I found myself drifting towards my parents apartment in Athens in a second-class train carriage. It was one of those shimmering blue trains that rumble along Attiki, with odd-shaped seats and overhead shelves. My ticket granted me the top bunk, as if I was climbing Mount Olympus. I had no shame about this, though below me, two women occupied the lower bunks like sphinxes on their thrones.
I wanted to stretch my legs and wait for the conductor near the entrance, but as soon as I stepped near, one of themher hair arranged tightly like a statue from the National Archaeological Museumbegan to protest my climbing above.
When the moon rose in the window and my stomach started to sing a melody of hunger, I reached for my food. The women blocked the small table, sitting like pillars on either side, quietly sipping chamomile tea, guarding their precious territory.
Can I grab a quick souvlaki? I asked, almost whispering.
Young man, your ticket is for the loft bed. Did you pay less to save a few euros? Eat upstairs, please! We want peace, not the aroma of your meal floating down. Besides, after you finish, we will have to sleep and bask in your leftovers. Let us rest, the stern one replied, sounding like an auntie from Patras.
Their fortress was impenetrable. I retreated to my bunk, laid out the blanket, and prepared to eat my instant noodlesthe ones with oregano that haunt every Greek student. Just as I plunged my fork into them, the train tumbled forward, jolting like a donkey on a winding Cycladic road. My entire dinner flew off in slow motion, landing on the shelf below.
The noodles cascaded like golden olive branches, even entwining themselves in the hair of my fellow traveler underneath. Her curls became a Medusas nest of spaghetti. I wanted to howl and giggle at the same time.
Young man, havent you learned how to eat in the trains of Greece? Is this your first journey or what? Its a disaster! her voice came out, echoing across the compartment.
I swear, it was an accident! I apologized, gently peeling noodles from her locks.
The night was perfumed with the scent of instant noodles, an aroma even the conductors hesitated to approach. The lady wanted to wash, but how could she? The train was as basic as a KTEL bus, with no amenities or luxe.
I slept better than Achilles, though the hunger lingered from the smell. What can I say? Maybe it was all their own fault, or maybe just another strange chapter from the dreamlike tunnels beneath Athens.
