I just want to go to the bathroom!; The Night Watchman in Rethymnon           When I travel, I tend to stay at Youth Hostels. They are cheap and they give you a chance to meet your fellow travelers. Youth Hostels very from place to place. However, most have one thing in common. That is a night man.      The job of the night man is to be sure that people that belong to the hostel are in and people that do not belong to the hostel are kicked out. Some hostels pay the person. Others barter; giving a free place to sleep, during the day, in exchange for staying up all night.      I was staying in the Hostel in Rethymnon on the Greek island of Crete. I must say, this is one of the nicest hostels I have stayed at. So nice, when I return to Crete, I am going to find a reason to spend more than two days in Rethymnon just to spend more time at the hostel.      I met the night watchman in the early afternoon on my first day in the city. I had just returned from wandering the city to find him and a three other people in the common area. Like myself, two of the people had just gotten in from exploring the countryside. The third, a young Canadian girl, was getting prepared to catch the late bus to Iraklion to return to Athens. The night watchman was also there though I did not know that was what he was. He had apparently just finished cooking a meal. Lets call it breakfast. His "breakfast" consisted of red onions, garlic and other pungent smelling foods. He had apparently fried these together on one pan and cooked something else in a second pan. The end result was a smelly, greasy mess in the common area. I forget what else he had but raw potato and carrots come to mind though. (He did eventually clean his mess up)      As he ate the rest of us exchanged the typical traveler questions. "Where have you been?", "What have you liked?", "Where are you From?" and "Where are you going?" Two things occurred during this conversation that were to for shadow future events. The first was when the night man discovered that I came form California, he started to talk about the Red Hot Chilly Peppers' 1997 album "Kalifornication". He was very excited to talk about it, a foot away from my face with the smells of his breakfast still lingering. Apparently it had just made it to Europe (This was 2003 and the CD came out in 1997) and was very popular. The night watchman spent the next ten minutes extolling the album. I very politely listened.      The second foreshadowing came when he discovered that a young Canadian woman was headed for Amsterdam. He wanted her to send some of Amsterdam's finest back to him. She tried to politely turn him down by telling him she would not be returning. He then tried to hatch a brilliant plot where he could smuggle it back to him. She kept trying to turn him down (in Greece they throw you in jail for a long time for drug smuggling) and he kept turning him down. Finally, to get him to stop, she told him she would try to send him something. Of course, everyone at the table aside from the night watchman knew she would do no such thing.      At this point I had some questions about his mental competence. He was a nice enough person, but there was something about him that just didn't seem right. There could be a thing as too much recreational smoking.      That night, when I returned from a night of watching traditional Minoan dancing, I decided to relieve myself so I wouldn't have to go in the middle of the night. Since I had eaten earlier, Gastrin (A digestive hormone that causes several significant events in the digestive system) was flowing through me body and I felt like completely relieving myself.      The first thing I did in the bathroom was to remove my contact lenses. The second was to brush my teeth. As I was doing the second task the night watchman walked in. His first line "I've been thinking a lot a bout you today."      "O.K." I replied.      "Yeah, your from California. People love the album "Kalifornication". Do you like it too?"      Being a little sick of an overplayed, six year old album "I liked it when it first came out but I have gotten a little tired of it".      Big mistake. He kept going on and on about how good it was and how someone could get tired of it. Obviously has never heard of mainstream, big market radio, which plays songs to death. I was growing tired of this one sided conversation so I went into the bathroom stall and locked the door. Most people would get the hint that I wanted to go to the bathroom.      He did not. He kept talking to me. He talked to me for five minutes. I have never experienced a greater degree of "stage fright" than that night. Why did he insist on talking to me through a closed bathroom stall door? Did he think I was just hiding form him? DO a lot of people he corners in the bathroom go into the stall and lock it behind them? Why did he keep pestering me?      I finally gave up and left the stall. To avoid further conversations, I told him I was really tired and wanted to go to sleep.      I avoided him that morning. When I returned from visiting an historic site from the Cretan Revolution, I ran into him again. He was cleaning up and making sure his boss realized what a good job he was doing. His boss responded, "You should do a good job, you made most of the mess." I guess I missed his lunch. It smelled like onions though!      That evening, I managed to avoid him during the early part. Unfortunately, I was involved in a backgammon marathon and he eventually showed up to cook dinner. Guess what, he cooked potatos and red onions. He proceeded to talk to me and the young women I was playing with (playing the game with). His topics of conversation seemed only to include drugs, drinking, and the Red Hot Chilly Peppers. He was definitely wearing on my nerves.      Around one A.M. I chose to go to bed. I forget if he was already in the bathroom or came when I was in it. Of course he started to talk about the how I was from California and everyone loves the album Kalifornication. Ugggggg      I would have my revenge. I like to take my contact lenses out at night. Though I don't need a mirror, or a sink, I like both of those items present if possible so I chose to do it in the bathroom. I decided to make a little show of it knowing how squeamish people can be the first time they see someone play with contact lenses. I slowly, and carefully put my fingers "in" my eyes to take the first lens out. I then carefully washed it as if nothing odd happened. I repeated for my other eye.      Bingo, it worked. He quickly left the bathroom. After I had finished my duties, I passed under the common area. I heard the night man complaining to the people still there about me taking out my contact lenses. I believe he said "unnatural" and Gross." Well that's what you get if you don't let me go to the bathroom in peace. Guide Books |  FAQs |  Photos for Sale |  Travel Essays |  Links Contact info: