Forty-seven years later, I feel for those argonauts. Not so much for Jason, because their was a kingship at the end of his quest for the Golden Fleece (poor sheep), but those poor argonauts got the short end of the stick. And why do I feel for them? Because last week, Mr. This Cat's (Not Abroad) and I got a phone call from the Mirinda-pushing wench at our Soon-to-Be Favourite Travel Agent, advising us that there had been a change in our flight time/ Given that out flight was at 1:40 a.m. (this is, after all Iraq), this was welcome news indeed.
But no! It seems that the ability to convey the change in our flight details is more than her smattering of English can cope with: Our flight is 5 days earlier. Or, alternatively, 5 days later. Given that friends
So after a threatened air traffic controllers strike (by the Greek air traffic controllers, if that even needs to be said) our Viking flight left 2 hours late (one hour of which was in the plane without benefit of air, fresh or manufactured and in the company of every teething colicky baby in Kurdistan). It was unnotable but for the fact that there were a dozen more passengers in the air than meals in the airs (if anyone would like to give their meal up for another passenger and receive a free alcoholic drink, please press the call button overh--- *PING* went I: *PING* *PING* *PING* *PING* *PING* *PING* bring me a goddamn beer!) - we are in Athens.
It's hot and muggy but it's on average 16 º C cooler here than in Erbil, but it's possible that we're the only tourists in the city who appreciate such niceties. So while we wait for our friends