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Saturday, 27 March 2004

Travel Narrows the Soul

Topic: Yidaho

If I had a wife
Plague o' me life
I tell you what I would do
I'd buy her a boat
Set her afloat
And paddle me own canoe ... hoy!

I was working for peanuts in a hotel in Athens aged seventeen, and on a cold bright autumn morning, I sang that to a bunch of guys who were both patrons, and co-workers. French guy, customer, bit slimy, but no more so than most, stood behind me, and hugged me after I sang it.
Behind the bar, Moroccan guy, co-worker, sweet as anything, turned to my dappy English boyfriend, usually too blasted on drink or hangover to do anything but squint at the world, and silently handed him a seven inch carving knife, nodding towards the Frenchman.

Or me. I'm not sure which.

The more I ever travelled, the more parochial I became, and the more I realised we're never going to all get along.

I'm off to Birmingham for the weekend.

This page graced by sarsparilla at 10:53 AM GMT
Updated: Thursday, 8 April 2004 3:31 PM BST
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Sunday, 28 March 2004 - 1:12 PM GMT

Name: csf
Home Page:

i also used to work for a hotel in athens.
the bloke who ran it would say things like
-we need to go to war with turkey nabumba...then we will have more beeches.
he would finish it off with a very charming
-yamotee bannageeyah (that obviously not how you spell it, sounds about right though oh and it means something like go f uc k the mother of christ...mmm'kay...nice)
he had long greasy black hair
his name was jorgo (yeah right george yer freak)
he made me aware that we werent all going to get along.
thanks jorgo.

Sunday, 28 March 2004 - 9:48 PM GMT

Name: Vanessa

Lol, my hotel was run by Ethiopians, who were okay guys... but there's an arabic / north african difficulty with pronouncing my name. They'd hand out jobs - 'Mohammoud, you run reception today', 'Youssouf, you run bar', 'Tracey, you make breakfasts .... you make beds', and so on. The nearest they could get to pronouncing my name was 'Venezia', and that was only if they were exceptionally well travelled and / or gave a @#%$!.
So every day, the final job for the next morning would be "and ... you ... there .... empty the toilet @#%$! buckets at five tomorrow."

Glory days, eh?

But be warned, pukey tourists, I would always always do an extra shift just so I could get revenge by making breakfast. Without washing my hands.

Monday, 29 March 2004 - 11:17 PM GMT

Name: The Rev
Home Page:

Yikes. Sounds like something that penicillin would cure.

Monday, 29 March 2004 - 11:46 PM GMT

Name: Vanessa

The breakfast, or the Italian name for Venice? :)

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