I feel very Black in Athens

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You really have to be a smug so-and-so to turn up your nose to customers in the midst of economic crises. Or just Greek. Maybe these austerity measures effect customer service as well--because nary a clerk or merchant afforded me a smile, hello, or "merry Christmas." 


On Saturday, Christmas Eve, I went to the flea market in Monastaraki. Ha. They have nothing on Berlin or Paris or south Chicago or Istanbul. Those cities know flea market. So, anyway, I'm browsing around the junk - "antique" - lots looking for something that might catch my eye. The only thing I catch, however, are suspicious eyes. These mofos watched me like a hawk. One racist jackass even closed up shop abruptly after I showed up!


I made up my mind then and there to NOT spend another euro in Greece that I didn't have to. I bought a fountain pen from a brown (translation: immigrant) merchant for 5 euros and went about my business. At the supermarket I finally had to call out one of these snooty Greeks. After noticing he was following me around the store I very calmly called his attention to the following:

Excuse me. If you don't want me to shop here I'll gladly take my money elsewhere. I'm not a thief and you've been following me around like I'm a criminal.

He claimed not to understand my English but I said, "Oh I think you do," and walked away. Suddenly he comprehended English very well and started on about having the right to follow anyone in his store. Then do it, I snapped."And don't just follow ME because I'm black. That's racism. And I know racial discrimination is against the law in Greece."


Greece deserves it's economic crisis. And I won't buy one crappy souvenir to help them out. And I thought Parisians were full of themselves!    

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Can do without Athenians

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Athenians seem to have a bug up their butts. Maybe it's just the crappy rainy weather or their crappy politicians who have sunk them into a crappy economy and forced austerity measures but they don't at all give off a welcoming vibe. And I've noticed how the Greek people turn up their olive oil noses or scowl at the dark skin people around. Greeks are not the physically beautiful folks we were led to believe. Just another Greek myth, that. 
It may be more xenophobia than racism - yahoo! big difference! - but it ain't welcoming all the same.

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YMCA Hostel Basel (Switzerland)

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When I passed through Switzerland earlier this month I stayed at the YMCA in Basel because my friends were out of town. I like visiting Basel. It's a nice Swiss city that's very much bustling with fine arts cultural stuff, shopping, and borders with Germany and France. It's easy to navigate around town on the tram.

Oddly, it doesn't have the iconic big, red Y on the rooftop

As for the hostel: 
reaching it from the main train station SBB is thankfully easy because it is so damn near. Oddly, it doesn't have the iconic big, red Y on the rooftop...which, I think, is like a beacon to newcomers. Still the YMCA Basel is a straight shot from the back entrance of the train station; entire walk amounts to probably three normal blocks. I booked a bed on a walk-in.
"Do you have a reservation?" asked the boy behind the counter. "No," I replied, "but I have money." He smiled, "Oh I think that will do." I paid for two nights. Another good thing to come of my first night was finding a leather jacket on the street...especially since the weather was nippy.

The hostel is nothing short of modern and looks spanking new. Maybe it is. The place is not decked out with funky colors, garage furniture, kitch knick-knacks nailed to the walls or other backpacker/hippy/earthy rubbish. Instead the modern facilities are clean, bright, sleek, airy...nothing that feels like home or a home basement. And it's quiet. And I liked that. In the commons area/dining hall are plenty of tables and chairs and a working fireplace! Plus there are two fast public computers. Their kitchen is one of the best I've seen. It's big and plenty stocked with eating and cooking utensils along with about four refrigerators, two sinks and a microwave.

the modern facilities are clean, bright, sleek, airy...nothing that feels like a home basement

I took the elevator to my third floor dorm. The personal reading lights were too bright to be personal but everything else - mattress and bedding, individual lockers, radiator - worked fine. Would have had a nice sleep were it not for the two old geezers in the room snoring. I hate people who snore. 


website

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I stayed in two hostels in Munich

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Btw I stayed in the following hostels in Munich:

Wombat City Hostel. After being harassed by the undercover pigs in the main train station I urgently tried to find some vacancy somewhere. Bought a crisp, crunchy apple pie at McDonald's to 'legitimately' use the free wi-fi  (because I couldn't get online at Burger King in the station) and made a list of nearby hostels. Quickly jotted down four, including this one.


Wombat IS super close to Munich Hbf - literally across the street - but it's poorly advertised. The outside banners don't do a good enough job of announcing Here we are! BUT there was one - one! - bed left and I was damn relieved to get it. Not bad for a near midnight walk-in. The reception was super chill and got me squared away right away. Guests receive a free beverage with check-in. I made it in just before the bar closed -- and did I ever need a drink! 

The dorm room was big and comfortable. Had a good night's sleep and checked-out the following morning whereby I walked two doors down to...

Euro Youth Hotel.  It was a very no-hassle check-in. A dorm bed was available, I paid cash, got my receipt and came back four hours later when the rooms were cleaned and ready - 2pm - (in the meantime I went back and chilled in a hammock in the Wombat's cool indoor garden lounge). 


This hotel/hostel has a nice old-school decor - wooden banisters and wood paneled walls - which I find charming and free of the 'fabricated' feel of some backpacker or economy hotels. There is free tea in the lounge. Wi-fi gets good reception...but phone calls don't.

When I returned later that evening and headed for the bar/lounge I was stopped by, "HEY WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?!" I didn't like this kind of reception from the Reception and wrote a letter to the management. Granted, there was an employee shift change and these guys didn't recognize me as a new guest but I felt the aggressiveness of their tone was 1) rude and 2) carried an undercurrent of my-kind-didn't-belong-there. The management emailed a sincere and prompt apology and promised to address the matter.  I appreciate that.  After the racial profiling at the main train station this whole thing of being a black American in Munich had well reached its limit. As a matter of principle I personally wouldn't elect to stay in Euro Youth Hotel again - because I wouldn't like to revisit Munich outside of business - but its facilities were fine, modern, and clean and affordable. 
     

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Found leather jacket in Basel (Switzerland)

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Last week I went to Basel. Travelled from Munich via a carpool. The ride took four or five hours and was very smooth (a new Mercedes Benz) but can you believe the driver didn't stop for one food break?! So German.... I was thirsty as a mofo.


On my first night in town I found a genuine leather motorcycle jacket -- on the sidewalk. It was just laying there on top of a nice, small coffee table. The things folks throw out in rich countries! (And, yet, America couldn't bring itself to dump W.) Lest the owner - jilted boyfriend/angry roommate/robbed motorcycle guy -suddenly appeared - "Hey! that's mine!" - I took off my winter jacket and put on the leather one underneath. I'd say that was a pretty good night in Basel. 

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I suffered Eurolines from Paris to Frankfurt

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If you think hitch-hiking is bad and mitfahrgelegenheit.de (or, in English, carpooling.co.uk ain't much more steady), then you'll find the unhappy medium, Euroline, right up your alley.


Like America's Greyhound Bus, Euroline is equally shitty but with matching prices (Greyhound, on the other hand, is starting to get a bit expensive). I took the night bus (the only bus) from Paris to Frankfurt. True to form it was starting to rain again. Twas just the beginning....


First, getting on board is not as easy as it can be. Bought the ticket the previous day from the agent office which is on the same saucy street as the Moulin Rouge. There are more sex shops and neon lights on that street than you can shake a oui, oui at. Curious attractions, those sex shops; but, really, how many explicit box covers and impossible dildos can you look at before concluding: if you've seen one feather duster or ramrod, you've seen them all? Thankfully, the agent spoke English and kindly told me which subway line to take to get to the bus station. 

asking a fish a question is only useful if you already know how to speak fish

He did not, however, tell me the bus station is still in the station just on the other side so naturally I headed for the wrong exit, carried my bags up the many stairs out onto the street, and walked from one end of the block to the next in search of a location that had no %$@! street sign. I was sweaty, I was anxious, my suitcase was falling apart - merde - and I had twenty minutes to get on the bus. At that point I got the bright idea to head toward the Info sign. Normally this would have been the no-brainer first move BUT asking a Frenchman anything is like asking a fish a question: it's only useful if you already know how to speak fish. Just then I spotted the teeny-tiny arrow directing to the bus station. Exxxcellent! I was spared from needing to try to parlez vous fish. Down the other stairs I go, pass the begging Gypsy good-for-nothing punk, following more teeny-tiny arrows until I see a line of people and luggage. Thank you Jesus! But no line for me. I already had my ticket!


Went up to the bus landing, spotted my bus, and handed over my ticket. I could tell he was German so I said in spotty German, "Hier ist mein Fahrkarte!" But the driver refused it. "No, no," he said in English, "you need a boarding pass." And I answered in perfect English, "What the f---?!"  So I hurried back down the escalator, dreading the long line I'd just laughed pass and, in my huffing frustration, noticed a different window with what I hoped was French for "ticket-holders." It was.

Since it only runs once a day I was glad to be aboard. That's where my gladness stopped. The bathroom reeked even before departure. On board were an Indian AND African pairs -- who talked non-stop.  Cluck-cluck-cluck, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish! And, of course, these people talked too loudly. Why is that? After two hours the Indian girl finally shut up. Then her friend had the nerve to ask the African woman to please lower her voice. This only made Madame Zulu talk even louder declaring, "I am free! I am free! I buy ticket just like you. I can talk," and, more absurdly, "You are not my chief!" Right about then I wish Chief Backhand was there. Silence, he would bellow. SLAP! It took a while before Madame Zulu's travelling companion could persuade her to lower her voice; but she never shut up. Did I mention the bus departed at 9:30pm. So much for sleeping en route.... And the bathroom reeked.

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