The Cat And The Lizard

“Ian!” I shouted. “The Acropolis! Look! Look, Bill!” They both seemed totally unimpressed. Ian had a sort of quiet exchange with the driver. He returned. “We have to catch another bus at the next stop.” It seemed to take us ages to get off. Four people and eight cases! Why, oh why did Sophie really want to pack six books to read on her honeymoon? We were dumped unceremoniously on the side of a very busy road in the heart of the metropolis. The driver pointed vaguely to the left and drove off. Somehow we managed to pick up all our gear. Bill, being the official photographer, had insisted on bringing his tripod. It was last year’s Christmas present from me. I must say in its defence that it was a collapsible tripod. Unfortunately, it seemed to have a mind of its own and became collapsible at the most unexpected moments. Every time Bill turned right, the three little legs thrust themselves forward with alarming speed. It should be mentioned that each little leg had a very nasty spike on the end so that it could be planted on the ground. Now, every time Bill veered to the right, they planted themselves firmly into unsuspecting Athenians innocently making their way to work, shooting them neatly into the gutter. As I was following Bill at a very discreet distance, I found the whole situation most amusing. With a wry smile on my face, I followed the trio in to what could only be described as one of the main squares in Athens. It seemed to be called >* * * * *^##> or something. They all disappeared into a shoe shop. This was a fine time to buy a pair of shoes, I thought, as I plonked myself down on the nearest bench. The traffic and the heat grew worse. After a time the trio emerged into the sunlight with a new set of directions. I warned Bill about the tripod, so he transferred the strap to his left shoulder. Again I followed him. This time the little legs shot out, and entangled themselves with all the shop doorways, causing Bill to stagger with his heavy load and ricochet into the passers passers-by, so they still got knocked into the gutter. This was just too much. We all downed tools, or cases. We were at a very busy crossroads, with five main roads meeting. We stopped in front of a shop that sold mirrors. I did not bother to look into one! Again directions were sought. “Why don’t you get a taxi?” said a man in broken English. Now this had not occurred to us before. I suppose the whole reason for this fiasco and for us not flying to Skiathos like any normal people had been to save money. The “sod it” law seemed appropriate at this juncture. We piled our worldly belongings outside the mirror shop. The men decided that their best chance of catching a taxi would be just around the corner, so off they went into the main stream of the noisy oncoming traffic, taking with them a suitcase each. Sophie and I remained to guard the remainder of the baggage. And there we remained. Minutes passed. Then Sophie took it upon herself to make an expedition round the corner, taking with her a case. I waited, alone and abandoned. I could not speak Greek, I had no money, and Bill had my passport. I got some rather curious looks. Suddenly Sophie flew round the corner, minus case, saying she had got a taxi. She picked up a couple of cases and disappeared. I ran round the corner with the rest of the stuff. Well, “run” isn’t exactly the right description of my progress; I sort of hobbled. The taxi was in the middle lane. We threw the things into the taxi as the lights changed. Sophie stared at me, questioning. “Um, we’ve lost the men!” “You’ve lost the men?” This was said in a fashion that Lady Bracknell would have been proud of in her handbag speech. It wasn’t so much a question as a statement, and a very accusing one at that. She made me feel as though I had done it on purpose. “Oh, just get in. We’ll think of something.” The taxi driver turned in his driver’s seat and looked as if he wanted to say “Foreigners!”. The cars behind him all started to hoot as us. At this point, Sophie spied Bill and Ian, many, many lanes away on the far side of the junction, three roads away. “The men, the men!” Sophie cried in delight. “Stop! Stop! You’ve got to get the men!” The taxi driver gave her a filthy look. Who were these eccentric English women? One middle-aged, looking flustered, and the other, with her none-too-small bum in the air, shouting out of his taxi passenger window, waving frantically at two men in the far distance, who seemed to be surrounded by … oh no, more cases! He was persuaded to stop again. Then with great presence of mind, he reversed sharply into the oncoming traffic, executed a magnificent U-turn, and shuddered to a halt on the opposite side of the junction. With a “Where the hell do you think you’ve been?” look plastered on the sweating faces of both men, Bill and Ian bombarded the taxi with more luggage. The taxi driver muttered, looking in despair at his boot that now wouldn’t close and at his listing taxi. I don’t think he was very pleased! After having been chastised by the Greek traffic police, we lurched off at high speed. We all smelt, we didn’t know where we were or where we’d been, and this moment I was not only unsure of where we were going but also why.