I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- Robert Frost
You know how that Robert Frost poems goes, “Two roads diverged in a wood..”
The road less taken is forever in the American mind as a romantic, rugged, individualist journey. We all strive to be unique, to live our own original adventures.
Well, let me tell you a story about a time when I literally took the “road less traveled” and what happened and where it took me.
|the car that took us through it all....|
After five days in the capital of my family’s tiny island, I longed to see the other side. The “other side” means the north side, which is isolated from the south side my a tall mountain. There are only two ways to the other side: around the mountain or over the mountain. When the roads on the island were finally paved, it was decided that the road over the mountain was the more suitable choice for travel. Sure, it’s a narrow windy journey that would make anyone carsick, but it gets you to Evdilos in 45 minutes surely and safely. The same cannot be said for the road around the mountain.
I should mention here that I was not the driver and not in charge of the choice or timing in how to get from one side to the other. My dad’s wild youngest brother had the car and the free time and for some reason, that day, the desire to see the road around the mountain. No one had ever seen that road, despite living on the island for fifty years he had never once taken the road around the mountain.
This would be an adventure for him too. So we all piled up in the car, me, my uncle, my dad, my partner, and my uncle's 9-year-old daughter.
|the journey was only just beginning|
We first drove an hour to a town on the south side called Magginitis. This was a reasonable drive through normal village roads, but it took forever because we kept getting lost. Each time my uncle would pull over and ask how to find the entrance to the road to Evdilos, and the conversation would go something like this:
Uncle: “Excuse me, where is the road to Evdilos?”
Villager: “Oh, by the church. Go straight up the hill and turn right, then you’ll see it.”
Uncle: “Excuse me, where is the road to Evdilos?”
Villager: “Oh, by the church. Turn left and go down the hill, then you’ll see it.”
After fifteen of such exchanges with conflicting information, we finally got on the right course, but then things turned foreboding….
The villagers instructions were often followed by indirect warnings. When my uncle would ask, “how’s the road?” they would sign and look out into the distance.
“Take it slowly.”
I never knew the Greek word sigasiga meant until that day. I was worry I asked.
|view from the passenger's seat|
At the entrance to the road there were two large dogs each tied up to posts on both side of the street. They barked ferociously as our car passed them by. They were the sphinx guardians of the passage, I imagined.
Almost immediately the dirt road turned into a rocky road and the car jumped up with every ditch and boulder we mounted. We flew out of our seats as the bottom of the car scraped over the rocks. We drove about 3 miles an hour. The road was windy and it was impossible to see around the blind curves. With every curve, I prayed that the awful scary road would end and deliver us into a paved road but each turned brought us only more of the rocky terrain.
|view from the other side|
|when the road started to improve...|
The west side of the island is practically uninhabited, and there was no sign of anybody, even another car on the road with us. The feeling of being both trapped and isolated overwhelmed me and I felt a sense of panic as we crept along the lonely side of that dry mountain.
After an hour of torture we came to a road that had been leveled and sanded – the first step to full blown paving. We drove over the sandy roads workers on the side laid out more sand. Apparently on the island, roads don’t close so that construction crews can build them; you can drive on a road at any stage of its development. This was an interesting experience in and of itself.
|in the middle of construction|
|work trucks didn't seem to mind us driving by|
|nor did this tractor|
|some equipment looked like it hadn't been used in a while|
|or totally abandoned|
After another hour drive slowly through the construction site, we passed a car with a young couple heading the opposite direction – towards that rocky nightmare road. My dad shook his head and said some like, “Suckers…”
and we all howled with laughter. Those poor people had no idea what they were in for…
Finally we arrived in Armenistis, just beside Evdilos. We had reached the north side and what would have been a 45-minute drive over the mountain became a 4-hour drive around the mountain.
|finally made it to Evdilos|
Now when I think of that Robert Frost poem, I don’t think of that romantic other journey.
Sometimes the path less taken is a scary cliff with no railing.
Sometimes it’s four hours in a sweaty car with my family.
Sometimes the path less taken is less taken because it hasn't been paved yet.
At least in this instance, an sweet and memorable as that experience was, I'm going over the mountain next time.
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