It was cloudy when we awoke and after breakfast (and I had changed some money) we bid farewell to our little Japanese friend after photos and autographing his waterproof suit. We then set of into the city of Thessaloniki on a mammoth fool's errand. George bought a replacement washing kit (with some usable toothpaste!), and, armed with a map supplied by the British Consul, we set off on a trek to the Greek equivalent of the Automobile Association (AA).
After a long route march, we discovered that the soppy bitch in the Information Office knew less than we already knew, and when she referred us to the British AA, we left in disgust. We trudged back to town browsing in all the motorcycle shops, which all seemed to stock mega trail bikes like the Yamaha XL550 that every man and his dog seemed to be haring around town on.
Weary, we regained the “White Tower” near the hostel (The White Tower of Thessaloniki is a monument and museum on the waterfront of the city of Thessaloniki, capital of the region of Macedonia in northern Greece) after a light-hearted postcard writing session in the Volcano Restaurant, where we were again taken for a ride with the coffee prices. Now we were on the look-out for a supermarket so we could tuck into a well-deserved feast.
But to no avail, every bastard food shop was shut, except for sweet shops and lairy, overpriced restaurants. We wandered around for a while and our anger increased as shop after shop selling food was closed, while every other vendor was in full swing. We gave up in despair and sat down at a restaurant next door to the Youth Hostel to watch today’s rucksack bearing menagerie file through the hostel portals. At last George has bought a pen that works!
We wandered off again and eventually got together the ingredients of a meal after a mini-tour of the city. We gorged on dry ham and tomato doorstep sandwiches and set off to cap a dull day with a morale-boosting trip to the cinema. Could we find a half decent English film – could we fuck! We decided to put the lid on a day of tail chasing with a few beers at the hostel bar.
The thought of leaving this pissing city (which we now know like the back of our hands) is most agreeable and we retrieve our International YHA Membership Cards for an early departure. After a couple of beers at the hostel bar the gabble was getting too much – “where are you from?” “have you seen…”, “I’ve here, there and every fuckin’ where”. – so we fled over the road to a café where we polished off another beer before hitting the sack.
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