Putt-Putt

The night before their great adventure, the two young Canadians found themselves in the small, back streets of Iraklion, Crete.  After wandering a bit and trying to find the best place to sit and people-watch, they settled on a small taverna with tiny tables and chairs placed decoratively outdoors.  There they sat and proceeded to get smashed on the local raki.  Everything was beautiful to begin with, but after three or four shots each of the extremely potent brew, everything was even lovelier.  The smell of the ocean breeze, the stars a’twinklin’ in the black sky, the sound of the bazouki music, and the fact that they were on the other side of the ocean; all this lent an air of wonder to the night. The following day would however, bring a most unpleasant change to their circumstances.

The next morning, bright and early, they donned their tourist apparel; jeans and hippy blouses, brushed their long hippy-locks, hoisted their excessively heavy backpacks on their not-quite-strong-enough backs, and headed for the highway.  Once there, they joined the queue of other hippies with long hippy-locks, dressed in jeans and hippy blouses or shirts, and stuck out their thumbs.  The passers-by had their choice of many a young hitchhiker that day, but evidently the blond hair of our girls did the trick, and very soon they found themselves comfortably ensconced in a vehicle headed in the direction that they were determined to go. 

Now, they had learned by experience that when hitchhiking, the one who sat in the passenger seat was invariably molested, while the lucky one seated in back was relatively safe.  They'd had many a close-call leading up to this moment. In Switzerland, there was the young man who had ‘pleasured’ himself as he was driving them toward Bern.  In Germany, there were the two men who didn’t want to let the girls out of the car to relieve themselves…something they desperately needed to do. The many attempted 'gropings' that they'd suffered in Amsterdam, Austria, and mainland Greece had become commonplace. And this particular ride would turn out to be no exception.

The travellers had worked out a fair system…they took turns sitting with the driver, hence the one in the back seat had a respite from the inevitable mauling.  Girl A…let’s call her Angelina…had the good fortune, or so she thought, of being in the back seat of the car.  Girl S…we can call her Sharmaine, was in the hot seat.  Off they went, barrelling down the road.  The driver spoke no English…except for several necessary words, which will go unmentioned.  He obviously liked our maids, looking first at the one seated to his right and then turning full in his seat to stare at the one behind.  Alas for our friend in the rear, he seemed to like her more.  He reached a hairy arm back and tried to cop a feel, but our girl, by now the seasoned traveller, grabbed the proffered appendage, dug the nails of her left hand deeply into it, and threw it away from her with her right hand.  The not so affable driver made as if to strike her, and then said, looking at her in the rear view mirror, “You, me, Agios Nicolaos, sleep.”  With this he put his hands together in the prayer position and placed them beside his ear. “No!” she retorted and indicating her companion said, “She, me, Agios Nicolaos, sleep.” Mimicking him, she placed her hands beside her ear. The two sidekicks had often found it necessary to feign homosexuality to avoid situations similar to the one in which they now found themselves.  With that their chauffeur pulled quickly to the side of the road, slammed on the brakes, and said, “Exo!”  Since he was pointing to the door, they rightly assumed he wanted them to get out.  They did just that and their ride took off. 

They looked around at the desolate scene that confronted them.  To the rear, mountains and more mountains, and in front of them, the sea crashing noisily against the rocks…the highway, devoid of cars, stretched endlessly in both directions.  Before you could say 'Agios Nicolaos', lightning ripped through the now dark-grey clouds and water gushed from the leaden sky, soaking them completely.  They looked at each other in stunned amazement, and as if of one mind, dove into their backpacks and hastily retrieved their rain-capes.  Angelina picked up Sharmaine’s backpack and helped her put it on, then Sharmaine returned the favour.  On went the capes, large enough to cover our friends and their bags, transforming them into deformed-looking mutants.  And there they stood, in the deluge, on the desolate highway, waiting…..and waiting…and hoping against hope that someone…anyone…would come along to give them a ride.  They waited, and waited some more.  An hour passed...an hour and a half.  Not one car appeared.  They remarked to each other that even if a car were to pass, it would do just that…pass them.  No one would ever stop for the unsightly, androgynous beings stationed at the edge of the road.  Their lovely, blond locks, hidden under the army-green tents, would attract no one.  Their slim bodies, now looking like the Hulk’s, would garner no positive attention.  They were obviously destined to wait there until the rain let up and they could finally remove their charming slickers. 

“But wait!  What’s that?  That noise.  Can you hear it?  Shhhh….listen."  Putt-Putt….Putt-Putt…Putt-Putt.  "Can you see anything?  Look!”  Putt-Putt.  “A speck on the horizon, coming closer…very slowly.  See it?  What is it?”  Ten minutes passed and they could finally make out what it was….a tiny three-wheeled covered motor-scooter tugging a minuscule flatbed.  Afraid that it would pass them by, they walked quickly into the middle of the road, got down on their knees, clasped their hands together as if in prayer, and faced the oncoming saviour.  He stopped.  HE STOPPED!!!!  HALLELUJAH…HE STOPPED!!! Never mind that they could probably have walked faster than the 'vehicle', he had stopped.  They jumped up in unison, yelling "Efharisto, Efharisto, Efharisto", mounted the flatbed, and with the rain pelting them, putt-putted very, very slowly toward Agios Nicolaos.