Thessaloniki to Pythios 6.29.07

A few hours longer and notification we are at the stop. Not big enough for Istanbul, a map identifies that we are at a boarder town in Greece, Pythion.

Off the train, look left and right, no one else disembarks. A small dog is the only living soul around.

"Squatter" style Eastern toilets are among available amenities.

The waiting room is deserted, but is home to a table flavored from all around the world singing songs of idle time in this twilight zone called Pythion.

Someone's idea of a joke...

This dog is not dead.

A short nap is interrupted by sudden bustle and noise - the room is now full of youthful travelers. Brits become friendly with us as they share Ouzo from the now open bar next door.

A staff person says the Istanbul train is arriving so the party heads out to the platform. A train arrives and leaves, with no notification. Too late, we find out it was headed to Istanbul. The next train for our tickets is in 24 hours.

Not enough Turkish Lira to buy a different type of ticket and many misunderstandings, the Brits and all the others leave, heading back into the country of Greece.

Stranded, we make the best of the situation and decide to find a local with transportation. We develop a hap-hazard conversation with a German ex-patriot, Theo, who also speaks Greek... but no English... and no Spanish. How communication was occurred, no one can say.

In the end, Theo offers hospitality at his home in the tiny nearby town of Petrades.

Our knight and his chariot.





Greek and Turkish relations in recent history have been very strained - hence this beautiful boarder is laced with explosive mines.

A Greek Orthodox devotional shrine passed on the road. Our guide makes an offering.

After a joltingly wild ride, we arrive at Theo's home in Petrades.










Cranes nesting above a nearby rooftop.

Feeling fine after a shower and some relaxation in the country. A tour of the town, Theo introduces us to the town's inhabitants.


Beer and strange conversation soon attract many of Theo's “nephews.” The young, hip Greeks and Germans who speak English all come to Theo's home to meet the the strange Americans.
Excellent people, they provided friendship, fun, and even necessary local transportation to an ATM.

We all caravan back down to the train station at Pythios to purchase a new ticket to Istanbul that night. Our new friends speak with the conductors to assure we won't miss the train again.
 

On the platform, a pistola of Ouzo is split among the group, and Uncle Theo gets a Bic ink “tattoo.”

2am! When the train arrives, it is difficult to leave without promising to return sometime soon.



A private sleeper car awaits weary bodies. Bunked down, the rocking of the train is its own lullaby.