Metro: Psychiartrists and Kamikazes, Colors and Saints

Until I traveled with my parents to urban areas outside of Missouri, I thought that public transportation was a myth or a fictional creation of television and films. It was a phenomenon for which my small-town, spacious home simply never had the need. When I arrived in Greece, not only was I traveling as an adult for the first time, but I was also embarking on my first attempts to grasp the seemingly complex public transportation system without parental guidance. As an alien in a strange land with a strange mother tongue, I was completely overwhelmed by the metro system’s total control over me, but it did not take long before I became its conqueror. I do not wish to take all of the spoils of war for myself, though; I want to spread the knowledge I gained in battle with you, dear Future Traveler.
The metro system of Greece is much more trusting and much more lax than in America. The tickets are purchased at the counter before they are inserted into a machine that validates and stamps the stub; no big surprises yet. I was shocked, however, to find these machines unattended. Not a single person watched the process, not a single person checked the authenticity (or even existence) of the tickets, and not a single person bothered to monitor the machines for gate-jumpers; there were after all no gates to prevent people from entirely bypassing the validation procedure. American subway workers watch such stations with the intensity of a psychiatrist scrutinizing a new patient who is in need of a proper diagnosis and an adequate treatment plan. I validated my ticket unnoticed.
This lack of attention by security was replaced, however, with a plethora of stares from the passengers of the metro. These self-proclaimed psychiatrists seemed to be trying to decipher my very soul with their gazes; I felt about as comfortable as a worm dangling as bait from a fishing pole. As I sat sweltering in the sweltering heat, without the relief of air conditioning or even a friendly breeze, the local commuters began their consultation session without my consent and in spite of my extreme uneasiness. My diagnosis: American tourist. My treatment plan: Continued observation until my potential as future bait for hustling and extra profit could be fully known.
Still feeling like that dangling worm, my first metro ride, though aided by the direction of Dr. Chin, should be deemed successful simply for realizing the speed and crushing power with which the doors opened at each stop. Cold, unfeeling, and uncaring, these doors very much reminded me of the treatment I also received from the Greek people. Pushing, shoving, and unsmiling, the people threw themselves in the fashion of kamikazes both onto and off of the train with obvious disregard for my personal bubble of space or for any bruises I might incur. I am still unsure of which I am more afraid: a crushing blow from a Greek metro door or a crushing blow from a Greek metro passenger. We somehow managed to avoid having to make such a decision by grabbing our suitcases two stops before our destination and crowding around the door with the rest of the kamikazes. Lesson number one: Know your destination and prepare in advance to exit the train.

Stephanie C.