Patras Day One

 After an eternity in bed, I finally managed to coax myself out for a shower. I had foolishly forgotten one of the hallmarks Greek apartments. If you want hot water, you need to heat it first. I ran the shower for an eternity waiting for it to heat up. My memory clicked and I flipped the breaker. Back to bed. It’s funny how these little things can set you back so much time. 

Soon enough, I managed to hit the road for lunch. I’m annoyingly far from the city center so out here I am waiting on the bus. I walked outside just in time to see it pull away. Just one of those days I guess. Patras doesn’t do much for bus stops. No benches or shelters. Even the sign is fading away and won’t betray the route number. Thank God for Google. Moments like these are really making me appreciate LBT. A map at every bus stop, imagine that.

Every city has a horrifying thing that they do with a hot dog. They always claim it’s unique (it rarely is) and that it was invented in the city (it rarely is). Some locals from the bar last night sent me to a sandwich shop for lunch today. What I walked out with was a hot dog and fries, go your convenience. All in the same bun. The whole thing is served in a single piece of folded over bread and tossed in a panini press. Add sliced tomato and spicy cheese spread. It’s delicious. It makes me feel like shit. I can’t finish it all.

I’ve been searching for a place to sit and eat this crime against gut health but I cannot find it. Patras is short on green space and hard to get around. Traffic here is dense and fast. That means you can’t find a lace to cross the street outside of the few lighted intersections. There were times when I waited upwards of five minutes to cross because it simply was not safe to do so. For clarity, I jaywalk in Los Angeles and am no stranger to risking my life in the road. Two lanes in Patras was too much. I finally located a square where I could eat in peace. The square was under renovation. No benches and nothing green to look at. I squatted on a construction bollard and washed my sandwich down with a Loux, here it’s the local swill.

In search of something green I walked to the local castle. This one dates back to the Byzantines and has some interesting ruins I am told. To get there, you need to walk up the hill to the oldest part of the city. The St Nikolas Stairway has 192 steps, more than double the number Rocky Balboa ran up. After my lunch, it’s agonizing. Locals who need to use it to get home are taking breaks and running out of breath. Luckily for them, there are a few bars near the steps if you need to break up your journey.

The castle is old and had the solitude I was looking for. After the hike and the lunch I found myself a cozy bench and passed out in the shade of some trees, only to be woken up an hour later by the sound of a whistle. The castle closes at three. Who closes a castle at 3? No matter, I can nap back in my room.

For the evening’s adventure I went to a pool hall to what else, shoot pool. The bar is the prefect dingy environment with quality full size tables and a spiral staircase for the bathrooms that will kill you if you look at it wrong. While I was at the bar taking a break I overheard the waitress talking to two tall men in English. When they sat down next to me I said hello. I’ll be damned, Americans. Two brothers from Tacoma, one studying abroad at the local university and the other visiting for a few days. We bond for a bit about bumping into a fellow left coaster while on the road and shoot pool about it. Tonight I was introduced to a new way to play pool with three. Last man standing. Try to sink the other two player’s balls before yours are all put away. 

They’re going out later with more Erasmus students and we’re kind enough to invite me along. We walk to a sidewalk in the city next to the restaurant that sells the cheapest beers. Naturally this is where the students congregate. I’m introduced to their friend group, a squad of friendly folks mostly from Italy. We stand in the road and drink until about two in the morning at which point it is time to go to the club. Enter the building and the world’s worst DJ is playing a bunch of Spanish and Italian bangers I’ve never heard with transitions I wish I did not have to listen to. The crowd seems to agree. I’m not sure if nobody was really dancing because the DJ wasn’t it, they couldn’t get to the bar, or there was simply no room. Probably a mix of all three. After a while I threw in the towel. Good night.