Konitsa

Greg was visiting and our lazy lifestyles became even lazier.  A couple trips to town, one muddy romp, whiskey at bars and wine with dinner.  Work on sundays, maybe saturdays.  Not too much else, besides that occasional Ostrich egg and visits from the sheep.

So we jumped in a cab, following Greg's longing to visit Meteora, Greece, and monasteries built on clifftops.  That meter was going way too fast and we jumped right back out, and hitched a ride to Preveza with cigarette smoking gas station employees in a blue pick up who liked the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Abbey's eyes.  From there a bus to Ioannina, where we killed five hours through wine, free food, dice and a lakeside walk.  A night bus to Kalambaka so we could walk to Meteora where we stopped to shelter ourselves in a camp sight for a night.

Three of us in a tent build for one where we insisted on laughter to avoid hating each other during sleepless, uncomfortable hours.  A full moon provided an illusion of dawn which lasted through the night, as I lay anxious, awaiting that feeling of sun through tent walls.

In the morning we walked.  Fields of wildflowers, tall grass, and those rocks. It seemed as though we had been lifted, taken across the universe and deposited on some long lost planet where stone reached sky and color filled in the rest like Crayola streaks from a childhood hand.  I tried to imagine some daring monk who had first decided to build places of worship so precariously atop those cliffs.  Someone who understood a benefit in worshiping God and nature in the same sentence, perhaps.  Or just had a longing for the dangerous.  Whoever he was, and whatever the motivation, bravo.  We followed a cobblestone trail fading away to dirt, and marveled at the flowers, trees, stones.  Due to some impulse we pushed ourselves behind hanging ivy and between yellow rock following an internal notion of goodness and discovered a cave, which grew larger with every step and we rested awhile wondering about presences before us and shared space throughout time.

The day continued on in that fashion, admiring nature, architecture, art and faith and how it is the combination that creates the religion.

We had walked far, hard, and in such heat.  We needed food, drink, a good nights rest.  Hitched a ride to town with a German rock climber, grabbed our bags, a beer, lunch, and a bus ticket back to good ol' Ioannina with the hope of sleeping in our own beds later that night.  Arriving at the bus station the general feeling amongst us was so positive it radiated, pulsing, into all of those around us, for really, it had been a fantastic day.  We purchased our tickets to Vonitsa, and had time for coffee before our bus left.

On that bus, the last one of the trip, we drank Ouzo and played 21 questions, (Scooter, Lasagna, Sunset, Jon Bon Jovi, Castle...) and swam with a comfortable ease in the fact that we would soon be back to Vonitsa, a quick 20 minutes from our house, where our neighbor would give us a ride home, and the rest of the night would be filled with wine and love and good nights of sleep.

However, as it goes, it went a little differently. The bus stopped after an hour and a half, we glanced out the windows and, knowing it wasn't our stop, stayed cozy and content in our seats as the bus emptied.  Completely.  Eventually the driver came on, and yelled something in Greek the must have meant,

            "We're here, what the fuck are you waiting for? Get the hell off this bus. I've got a busy night and your three are slowing me way down."

So we stepped into the night, into an unfamiliar town, and man were we confused. 

            "Vonitsa?" We asked, to the general public. Yes, it replied, "Konitsa". 

Abbey looked at me. Greg looked at Abbey.  I looked... confused.  Konitsa.  It rang through our minds like the church bells of earlier.  Konitsa, Vonitsa.  Of course.

We took out our handy road map, and there it was, in small black writing.  The exact opposite direction of where we wanted to go, and only about 20 minutes from the Albanian border.  Lovely.

We ran through our options. Stay the night? All Lonely Planet had to say of the place was that it is "dangerous", so we decided to try our best to head out.  Too dark and far for hitchhiking, we resigned to getting on another bus, if one was running so late.  And, after only a little frustration, one angel of a cab driver, and some wonderful timing, we were on a bus back to Ioannina with our Ouzo and the memory of a trip to the border of Albania to look back on whenever we may need a good laugh.

The events that happened next seemed to occur in a rapid fast forward.  Backtracking is never enjoyable, but we tried our best at positivity.  There were only six of us onboard, and as we began chatting to the three boys sitting around us the conversation quickly grew interesting as we swapped answers to the question that is always asked first in the life of travel: "where are you from?".  Two boys from Afghanistan and one from Pakistan.  As we answered "America" we instantly became full to the brim with questions for one another, and in what seemed like 10 minutes, we were back at the station, in a city which, by now, we knew quite well.  Our 12 brown eyes took turns exchanging glances, as hands reached towards shakes, and eight of those eyes headed for Athens, Greg included. 

Abbey and I took our four to a cheap hotel, strange movies, comfy beds and new perspectives.