Did you miss the other parts?
“I’m just going to rest my eyes for a few minutes,” she thought to herself, leaning against the wall. She thought of her daughter, back home in America, staying with her best friend while her mother was away. She had to get back for Ariel. She would get back for Ariel.
It felt like she had just blinked when she heard a barrage of angry Greek.
She jumped to her feet and looked around frantically for the source. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, and she was completely disoriented.
An older man stood there in the dark, quivering with rage. She couldn’t understand the words but got the gist of his meaning. He appeared to be a squatter. He was visibly dirty, even in the dim light trickling through the boarded-up window, and he was thin. Joan and Savannah were reeling back in terror. Max had to fix this, and she had to fix it now.
“I’m sorry!” she apologized, desperately searching her memory for one of the few Greek phrases she had memorized. “Syngnómi!” She held up her hands in a gesture she hoped was universally placating and not something obscene in Greece.
The man continued his rant, waving his arms around to punctuate what he was saying. He did stop advancing on them, and Max supposed that was progress.
She pulled her wallet out of her purse and offered him a twenty Euro note. He snatched it from her and held his hand out for more. She gave him the remainder of money in her wallet, another 20 and some change. She was glad she’d had the forethought to separate her money. She also offered him a bag of peanut candy she had purchased at the market and nudged Savannah to get off the rain poncho so she could hand over that as well. He accepted her offerings and retreated, glaring at them from across the room in the darkness, muttering to himself.
Savannah’s eyes were wide with fright, and she shrunk away from the perceived threat. Joan also looked incredibly uncomfortable but prepared for battle if she needed to be.
Their rest was over, it appeared. Max quickly and carefully memorized their new route. It was time to leave. They helped Joan out of her chair and Max could tell she was in pain. The older woman wasn’t accustomed to walking this far or this fast, especially while under stress.
She backed out of the building, saying goodbye to their rather inhospitable host. “Ta léme.” She hoped it was actually a farewell wish and not something antagonistic.
He chewed the candy she’d given him with his mouth open and didn’t reply. But he also didn’t chase them or throw things at them, so she considered it a win.
“Oh my God,” said Savannah. “I thought he was going to kill us.”
“I’m sure he was just hungry and as scared of us as we were of him,” Joan attempted to console her somewhat unconvincingly.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” agreed Max, equally insincerely. She was paying more attention to her surroundings than the conversation, determined not to get lost again. She considered navigating with her phone, but her battery had dwindled to 20% and she wanted to save it in case of an emergency. “A bigger emergency,” she corrected herself mentally.
“Okay, ladies,” she said out loud with forced enthusiasm. “Let’s get to the embassy! It’s just two more miles. We’re going this way.” She strode off with a feigned confidence, hoping it would make them feel better.
***
It was 2 am as they trudged through the dark streets of the city. Max remembered her admonition to her daughter that nothing good ever happened after midnight. Ariel had argued vehemently that all sorts of fun and wonderful things happened in the wee hours and Max found herself hoping sincerely that her daughter was right.
She, Savannah, and Joan walked in single file, staying as close as possible to the buildings and avoiding other people. It wasn’t too difficult to avoid others. The streets were mostly abandoned aside from angry clusters of people shouting outside of bars and cafes. Max wondered if they were enraged for the same reason as the people rioting and decided it was best to avoid them altogether, regardless of their reason.
Because of this, the trio silently agreed to made multiple detours, looping around the block to avoid the crowds and get back on Max’s carefully planned route. They were not in a tourist area, so it felt like it was best not to engage considering the current climate in Athens. Nothing said “capitalist” like being an American and that was a dirty word, at least in Exarcheia on an evening like this.
Their second mile was turning into more like two with all the detours. They could hear chaos all around them. A storm of angry shouts and chants, screams of pain, sirens, and helicopters all created a distant cacophony of sound that propelled them to keep moving, no matter how tired they felt. They were not safe. The scent of smoke was in the air. Max was thankful for her natural sense of direction and good navigational skills. As long as she focused, they were staying on track.
And then the chaos was right in front of them.
Max was pretty certain the place they were approaching was Exarchion Square, a public gathering place known for its anti-establishment protests and its popular outdoor cinema, Vox. The crowds here were louder, the mood more outraged. Fires burned in metal trash cans around the square. Someone had a microphone and whatever he was saying was inciting even greater fervor from the audience.
It was a perfect place not to be. Max remembered some lessons from her favorite survival blogger, Selco, the guy from SHTFSchool.com. His first rule of survival was “don’t be there.” And if you were talking about places to avoid, Exarcheia at 3 am was the Capitol of Don’t-Be-There-Land.
There was no way around it. No detour that wouldn’t get them totally off-track was available, as far as Max could tell. She pulled Joan and Savannah into another alley. “Behind there,” she pointed at a large dumpster that looked as though it hadn’t been emptied for several days.
Savannah looked horrified as they made their way around the trash scattered on the ground to get behind the dumpster. Some rats fled, squealing and alarmed by the presence of the large usurpers. Ubiquitous feral cats saw their chance and gave pursuit. Savannah visibly bit back a scream and closed her eyes tightly. Joan caressed her arm maternally, trying to hide her own distaste.
Max spread out another poncho then unfolded her map, not willing to put it on the ground amidst the filth. The smell of rotting food emanating from the dumpster filled the air, adding to the unpleasant atmosphere of their hiding place.
“We need to hide for a while,” Max said softly. “We can’t walk through that crowd and there’s no easy way around it.” She pointed at the map. “That’s Strefi Hill ahead of us. It’s steep to go over it, and we’d go miles out of the way going around it.”
Joan nodded in agreement. “You’re right.”
“But do we have to wait here?” Savannah asked shakily.
“Look at the bright side,” Max suggested. “Nobody is likely to come back here on purpose.”
Savannah shot her the pained look that was universal among young people who thought their elders had lost their minds, but she didn’t argue. The shock of seeing Will get beaten by the police had convinced her that she was far safer sticking with Max.
The three women leaned against the wall, nobody willing to sit down in such a dirty place. “At least I’m not hungry now,” Savannah offered, looking for the silver lining. As Max laughed, the sound was drowned out by approaching sirens. It looked like they were in for another round of Police Vs. Protestors.
They huddled behind the dumpster as the noises of the conflict increased. Suddenly, they could hear people coughing loudly as tear gas was sprayed at the protestors in the square.
Max pulled her scarf and sunglasses out of her backpack. She’d distributed them to everyone else earlier. “Tie these over your nose and mouth and put on the sunglasses,” she ordered. “Trust me.”
Distance and the protective measures acquired by Max kept them safe from the worst of it, but they didn’t dare leave their hiding place. Neither the police nor the protestors would welcome the presence of three American women tonight. Nobody was your friend in the middle of a riot.
The disorder raged for what felt like hours. Glass shattered. Flames crackled, casting strange flickering shadows at the mouth of the alley. Crashes filled the air. It didn’t matter that they couldn’t understand the language when people were shouting. The rage was evident. Their break from walking was far from restful. They were plagued with the worry of being discovered.
Finally, as dawn began to break, the anger began to calm. In the moments right before the sun rose it seemed as though the new day reminded those involved in the melee that they had not yet slept.
I’m learning survival techniques from this. Good story!
Keeps you involved…. that was the idea wasn’t it? Having been too close for comfort to Vietnam Protests It’s almost like being there except the angry words were mostly English except for the Spanglish and “french”. Oh, and the Hells Angels beating anyone who bumped into one of them.