The police had helmets, clubs, and tear gas. The mob had rocks and passion. And us...well, we had none of the above. We just needed to get to the bus by 5:15 pm. It was 5:00 and we hadn't even left the apartment for the twenty-plus minute walk it would take to get to the center of Athens and pick up our bus at Syntagma Square. Earlier in the day, as my roommates and I were walking to class, we noticed that the metro wasn't running, and there were barely any trams or people around. All of a sudden, a mob of Greeks rounds the corner, megaphones and banners in hand, protesting the newest point of contention for the day. Even though this was my first experience with a Greek protest, I soon came to discover that this would be a staple of my experience.
The Greek people are vocal and highly passionate individuals. If there is something they need to say or express, they will do so in whatever way they deem necessary. Usually, that means shutting down the metros without any prior notice, stopping all forms of public transportation, and crowding in the streets for a stand-off with the police. I had only been in this country for about a week, and I was already knee-deep in a potential crisis.
We sprinted to the center of the city to catch this elusive bus so that we could make it to our Greek dancing lesson. If we were late or we missed our ride, we would risk the wrath of our Greek mother, Aphrodite. Not wanting that option, my roommates and I walked quickly and quietly past the intimidating crowd of armed policeman and angry Greek citizens to our meeting place. I have never seen more of a zoo of people in my life.
They were everywhere. On the corners, the sidewalks, hanging out of taxis and bus windows, walking in and out of shops, and pushing each other in an effort to get where they needed to be as quickly as possible. Waiting really isn't an option. I had no idea how twenty-three people were supposed to fit into a bus that seated about fifty, but was already two-thirds of the way full. As we stood there on the corner, taking in the angry shouts in Greek and observing the crowd starting to throw rocks at the police, Aphrodite was screaming at us to get on the bus no matter what and that she would meet us at the dance hall. Half our group was late and when the bus finally showed, disaster erupted.
The doors opened and we charged. I've never aggressively boarded a bus in my life, but it was time to do things the Greek way. They pushed and pulled; I threw my body forward to get onto the bus. I climbed on seats, using the handrails and poles to swing through the vehicle like I was a trained acrobat. In retrospect, it was not graceful at all. It was merely a means to survival. Fifteen of us were able to make it onto this bus, but we had to be inventive with where we sat. I found a place on the storage area and held on for dear life. We had no idea what just happened or where we were going, so the only option was simply to go with it and see what happened. As the bus pulled away, I saw Aphrodite at the corner screaming at those who had arrived late, "Why are you late? You miss the bus! Don't be stupid!" and other assorted reprimands. The last thing we heard from her was the name of the stop where we needed to disembark.
Here we are, alone, with no guide, and no Greek whatsoever to make sense of this bus stop name which to me sounded like "Ominophonickita." I have no clue to this day what the actual name of the stop was, but somehow, we found it. Twenty minutes later, the rest of our group shows up, Aphrodite fuming and everyone else looking understandably scared. She probably reemed them out the entire ride. The only people with smiles on their faces were the guys on this trip. Their favorite part of the day was helping to yell angrily with the mob and watching with glee as a peaceful protest turned quickly into a free-for-all in the heart of Greece's capital.Once our adrenaline returned to normal levels, we were able to listen to our instructor and learn how to perform traditional Greek dances. The tempo of the music increased with each song, and soon my heart rate was right back to where it was during the great protest-bus war. This time, however, it was not confusion and fear that lit the faces of my companions; it was sheer joy. If this experience didn't bond us, nothing would, and I looked around the room with a smile for the people who had experienced yet another unforgettable moment in this country. It had started to feel like a grand adventure in a new home, and these people had begun to feel like family. I had gained a new perspective which would come to be a theme for this entire trip: make every moment an adventure. The frenzied bus-boarding certainly was the first of many.
