy skirt, netty top, leather jacket. Earrings, silvery rings in all fingers, black nail varnish, crosses hang from her neck. She sits almost in front of me. As soon as she is sat our eyes make contact and stay there. I silently spell out 'What?'. We keep looking at each other. Drowsiness is gone instantly. The familiar adrenaline rush kicks in along with the feeling that anything can happen.

One of us looks away. Contact again. This time the other looks away. Supposedly random looks away from each other by both of us - to the people sitting nearby, outside, the map. In truth we are avoiding each other. Long contact again. She smiles, I have no choice but to do so myself - nervously. We look away again. Contact and then smiles again. And again. I feel nervous and sense nervousness. I wonder whether people sitting next to us notice the exchange. Long pause. She takes out a book ('Prophecies of Nostradamus') and starts to read (?). I steal away looks.

The book goes in her bag again. Tension is renewed. Eventually contact resumes. Nobody smiles, after what seems a long time she just raises an eyebrow. I lean back and look at her as emotionlessly as I can. She finally looks away. Repeat.

At Osterley she gets off. At the next stop I do too.

A brief post in English

(as this machine will not support Greek...)

My posts have been short and sparse recently and the reason is that I finally managed to submit IT. As of last Tuesday no more stress, no more burning the midnight oil (not for those reasons anyway), no more of a one-track mind... Or so I hope at least for the next month or so before countdown for the Holy Inquisition starts. For now it's time to go on holiday... I still don't believe that there is actually no pressure to get back to my desk and code or proofread... or study.

After a few days spent at home relaxing and generally avoiding anything with a keyboard, I packed my bags for the misty suburbs of London. Having spent Saturday driving back and forth to Cardiff as a favour to my hostess (carrying boxes and stuff in a rented van on a seven hour round trip on the M4 can be fun contrary to popular belief), right now, I'm sitting in a computer cluster somewhere in northwest London... Various Greeks around me are trying to book a ticket to Greece - which seems a bit amusing (apart from haughty) at the moment.

In any case, the trip is only just starting...