MEMORIES FROM THE HOT GREECE (Summer 2002)

Hello friends, fasten your seatbelts and come with me again in this marvelous trip from Barcelona to Thessaloniki, the city famous for his White Tower. From there to Larissa, the city of the horses and the important nightlife. From there to Corfu, known for being Odysseus’ last stop on his journey home to Ithaca (and for the hit “kerkira kerkira metopo... whatever”). And from there to Hydra, the Bonus Island...

PART I: INTRO

I read somewhere that “Greece is not the land, Greece is the water that embraces the land” or something similar. And yes, the water there was cool and clean (I mean the water from the sea, not the brown one from the shower in Corfu); but Greece is also the Greek music, the Greek food, the Greek alcohol, and specially the Greek people.

OK, I know there are cool people and assholes everywhere, but Greek malakas are something special, I knew it before going there. And that’s one of the main reasons why I wanted to go to Greece. Other reason was the convincing advertising I heard from Sergi (Sergi, also known as “the Catalan with long hair that was in Thessaloniki last year”)).

But above nations and borders (fuck all the flags, even the European one), Aegee people is cool people, and I’ve seen it this summer once again. And maybe one of the keys to the success of the organizers of this event was their ability to chose the “crème de la crème”.

To say thanks to them and also to all the participants, I’m trying to write something like my memories... well, actually I’m writing it because I enjoy it myself, both writing and reading it later, but maybe you’ll like it, too.

But please, don’t take this seriously and forgive all my omissions and distortions of reality (fuck the reality, I’m not a journalist); don’t blame me for all the stupid jokes because some of them are recollected without permission of the creator; and feel free to correct all my mistakes, specially the spelling ones (Lourdes knows that real artists we don’t give a shit for hortografy); and feel free to add all the impressions from Greece I may have forgotten.

(The privileged ones that had already read my memories from other SUs will notice how much my stile has improved (meaning that now I can even write long sentences with more than 7 words, and the adjectives I repeat all the time are not just 2 but maybe 4 or 5); but I still don’t care much for chronological order and things like that).

OK, here we go...

PART II: WATER, COFFE & FOOD

My favorite Greek liquids (if we let aside the sex fluids) are the ouzo and the retzina, but maybe the most significant ones are the water and the coffee.

It’s strange there because the coffee has the same color than the water of the sea in Barcelona, but the water of the sea in Greece has some colors I had only seen in TV advertising... Fucking blue, man!

Because in Greece, “the color” is blue. Not only because it is the color that they use in souvenirs, amulets and other shit for tourists, but also because the seas in Greece have more different kinds of blue than total colors have an usual rainbow. From Mediterranean blue to Aegean blue, including Ionian blue, dark blue, sky blue, blue blue, green blue, jewel blue and even onion blue.

My “postcard memory” from the SU includes some of these colors, and the total transparent waters with lots of fishes, and the burning sand, and the rocks, the olive trees, the incredible landscapes, the bohemian streets and the omnipresent monuments.

But I’m not good at laying on a towel and getting “cancer from the sky” (also known as “sunbathing”), so most of the time when we were at beautiful beaches I used to swam a little bit and then escape with the natives to drink a coffee frappe in the shadow (also known as “shade”). The fact that, for cheap Catalans, 5 euros for a coffee is a little bit too much and that I had to do my best with an ice-cream or some water with ice, wasn’t enough to spoil those moments.

It’s interesting that Greeks can spend more money in frappes than in food, but it’s not so strange if you notice that they can eat a “gyro pita” in 5 seconds but they like to enjoy their coffees during hours and hours, while gossiping or playing the national Greek sport (no, I’m not talking about sex yet, I mean the backgammon).

(Yes, I’ve also seen a lot of people who spend more time drinking than eating because they can do the photosynthesis and get energy from the sun rays, but that’s another story).

Well... and usually when I travel, I feel a little bit homesick about the food; but Greek gastronomy is almost as good as the Spanish one... almost.

And it’s specially good when the Major invites us.

I liked the gyro pitas (tasty, cheap, fast and easy to order) but the key of the success were the cheese salads, the musacas, the zouvlakis, the salsiki, the Greek tapas... I loved the first proper dinner in that restaurant where I changed my table and went between all the Greek girls that not only were nice and beautiful, but also they ate very few and spent all the time explaining me what was I eating...

And now, at home, I must confess that sometimes I put lemon juice on the meat to remind me those days...

The Dutch crepes weren’t bad, also, and the Italian pasta is always a secure bet.

The most strange thing I’ve tasted this summer was the Turkish yogurt with salt and water... that somebody spoiled putting some sugar in it!

That “Cooking Night”, the Spaniards, always so proud of our cooking abilities, as we were 4 people working in a team, we put all our strength together and prepared something very special and sophisticated: 16 fucking liters of sangria (but it really was a quite special sangria... actually it looked a little bit like yellow-brown “Quimicefa” stuff).

But... can we talk about food in Greece without talking about the breakfasts?

Yes, we can.

PART III: HOW TO GET THERE

Anyway, let’s start for the beginning:

If you are a poor cheap Catalan and you try to get to Thessaloniki without spending much money, you should take a plane to Athens, then take a bus to a metro station, then take one metro, then another metro, then a train, and then a bus. (Thanks again, Brother Kostas, for helping us so much, if it weren’t for your SMSs we would still be there lost in Athens).

But if you think that’s easy, you should pack all your things in a big suitcase and fly with Olympic Airways (also known as Olympic Bastards). This company has already joined the list of flying companies that have given me problems, next to Sabena Assholes and Fucking Lufthansa.

The thing is that Roser and me we arrived to Athens at time, but the luggage didn’t.

When Roser saw that I had my suitcase but she hadn’t hers, she started getting nervous and complaining, and I’m not very good at listening to complaints so I told her: “you shouldn’t complain yet, I’m sure your suitcase will arrive in few minutes”. But I was wrong, the suitcase didn’t arrive. And when, after some discussion with the airport girls, we took the bus from the airport, it broke down and we thought we were going to miss the train. But when we arrived to the metro we started running and we almost did it... almost... because we arrived just in time to see our train leaving and say goodbye with the hand.

“Can I complain, now?”, said Roser.

“Well... I think so”.

We learned Greek numbers and letters while waiting 6 hours for the next train, which was full of lovely people: we met a totally drunk Russian, a Greek friendly couple who explained a lot of things to us (but they only spoke Greek, so when they asked questions all we could answer was the Greek alphabet and the numbers...) and a man who scratched himself all night long (he scratched all the parts of the body, but his favorites were the head and genitallia), and a wild bunch of noisy Greek soldiers... (oh, soldiers are one of my favorite professions, I love them almost as much as I love the people who work in flying companies, if you know what I mean).

But we finally arrived there, and then the party began...

PART IV: AEGEE SPIRIT

The first dose of “aegee spirit” we received this TSU came from the hands of Thanasis (also known as: “the Greek who Could Speak Catalan”; also known as “Sant Hilari Man”, cullons!), who took us to the residence, showed us the place and carried my uncarriable suitcase!

We thought of sleeping until the afternoon, but we were afraid of disappointing the SU Responsible (also known as Stefania, also known as Backgammon Girl) so we went to take some Greek lessons.

At that time I could speak Greek almost fluently (kalimera, malaka, sagapo moromu, ena, dio, tria, alfa, beta, gama, pi...) but it was quite easy to pay attention, because the teacher was Mandelena (also known as The Gorgeous Teacher Who Everybody Wanted To Be Teached By))... well, Chris was there too... and he was great but... you know, man...

Anyway, I finally slept a little bit while Angelos (also known as: the Big Boss) explained “What is Aegee?” (I don’t mean it wasn’t interesting, but I’ve heard this kind of presentations maybe 3 million times, and I have also explained it in few occasions and probably I’ll explain it again in Barcelona SU).

Then, we started discovering the group and making friends and this kind of stuff.

You know, traveling is great for seeing different places, for having the nice feeling of being a total stranger, and for another lot of reasons; but the best one is to discover people from other places and cultures and chat and have some cultural talks...

In Greece, for example, most of the people broke the ice talking about showers and toilettes... And we arrived to some interesting conclusions: a) you can consider yourself lucky if your toilet have toilet paper; b) you can consider yourself lucky if your toilet have something to lock the door; and c) you can consider yourself lucky if your toilet have actually a toilet and it’s not just a shit-hole.

And we started thinking about one of the biggest unsolved mysteries of this SU: “Why do Greeks use paper bins instead of throwing the dirty paper in the toilet?”

And we drank the first frappes and first free waters with ice, and we played the first games. I was happy to beat Bernardo (a.k.a: Nardo) at chess, using the technique of disturbing him and not letting him think; but the most impressing were those amazing brains who managed to play “Scrabble” in English using the letters of the crazy Greek alphabet! (really! I saw it!).

And we took a first look at all the participants and started playing an old game known as “La Porra del Amor”, that consists in guessing how many couples are there going to be, including everything from few kisses on the lips to hard sex, boy-girl, boy-boy or girl-girl, but not animals, inanimated objects or self-love. Bernardo (also known as: the Pessimistic) said 5, Roser (a.k.a: the Catalan Chicken) said 6, I said 10 (an excellent bet), and Roland (a.k.a: Rolando; a.k.a: Once-every-week) said 12.

Later, other people joined the bet, but I can only accept as official bets the ones made at first sight, without knowing how many participants are already engaged or are gays.

Anyway, I must show the number said by our S.U. Responsible (a.k.a: S.U.R., a.k.a: “our sweet mother who always took care of us”): she said a fucking 15! and listen to this wise comment “I told you from the beginning it was going to be a Fucking Summer University, you will see...”.

But, was she right? Who won “la porra”? Maybe we will see it later!

PART V: SIGHTSEEING AND MUSEUMS

In one occasion, Seven Magnificents went to an ancient castle while most of the people were drinking frappes, and it was quite great. And, the first night at Corfu, Ozgul, Denes and me did some dark sightseeing while the others were thinking about maybe starting to decide about thinking to go somewhere. Later, in a couple of occasions, Denes and me escaped from the cancerous sunbathing and climbed some mountains looking for nice views and maybe free olives. At the end, in Hydra, I was walking around the hills totally alone, but enjoying the sunsets and the landscapes in a kind of introspective feeling or something like this.

But the best sightseeings are always with big groups and a local guide trying to “carry the sheeps” (I know it’s not easy at all), like when in Thessaloniki we discovered the first Greek ruins by the hand of Eleni; and the bridge without river (a.k.a: Kamara); and some beautiful Byzantine churches and, of course, the greatest hit in town (a.k.a: The White Tower). Let me reproduce some comments by our art experts:

“Well... it’s not exactly white”

“I think it’s quite brown”

“At night it looks yellow”

“Are you crazy? At night it’s totally orange!”

That day we also learned that Greek traffic lights are as useful as Christmas lights in a Christmas tree.

(They are just like contemporary art or something like this).

The definitive cultural overdose occurred maybe 2 days later, when we visited all the museums plus the White Tower, without stop. Some participants were totally KO, you could notice brains palpitating inside heads, ready to explote; but the most trained of us in this kind of things were ready for this and even more, so some people started playing card tricks (Murat, why your trick doesn’t look ridiculous when you do it but it does when I try?), others were discussing the old question “everything that’s old is interesting or sometimes is just old bullshit?”, others were nervously looking for ancient Greek soft porn, and the Italians were taking pictures and making fun of ancient Greek gods with tiny dicks.

Everybody will agree that the greatest hits in the Archeological Museum were the “Reproduction of a Pomegranate” and the “Reproduction of a Fig”, and I had some fun imagining the discoverers of such interesting stones looking at them very seriously and trying to guess which fruits were they supposed to be exactly (maybe like children looking for faces in the clouds). “Man, I’m quite sure it’s a reproduction of an apple”, “Where did you study, stupid? I tell you it’s a reproduction on a fucking orange!”

And some days later we had the opportunity of looking for our own stone fruits in a quite impressing ruins camp. I didn’t find any, but I lost 3 kilos in that kind of public sauna. It was so fucking hot that the most typical joke was something like:

“Oh, I’m hot”, “You mean thirsty?”, “No. I mean good-looking” and other versions of the same shit.

But then I sat under the shade of a Doric column, looked at all the big stuff around me and tried to get some inspiration from that ancient stones, the same ones that have been there for some millenniums and maybe the same ones that had inspired the rational philosophy, the Aristotelic logic, the democracy, the agoras and the group sex.

PART VI: NIGHTLIFE

Well, changing the subject, you know I love parties, but I’m not exactly a disco animal, I’m only able to dance properly romantic slow songs, and I have as much problems following the rhythm of a disco song as a major trying to point sister cities in a map.

But things are special if you are in a magic place for tourists (a.k.a: Disco Moses) where they sing Greek music and throw flowers to the air, and drunk people get up, jump on the tables and dance like possessed by a hippie spirit.

Waw, that was cool. In Spain, if you try to do that, either you break your own neck falling from a not very safe table, either the security guard of the place will break the same neck with the same table or using a chair or his own hands.

But anyway, the problem of Greek discos is not only that they are expensive, but also that they are always far, you have to take some buses and some taxis to get there, and later walk 10 kilometers (aprox).

That’s why lazy people like me have specially good memories of the 6th floor balcony parties; the residence entrance parties (and specially magic was the moment when the Music Scouts that looked like Bob Marley arrived and joined us and played the bongos until they were fired for being too noisy); the harbor parties; the Larissa residence garden parties (with audiovisual spectacle arranged by Murat and his amazing technologies!)

I danced quite a lot in the “boat-pub”, too, with Roser and Katy. Maybe it was because those 3 reasons: a) because the music was very cool, b) because there was very few people dancing, and c) because the waiters were quite angry with us and were pushing us all the time and it was very funny.

Other night I was trying hard to enjoy a disco, and I was almost doing it, when suddenly Lourdes received an SMS saying that Spain was in war with Morocco. It was difficult to believe, but it was also difficult to believe when last 11th of September, in the last SU in Barcelona, we were in a camping and people received SMS about twin towers falling down, so the news quite destroyed the atmosphere. So I was drunk and worried while most of the people were drunk and dancing and thinking about deep stuff like for example getting some sex (or the weather forecast for the next days).

So I went to sleep (after helping Cleopatra getting into her room) and the next morning my mother explained me at the phone that it all was a bunch of bullshit, that the Spanish government had been acting like a clown a little bit more than the usual, and that the Spanish army had killed some goats in a small rocky island with a funny name (“Perejil Island”? come on! and they expect us to take it seriously?).

So the party went on...

You can think that, if I don’t like dancing, I might have some problems with the coupling rituals, and you will be right.

But I had said in “la Porra del Amor” that there were going to be 10 couples, and most of the participants and organizers didn’t look like making much effort to increase the number; so if I wanted to win I supposed I had to score maybe 3 or 4 points at least.

What could I do? ...maybe some games?

But before start talking about the strange games we layed, let’s remember some words from the major:

“Larissa has a very important nightlife... Larissa has a very important nightlife... Larissa has a very important nightlife...”

(And if you don’t believe him, you can ask the crazy girl who, after a wild wild party, destroyed her own window at 4:00 a.m.)

PART VII: CONTESTS & GAMES

You should know we live in a fucking competitive society, and we are trained to enjoy competitions of all kinds... that’s why contests and games are always cool.

My favorite was the Funniest Sex Story Contest (a.k.a: F.S.S.C.). Which better way to seduce girls than talking about romantic stories of forgettable love affairs?

We heard about some Guinness records, about shaved parts of the body, about small tools, about boys who become gay after trying to seduce Katy, about pillow loves, about self-love,... The shy people who didn’t had any funny story (I cannot believe it) were invited to explain us their first time, and usually it was quite funny, too.

Actually, Bernardo (a.k.a: 3-times-everyday; a.k.a: Defe; a.k.a: my Idol) had a lot of abilities, and one of them was the ability of making people (even the coldest girls) talk about the most disgusting subjects he wanted... So when we ran out of sex stories we started talking about shit and toilettes again, and tried to learn something about the European shit lifestyle.

“How often do you go?” was a very interesting question that revealed the existence of real superheroes between us, but also gave place to answers like: “Well, man... you know... I’m very talkative... but that’s too much!”

Not so successful was the massage contest, but I did and received some cool ones.

In my totally objective opinion, the second prize goes to the sexy foot massage I gave to Monica in the way to a disco; and the first one to the most relaxing massage I’ve ever done... A massage so relaxing that after doing it I realized I had a gorgeous girl from an open-minded country totally slept in my bed and it was impossible to wake her up (the fact that she had probably drunk an important amount of beer didn’t help at all).

I wanted her to wake up either to make her go to her room either to have some wild sex before sleeping, but all she said was “mmmmhh...” in a way that sounded more sleepy than sexy, so we just slept together but it was sooo sweet...

And what about the Karaoke Contest in the Bus?

I think we were great! (Do the people who were trying to sleep agree?).

I like Greek music (from Theodorakis to the Bullshit Summer Hit “Ola Kalá”) but it’s much better “yesterday”, “the lion sleeps tonight”, “clandestino”, “mar minalunk babam”, “ta papakia sto nero”, “bohemian rhapsody”, “kerkira kerkira”, “new york new york” or my beloved “sit on my face”.

I was so happy when I saw that Fiona knew that Monthy Python song! Rolando learned it very fast; later Mina and Nina (a.k.a: the Ina Sisters) joined the chorus; and soon it was like a kind of hymn.

Anyway, I think this time I cannot give the prize to myself because we had some kind of 24-hour-radio working night and day... of course I’m talking about the 3 Tenors (also known as “the noisy Italians”) and his hits “Bella Chao”, “O sole mio”, “la dona e mobile”, “Xavi que no chava” and some other dirty stuff about dicks and pussies (if I understood alright). If you listen at them a little bit it’s funny, if they go on maybe you get tired, but in few days everybody is an addict and they have become the Original Soundtrack Music of the TSU. And they didn’t even need a micro! And they could also cook pasta!

Anyway, for me the king of the games is the “Game of the Paper”, and the fact that we played it one of the first nights and without being too drunk made me think I was going to win the bet.

Some days later, one drunk night, I tried to play the Game of the Paper without the stupid paper, but girls refused. One of them even suggested that I should start playing it with one of the tenors and maybe later she would have joined us, but I was too shy.

PART VIII: LUCKS, SUPERSTICIONS, EVIL EYES & THE MONKS

I usually don’t like games that depends on the luck (I prefer games that depend only on the players ability, like chess, the “Game of the Paper” or “la Porra del Amor”), but when Stefania teached me to play backgammon it was quite cool.

I had no idea of how to play, but the gods were on my side and I was getting all the time 6-6, 5-5, 5-5, 6-6, 6-5, 6-6... while our Responsible (a.k.a: the Unlucky One) only got some 1-2, 2-1, 1-3... And it was so easy to win her twice!

I enjoyed it a lot, but she started saying stuff like “lucky in games, unlucky in love...” or even worse things. She even suggested that I could cut my dick because I was not going to need it anymore. (But don’t worry, I didn’t do it... because even if I use it only for going to the toilette (or the shit-hole), I prefer to do it standing up). But the joke become bigger and bigger until I realized I already had a malediction over me, a kind of Greek evil eye stuff that was going to make me have even more problems to win the fucking bet.

Fiona (a.k.a: Black Magic Woman; a.k.a: my Mamasita) told me that she could help me by applying some unguents on the affected parts, but later she changed her mind and suggested me some self-love.

I tried to buy some amulets, but in the tourists shops I couldn’t find anything that was cheap and not too ugly.

A practical man of science like me shouldn’t believe this kind of bullshit, but the bad luck of the evil-eye-backgammon-malediction didn’t affect only my love life, but also all the atmosphere around me. For example, in the residence of Larissa, most of the people got rooms decorated with pictures of naked ladies with enormous tits and pink clean pussies, while in my room there was only some right-wing Greek party advertising and a picture of the not very beautiful Osama Bin Laden!

(Notice that, before the malediction, in Thessaloniki, I had a room with curtains, binds and even a private balcony, while the others didn’t have balconies, binds nor curtains at all, and Roser didn’t even have glass in her window!).

And, talking about bullshit, in Spain the professionals of superstition (I mean monks, priests and this kind of people) somehow manage to steal some money from the government (and therefore from the citizens pockets), so they can spend all his time praying, telling bullshit and making love with children.

In Greece I suppose it’s different, because all the monasteries looked devoted to the art of business and they had always some place to sell souvenirs, postcards, amulets, candles, oils or whatever a silly tourist may need...

But I understand life should be expensive in those beautiful places... Meteora, for example, was amazing (but you must come to Montserrat and see the Catalan version!).

The most interesting aspect of those funny people with beards and black clothes is that they deserve some respect, and they think that wearing shorts in their “souvenir shops” is not respectful enough.

But it wouldn’t have been so funny if their idea of respectful clothes were something smarter than fucking clown trousers! With them and my summer hat (by the way, take good care of it, Nina) I felt so respectful and pure that I was totally afraid of getting lost there and having to live with the funky monks forever!

PART IX: MAJORS, PREFECTS & BUS DRIVERS

And, talking about funny people, what about the politicians?

In Spain, the knowledge of English is almost as bad as in France, and I don’t know why I expected something similar in Greece. But I was wrong: you can ask everyone in the streets for directions because everybody is polite and everybody understand the language of Shakespeare... except the big bosses.

My favorite major was the one that instead of using a translator, preferred to repeat sentence by sentence what someone was whispering in his ear.

Usually I respect politicians as much as I respect monks, but the Greek ones looked quite cool and friendly, specially the ones that paid food for us. And the ones that paid food and wine were totally great.

The prefect man would have been a perfect one, for example, if instead of that sweet stuff he had invited us to some zouvlaki.

The only problem was that, before feeding us, they had to make a speech without having much to say, and later they expected some questions. Katy and Roland were quite good and polite at it. But I must confess the organizers that we had prepared a quite wicked game for the last major: the winner was going to be the one who was able to ask the most difficult question to the major just for fun (for example: “can you point in a map all your sister cities and the number of inhabitants of each one?”, “which are exactly the reasons of the Greek-Turk conflict?” or “what is exactly the problem with the toilette paper, here?”), but, instead of the major, came a representant who didn’t expect any questions... OK, he looked funny and liked to talk about sex and chickens, but he made us drink coke instead of wine... I think I’m not going to vote for him.

Someone said that, in Greece, majors look like bus drivers... Come on! Did you see the bus drivers? They were totally great! I enjoyed more the buses than the discos!

In Spain, bus drivers get angry if somebody is not sitting; in Greece they start shouting at the micro if the people sit and sleep too much. I didn’t get what he said, but I suppose it was something like: “Dance, bastards, dance! You will sleep when you will die! Join the party!!”. And the bus was really a party, a mobile disco or something like this, with people dancing in the corridor, people singing, people shouting, people getting sea-sick, some lazy people trying to sleep anyway...

However, as Dutch people said, at least Greek majors don’t look like Harry Fucking Potter!

PART X (where X means ten): SHOWER PARTY / KITCHEN PARTY

I think this one has been my cleanest Summer University, because Greece is so fucking hot and I sweated so much all the time (24 hours sauna!) that I used to have 2 or 3 showers each day.

The best of them was, for sure, in Larissa, when Fiona (a.k.a: the girl with the ability of creating magic moments quite often) organized a Shower Party.

“Shower Party” may sound like the title of a porno flick, but actually it consisted in something so pure and clean as 20 young healthy people cleaning each other under the rain of only 3 showers... yes: wet bodies, wet clothes, bikinis, lots of soap, foam, massages, bubbles, laughs, photos... and we even cleaned some reluctant participants and organizers who, despite they tried to escape, I think they actually enjoyed it.

After that experience, when at home I take a shower and I have to clean my own parts of my own body with my own hands, I feel so melancholic...

I also did my best efforts organizing parties out of the official program, with irregular results. For example, in Corfu, we bought 5 liters of retzina and told a lot of people to come to the 1st floor kitchen 2 hours before the official meeting point, because we were going to have a “Kitchen Party”.

Everybody should have brought some alcohol, some food, some girls... and a chair.

But something went wrong: girls didn’t appear at all and there were only 5 boys, 5 liters of retzina, few beers and a can of Heinz Baked Beans. So we realized it was going to be a “Macho Party” and looked for some cards. I started eating my beans and drinking the stuff, while the others started playing Poker (a.k.a: the most traditional “macho” game). We weren’t a lot, but we were la crème de la crème de la crème: Roland (a.k.a: the man who learned to play drinking poker at the same time he learned to play poker), Teo (a.k.a: the man who knew the rules; a.k.a: Chauchescu), Denes (a.k.a: the man who needed some fresh air), Bernardo (the man who was supposed to win, but was so fucking drunk that went directly to sleep), and me (the man who, despite we weren’t playing “strip poker”, was so hot that wanted to show his underwear).

Well... I was wondering why so few girls joined us when I realized there was another party in another kitchen, organized by some crazy Italians that had even cooked some pasta! That’s unfair, men! In our kitchen I was only inviting to some “breakfast bread” (or whatever it was) and Catalan sausage (fuet)! But they were so unfairly cool that they had even cooked an extra plate of pasta for me, and it was great and helped me to get rid of that taste of baked beans, but I felt I had to share it with my poker partners because they were so drunk with their empty stomachs that they were gambling glasses of retzina 3 by 3...

PART XI: ROMANTIC STUFF

I consider myself a romantic man (I don’t mean that I can see movies like “Titanic” without puking, but I enjoy sunsets, poetry and making love under the stars (you know: “the stars... the moon... etcetera”)).

Maybe that’s why Rolando and me decided to take a pretty Eastern girl for a romantic walk next to the sea... and it almost finish in a bath of blood!

“Trust us, we know the way” (...) “yes, it is the way” (...) “yes, it is” (...) “yes, it is” (...) “yes, it is” (...) “no, we are not lost” (...) “no, we are not lost” (...) “I don’t know, ask Roland” (...) “mmmh, I’m starting to feel offended” (...) “OK, let’s come back if you want” (...) “OK, the residence is just in front of us if so say so!!”.

I also thought that that castle on the top of the hill was a cool romantic spot for getting drunk (in Spanish: “botellón!”) so I convinced some organizers to go there.

However, few privileged ones we were able to go inside with big bottles of wine and plastic glasses in our hands and saying “yamas” and making pictures in front of the guardian, but when the others arrived they weren’t allowed to come in by strange reasons (I suppose they didn’t wear proper shoes or something like that).

But the most romantic people in Greece are the taxi drivers (compared to a Greek taxi driver, New Yorker Robert DeNiro looks as dangerous as Mikey Mouse). One of them, seeing that he was taking to a students residence a beautiful Greek girl and 3 ugly foreigner boys, started talking in Greek with the girl. As my Greek was still not very good, I supposed they were talking about the weather, but later we knew that the taxi driver had been preventing her from making love with us 3 because we looked like if we had AIDS! He also explained her a lot about his private life and how to use condoms, etcetera. Can you imagine?

Don’t ask me why I prefer bus drivers.

But, come on, do I look like if I’ve got AIDS? I don’t think so. I think I’m just ugly, like most of the participants, and there are other ways of saying it much more polite...

For example: if you organize a TSU and your participants are uglier than expected and you don’t know how to tell it to them without making them angry, you can take them to a “free beauty treatment”! (Come on, Greeks, you thought we were not going to notice it?). So they took us to one lovely beach in Corfu that looked like a Star Wars scenery, where we could rub the rocks and get some clay to put on our faces and this way become less ugly or, to say it more polite, less “uncomfortable to see”.

It was easy to recognize who were the ones who thought they really needed important changes in their faces and bodies, because they were totally covered by that brown-grey stuff like fucking muddy monsters from a cheap Japanese terror movie (for example, Wim and me).

Actually, I don’t believe that that stuff worked very much, but it was quite funny!

But did it really work? Let’s see...

PART XII: LOVE AND EMOTION

After some investigations, I found out that the Greek mentality about love and sex is quite similar to the Spanish one, and it’s not exactly a compliment. The only differences I’ve noticed are:

a) the Greek girls are as difficult as the Spanish ones, but are more sweet and friendly;

b) a Spanish Greek is a Greek Turkish;

c) a Greek Spanish is a Spanish Cuban.

(Thanks god, “doggiestyle” is “doggiestyle” everywhere).

So you see I was good at the theory, but I had to improve my practicing abilities...

According to one of my psychoanalysts (a.k.a: the girl who thinks we speak Catalan just to annoy other people), my main problem in the coupling rituals was that girls love me too much... as a young brother.

Fuck.

It’s not that I’m very interested in falling in love with girls who live far from my place or that I need more sex than what my own hand can offer, but I had decided to win the bet, so I had to score some points...

But the backgammon malediction was still there.

Let’s see: there was a sexy organizer that always called me “moromu”; and there was one that called me “my husband” and liked to be called “my wife” and we teased each other and grab hands and this kind of very soft soft core (and I try not to focus when I’m on holidays, but I think she was my favorite); and there was another girl who looked so jealous about the “wife” that wanted to be called “my lover”, and she was quite amazing too, like a kind of Indian beauty or something...; and there was also “my sister” who always travel with me and is totally in love with me but still doesn’t know and tries to get over it going out with one of my best friends; and there were also the “3 angels of Xavi” (who thought that Bernardo and me were the only decent men in the TSU, and Bernardo had a girlfriend...); and there was also my beloved “mamasita”, the sweetest girl in town (who, if I remember right, before had also been my sister or cousin or something like this); and also that girl who looked distant during the day but jumped to my bed at the first occasion she had (and then fall sleep)... But mysteriously all of them resisted my intentions to turn our relationship to a more carnal one.

Some of them really played with my feelings and treated me like an object...

and it was great!

In my town we call this kind of stuff “escalfabraguetes” (in English it’s something like “teasers”, I think), and sometimes it’s very impolite, but I must confess I like it. Of course I prefer wild sex, but kisses on the cheek are not so bad. Specially if they are the hottest and wildest kisses on the cheek from some of the sweetest girls I’ve found (really, after this TSU I’m starting to think that Spanish girls are fucking cold... maybe with the exception of my beloved Nuria).

And, anyway, those “escalfabraguetes” were nothing compared with the Sex Robot from Piraeus (a.k.a: Gimme-Cupons Girl) or my G.D. (a.k.a: the teaser who tried to learn from the Sex Robot but had her own style... and what a style!!),... but maybe I’ll talk about them later.

However, I had a very heart-touching moment when I told my Wife that I was leaving one day before what she expected. She hugged me so much and in a way so sweet and passionated that let me totally KO. I’m afraid that if that hug had lasted few seconds more I would also have started to cry.

Then, Black Magic Woman Stefania told me that the curse was over and that since that very same moment I was able to have sex again,... and just then my Wife wanted to come with me to my room to help me pack my things.

I thought it was a strange metaphor, but it was true and clear: she really helped me with my clothes and put my socks together as a good wife, which made me a little bit angry because I don’t like having people working for me, but I love her so much that it couldn’t last long... so later we went for a romantic dinner and explained each other the last gossips and she talked about her Greek boyfriend and I talked about my Catalan girlfriend or exgirlfirend or whatever she is nowadays. I still wonder.

PART XIII: THE GOODBYE AND THE HELLO

Cleopatra (a.k.a: Patricia; a.k.a: “the girl who helped us so much that deserved something more than that bottle of wine”); Roser (a.k.a: “the girl who wanted to get drunk in the boat”); Fiona (a.k.a: “Radio Bemba”); Virginia (a.k.a: “the girl who received almost all my lighters when the last night we played the Game of the Lighter”); Monica (a.k.a: “the Romantic Girl”); Davide (a.k.a: “the Quite-quiet-for-being-Italian”) and me, we took a boat to Patra and then a bus to Peiraias and Athens.

But, before, we took 10.000 last pictures, we did 20.000 last kisses on cheeks, and some millions of last hugs and handshakes, and we sang the last songs and then danced and kissed again and hugged again and did some last pictures again. Some people looked totally decided to make me cry. I heard some heartless soul saying: “usually goodbyes are sad, but this one is getting also boring...”, and some participants were very disappointed because they had to leave next morning very early and they were afraid that their goodbye wasn’t going to be so heart-touching.

It was fucking sad to see the people getting smaller and smaller in the harbor while we were in the fucking boat going away.

Then, we sat and get drunk (some more than others...) and in the morning we saw an amazing sunrise over the Peloponeso.

The boat was called Blue Something, and it had this name because they used the air acondicionated like if it was a fucking fridge, and if you tried to sleep there you would die and become blue like Leonardo DiCaprio.

In Peiraias, Roser and me finally saw our great friend Kostas (a.k.a: our Big Brother; a.k.a: our Godfather); and he took care of us and later took us to the harbor again, where we had the best therapy against “goodbye sadness”: a therapy called “meeting old friends from other events”!

There was Kostas; there was Dafni (a.k.a: “one of my platonic loves in Budapest”); there was Maria (a.k.a: “the girl who thinks it’s not great to get lost with me in Amsterdam”); there was Roula (a.k.a: “the girl who only kissed me in Delf when I offered coupons to her”); and there was Vasilis (a.k.a: “the man who could ride a Dutch rowing bike”; a.k.a: “the man who I don’t think he needs a haircut so urgently”).

And some others from Peiraias or Patra that immediately treated us as old friends or even something more: Marios, Sofia, Thanasis, Katerina, Angelos, Evita, Dimitra (a.k.a: “the girl I’m already waiting for in Barcelona”), etcetera.

And they took us to Hydra, in a “boat party” that was like the “bus parties” we had done but in a boat instead of in a bus, and with free alcohol... the best way to say hello.

PART XIV: BONUS ISLAND

Hydra (a.k.a: Donkey Island) is a 50 km² lovely rocky thing in the Saronic Gulf, with some tiny houses, some art galleries and luxury shops, and with an utopic tradition: cars and motorcycles are strictly forbidden (really!), so Hydra was a clean an relaxed place. A place were if you don’t have a donkey you are nobody (OK, yatch are quite cool, also, but they don’t look so cute in the pictures). And there, instead of beaches they have rocky plataforms, but they call them beaches anyway, and the streets of the town are really cool and there are some hills that really deserve some excursions.

Once I climbed the peak of the 3 flags (a.k.a: the big one in front of the residence) and, up there, alone, I saw everything under me: the town, the people like ants, the mountains at one side and the sunset at the other, and I felt so illuminated and happy that, as Fiona would say, I hugged myself.

But, as often happen with AEGEE, the best was not the place but the people. The “kolités” from Peiraias and Patra treated us like “special guests” and fed us with more food that we could eat in 5 days (I even took some Papadopoulous cookies home, and my mother loves them), and they gave us so many presents (toothpaste, napkins, T-shirts with the face of Plato and the title of a summer hit, CDs, viagra-vitamines...) that I called that: “Christmas Summer University”.

And we played a lot of kinky games: since the “Look For The Fucking Treasure” (fuck, man, my team was second and also last, I’m afraid) to “Bingo Kiss” (mmmh... the Catalan style...), including the “I’ve never...” (I still don’t believe most of what I saw that night), the “Swallow the Yogurt, Babe!” (sorry, Anita, I didn’t mean to hurt your throat), “The Game of the Cork” (a.k.a: “The Game of the Lighter but with a cork instead of a lighter”) and “The Game of the Papadopoulous Cookie” (a.k.a: “the game of the paper but with cookies instead of paper”). And we danced “Ola Kalá” in such a hot way (and between such hot girls) that I’m not going to say anymore that I don’t like dancing.

And, attention, because I played that damned backgammon game again! And I played it against Marios and he won; and he won for 2 reasons: a) because he played better than me, and b) because I wanted to lose! You know, “unlucky in games...”

Was the curse over, then? Was it so easy?

Well, more important than the game was the existence (or just the dream?) of a gorgeous and clever girl with a lovely smile and a wicked sense of humor...

But I shouldn’t say more because, despite we had lots of things in common, I’m afraid she doesn’t like gossiping as much as I do.

And next day I had to leave.

Why always the best night is the last one, even if I try to stay on holidays 5 extra nights? Is this just an hormonal problem or is it Murphy’s Law?

Kostas (him, again) prepared us a dinner with so many good home-made stuff from Creta, that I thought I was still dreaming... and he took us to the bus and the bus took us to the airport, and the plane took us to Barcelona.

And here I am, writing this stuff to help not to forget those unforgettable moments.

PART XV: ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to all the organizers for making it possible, specially to Stefania, Thanassis and Chris for being always there, listening to us and looking reliable; thanks to Roland because I’ve stolen some of his jokes in this text (now you can see we share everything, man); to Bernardo for his efforts trying to find a good girl for me (estaries orgullós de mi si m’haguesis vist a Hydra!); to Roser for sharing her soap, her cream and her patience with me (i l’any que ve, on anem?); to Mina and Nina for being so cool and for trying so hard to teach me Greek (susunis! moromus! I miss you!); to Sven for opening my bottles with his teeth (it was cool, but don’t do it again, please); to Murat for making so many pictures and putting them in internet (I hope); to the monks for letting me those trousers; to Endre and Roser for taking lovely drunk girls to my room and leaving; to the Syrian philosophers because I wanted to talk about them but didn’t know where; to Lourdes for letting me read the Spanish newspaper; to the Spanish army for showing us one more time that we cannot take our country seriously; to the people from Peiraias and Patra (specially brother Kostas) for everything; to Vasilis for opening that bag of wine without destroying the box (I mean the second time); to Voula for kissing my paper; to Cleopatra for taking us safe to Peiraias; to the tenors for creating so many party atmospheres all the time; to Virginia for her smile; to Fiona for knowing the Song; to Sofia for not using my tool as a bottle-opener; to...

what the hell, to everybody!

I think that’s enough, but probably I forget something.

See you.

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