As you well know (because apparently I can't stop bitching about it), I lost my iPhone in Melbourne. This was, as I have mentioned previously and with great verisimilitude, a whole lot of suck. I thought I could rectify the situation by buying a new iPhone online and having it shipped to me via courier to arrive at my hotel in Athens. But (Athens being Athens) there was a strike wherein Customs workers walked off the job for three days and the package that was supposed to arrive to my eagerly waiting arms instead sat in a warehouse somewhere in Greece. I called FedEx to be told "Sorry, Charlie... you're screwed" and figured that was that. I told them to ship it back to my mom's house in Vancouver, WA.
This was on the 17th of February. We left for Heraklion, Crete on the 19th. I was told the strike would last until the 24th. Ce la vie.
After arriving in Crete, I discovered that the strike actually was a 3 day strike and was over the day we left and that the strike in question that was to take place on the 24th is a general strike (ain't democracy grand?). I check the status of my package on FedEx online to find, hey lookit that!, my package's status is unchanged. We return to Athens on a 7 hour layover on the 23rd and I decide to give 'em a call and find out just how far up their asses their heads really are.
We are literally two minutes off the plane, finding a comfortable place to veg for 7 hours, when I call FedEx. They tell me to call the Customs Department because there is some issue with the paperwork regarding the package. I call Customs and a very nice man tells me the package is there. He asks where I am and I tell him I'm at the airport. He gives me the slightest glimmer of hope by saying, "We are close to the airport". I tell him I'm on my way and he says, "I don't know if you'll make it. The offices close at 2 o'clock." It is ten minutes past 1. I say "I'll make it". He says, "If you walk now, you will not make it". I say, "I'll catch a cab". He says, "If you take a cab, they will charge you an arm and a leg". I say, "I'm coming to get my package. Get ready, bitches!" Okay, not that last bit about the bitches, but you get the idea.
I abandon my lovely, tired, and tolerant wife to go catch a cab to the Olympic Air Cargo building where I am charged 3 euro by a very confused cabbie who acts like I've just ruined his day by taking him out of the queue for arriving passengers... about a block away from my destination (I come to realize later he didn't want to take me all the way to the building because he would have to go past he turnaround that takes him back to the airport). I run... literally run... to the building, up a hill, up three flights of stairs and arrive in the tiny FedEx express office where the guy proceeds to tell me that he isn't sure he can give me my package because it's already been earmarked to be returned to sender. I tell him, "I. Am. Dan. Tabayoyon. That's my name right there. I hereby authorize you to give me. my. package.
He fills out some paperwork, tells me to take my receipt and head downstairs to the warehouse.
I'm thinking, "Sweet! No sweat!"
Oh no. Not so easy as all that. Strap yourselves in, kids. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.
I stand int he wrong office, being ignored, for about 5 minutes before someone finally tells me to go and talk to a guy in a cubicle in the actual warehouse. He gives my paperwork to a lady who find my package. HOORAY! It's in my hands! Oh wait, no it's not: she takes it away from me and tells me to go get the Customs guy who has to come over to see the package, inspect it, and then sign off on some MORE paperwork. I go around the corner 10 feet to find a surly man dealing with a couple of pissed off people who hurriedly tells me to fuck right off until he's ready for me. He comes over, looks a the package, gives me some shit, then proceeds to tell me to come with him back to his cubicle to sign off on papers. I come with him, kill him with kindness and his tune changes. He says, "You are very polite. For this, I will do you this favor. Take these papers across the street to the Customs office and pay the duties on it. Go to window number 7". I say, "Across the street?" He nods cryptically and adds, "I do not think you will make it. The office closes at 2:00". I check my watch:
1:35.
I haul ass across the parking lot to enter a madhouse. Window after window of people, all tossing papers around, hollering in Greek, pointing at everyone and everything. I saddle up to window 7 who then points me to a man in an office. I careen into the office to find two guys sitting around b.s.-ing like two old fishing buddies who then stare at me like I'm in the wrong place. Neither of them speak English. I wave my papers around and he sort of smirks at me, signs the papers, then points me back out to window 7. Window 7 guy enters some numbers into his computer, stamps my papers, then tells me "Window 11".
So far, so good... comparatively.
I get to Window 11 and the window is completely blocked by four people who are sorting through 4 huge stacks of papers, trying to find one the Customs Office has misfiled. One lady in front of me throws a stack of them and her belongings on the floor in frustration. The guy next to her, not speaking English, sees me, takes my form, and hands it to the lady in Window 12 who then yells at him, hands it back, and he hands them back to me, pointing at Window 11. Thanks for trying, buddy.
Here's where things get sticky. The guy at Window 11 tells me to come back tomorrow. I say, "Please, sir. I leave in 7 hours. Just sign the papers. I can't come back tomorrow." He holds his hands up dismissively and shoos me away. I lean into the little slot in the window and beg, "C'mon, man. Please. I'm begging you. Just sign my papers". He proceeds to ignore me. I beg a little more, but he's not having it.
Just as I'm standing around, just standing there trying to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do, a nice young man standing next to me, also waiting for something to be signed, whispers stoically, "Just hand him the papers." I say, "Excuse me?" He says, "Do not beg. He must take them. Hand him the papers". I timidly slide the papers in Window 11 guy's direction. The man next to me (mid-twenties, I think), takes my papers and puts them on the man's desk. "Do not beg. He must take your papers if you give them to him. He will sign them. Do not be afraid". The guy looks at the papers, looks at me, shakes his head, then starts filling out the computer information to process my shit. The man next to me says, "They have had a strike for 3 days, so it is like this. See? He will sign. It is his job. He cannot refuse". Sure as shit, the papers are stamped and I'm ushered to yet another window. That window is friendlier but more confusing. He tells me to hand over my papers and come inside the room where the people working are at. I go in, watch my papers get copied, signed off on, passed through two different tables sitting right next to each other, handed back to me and told to go to a last guy in the room to sign off on them again.
This is where it was scary.
As I turn to face the guy who I'm supposed to get my shit signed off from, I notice another guy leaning over his shoulder, stuffing euros into the official's front shit pocket, patting him on the shoulder. He looks up and they both realize I'm standing right there. There's a moment of pissed off-ness and irritation that emanates from them both... until the guy stuffing bills into his buddy's pocket says something in Greek which, by virtue of my ability to read people regardless of language, was something along the lines of "Ah, don't sweat it, he's just a stupid American". I shoot them both my most innocent, unassuming, "I-don't-care" face and the guy sitting down smiles wickedly and signs my papers with a chuckle. Off to the last window.
Oh yes, there's a last window...
He tells me I owe him 35 euro. I say, "For what?!" He says for the taxes. I say, "I have no cash!" he says there's an ATM outside... he'll hold onto my paperwork until I get back. I say, "Don;t fuck me here. I will be right back". I dash outside to find an ATM, take out some cash, and run back inside. It is now 2:15. I pay the man and he hands me back a wad of change I have no idea if it's right or not. He tells me to take my accumulated assortment of papers back across the street and have the man inside sign them.
I have no idea what man he's talking about, but I book across the street anyway. As I'm working my way inside the building, I notice how everyone is rushing to get the eff outta dodge cuz it's quittin' time. I talk to the guy in the cubicle in the warehouse and he tells me to go around the wall and talk to the guy in the first office I was in where I was told I was in the wrong place way back at the beginning of my story.
I find the guy as he's leaving the building. He signs my papers. He tells me to go into the office on the first floor and pay the cashier. Pay the casheir? Didn't I already do that? Apparently not. I go into a cashier's office where the girls all look like they are watching the clock. One window remains open. A woman hands my paperwork to another woman who makes copies of the whole thing and hands them back to her. She charges me 24 euro. "What about the paperwork from FedEx saying I already paid that?" She says this is different: you have to pay for processing. "Pay for processing? Isn't that what I paid the guy at the last window in the Customs Office for?" Apparently not. Well, it's a good thing I didn't try and bribe anyone: I've spent a shit ton of money just trying to get a goddamn package. But... I had come too far to back down. I paid the lady and got my receipt.
I go back to the cubicle in the warehouse where the guy, very humorlessly, says, "You made it! Right on time!"
It is now 2:30 pm. I am handed my package. I thank the man and the woman who brought it to me and they have a laugh. I walk out with my package under arm to wait for the bus to take me back to the airport. I'm out around 100 euro for a package that was supposed to be paid for when it left the States that was supposed to be delivered half a week prior or, at the very least, shipped back to the States where I could have had Lupe's mom bring it to me in Spain. I'm tired because I've had no sleep from the night before and I'm hungry because I thought I would eat when we got to Athens for the layover and instead I'm chasing down a package that should have been brought directly to me when I was in Athens the first time. I catch the bus back to the airport.
I get back to find Lupe waiting for me, get on a plane, and make it to Italy to find...
I need to connect to an AT&T network for my phone to function. The only two places where this works? America and the UK.
Yeah.
So...
The moral of this story?
Dan is an idiot.
That's a pretty good moral, right? I think so. Very fitting.
That was the Greek Customs Debacle 2010. All for a stupid fucking phone I can't use. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention... my backup of my old phone was on the old hard drive on Lupe's computer which got fried in Melbourne and the version of iTunes I backed up can't be accessed by the new computer because it's already been replaced with a newer version of iTunes that was updated when we got the new hard drive. Hooray Apple!
At least I can use the apps and functions to listen to music, take photos and video, and to play games and stuff. I guess there's that, at least. And I have a new phone, so that doesn't totally suck.
But yeah! Customs in Greece was a bureaucratic nightmare! And here, I thought the U.S. was bad.... sheesh! Remind me to never, ever do that again. There is nothing like the panic, chaos, and confusion that comes from being a non-native speaking tourist in a Customs office overseas. That was something else.
That's my story. Sorry it took so long. Told you it was a doozy. On these travels, one thing I have absolutely learned above all other things: there is normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill, mundane, boring, stressful, real-life bullshit everywhere you go. It doesn't matter how well-planned your trip is or how magical the destination may be... real life always manages to rear its ugly head when you least expect it.
Thanks for bearing witness to that.
-d@n
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