Of Vikings & Argonauts

It was 1963, and Jason's argonauts were grumbling about their crap voyage aboard the Argos which included lengthy sword battles against harpies, a giant bronze - well, bronze giant, a hydra (a 7-headed water beast-thingy), and if that's not well enough, a skeleton army - or rather an army of skeletons.

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 i.e., people who actually seem to like us have made plans to join us from halfway around the world, it seems rather churlish to take the latter option and spend 28 hours with them. On the other hand, it's a bit prickly having to give our decision to the Mirinda-pushing wench within 2 hours, considering that Our Boss is in Baghdad and completely incommunicado. Decisions Decisions.

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 i.e., people who actually seem to like us to join us in two more days, I have one thing to say, Stavros: bring me another ouzo!