Magic Bus

Happy New Year!

As I wrote the last post, I began thinking of that ill-fated bus trip from Athens to London during the summer of '85. It was on a coach line really called the Magic Bus and it amounted to roughly three days riding in a rotten, stinking bus mainly with junkies who were shooting up in their seats and, without a bathroom on board, peeing in old Coke bottles. We, of course, spent hours in pain dying to go to the bathroom -- especially since we shared a bottle of wine each night in an attempt to catch some shut eye.

Given that we had no running water for a shower for days prior to departure, we weren't exactly the cream of the crop during that adventure either.

We encountered our first real potential problem as we entered what was then Yugoslavia and Oliver and I were Americans without visas. The bus driver was ready and more-than-willing to leave us at the border. I'm still not exactly sure what ensued as we couldn't understand a word they were saying; however, at the last moment possible, we were allowed back on the bus and the driver was angry at us for the delay.

The next day we stopped at a gigantic, clean rest stop where we bought apples, cheese and more wine. I entered the ladies room to find Gail with her head in the sink attempting to wash her hair. The dirt was coming out in thick, dark, tar-like rivulets. I helped her get the tar out; she did the same for me and Oliver.

Minutes later, the driver wouldn't let us on the bus again. At first we couldn't comprehend why then we realized what was wrong: he didn't recognize us. Fresh faced girls sans grime. I think it was our accents that saved us.

Somehow we made it back safe and sound and headed off to Jersey, Channel Islands upon our return for a warm bed and some pampering from Gail's parents. Two weeks later, I was back in Rochester, wearing professional attire as I sat behind a desk at my internship at Eastman Kodak Company. I think, at that point, I missed the stink . . .