Travel Tales

By Manny Hillman

Here are eleven stories about the variety of people one might encounter during travel. The author confesses that he has met many of these characters during his own travels. The situations in the stories are sometimes similar to what actually occurred, but mostly they are invented combinations, or merely total inventions.

A Danish woman travels across the whole Aegean Sea to search for her lover on an island in the Cyclades.

A photographer of flowers finds a unique inn. The beach at the inn is so beautiful and so isolated that the name of the country must be kept secret. The photographer is fascinated by the other five guests at the inn who are all half his age, but mostly by the young and beautiful manager.

Two brothers driving across the remote, central part of Iceland meet a travel writer, an adventurer, and hear him tell of one of his most fearful adventures.

A young couple vacationing in Egypt hit on a way of translating the hieroglyphs on a wall that no one has ever managed to do before.

An elderly man living in Irkutsk, Russia, stops two tourists from the U.S. and asks them to send him a special gift as a favor. He, in turn, will send the woman two rings made of a special stone.

A young American soldier from Vermont, on a train in France, traveling home after World War I, meets a young woman on her way home from Rhodesia, about to be married in England.

A man is on a fantastic journey but where he was, and what he really did see is a mystery for the reader to solve.

A middle aged man and his much younger bride, who loves to tell stories that she probably creates on the spot, are visiting the island of Samos. He is having a hard time keeping up with her vigorous pace, but the reward of his efforts will be more stories for his wife to tell.

A journalist wants to interview a wealthy and very generous contessa. His search for her takes him to several unusual places. I, the author, do not know if the journalist will ever write an article about her.

A young American woman, a secretary, temporarily gives up her job in order to assay a life as a chef on a small yacht in the Caribbean.

An anxious Hungarian couple is on the way home from their first vacation outside of Hungary. The travel restrictions for Hungarians are just beginning to change.

Before each story is a one-page vignette telling of the authors experiences at various border crossings. They start with: Some borders are easy to cross, like the time we drove right through one without even noticing until we were some miles past. and end with How should one be greeted on first entering Greece? By bolts of lightning thrown by Zeus himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 29, 2000
• ISBN: 9781462833139

Manny Hillman

Manny Hillman attended Brooklyn College and Washington University, and spent his professional life as a research chemist. Both his profession and his own and his wife's desires propelled him to travel extensively around the world. Now retired, he devotes his time to writing, woodworking and more travel.

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Copyright © 2000 by Manny Hillman.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing

from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to

any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

BORDER CROSSINGS NORWAY TO SWEDEN

BORDER CROSSINGS YUGOSLAVIA TO HUNGARY

BORDER CROSSINGS GUATEMALA TO HONDURAS

BORDER CROSSINGS CANADA TO UNITED STATES

BORDER CROSSINGS CZECHOSLOVAKIA TO HUNGARY

BORDER CROSSINGS GREECE TO TURKEY

BORDER CROSSINGS RUSSIA TO FINLAND

BORDER CROSSINGS HUNGARY TO YUGOSLAVIA

BORDER CROSSINGS RUSSIA TO MONGOLIA

BORDER CROSSINGS LEAVING MONGOLIA

BORDER CROSSINGS ENTERING GREECE

NOTES

To Agnes Nagy and Klára Berei, two Hungarian friends who prompted so much of my travel. Ági, sadly, is no longer with us.

BORDER CROSSINGS NORWAY TO SWEDEN

Some borders are easy to cross, like the time we drove right through one without even noticing until we were some miles past. There came a sudden exclamation from the other person in the car.

What happened to the border?

We turned the car around and went back to find the few stores that straddled the imaginary line; we wanted to exchange some money and to buy a few souvenirs.

Monika

The dawn light is barely visible above the dark hills to the east of the harbor. It is still too early to see the houses covering the sides of the hills. But daylight comes quickly, and before long the calm, dark water of the bay will be overcome.

A human figure is walking hurriedly along the embankment, determined in gait but unsure in mind. She left her tour group asleep in the hotel at the far end of the harbor. They thought she was foolish. She assured them she was not. But is she? Her confidence wanes. She steadies herself, reasserts her will, and lengthens her step. Resolute, she continues toward the ship, rolling her large bag behind her. There is no real hurry. It will be light before the ship leaves.

The glow behind the hills brightens. Now the outlines of the buildings that rim the crests become bold. Reflections appear in the water. Life returns to the sea. The ship creaks against the hawsers tying it to the quay, and a few cars begin to queue. Monika is encouraged to see the ship being readied, relieved that she can really go. Her body is willing, even anxious; her mind is a deluge of conflict. Are they right? Is she a fool to leave her tour, if only for a few days, a fool to take an all-day boat ride, two boats to be sure, just to spend three nights with a man? She loves him. She’s sure of that. She knows of no one who fascinates her more. He is always so kind, so gentle.

Monika, perhaps thirty-eight, perhaps forty, barely over five feet tall, wears a loose-fitting black velour jump suit. Her dark brown hair in a single braid is pinned to the top of her head. That’s the way Jens likes it. He’s always excited by the sight of long earrings dangling against her neck. Monika would run to the boat if that could get her to Jens any faster, but the boat won’t leave so soon anyway. Besides she must think the whole thing through once more. What will she miss by going? What will she miss by staying? She knows the second. She can only guess the other. Samos, Pythagoreon, the beaches; that doesn’t matter so much. Ephesus. She doesn’t want to miss Ephesus. She’ll have to come again to see it all. But Jens! To miss Jens! A dream is just a short time in a life. She must see Jens. Turkey and Ephesus won’t run away.

The golden sun now rises atop the hills. The air is quickly hot. The houses on the hills glow in a myriad of colors, red, orange, green, blue, and a variety of shades that make the city sparkle as only a water color could show, or perhaps an oil by Seurat or Monet. The water of the bay with its splatter of wavelets is an opalescent reflection of the same colors. A canvas could capture but one frame. An animation might reveal the vibrant motion, but the air could still not be felt, the hot air from above and the cool breezes that skim the sea as the sun beats down on the mirrored bay. Monika studies the painting before her and shields her eyes from the brilliant sun even as she shields her mind from every uncertainty that tries to weaken her resolve.

She is still looking across the harbor as the Ariadne eases its way out. She tries to keep the picture in her mind and to remain fully absorbed. This is the end of her visit to Samos. She will next see her group in Piraeus just before the flight back to Copenhagen. What will they have to tell her? What will she have to tell them?

Jens Petersen, fifty, perhaps more, is Professor of Art History at the University of Odense. Monika Andersen works in the museum. It was inevitable that they would meet, but he paid little attention to her for several years until, one evening as the museum was about to close, she abruptly collided with him. The books she carried scattered to the floor and he graciously went to his knees to help her pick them up. At one point she looked up at his calm kind face, and he saw her smile in a way that said thank you without having to make a sound. It said even more to him. It said I like you Professor. Why don’t you ever notice me? Jens smiled back, helped Monika get up and carried the books back to her office. Then he waited for the museum to be closed and walked her home.

From then on the professor took more notice of Monika. He visited her at the museum. She visited him in his office. She attended some of his lectures. They went to the theater, they dined, they danced, and they became lovers. Monika, at last, had filled her dream.

Three months after the encounter in the museum, Jens announced that he was going on a trip. It was his annual visit to the island of Syros, one of the Cyclades. This was his holiday. He always spends these three weeks on that island, alone, relaxing and recovering his mental equilibrium. Lecturing, even though he always enjoys it immensely and for that reason is the favorite among the students, is a difficult chore. He needs this time just to watch the sea, just to empty his mind of all the words. Only then could he begin to lecture again.

Monika complained that the three weeks would be very long. He should have warned her earlier so she could be emotionally prepared. He regretted not doing that, but it was so ingrained in his routine that he usually doesn’t even think about the trip until the summer session is over. What would it be like, he asked, if he thought of his holiday during his lectures, or even during the time he was with Monika? Monika laughed, but she was really sad.

Two days after Jens left, Monika learned of last-minute space available on a ten-day tour of some Greek islands. Now here she was, the best part of the tour still to come, and she was leaving it to join Jens. Will he mind losing his privacy, his vacation away from the words? If he is upset, she’ll promise not to speak the whole time she stays with him. She’ll sit with him and watch the sea by day. She’ll eat with him, alone if that’s what he prefers, and sleep with him by night. It will only be for three days. Surely she won’t disturb him too much. He should really find her visit wonderful. She would.

Monika watches the harbor disappear as the Ariadne rounds the bend and turns to the west. The large ship carries only a few passengers, and Monika is alone at the rail. She watches the hilly villages and the sandy beaches pass by, and her mind passes from the scenery, transforming the view to a picture of Jens in a villa on Syros. Then suddenly she comes out of her trance and back to the island still clearly visible from the Ariadne. On a knoll above a sandy beach, as if painted white against the green hills, is an odd structure, much too modern for ancient Greece. The ship is receding from the shore and the white structure is difficult to see. Monika borrows another passenger’s binoculars.

It’s a chapel. Isn’t it odd? says the tall blonde woman in a clear, but heavily accented English. Modern architecture, here of all places.

Monika agrees and studies the tall, lean woman who is sitting on a bench. She wears heavy boots, tan slacks tucked into the boots and a tan shirt. She travels with only a small pack.

I was hiking in those hills yesterday, the woman continues. They are so beautiful and so fascinating. There are very old villages hidden there. The natives never saw a woman hiking before. Nor had they seen any other kind of hiker for a long time. People just don’t do that sort of thing around here. The only thing the tourists ever do is to lie half naked on the beaches.

My name is Monika.

Oh. Hello. I’m Clara, from Freiberg. You are going to Paros, obviously. Are you going to stay there? Where are you from? she asked.

Odense. I’ll be in Paros only two hours, just long enough to catch the hydrofoil to Syros to meet a friend from home.

Oh. I’m staying in Paros for a few days. It’s almost as exciting as Samos. They have excellent hiking trails, all those old donkey trails and not very many donkeys left.

Monika is not interested in hiking nor in donkey trails. At this moment her thoughts about Jens are all the company she desires, and she certainly doesn’t want to talk about him to Clara.

Excuse me Clara. I must get some breakfast. Can I get you something? Something to eat, coffee?

No. Thank you very much but I never eat breakfast and I already had some coffee. Go right ahead. I’ll talk to you some more later.

Monika looks again at the rapidly receding island. Something catches in her throat. There’s no way to return. She must go through with her plan, as foolish as it seems to others. She goes below, happy to be alone where she can sit quietly and eat slowly, thinking of Jens, remembering the day in the museum when he first noticed her, retasting their first kiss, and dreaming of this coming night. A twinge shakes her. Will he be upset? She has almost five more hours to worry before the boat arrives in Paros. Then, of course, there is the hydrofoil to Syros. Eight more hours!

Where will she find him? Syros isn’t very large. One main village, a few hotels, perhaps a few rooming houses. There can’t be too many tavernas. She should have no trouble. She’ll just wander around the streets of the village looking in every small taverna. He doesn’t like large restaurants. He wouldn’t be in a large taverna even if there is one. She’ll find him. There’s no doubt about that in her mind. Or will she?

Through the windows of the dining hall the steep cliffs of the island of Ikaria appear. She wonders if this is the place where Icarus fell to earth. It’s so far from Crete. Could he have come so far? As the ship passes the island she sees only a few homes, no roads, one main village, and hillsides covered with olive trees. The Ariadne docks briefly at the main village. A few passengers and cars come aboard, and the Ariadne leaves quickly. The island continues alongside for another hour, the steep cliffs, the few homes, the olive groves, and the absence of roads. Monika is hypnotized by the scene and resumes her reveries.

Her mind wanders from Icarus to Daedalus, to Minos and the minotaur, the sacrificial virgins, Theseus and Ariadne, the ship unwinding its wake, the girl with the unwinding ball of string and the man she saves. He became her lover and then abandoned her on the island of Naxos. Poor Ariadne.

A woman approaches Monika’s table. May I join you? I don’t like to sit alone. You do speak English, don’t you?

Yes, Monika nods, this time happy with the intrusion. She’s not pleased with the direction of her thoughts. Please sit down. Are you from Ikaria?

The woman sits and begins eating a roll while sipping her coffee.

"Thank you. Yes and no. I was born here, but now I’m an American from Pittsburgh. I left when I was eighteen. My husband is also from Ikaria, but we met in Pittsburgh. Here in Ikaria we would never have met. We come from different villages. Isn’t that funny, going all the way to America to meet your husband who comes from the same small island. I guess that happens a lot. By the way, my name is Elena. Helen. Helen of Troy, I guess. Not me. I’m no beauty, but I was thinner once.

My father is eighty, she continues. I used to come for a visit every three or four years, but he’s getting so frail so fast that I decided to start coming back every year. My husband—his name’s Stephan, it’s really longer in Greek—couldn’t come this time. Next year he’ll come with me. By the way, what’s your name? Where are you from? Are you just touring the islands?

Monika is unaccustomed to such openness among strangers, but she is happy to have company. The time will pass more quickly. I’m Monika. I’m from Odense in Denmark. I’m with a tour. Well I’m sort of with a tour. She doesn’t want to elaborate. I left my tour on Samos to see a friend on Syros. That’s all she hopes she’ll have to say. She doesn’t want to be judged by a stranger. "I’ll rejoin