A Vow To Odysseus

In one of the lounges at Zurich International Airport, I learned that the Swiss dip-dye hard-boiled eggs bright colors to signify they are ready to eat, using a slightly protective enamel. They’re sold in cartons like that, too. My flight to Aktion International Airport was pleasant until it stopped, like a bus, on an island, to drop off my strangely affectionate brother-sister duo seat mates and pick up a husband and wife (all German), who snapped at me for taking my own luggage out of the overhead because if I did that, I’d surely dislodged theirs and fling it to the floor.

They did not seem angry at each other, but I imagined they’d been in an argument that morning, the last chance to make their trip meaningful, and were taking out a frustration with the mundanity of their marriage on me. I took it as a warning to not come back from my Euro travels before I was ready.

My friend and I met at baggage claim and were quickly swindled by a local cab driver who didn’t run a meter, and who of course gave us his card in case we wanted to feel that sting again. I usually ask how much before getting into a car, but either way, we may have accepted the cost, not understanding exactly how close, by highway, the town of Preveza is to the airport. The capital, Lefkada (on the island of Lefkada, connected to the mainland by causeway) is just as close, going the other direction, and nicer, said our driver.

The hotels in Preveza, though, are cheaper. Mine was worse than my friend’s, the driver explained—with thumbs-up and so-so hand gestures. I much preferred the Ionian Star, though, for its remoteness, bridge-covered pool, and linoleum-tiled rooms larger than my own apartment (a single had three beds of differing sizes, a TV mounted to a wall facing none of them, a glass-top dining room table, two balconies, a seated vanity, multiple chandeliers…).