Survived to tell the story ... wanna buy a watch? how about some blood?

Okay, so this blog post goes way back ...

     There have been a lot of stories conveyed on this blog, mostly about the recent past.  Our trip around the world was fun and exciting and amazing, and still fresh in our minds, but I wanted to tell a story about a time long ago ... early 1970's ...

Travel runs deep in my blood 

     I was a young man, twenty years old, and had been in Aberdeen Scotland for about a year, working on the oil rigs.  I had already met my future wife Fiona, a story that was relayed in this earlier blog post: How-Italy-changed-my-life.html.
     After a long British winter of cold gray, overcast skies, rain and (dare I say) gloom - I was ready to head south to warmer temperatures.
     I had saved a little money from my employment in the oil business, and I bought a ticket to Athens Greece.  Fiona was still studying in school at the University, so I was going on my own.  I had always wanted to see the Greek isles, the sun and the Aegean sea, I pictured an idyllic vacation.

     I set off on the train which would take me all the way to Greece.
     I passed through Europe, met some cool people on the way, and eventually traveled through the final country before Greece, which was Yugoslavia.  It's no longer a country.  It broke apart with a resulting horrendously brutal civil war.  
     I passed through Zagreb (Croatia) and Belgrade (Serbia), and stopped to observe the scenes, which were frankly kind of depressing.  It was the zenith of the communist era in those places.
     Travel can be a tremendous education. 
     I eventually arrived in Athens Greece, late in the evening and found my way to a youth hostel, and promptly crashed on the nearest available bed, exhausted.

Then things began to go seriously wrong 

     I hid my important documents and critical papers and money under my pillow and was immediately sound asleep.  It had been a long trip from Scotland and even as an energetic young man, I was worn out. 
     When I woke up in the morning, the satchel containing my critical documents was gone.  All my stuff - and most importantly my passport - had been snatched during the night.  What a shock!  
     Even back in those days, an American passport was a valuable document, something that could fetch a few thousand dollars on the black market. 
     I spoke to the proprietor of the hostel and ... let's just say he reacted with a lack of compassion or understanding: "hey, you don't protect your stuff, somebody take it."  I thought I had taken the right precautions. 

The formative years?

     I was in yet another predicament.  I have been in a few tight spots in the past, but being stuck in Athens, Greece without a passport, money, or any other identification was a severe crisis for a twenty year old kid - especially without any way to communicate with anyone. 
     The proprietor of the youth hostel threw me out.  I had to sleep in doorways for a week.  It was a very rough time.  

    I went to the American Embassy to see if I could get a new passport, but they wouldn't let me in.  They said "You can't come in if you don't have a passport" and my response was - "that's why I'm here!"
     They said you have to go the the police department and wait a week to get a "certificate" that says your passport has been stolen.
   

How to live on the streets of a foreign country for a week or more

     So I went to the police department in Athens and they were not friendly.  In fact, it was a rather traumatic experience, as they were in the next room interrogating someone and beating the hell out of him - for reasons I was not entirely clear about - and they told me to come back in a week. 
     They said if my passport didn't turn up, they would give me a certificate that said it was stolen, and then maybe I might get into the American Embassy and get a replacement. 
     I can still recall the sounds of the police smacking someone around and yelling at him in Greek and the guy was hollering and they were threatening him and I was hoping they wouldn't do the same to me ... this is some years ago (1974), and times were different then and the due course of law was brutal and very severe. 

     In the meantime, I was living on the streets, and had no money and no place to stay.  There was some dude that "took pity" on me and told me that I could make some money selling watches ... yeah, right ... it was a scam.
     But I was so desperate that I fell for this idiotic scheme and I went from cafe to cafe telling a made up sob story and trying to get a Greek to buy this cheap knock-off watch.  I pulled my pockets inside out to show I didn't have any money (which was true) ... "please buy my watch so I can go home to America to see my mama and papa."
     It was a lame bogus story and most people could see through it, although I did sell one watch ... but it was so disheartening that after a couple days I gave the watches back to the ring leader.  I couldn't do it anymore. 
     I sat down on the steps of a church and began to cry.  I wept.  I was alone and broke and stranded in a far way land with no friends and no options.  I have seldom felt so rock bottom and lonely in my life. 

Eventually things began to look up  

     So I tried to get back in the game.  I had to be innovative.  One thing I discovered is that I could sell my blood to a sort of Red Cross blood bank, and get some money.  This worked for a while until I became anemic and weak, and ran out of blood and they wouldn't let me in anymore.  
     Also, I sold my prized Levi jacket.  This was a time when genuine Levi stuff was in high demand overseas, and I was able to eat for a few days. 
     In addition, I kinda hung around the spots where visitors would congregate and I would eavesdrop, and when the time seemed right I offered to help them find the Parthenon, or the Acropolis, or the Olympic Stadium, and "oh, by the way, you wouldn't possibly care to buy me a sandwich would you?" 
     So I got by for a few days as a amateur tour guide in Athens, and eventually after a few more days, the youth hostel guy felt guilty and let me stay there.  
     I made a few friends of fellow travelers and they were sensitive to my plight and some of them befriended me and ... well, life goes on.  
     Even under the most extreme circumstances, you just have to try to keep moving forward.  

I get a new Passport in Athens, Greece

     So after a week and a half of this hand-to-mouth existence, I go to the Police department and they give me a "certificate" which is a minor miracle in itself, and I then proceed to the American Embassy - and low and behold, they issue me a new passport!   Hallelujah!
     For the purposes of credibility, I decided to include a couple pictures from that provisional passport, shown below.  The passport photo is hilarious, although at the time I was not amused. 

  
      I feel like I have a new lease on life!  I'm gonna survive! ... if I can just lay my hands on some money and a train ticket back to the UK ... 
     These arrangements turn out to be rather complicated, and any further thought of a vacation on the Greek isles is long gone.
     At this point, I just want to get back to Scotland and see Fiona and get back to work and have a place to sleep and a roof over my head.  Some decent food would be nice, too. 

Not so fast there, cowboy 

     So I obtain a railroad ticket back to Great Britain and I make my way there subsisting on bread and cheese and sleeping on the train.  It's a long damn ways, and it takes a long time.  
     Why is it that when you are starting out on a journey, everything is exciting and time slows down and you savor every moment - and yet when you are trying to get home, it seems like it takes forever?
     I feel like I have been delivered from the far side of the moon, but we are not done yet ...

     So I get to the border station inside Britain after crossing the English channel, and I am detained.  
     They see my fresh passport issued in Athens and they are suspicious - I look (and smell) like a thug. 
     They put me in a holding cell and tell me they need someone in the UK who will vouch for me.  This is back in the primitive old days; there is no email, or internet, or cell phones, or even fax machines.  
     The only person I can suggest is Fiona, but I don't have a phone number.  I eventually convince them to call the university, and they try to call her.  "this guy says he knows you and he looks like hell,"  and of course she is in class at school.  
     So I have to cool my heels while they take several hours to find Fiona (imagine trying to phone a large university and ask to talk to a student).  They are busy with other stuff, and they are not terribly motivated to do this. 
     They won't let me in the country, even though my previous passport (which was stolen in Athens, I tell them) contained an unlimited work permit for the UK.  Now I am an unwanted alien trying to sneak into their country.  Life is not fair.

     They finally reach Fiona by phone and ... let me enter the country.  They give me a temporary travel visa that states I can't work or stay very long ... which I promptly ignore.  
     Of course, I still don't have any money so I have to hitchhike a thousand kilometers up to Scotland. There are several more stories contained in that hitchhiking trip  


     These kind of adventures tend to stay with you and become part of who you are.  When I encountered difficulties later on in life ... well, I won't say I was prepared, but I did have some experience in dealing with rather hopeless situations.