"Athena, goddess of Civilization, Learning and War.
Of all my patrons, thou art my favourite,
for I, like thou was born from the head of a man.
And I, like thou, am a woman true.
Grant me the ability to see truth and clarity, to learn and
appreciate new things, and to treasure and maintain the knowledge I already possess.
Allow me to be any person's equal, able to compete where I must,
and to share when I can, in my culture and community.
Remind me that in being a woman, I still retain my reason and higher faculties,
while allowing full reign of my emotions."
Obviously not my word and very very archaic. Nevertheless, this is Athens. The Greek one. Not much to see at night. The wind is always blowing. The sidewalks are littered with trash (physical and moral). People wander the streets more aimlessly than the stray dogs. But still, it is Athens.
It is November, and I am still in the northern hemisphere. Ergo, it is colder this time of the year than other seasons. As you might have guess, however, as my attire doesn't changed with the revolution of the Earth around the Sun, neither did it change with my own revolution around the Earth. Shorts and a T-shirt made me stand out quite a bit among these full coated Europeans. As if the freckles, luggage and squinting at every sign for far too long didn't mark me as a tourist already.
There is an amazing thing in civilization today. Where as in nature, the weak are preyed on, some here try to help the confused and lost soul. But then again, some still take to there advantage. I had been warned that Athens wasn't the most honourable city, and therefore had my wits about me in the presents of others. I thank Heaven for the blessing of situational awareness.
I was the victim of pick-pocketers. Fear not, the story is not that simple. Toting a shoulder bag and a small yet still cumbersome suitcase, I was at full display of "I am new. Someone pick on me." And they did. Crammed into a fully stuffed metro car, I was surrounded on all sides. The advise given to keep valuables out of my back pockets was my first line of defense. My girthy wallet was tucked in my front pocket along with my iPod. I buttoned up my side cargo pockets and pulled my laptop bag in front to kept it close.
Something still didn't feel right. I reached to my left cargo pocket and it was open. My camera gone! I loved that camera. FujiFilm 14 megapixel, shock proof, water proof, dust proof and freeze proof. It had it all. But I no longer had it. Fortuitously, the dirty grubber was still by my side. At least I had to assume it was him. After the discovery, I looked at him and started to grab at him while he attempted to slink away. As previously stated, the car was like a sardine can and this slimy kelpto was going nowhere fast.
He must have thought that I had a temper to match my obvious Irish complexion. As slightly has he had lifted it from my possession, he placed it on the top of my suitcase. "Oh that's where I left it." Yeah, because I am that naïve.
Fighting in a very crowded metro car would not have been a very good beginning to the end of the first day in Athens. So, I let it slide as I shoved myself away from him and into a corner. I hastenly checked if my passport was still in that pocket when someone asked me a question. A rotund man with a very Greek beard. Whether he was up for actual conversation or not, I was not. He asked me something about it being cold and where was I from. Then this other guy next to me asked the same thing. I said Colorado and they both laughed and nodded their heads like it makes total sense. Then, the second questioner reached over and rubbed my arm commenting on my freckles.
This was a trick. People say there is nothing good on TV. Well, I state this as one example of what TV has taught me. It was a show about past posting in Vegas. People try to cheat the house by switching out their bets once the roulette wheel stops or the big wheel stops turning. The term past posting comes from horse racing when people try to lay down or change bets after the horses have crossed the last race but before the bookies have gotten word of the final outcome. At a casino, one tactic was to casually touch the dealers hand or arm. "No one ever touches casino dealers. This is like being hit in the side of the head with a sledgehammer. They are trained to remember placement of bets and faces. Do this, and it shakes them for a bit, and they forget what they were trying to remember."
Richard Marcus is quite the genius for his time.
My rapid fact recovery was able to recall this little gem, and I was not fooled. I calmly smiled and cast a surveying eye to the other faces in the crowd. Finally, right before the doors opened, the first scoundrel grabbed the handle of my suitcase and pulled. This is where the naïve part of me might have got me in trouble, because I thought he might be trying to help. Correction, I thought he might be pretending to try to help me then make off with my bag. He and I tugged back and forth while I firmly said, in a language and parlance that flew right over his head, "I got it. I got it" The cheeky trite was trying to distract me. A forth guy (grab hands is 1, big bearded chuckler is the second and Richard Marcus's protégé is 3) was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, aka my front pocket. I was not about to take all this, and he certainly wasn't going to take anything from me. I jerked my bag away from the clutches the first guy at the same time turning on his partner throwing my hip back to eject his hand from my pocket. I still had both hands full after pulling my bag back, and he is lucky. He didn't get what he wanted nor did he get what he was asking for. Because I was fully ready to give it to him.
But this was my stop too, so we all emerged from the train. That was the end of it. I spent the next 20 minutes looking for my hotel while constantly glancing over my shoulder. I avoided anyone's help and was very weary of anyone walking past and especially anyone sitting on the stoop of a closed shop. I made it to my hotel, settled in for nice cozy slumber. Chair against the door and passport always on my person. I am not about to get stuck in this country. We shall see what the light of day brings.
However, it was not fruitless. Bountiful orange trees lined the finish. And it was eagerly received. And there, on the ground, among the discarded plastic bottles and rotting banana peels, I retrieved my laurels. 
