Skipping ahead a bit…it’s Saturday night and I sit in the Plaka (plaza) of Old Rhodes Town. This part of the city is famous for many reasons not the least of which is the fact that it’s encased in the original medieval walls built by the Knight of St John.
Plaka at Rhodes Old Towne
Like Italy, the biggest crowds gather in the outdoor cafes that surround the town square. I went looking for people and I know this is the best place to find some. There are even kids hanging out on the steps up to the old tower just like I’ve seen in every town I’ve visited in Europe.
As I sit, waiting to see what will happen, I’m struck by 2 simultaneous thoughts. European children are up much too late and I wish I’d been raised as a child in Europe.
The tow headed girls at the table to my right can’t be more than 5 or 6. They color on the tiny cafe tables while their parents (men on one side, women on the other) chat with each other, passing the evening enjoying the fine weather and each other’s company. This is living.
The Yang of this pleasant Yingful scene is the MIME in the Plaka. That’s right people, there exists a Greek Marcel Marceau. People are actually gathering around him to watch him pretend he’s in a box. Shit.
Also, in every cafe, there are enormous flat screen TV’s blaring some kind of singing competition. The restaurant hawkers call out to potential patrons: “Television! See! Hear!” I blame Seacrest for this. Not because he’s truly at fault but because I enjoying blaming him for things that are wrong with broadcasting. The waiter tells me this “Eurovision Song Contest” is the MOST popular TV show in all of Europe. So much for imported culture.
You decide what's going on here
Holy crap! A group just entered the cafe next to me that are either a bunch of Norwegian sailors on shore leave or a gay cruise group out on theme night. There’s more than a dozen of them and half the group are wearing tighty-whitey shorts with their sailor shirts and little round caps. Could those shorts possibly be standard issue?
They have been given mugs of beer and are singing what I presume to be either patriotic Norwegian drinking songs or something from their Glee Club set list. It’s hard to tell and I’m distracted by all that visible man leg.
Things are starting to really hop at the old Plaka. You know because the person selling individual long-stemmed roses has appeared. Some things are universal. Where’s the polaroid camera guy offering to over charge me to preserve this memory?
Then right on cue, acoustic guitar man enters, stage right. “Serenade for the pretty lady?”
Still among all the hubbub, I’m wondering, where is the famous Greek hospitality? I’ve been sitting here for 2 hours waiting to be befriended by someone Greek or otherwise. So far, that’s a bust. I think I look pretty cute tonight. I may have to go to Lindos for that tomorrow. It’s smaller and may lend itself to more intimacy.
In fact, I have to say I’m not impressed by Rhodes town (new or old) at all. Although the Medieval architecture is attractive, one look at the shops makes me feel like I’m at the Jersey Shore.
The best thing about Old Towne
It’s just a lot of CRAP and that lamp store was the prettiest thing I could find to photograph. Every stall is choked with bad designer knock off bags and clothes. Most of the people I pass, clearly dressed to go out for the night, are wearing some kind of T-shirt with the name of an American city emblazoned across it in gold lame. Weird.
I long for Italy where everyone and everything is more graceful. Not that it would be any friendlier, just more attractive. OK the waiter just bought me a glass of wine and wants me to meet him for coffee tomorrow.. I shutta my face.
Still this being here on my own thing is kinda weird. It’s just that I lack a certain sense of purpose. After I am done with the cafe, then what? What will I do with myself tomorrow?
Well, I’m finishing my glass of free wine and then the only challenge that remains is to find the gate I came in at so I can get my car!
As I pack up my things to leave, the wine-giving waiter asks his boss if he can end his shift now so he can ask me out. It’s clear this is not a strange request and again I admire the Greek value system that places living at equal importance with working.
Tasos is probably my age or a little older and I convince him to take me to a local Bouzouki. That’s a Greek nightclub that revolves around 5 or 6 singers belting out medley’s of traditional Greek folk songs and trashy Euro club hits. To get into the club you buy the bottle on the table. In this case, Cuttysark. Already I know this trouble. The second level of participation requires the purchase of trays of flowers you’re supposed to fling one by one at the singer you approve of most.
Greek Idol?
It was loud, smokey trashy good fun. I dance on stage while men kneel at my feet-because that’s what they do. Say what you want about the Greek man vs woman thing. This night was definitely a celebration of the female form.
We parted outside the club. He asked me to come back to the restaurant the next morning but I had no intention of doing that. I knew I would be heading out town the next day to find the “Greece” I flew halfway around the world to see. White houses, water clear and calm as glass, warmth, laughter and glasses of wine at sunset.
Lindos, here I come.
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