Afterwards, we emptied our shoes, got some ice cream in the nearby town and then hopped in the car to head back to Rethymnon. I don't have any pics of the ride home, but we ended up getting totally and hopelessly lost on the way back to the highway. We got stuck on lightless mountain roads and almost drove off a cliff when we tried to make a u-turn.
After a light dinner at home, we were still feeling carsick from the overly bumpy (and long) ride home. We decided to take it easy at the condo. We even managed to find a delicious granola snack that described our photoshoots earlier on in the day.
Here's us bright and early out on our front porch enjoying a breakfast of Greek yogurt and granola. Mmmmmmmm. (ps - what's up, busted dudes in the morning?)
After another hour or so of (sobering) conversation, Kostas brought out a few trays of fresh fruit and several rounds of Raki, which is a bitter digestif made from the distillate of grape stems during wine production (not unlike the Italian grappa).
...that she was only fourteen years old! Doh! Turns out her family owned the club and twice a week she worked the door to earn some extra money (ummm, her allowance, I guess). It was a little past 2am and we were all knackered from our long day of scootering (and too much wine at dinner) so we decided to pack it in early and head back to the resort. We arrived at our car to find Grant sprawled out across the backseat asleep...and decided to do what any friends in our situation would do: scare the living shit out of him. We all got on one side of the car and at the count of three started rocked the (tiny) car back and forth as hard as we could while screaming. Grant leapt awake (screaming along with us) and nearly soiled himself. I tried to take a pic of it, but the flash bounced off the car's glass and it didn't come out. Sorry.
Fatty captured this awesome pic of me turning all quick to try to flash some local girls the "Hey, come join us!" disco smile. No dice. I gotta work on that shit.
About halfway through our meal, Kostas come outside and sat down with us. When he found out that Chris spoke fluent Greek, he became even friendlier (which we didn't think was possible) and started bringing out carafe after carafe of two locally-made village wines.
We wandered the streets for almost an hour trying to decide on where we wanted to eat (ok, trying to find the place that had the most hot girls dining there). The problem was, there was so many restaurants (and so many hot girls) that we couldn't make up our minds. Finally, as we neared the point of collapse from hunger, we were courted by this dude, Kostas Vallasso, and he was so friendly and funny that we decided to eat as his place.
We got back to the scooter place (and please keep in mind that we'd literally been gone for about four minutes) only to find that the scooter rental guy had gone, that's right, you guessed it, ON SIESTA! Here's a picture of my acute disdain. Luckily for us, the people in the shop nextdoor asked what the problem was and when we told them what had happened, they called the scooter guy on his cell phone and he came back and hooked us up with new bikes.
Turns out, the highway was way less scary than the little road we'd been riding through town. On the little road, we were forced to ride in the sketchy, pothole ridden shoulder, where we constantly had to worry about cars pulling out in front of us and dogs that were running around in the street. But on the highway there was hardly any traffic and the shoulder was wide and smoothly paved. (By the way, you know you totally love my wind-styled Farrah Fawcett wings. They're the latest in cycling fashion.)
Heltmets? Check. We had originally planned on driving west to a nearby city called Hania but when we looked more carefully at the map, we realized it was over 75 km away (which is really far by scooter). So we instead decided to head to Balí, a small beach town about 35 km away.
After our quick half-time show, we decided to try our luck in one more bar. Upon returning from the bathroom upstairs, Fatty actually managed to capture with his camera the Force Field that was physically preventing all girls from seeing us (nevermind actually letting them get close enough to dance with us). Once he showed us this pic, we knew we'd better just call it a night.
Lacking both the lower-body flexibility to execute a proper DLR kick and the upper-body strength (believe it or not!) to hold myself horizontal from the signpost long enough for someone to take a picture of it, I had to resort to the really lame "Look at me I'm hanging from a window" pose. Booooo-ring!
Not wanting to make me feel bad, Chris was quick to throw down with a quick "See, not only pussies have to hang from window?" show of solidarity. What a fuggin guy, eh?
Around midnight, we finally got motivated enough to all hop into the car and drive into downtown Rethymnon. We sat at an outdoor cafe right on the water, had some coffee and chocolate cake, then around 1am we started roaming the streets looking for some interesting bars or clubs to hit.
Live Show gets the thumbsdown! Here's us in the parking lot trying to assess the financial damage. Our four Russian "strippers" managed to fleece the four of us for a grand total of €120 in less than 20 minutes! And we still didn't manage to see any heines! We hopped in the car to drive the remaing 1/4 mile back to our resort, and in the moment of silence after we were finished laughing hysterically at what had just happened we all heard Grant say quietly to himself: "Hmmmmm. A hundred Euros, eh?" Hahahahaha.
On the way back to the car a little after 3am, we found another sidewalk snack shop and decided to get something to eat. We all ended up ordering the Cretan equivalent of (my favorite bo-bo NYC food) the infamous Rosario's "Frankie and Cheese." (special shout out to the Crowley brothers, Dens & J Crowley, who have both frequently use their web pages to expound upon the most excellent deliciousness of this culinary wonder of the Lower East Side)
Here we are, four dudes surrounded by nothing but totally hot women from a Greek island who want to have NOTHING TO DO WITH US. Liberia's got nothing on us, THIS is hell on earth.
After putting we put the groceries away, I laid down to take a quick nap before we headed out for the night and woke up just in time to thwart Grant's plans to seriously brain me. He was leaning in to get better sack-to-face proximity, saw that I was waking up and fired off this creepy pic in a panic as he realized I was just about to clobber him in the nuts. (And by the way, what's up with your balls dude? You may have almost brained me but at least my new nickname isn't "Wally Weirdnuts").
Our schtick was apparently so convincing that they even seated us in one of the cool private rooms in the back (that we ended up sharing with Tony Chambers, the Creative Director for Wallpaper Magazine. Oooooooooh! Fancy!)
After our failed attempt to find cheap "dressy shoes," (FUCK, London's expensive!), Grant and I decided to head back to Charlene's and relax while Fatty and Chris decided to stay behind, do some more sight seeing and go to Guitar Center and impress the locals by shredding on the guitars there (Too bad you think I'm kidding).
London being London, it started raining just a few minutes after we got off the tube. We looked around for umbrellas and these were the only ones we could find. "Haaaaaaaaaaaay!"
Reunited! Grant had been in LA working on a TV show and we hadn't seen him in about a month. He arrived in London in the morning and woke our asses up. We showered, got dressed, and headed around the corner to a "builder's diner" right around the corner from her flat and we all ordered...
So in the course of shooting the shit with Tony Chambers, it came up that we had wanted to sing karaoke that night but that the only place that we knew of had already closed. Tony leaned in close and in a conspirital tone told us about a private, karaoke speakeasy he knew of that operated afterhours on the second floor of a tiny, nearby sushi bar. After promising we'd keep it secret, he disclosed to us the location. (Looking back, he was probably just totally psyched to have our loud, American, clearly NOT VIP-asses out of his little private, members only backroom!)
Grant and I giving props to our man Jack (aka - Crazy Pomodoro Guy). Oh, and somewhere right around this time, Layla got all huffy about something and decided to just leave without telling anyone. (Wtf?).
In order to get from the parking lot to the actual building that surrounds the spa, you have to walk this long path that cuts through piles of lava rock.
So this is a picture of the now defunct British band, Kula Shakur. People in the past had told me that I looked a lot like their singer, Crispian Mills (the guy in the left in the pic). Anyway, an hour and a half into the afterparty, this really drunk short guy stumbles up to me and in a super thick Essex accent is like "Oi! Crispian! 'Ow the fuck you behn, mate?" So I very politely told him "I think you've got me mixed up with somebody else." Upon hearing my American accent, which he thought I was feigning he laughed and told me "Ha! That's a fucking great accent. Really great. So seriously, how've you been?" At this point, Charlene came over and told him that I wasn't who he thought I was. He got all embarrassed and walked off really quickly. After he left, Charlene was like "Do you know who that was?"
Chris and me. (Oh yeah, and this is an ACDC concert so prepare yourself to see nothing but tongues and "metal horns" in the rest of these pics. Sorry, I don't make the rules, I just follow them).
At the baggage claim carousel, our bags were the first three out. We grabbed them, breezed through customs and made it to the arrival terminal just as Charlene showed up. (For those of you that don't know, Charlene is Grant's superhot friend from High School who came and visited us in New York this past summer).
After hugs were exchanged, Charlene told us "There are a few things we can do tonight," we were about to tell her that we were exhausted and just wanted to go to bed when she finished with, "and one of them is a surprise ACDC concert that I might be able to get tickets and backstage passes to." Charlene, not knowing our taste in music asked "I don't know, is that something that the three of you would be interested in?" We nearly lost our minds. Free surprise ACDC concert? Backstage passes? We decided we had no choice but to rally yet again.
7:54pm: We arrived at Heathrow totally cracked out. We were so tired that we decided that we were going to tell Charlene that we were up for maybe grabbing one drink but then after that we needed to get some sleep.
(Time Elapsed With Only 15 minutes of Sleep: 28h 24m)
See that building in the background? That's a powerplant takes geothermally heated water from the earth and uses it to both heat homes and to convert into electricity.
The whole idea of stopping in Iceland on the way to London had been Grant's idea. So right up until this point we'd been laughing at the irony of the fact that he'd been missing out on all the fun - but the Blue Lagoon was so amazing that it just stopped being funny. Sorry you weren't there to see it with us, Lil' Buddy! We missed you! After we were done up taking pics on the hill, we climbed down, grabbed our car and headed back towards the airport at Keflavik.
The swim also made us totally stupid tired. (No sleep + Warm Dehydrating Bath = Almost Inability to Speak). But we rallied yet again to go outside and climb the big hill that over looks the spa complex.
3:41pm (Time Elapsed With No Sleep: 25h 11m). After lunch we got to the gate with about 20 minutes to spare before our boarding call which I figured was the perfect chance to finally chance to catch a quick nap. Right after Fatty took this picture, both he and Chris fell asleep and we almost missed our flight! We woke up just in time to catch the last boarding call.
It was right around this time that I decided it was time to pull out the video camera and start capturing some of this. I mean, Christ, I'd already failed to capture the lobotomy guy and Smari dropping the C-bomb about his sister - I wasn't about to miss out on any more. I asked him if he minded me filming him talking and he said he didn't. As soon as I started taping, he launched into all these stories about Iceland's crazy nightlife and told us that we needed to come back over the summer and spend a few days. "Don't worry about a hotel." He told us, "You won't be needing one." Hahaha. (Footage coming soon).
Here's Chris and I trying our best to not look cold for a photo. We didn't want to pack a whole bunch of winter clothers that we'd only be using for a half-day in Iceland so all we had with us to fend of the 4°C temperatures (about 39°F) were our light jackets.
Miraculously, he managed to avoid getting a ticket (but he did accidentally lock himself out of the car...Doh!). We thanked him for the tour (it's still one of the nicest things a stranger has ever done for me - so Smari, if you read this, thanks again!) and then told him that we were thinking about checking out the Blue Lagoon on the way back to catch our flight but that the lady at the rental car place had seemed underwhelmed when we asked her about it. Smari told us "Fuck that lady. If there's only one thing you could see in Iceland, it should be the Blue Lagoon. Don't miss it. Go there now." That settled it. We bid Smari farewell, and headed for Grindavik.
We were starting to feel a little tired on the plane, but we totally rallied and got a second wind the minute we stepped off the plane (must've been that reindeer meat finally kicking in).
6:40am (local time and still pitch black out). We spent the hour-long drive into Reykjavik betting on what time the sun would rise. Price Is Right rules in effect: the one who managed to come closest, without going over would be declared the winner. It was then agreed upon that the winner would get to make out with Gemma, Grant's hot little sister, (mmmmmm....Gemma) when we stopped at Grant's parent's house in Essex on the last leg of our trip. But then we all remembered that Gemma had a boyfriend. (Booooo).
No sleep yet. (Oh also: at some point during the flight, the three of us watched one of those in-flight TV shows about "The Blue Lagoon," which is an Icelandic Spa Resort built around a huge geothermal pool. Other than exploring Reykjavik, we didn't have any other plans. After watching the video, we decided the Blue Lagoon looked amazing and that we'd try to fit it into our schedule if possible.
And look, I even managed to figure out how to take a half-decent pic of myself, which was no easy task, because it's a big, heavy, digital SLR that you have to hold with a side-grip. (Which is why I've got that weird "looks like I'm pooping" expression on my face.)
We breezed through security and made it to our gate just a little past 6pm (which gave us just over 2 hours to kill). We grabbed a snack in the cafeteria, read a bit and (what else?) goofed out and took pictures. (Chris and I had both just gotten new cameras so we spent a lot of time familiarizing ourselves with how to use them.
Before getting in the cab, we neurotically checked to make sure we had our passports with us for the 11th time. You know, just in case one of us had somehow managed to loose it on the 25ft trek from Fatty's apartment to the street.
Vin made me promise that I'd take it on our trip and take lots of pictures with the Penis Straw in each country that we went through. (By the way, what's better than the fact that Penis Straw as a giant set of crooked balls?)
Bernie and I had already eaten lunch two hours previously, but John said that since we were in Atlanta, we had to go eat BBQ. He took us to a place called "Daddy D'z BBQ Joynt." "But John," we protested, "we're not hungry!" "Don't worry," he winked, "you'll have room for this."