Athens

9/27 We have been to Athens. We have been to the Acropolis and Parthenon. I doubt we will return. Athens has only the antiquities to speak for it. Otherwise it is a city of 5 million with a poor and overcrowded road and street system, wires, room air conditioners, and tv antennas everywhere, uninspired and bland architecture, and as many tourists as locals.

The Parthenon and its attendant temples tre tying their best to crumble and collapse. The Greeks are trying their best to stop them, so these great antiquities are encased in scaffolding and the sites themselves are construction or rather re-construction zones. Nonetheless it was worth the visit to walk where the ancients walked. We are back aboard for a trip to the gym and maybe a nap.

Great weather, though.

We got back to the ship and I went straight for the computer to record the events of the day. It was dead. It would do nothing. I hauled the thing down to the computer center on Deck 4. First one geek examined it, then another, then three geeks together went over it. They conferred in hushed tones then approached me . "We cannot fix it, sir. I am sorry. There is one chance, though. There is a fellow ashore who is an absolute genius with these things. He can't come aboard but he can meet you at the pier." "Call him."

Five minutes later we were standing on the pier, looking for a computer whiz kid.

But the only person in sight was an old fellow ambling towards us. He wore baggy, old khakis, work boots, a seedy vest, and the classic Greek fishing cap. He clenched his pipe between his teeth. He waved to us.

Jane and I waved back.

"He must want to sell us something." she said. He had what appeared to be a small tackle box in his hand.

"We don't have time for this." I said. He waved again. He grabbed the bowl of his pipe smiled widely and shouted "allooooo" Oh, shit.

He strode to us, thrust his hand toward mine, pumped my hand several times then turned to Jane. He grasped her hand gently, bowed, and kissed it.

"Where is it?" He asked.

"Where is what?"

"The computer."

"The computer?"

"Of course. Why else would I be here?"

Oh my God, I thought. My computer is history.

He sat on the pier, opened his tackle box and pulled out a small pouch from which he filled and tamped his pipe. After it was lit, he reached into the box again and pulled out a shot glass and a small flask of ouzo. He poured a shot, downed it with a flourish, and bent to the computer.

Oh my God. My computer is history.

His thick, gnarled old fingers were too big for such delicate work, but they whirled and he grunted and harrumphed and in short order he had repaired the ailing computer. He handed it to me and, smiling, said, "there it is."

"Thank you. What do I owe you?"

"Owe me? Have a drink with me."

"Sir?"

"One drink."

He bent to his tackle box and withdrew two more shot glasses. We toasted.

"To life!" He said and we threw the ouzo down our throats.

"Sir, I must..."

He waved me off. "Nonsense, enjoy."

He turned and began to amble away.

"Sir," I shouted, "Who are you? May I know your name?"

He turned back to us, raised his hand high over his head, twirled three times about, bowed and said, "I am Zorba!"

Of course. It was none other. We had met the great --Zorba the Geek.