Ouzo and Amstel

Corfu, Greece
The ferry from Brindisi, Italy got into Corfu at 8:30am and we had that dazed travelers look on our faces that thieves recognize as easy prey. We looked around for a pink bus that would take us to the palace of the same color. It was nowhere to be seen. During our walk to find a phone to call, a guy with a Pink Palace placard approached us and we were rescued. The white van was packed and that meant the floor for me. The Palace was on the other side of the island and the bus drove up and down and all the around while my view was legs and feet.

Pulling up to the Palace was like showing up to camp on the first day. You unload off the van, file into reception area, they tell you what to do and you do it. The Pink Palace is situated on and down a hill. There are rooms above and beside the reception/bar. Walking down the marble steps there are more rooms and the Pink Palace Palladium, a dance club/dining hall. Even further down there is a restaurant, more rooms, and the pool. Then finally the beach. Everything is painted pink.

We made our descent to the restaurant where we were fed through an assembly line. The eggs and potatoes tasted good because it was the first real food we had had for a day and a half. Back up the stairs to the bar we sat around tables as Brian, the American manager of the establishment, told us campers what to expect. To take the edge off Kier, an Aussie employee, gave us shots of the quintessential Greek drink—Ouzo. It was pink liquor that tasted like black licorice. Four shots later, the sharp edge we once had was now well rounded. After checking in we went to our room that had two bunks, a bathroom, and a deck. Not bad for $20.

Breakfast was nice, but it wasn’t nearly enough. There was only one narrow street through the Palace grounds. We followed it down around the bend that led to a little village where we dominated a gyro shop. Two gyros and an Amstel later, we were good to go. The beach was the next destination and I grabbed my air mattress, Ol’ Yeller, and we descended the copious steps. It was a sandy beach with a mixture of rocks. I paddled around in the surf for a time before retiring to the beach chair. It’s so impressive here. I don’t know if these partiers are cognizant of the beauty.

When we had our share of the sun, we took long naps awaking in time to make the 9:00 dinner. I had made arrangements to get a massage and had to excuse myself early from the lamb and rice meal to get to the parlor. The masseuse, nicknamed Dimitrius, was a Greek guy whose English was hard to understand through his thick accent. I got down to my boxers and he lathered me up with baby oil and worked my body over for 40 minutes. It felt a little awkward because he was a guy and got a bit close to the boys, but still it felt relaxing.

I met Brad and Nick at the 24-hour reception bar and we had a drink before retuning to our deck to recount our adventures and blessings. After multiple Amstels and Ouzos, we went down to the Palladium and joined the dance party. The strobe light was a trip. Even the slightest movement looked as though one was dancing incredibly fast. When the strobe turned off I became conscious that I was actually moving quite slow. The house beats pulsated throughout the room as young travelers plotted their next move. I was content to just dance by myself and occasionally with Nick and Brad.

The music turned to American rap and that was our cue to get on. Brad and I were hungry, as we usually are around three in the morning, so we walked outside the Palladium and there was a guy selling meat on a stick with bread: souvlaki. We sat on a step and enjoyed four each. Next to us was the self-proclaimed world’s biggest Nirvana fan. Every morning he woke a little bit sadder that the band ceased to exist. Also he was sure that Kurt Cobain committed suicide and wasn’t murdered. He preferred it that way and claimed he would love them and listen to them until the day he died.

The legs were slow to climb the steps and even slower to jump to the upper bunk.