Athens Day 1 – Sept 23, 2004

So I decided to go to Athens for the Paralympics. I didn't want to pass up the opportunity to watch my friends compete, do a little research and, of course, drink some ouzo. I landed yesterday afternoon, and while I'm sure there will be some amazing experiences throughout this trip my first one, largely due to my own disorganization, was not so ideal.

It all started with the cab ride from the airport. “Take me to Hotel Novotel in Omonia,” I said. I got nothing in response except a sideways glance. (You know, the one you get when you say something stupid?) I figured it was just a language barrier and thought nothing of it. As we got closer, the beautiful Greek landscape started turning into abandoned buildings, porn shops, crack addicts and. . . MY HOTEL! At this point the cabbie piped up, “nice hotel, bad area.” Upon entering the hotel I was met with what seemed to be some fairly severe security measures. I had to pass my bags through an X-ray machine and myself through a metal detector. Disconcerting? ...a little. The fact that I set off every single buzzer and light and didn't wake up the security guard…confusing.

After I got settled, I started to weave my way through a maze of busy streets to the train station en route to the Olympic Stadium, (more on that in future articles). I got settled just in time to watch Canadian racer Jeff Adams ( www.adamsmania.com ) win a bronze in the men's 400 meter track finals and Chantal Petitclerc (www.chantalpetitclerc.com) win the gold in the women's 800 meter. I stuck around to watch the medal presentations, then grabbed a bite to eat and headed back to the train.

Now, this is where the story gets interesting. It's now one o'clock in the morning and as I arrived at the train station closest to my hotel, I realized that I had broken one of the cardinal rules of traveling… remember where you are staying! No big deal--I figured that I'd just ask someone. I wheeled up to the most non-drug-dealing looking person and casually said “Hotel Novotel?”

“Ahh, down hill, then left” he said while pointing to the right.

Simple enough. I remembered it being a bit more confusing, but who am I to argue with a local? As I cruised along, it started to get more and more ghetto-like, but I'm not all that concerned. As I'm sure many of you have experienced, society's underbelly seems to feel some sort of connection to us wheelchair folk.

I'm down the hill, I'm turning right, I'm happy, I'm confident…I'm lost. No hotel in sight, just abandoned buildings, twitching crack addicts and what looked to be moped gangs ? The more people I asked for directions the more lost I got. At one point, I was told to “follow ‘that' car then take my middle left”! Again, the guy was pointing to the right. Apparently you don't loose your sense of humour when you're stoned on crack.

Oh, as if I wasn't concerned for my safety before, after anyone gives me directions they now finish with “be careful”. Okay, I'm a guy in a wheelchair asking drug addicts the way to a “fancy” hotel at one-thirty in the morning. Clearly, I had given up on being “careful” some time ago.

Truth be told, my savior through all of this , and not just a shameless plug for the “tricks of the trade” section, was my skill at curb hopping. Let me put it this way, the trains in Athens, very accessible, the Olympic Stadium, super accessible, ‘Crack Alley', not so accessible. The side walks were a medley of spasm inducing textured tiles, almost to the point where I wondered if they were made that way on purpose as some sort of cruel study. Curb cut-outs were non existent and the little frog in “Frogger” has never seen drivers like the Greek. In short, if I couldn't hop curbs--BIG curbs, I would certainly be a Greek hood ornament by now. Forty-five minutes has now passed since I was told to “go down the hill and turn left.” I'm thinking of giving up and retreating to my “happy place” when after a final series of curb hops, car dodges and crack whore questionings, I find myself at the hotel doors, complete with the sleeping security guard.