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The Bay Area Brit Travel Guide Presents: The Greek Islands

Here at The Bay Area Brit, we do not have an actual budget per se. We have pretty much alienated every potential corporate sponsor. As a consequence, this week’s Travel Section article about a trip to the idyllic Greek Islands is comprised entirely from a dream that I had last night, as I have never been there. Enjoy!

In my sleep I read the brochure and knew it was the place for me:

“You’ll come for the sun, the beautiful scenery and the sights and sounds of a different world; you’ll stay because you have been summoned to Mount Olympus and chosen by Zeus to fight Cerberus, the three-headed dog-dragon that eats bushy eye-browed babies and nubile young women bearing vowel-less names.”

On the isle of Mykonos, after unwinding in our sun-drenched chalet, my traveling companion and I walked the cobbled pathway to the pier to find repast at one of the restaurants. We had seen the fishing trawlers come back to port as dusk moved in, and had been told that restaurant owners bought fish fresh from the boat. We made ourselves comfortable at a table near the water and I ordered an anisette-based aperitif called Ouzo. My companion ordered Retsina: a white wine that tastes of pine needles. Our waitress approached, and bizarrely it was a woman called Mrs. Eleanor Firstein who was my piano teacher when I was nine years old. She used to have a freckle on her cheekbone that was shaped like a caterpillar. Strangely, the freckle had grown and was now shaped like a butterfly.

         I ordered the anchovy and feta salad and suddenly heard a bellowing growl come from the horizon. The restaurant’s windows cracked and the olive trees in the grove nearby bent in half. I rubbed my eyes and watched in horror as Poseidon himself, silhouetted as he rose from the water, began to advance towards the shoreline. He was the size of a forty-storey building. I knew what I had to do…

I was suddenly awake and needed a pee. I padded to the bathroom, did my business and trudged back to bed. I gradually drifted back to sleep so that I might continue my sojourn in the Greek Islands.
It was the next day, and we were kicking around in the rubble at the Acropolis in Athens. My travel companion informed me that I had defeated Poseidon (who was disgruntled after eating an iffy kebab) by making the “God of The Sea’s” head explode after singing an off-key rendition of “Ain’t Misbehavin.’”
The Acropolis’s tour guide looked exactly like Abraham Lincoln…except, for some reason, he was completely naked but for his tall hat and a pair of bright red stilettos. I asked him why he wore no clothes and he told me that former Presidents that have been dead for a century and-a-half shouldn’t have to wear garments if they didn’t want to. I joked to him that it was all well and good, but I had no desire to see that porker Taft in the nude, and then Lincoln stepped on my foot with his high heels and then smeared chunks of pineapple all over my face.

I was awake again! My 4 month-old kitten had jumped on the end of the bed and woken me up by first landing on my feet and then cantered up the bed to lick my face like it was made of tuna. I had a gash on my foot from her needle-like claws. I put some Hydrogen Peroxide on my wound and hobbled back to bed.

Damned! I was going to need another vacation after this trip.

After a heated conversation with a three-legged goat regarding the pros and cons of pasteurization while I was in Corfu, I woke up in a cold sweat.

I’d had enough of Greece and the Greek Islands. For it was a silly place. And I decided that I would travel around the U.S. a bit more, as,
a) it was within my budget, and b) because (to the best of my knowledge) nothing strange or bizarre ever happens in the United States of America.

Unless of course you count something as insane as dressing up your four year-old to look like Miss America.

2 Responses

  1. ack. that last pic deserves a Pedobear.

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