Home is Where we Hook-up

I have never bought into the whole travel insurance thing.  So far, (and do I tempt fate here?) I have not suffered the sorts of emergencies that travel insurance issuers claim to help out with. Never lost any baggage from a flight, or been bumped and forced to overnight. Haven’t had an expensive “non-refundable” trip canceled. No accidents resulting in bodily harm, though I’ve had my share of close calls as a pedestrian in the chaotic traffic of Greece and Italy. My overall health is good. I quit smoking many years ago. I’m ignoring the weight factor, I’m alright. Regrettably, I never took care of my teeth, ever. I mean I brush, of course, but that’s more a hygiene thing than a health habit. Guilt flossing is the only kind I have ever practiced, and it ends about a week after a cleaning. I try to get my appointments scheduled for cleaning whenever I am in Bishop, at least twice a year, that’s where my records from childhood are. I learned years ago that with a little work I could save my teeth from the brutal periodontal disease that I was beginning to suffer from. I flossed for two weeks after that visit.

Not a week prior to departing Canada for our six week trip to the Italian Riviera I acknowledged a teeny, tiny, itty, bitty bit of discomfort under my left molar. Allowed myself to note that there was the slightest irregularity, and then promptly put the information somewhere else, knowing you can’t have major dental work and then fly in a jet, back to back. This was nothing, anyway.

Less than a week after we arrived in this wealthy, pristine, mostly non-English speaking, seaside resort town, I was in trouble. One minute I’m tossing peanuts, “Snack Friends” (I always love the choice of when to use English, and how, in a foreign country) into my mouth, the next “Ow-WoW-OWWWW.” This is not going to be good. Putting my thumb on one side of the molar, and my index finger on the other I gently pushed, and to my surprise the entire tooth swayed effortlessly, if not painlessly, side to side. Adult teeth in motion are a bad, bad thing. Crap. This is going to get bad.

First thing Monday morning, which is 9 a.m. around here, I sought out help to find a dentist, an English speaking dentist. I HAD to be able to discuss the facts that I already knew, I was going to loose my tooth. Wanting to avoid further pain (though I was not in a lot) but mostly thinking about the costs, I had built myself up to accept the loss and did not want to be talked into any sorts of major tactics to save it. Like my mother, I am pragmatic when it comes to these things. And as she so classically said later to me “You don’t need all 32 anyway”.

By noon I was tilted head down in a blue leather dentists chair, distracted by the shimmery reflection of the sea dancing through the sliding glass doors of the examination room. Ocean front dentistry. Classy. My new Italian Dr. took a look, shook his head.

“How old are you?” I answered. Another shake. “It’s too bad for such a young woman, well, or man either, but someone so young to loose a tooth.” These were his first words about my situation, and I was instantly at ease. Ahh, ok, so he knows it too, it’s a goner. I didn’t have to talk him out of some gigantic procedure, I quickly agreed with him, it sure is a shame. I understood the words when he explained to his assistant that I’d had a periodontal rupture, I nodded in agreement. I didn’t really understand, but it sounded about right for what I knew of my poor ignored chompers. He took an x-ray, pausing at the door to quickly check “Are you pregnant, no?” No, I grunted through the mouthful of film jabbing my soft mouth flesh. Too late to say anything about protective cover, click-zap and the telling image had been taken.

By 1:00 p.m. I had been completely over-anesthetized, the Dr. mistaking one mumble full of hands for another and giving me an extra shot just in case. I never have understood dentists asking questions that can’t be intended to be answered. In this case, I learned they probably just guess. The sick, short rooted, cavity filled molar had been ripped and twisted free from causing any further damage. I felt nothing. As the Dr. worked to suture the already healing wound, I started having trouble with my right eye, it began blinking uncontrollably, I couldn’t stop it. Irritating, like twitching but without that pulsating sensation, blink, blink, blink, blink. Uugh! But wait. No, it wasn’t a problem with my right eye blinking, it was that my left eye was completely unable to blink. I wish I had a picture of my dimple smiling face, one half able to produce the dimple, smile wrinkles gathering at the edges of my eyes. The other 100% wide-eyed and frozen solid, bonus – no wrinkles. I physically had to hold my eyelid down to protect against the breeze, when I left the office later. Weird.

Making my follow-up appointment had the assistant a little flustered. “I’m sorry” she waved to me “I don’t even know your name!” I slurred the best I could, clenching on gauze and wishing I could just go now, trying to assure her that it was fine, we didn’t have to go through the paperwork. Her offers to sit with me and translate them were nice, and maybe not entirely sincere, but I assured her it was unneccesary. She must have read my mind earlier as I began to recount the entire event, from emergency walk-in to extraction took about 1.5 hours and they never even took my name. I was thrilled by the expediency of the whole thing. I don’t think a foreigner would receive the same treatment in my own country. As I paid the $150 bill, x-ray & consultation included, I couldn’t help but think that I wouldn’t receive the same treatment in my own country, Insurance or not!

These are some of our favorite little “goodies” from Greece. For those of you who played along with us in August, and left comments to our One Year Anniversary post, as promised you have a little something coming your way.

In the collection are olive oil soaps, pistachios from the island of Aegina, ouzo, honey/sesame bars, loukums, mastic gum and mastic aperitif.

For the recipients of either mastic soap, mastic gum or mastic loukums -this is a really unique and wonderful concoction. Mastic sap comes ONLY from trees grown on the Southern portion of the Island of Chios – nowhere else in the world….not even on the Northern part of the island! From this sap (which little Greek women shrouded in black chip out of the tree trunk with a sharp tool) all sorts of things are made – lotion, liquor, candy, soap….you name it, I’ll bet they make it with mastic. I’m facinated with the stuff…let me know what you think!

I hope you enjoy your little taste of Greece. We had a most wonderful summer – and there’s talk of going back next summer. Save your pennies and come see us!

August is the month that Greeks take vacation – they head out of the city and suburbs and move to the islands. A few weeks back I was going to write about this pleasant oddity as I headed to the metro early one morning and realized that if I had one – I could have shot off a canon and not hit anyone. Deserted was the only way to describe it. I thought how August would have been a good time for my mom to visit…no dodging of traffic, that alone is worth it! The trade off in our little neighborhood was that the pharmacist, fresh produce store, hair salon, and dairy were all closed for the month. Small price for empty streets, if you ask me!

The other day, Sept. 7th, Keith and I headed to the beach – by way of the main toll highway (Attiki Odos).  Not 100 yards onto the road, the realization struck of just how spoiled we had become in August – and that those days of hassle free driving were over for another year. All three lanes and the shoulder were jam packed, giant trucks, speedy racers, and the worst of all – the motorcycles and scooters…they are very dangerous. Everyone crams in, honking, swerving, no regard for rules of the road. In fact, I think we’ve mentioned that the “rules” are regarded as “merely suggestions” anyway.

Yep, vacation’s over and the Greeks are back and as crazy as ever.

Keith and I will be making a trip to the airport tomorrow to pick up the blogs new “Special Guest Writers”, my friends Debbe & Lindsey are coming for a vacation of their own. Should be several good adventures to tell about in the coming weeks.

Stay tuned….

Looking at the daily specials at a nice little Taverna in the heart of Athens, I curiously asked the waiter

“What is Lump in Lemon Sauce?”

“You don’t know lump?” He replied, visibly confused.

Keith assured him that no one, not where we are from anyway, knows ‘lump’. This seriously bothered the waiter. He took a pen from his pocket, leaned over the table and began to write on the paper table cover. Ah Ha! I figured it out! With all the excitement of winning the round of charades, I shouted “Lamb”!!!!

The next time I patronized that Taverna, “Lamp in Lemon Sauce” was on the daily special. This is like one of those emails that goes around, change one letter make a new word.

Another example of interesting menu choices is eating at a fish restaurant. Choosing fish off any menu can be a challenge. Most often there is a glass case of available fresh fish of the day…point to choose works fine for us. One afternoon we chose a kilo of Beetle fish. This does not translate, as far as I know. Beetle is a delicious white fish with gnarly sharp teeth like that of a piranha. With the exception of Swordfish (isn’t that endangered?) and calamari, we almost never recognize the fish on the menu. **click to see picture**

We really enjoy a good chuckle as we sit down for refreshments after a long days adventures. Enough funnies on this menu to warrant a photo for sure 🙂

Every Sunday morning at 11 am there is an elaborate ceremony, the changing of the Guard at the Tomb of the Unknown soldier in front of the Parliament building in Athens. The duo of Presidential Guard are relieved every hour on the hour, every day of the week, but the Sunday change is a big to do, and I wanted to see it.

I talked Keith into what fun the ceremony would be, and we headed into the city. Having arrived well ahead of 11 am, we sat at an outside cafe drinking cappuccinos (mostly so we could use the W.C. without feeling the need to sneak…water closets are for customers only). A large crowd appeared out of nowhere, a tour looking group, heading for the stairway leading to the Parliament building. What caught my attention about them, beside the sheer volume of the group, was they seemed to be following behind a “tour guide” that just so happened to be a stray dog. I kid you not, this dog walked a good 30 feet ahead of the crowd, every few moments it would turn to look at them, turn again and continue forward. So frequent was the dogs review of the group, I couldn’t shake the feeling that they really were being guided to the event by this very “in the know” looking canine. Boy was I in for a great surprise.

Once up on street level, we immediately saw the mistake in lounging around over coffee. A huge crowd had amassed and we were going to be stuck behind several rows of onlookers (the tallest people in all of Greece, of course). This coupled with the fact that it was a sweltering 105+ degrees…and well, I’m not telling to many secrets if I say that crowds are not Keiths favorite thing – an ideal start this was not.

Then the band started up. We could hear them long before we could see them. They marched along side the Parliament building, turned and marched along the front, closing off two very major intersections in the downtown. Just seconds ahead of catching my first glimpse of the band itself, I saw the lead dog. The very same dog leading the original group of tourists to the correct location, was now leading the band as they marched along the front of Parliament, turned and walked into the square where the ceremony would be held.

As any good canine companion, this pooch quietly laid in the shade while the men in funny outfits kicked their legs high into the air with very deliberate steps, as the 11 o’clock Guard came onto shift.

When all the pomp and circumstance was complete, the dog raised up and led the band back to the street, along the side of the building and disappeared with his crew.

I’m fairly certain when I go back on another Sunday (when it cools a bit) that I will once again see this same dog leading the humans through their rituals, behaving (and being treated) every bit as important as anyone else involved.

This is one stray who’s not only dialed into freedom in the city, but has been handed a key.