5. Leaving the Ends of the Earth

The Further Adventures of the Ill-informed

I had asked the receptionist if I could move to the other property (the one with the lovely pool and café) because I was beating the hell out of the rental car going up and down that accursed road (and I was freaked out by the desolation, but I didn’t mention that to her).

The answer was no. Basically she said that OTHER people like staying in desolation and SHE didn’t have any problem getting up the road, therefore I liked it as well and there was no problem. I used to work at hotel front desks and I prided myself on solving problems for the guest, no matter how inconsequential. Most of the time, the complaining guest was trying to understand how things worked in an unfamiliar environment. More often than not, the guest was lonely and out of sorts and really just wanted a sympathetic ear.

Rather than argue with the receptionist, I said nothing. I made a reservation at a different hotel and bailed out. No refunds for my current room on the edge of the world, but at that point I didn’t care. I had a trip to Delos booked for the next day that would get me back to the port after dark. The thought of making that drive up the vertical goat path in the dark was enough to let the room and the money go. Also, I had an ice-cold bathing experience in that lovely walk-in shower that I had anticipated so much. When I asked the receptionist if there was a problem with the hot water, she replied that the OTHER room had plenty of hot water. Again, I said nothing.

I booked a room in the main town and this time I did do my research. It was pretty close to the center, but not in the middle of Touristville. There was a supermarket nearby and crucially, there was a parking lot down the street. I was extremely anxious about driving in the town with the stick shift. Truth be told, I was not nearly as adept at city driving with a manual transmission as I liked to think and any attempt to negotiate the town would only result in frightening pedestrians and stalling in intersections.

To avoid that, I left the lonely hotel room super early and got into town before traffic became too bad. I made it to the parking lot without killing myself or others and messaged the rental car company. When I rented the car, the nice receptionist said I could leave the car in town, and they would pick it up. What a sweetheart!

But I couldn’t remember where she wanted me to leave the car, so I sent her the location of the parking lot, put the keys under the mat and hoped for the best. Turns out, she was fine with the place I had chosen, and I didn’t have to negotiate my way down to the port parking lot. The town of Naxos thanks you, my dear! It would have been chaos.

My new hotel in town had a pool and my room was equipped with a kitchenette. The bed was as one might expect for 50 euros a night and the location was good. The hotel itself looked kind of like a former youth hostel. There were shared baths in the basement and the architecture resembled Early Dorm Room style. Observe:

And you can see in the picture just how hard the bed is. But, it did the job. It got me out of isolation and into the heart of town for a couple of nights.

I walked down to the port and did a little sightseeing. Lovely town! White-washed houses stood on the hillside above the picturesque port. The waterfront was wide and clean lined with the standard cafes, bars and souvenir shops. Dominating the center of the hillside was the Castle of Naxos, a Venetian stronghold that has been continuously occupied since 1207. Tiny, cobblestone streets wound up and around the hillside and the crystal clear harbor was dotted with sailboats. A strong breeze blowing through the rigging of the boats sounded like windchimes. And there were surprisingly few seagulls. Bonus.

I found a nice restaurant with comfortable chairs in the town center and plopped myself down for a drink in the shade. These days, I choose all my restaurants based on the comfort of the chairs. My back was killing me and there was no way I was going to sit on some wooden chair for an hour.

The place I chose was right in the middle of everything, had a comfy couch and my favorite beer. Meets my criteria! The guys who worked there were nice and chatted with me and the people watching was fun. I could tell exactly who had just arrived in town by their giant suitcases that they were struggling to drag across the cobblestones and their confused looks as they tried to find some hidden hotel with an indecipherable address. I couldn’t be of any help, so I just smiled and waved.

One of the restaurant cooks sat down beside me and struck up a conversation. He was cute, but clearly about 20 years younger than me. I was flattered by the attention, especially when I told him how old I was and he said, “doesn’t matter. You’re beautiful.” Good job, young man. You are on the right track.

But then it got weird.

I have to say, it was in the Paleolithic Era when last I flirted with a stranger, so I was a bit rusty. Also, I historically have suffered from giving people WAY too much credit for good intentions, and this time was no different. He asked me if I wanted to take a drive. A drive? A drive to where?

I indicated that I had this much beer to drink first and he replied that he only had an hour before his shift at the restaurant. I was puzzled — what could we do in an hour on a drive?

Oh, right… That.

When he didn’t get me into his car, he invited me to come by the restaurant after his shift, which ended at midnight. Well, OF COURSE I will drag my ass across town in the middle of the night to see you after your shift, you strange man. No, not really. But in the interest of getting away unmolested, I engaged in the time-honored tradition of smile and nod. Before I left, he whipped out his phone and typed into Google Translate, “I like blowjobs.”

Oh, I am sure you do. And what a great way to entice a woman to meet a stranger in the middle of the night in a strange city! Seriously, does that work with ANY woman?

No, seriously — does it?

Sorry, Nico (I think that was his name), no blowjob for you. I told one of my friends about this encounter and she was insisting that his intentions were good, “It’s the name of a cocktail. He was saying what he liked to drink.” Umm, yeah… no. Not at all what he was saying. She encouraged me to go for it, but I am way, WAY past those days. Besides, he didn’t offer ME a blowjob. Now that would have been a different story.

I was in my room at midnight, not walking across town in the dark for some dubious stranger. Instead, I was furiously scratching bug bites that were appearing randomly across my body. I knew they weren’t mosquitoes. I foolishly left the window open my first night on the island and was summarily eaten alive by those little jerks. I had to put my sweatshirt on, with the hood tied tightly around my face and wait for them to land on my hands so I could smack the crap out of them.

But this was different — no whining, buzzing sounds in my ears. No bloodsuckers landing on me. Just bumps that appeared and itched like crazy. And then I occurred to me:

Bedbugs.

Fuck.

I had never before encountered those little monsters, so it took me a minute to figure it out. But, what are you gonna do at 2:00 AM in a strange town? Leave?

Instead, I rubbed cortisone cream all over and took a Benedryl. I covered up as much of me as I could and just sucked it up. Much like those little assholes were doing to my skin. Ugh, it’s making me itch even now…

I apologize to everyone who stayed in any room in any city after me. I took all of my clothes to a laundry as soon as I could, so hopefully they didn’t make it too far. No itching since then, so I think the scorching hot wash did the trick.