“I feel a little bit like I’m on the Titanic” was my first thought as I entered the enormous ferry that would take me to Paros, a Cyclades island of Greece. Pretzel and Greek pastry stands lined the dock and cars queued to park in the ship’s garage. I entered, presented my ticket, and scaled up two levels on the escalators surrounded by hardwood and mirrors. Men in blue tail coats and black bow ties stood and nodded their good mornings at every level. Passing the DVD rental desk, I stopped at the coffee shop for a water bottle, but as the water was only 50 cents and I had a twenty, I had to buy a frappe for the barista to give me change. Dragging my ragged duffel with the broken wheel, a little sweaty from the brisk walk to the port gate, I looked more like the 3rd class passengers entering the Titanic with everything they owned in a bag over their shoulders, than those elegant ladies with parasols strolling around first class.
I found a little chair to sit around a small table, as I couldn’t easily find my cheap seats while dragging my limping bag. Sipping my strong frappe, I opened my red bag and pulled out a warm, crispy Greek breakfast pastry that I’d quickly grabbed (1.50) on my way to the port. The shape and texture was like a round croissant, a flaky piece of Heaven that would have made my brother drool. The first bite revealed a filling of two different types of cheeses, one sliced in a strip that melted over the slice of ham, and the other chopped up with herbs. When I finished this delicacy, I slipped into the seats they labeled “air seats.” These seats were more expensive than the one I had bought, and are a fancy version of airplane seats – large and covered in nice upholstery fabric, placed by the bay windows and framed by lovely golden curtains, and in front of a big screen television. The view, barely out of port, was beautiful. A light fog drifted over the water and the clouds hung low in the sky, making the mountainous surrounding landscape seem like shadows on a backdrop. The water shimmered and waved, a little too choppy to ski, but delightful to watch. The sun highlighted the sea far ahead of the boat, making it seem almost white.
The loudspeakers and televisions began to inform us of safety procedures. The ship had over six levels, made up of cabins, restaurants, lounges, seating, garages, and those under-levels I’d only seen in the movies. The Titanic feeling was back again. “This ship is equipped with the following safety measures: high-speed life boats, blown-up boats [to be reached by sliding down a blown-up tube that looked like those slides at the fair,] and life jackets for everyone. Jumping from high heights can be dangerous, but should you choose to do so, make sure to hold your life jacket down. Once you hit the water, use your whistle and light found on your jacket to signal your position to rescue crew members.” The jackets were bright orange, labeled with “Blue Star NAX Piraeus” and the jacket size. For some reason, a thrill ran through me; it was as if I’d entered that exciting time one hundred years ago that I’d only seen through film, museums, and imagination.
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