Well it worked on Grant. He spent the next 20 minutes trying to catch one. Here's method #38; The sneaky-sneaky "whistle whilst casually strolling up behind." (Nobody has more trouble getting behind birds than this guy. Hehe).
Fatty managed to snap a pic of the Grizza and I in a golden slumber before we got some breakfast and hit the road. (Luckily he wasn't there to capture the Golden Shower that had gone on a few minutes earlier).
Which was followed, of course, by more raki. Being Americans (which are somewhat of a novelty to the locals as far as foreigners go) and adding that we had a member of our party that spoke fluent Greek, we were brought complimentary raki at the conclusion of pretty much every meal we ate. And because it's being offered gratis, it's considered an insult to not drink it. Fatty's face in this pic sums up how we were beginning to feel about having to do shots at the end of every meal.
Now this picture really does not do any justice to this girls sick ol' onion. The Grizza doesn't make that face for just any hot girls bee-hind. (Oh wait, yes he does.) Although, I regret to inform that points are taken away for wearing white pants after Labor Day.
But after the first pic, Grant turned around and gave a Randy "The Macho Man" Savage-style FLEX DOWN! Hahhahaha. (Oh, and here's a lil' treat! It's the hi-res, large version for all you Grant fans out there (mostly dudes, I'm assuming) who are looking for a little "Beefcake Stoddard" desktop wallpaper action.)
Where we proceeded to throw down group beach coldlamps, awww yeah. Check out all the rocks on the beach. The waves there made the craziest sound. Each time the water washed out back towards to ocean, it would drag all of the smaller rocks across the larger rocks on the bottom and make this bizarre, underwater rumbling noise. After a quick swim, we laid down to dry off in the sun and were all quickly lulled to sleep by the sound of the water.
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?)
Seriously, what's better than lunch in Crete? Check out the apps: Two Greek salads, Spanakopita (flaky Greek phyllo dough filled with spinach and feta), and tzatziki (which is yogurt with olive oil, dill and more garlic that you've ever tasted in anything before ever). Soooooo fucking tasty. Holy shit, I almost just drooled on myself captioning this picture.
...he brought out more white wine. Amidst all the merriment (shit-talking and recalled moments of scooter-glory), we suddenly realized that we were all completely shit-hammered. When we (slurringly) asked him, "Kostassssch, why are we schooooo drunk?" He explained that the local wines contained approximately 14% alcohol. (Which explains why these pics are starting to get as blurry as our vision was).
...took a few more "look at us...ON SCOOTERS!" pictures, and then returned them back to the rental place. We grabbed our rental car and drove into town looking for a place to grab a nice dinner.
...and then we peed all over everything and hit the road! By the way, how amazing is it that as soon as Grant is off his scooter and that helmet's taken out of context, he's instantly transformed from "Quadrophenia" to "special-needs escapee from the short bus."
How tough is the Fatty in this pic? See that drop off behind Fatty in the pic? That's actually a steep road that leads down to this little tiny part of the penninsula that goes out into the water. We drove down to explore and take a closer look.
Like I mentioned earlier, tourist season had just recently ended, so the place we went to was staffed by only one little old lady. She took our order and then cooked all four of our significant breakfasts all by her little old self. Which was almost as impressive as it was time consuming. Here's a pre-coffee, "cranky n' hungry" portrait of Fatty and Grant.
If you've ever played Frisbee with Grant, you'd know that he thinks he's Michael Jordan. Seriously. Instead of ever just taking a few steps back to catch the frisbee, he'll stay exactly where he is and try to jump and catch it. Since Grant is 68" tall, the letter "a" here represents approximately 36" (a little more half of his body). The letter "b" represents the approximate reach of Grant's arms outstreched. And the letter "c" represents the remaining 33" of pure vertical leap he'd require to catch the frisbee. Somebody get this kid a trampoline.
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.
Grant was pretty spooked about the broken gas line. His grandmother had once told him "Whatever you do, DON'T ride a moped in Greece! Promise me, ok?" and he felt like it was a sign that he shouldn't get back on the bike. But we told him, "Stop being silly. She said MOPED in GREECE! You're on a SCOOTER in CRETE! Apples and oranges, my friend! It's totally different! Stop being such a pussy!"
Our cajoling managed to get him down the coastal road for the first ten kilometers of our trip - but when the small country lane we were riding on ended and it became apparent that we'd have to ride on the big, four-lane highway for the remainder of our trip, he was decidedly unhappy. We gave him another pep talk ("You're on a SCOOTER, remember? Scooter! Not moped!") and hit the big, bad highway.
I don't know if you know this, but Greeks drive like crazy people. Wait, that doesn't quite do it justice. More like FUH-HUH-HUH-KING CAH-RAZY PEOPLE! It makes no sense. You walk around Crete and all you see are these chilled out playas all taking it easy, sipping their coffee, taking their four-hour breaks...but all of a sudden, put one of them chilled dudes behind the wheel of a anything with a motor and all of the sudden they've GOT FUCKING PLACES TO BE SO MOVE OR BE KILLED! With that in mind, full-well knowing that renting scooters on a Greek island might lead to an early death, we decided to head to the restaurant across the street and enjoy what might very well be our last meal:
We hit the road and were headed for Balí when about three minutes into the trip Grant's bike stalled out and wouldn't restart. We all pulled over and a quick examination revealed that the liquid puddling underneath his bike was, in fact, gasoline. Yep, blown gas line. No big deal we figured. We'd all ride back and get Grant a new bike. Chris hopped on his bike to come with us, and his bike wouldn't restart either. FUCK! So Fatty and Chris agreed to wait 1/2 mile down the road while Grant and I went back to talk to the scooter guy.
And just because I know Grant's got so many fans out there, here's the pic that Fatty took of him when we ran into the room to see what he was doing. Oh, and before I forget, later that night I had just fallen asleep when Grant's chuckling from the bed next to mine woke me up.
Me: "What's so funny?" Grant: "Oh, I was just thinking about what I'm going to say to Valencia next time I see her." Me: "Valencia?" Grant: "Valencia. That was my girl's name at Live Show." Me: "Oh, right. Valencia. Well, what are going to say?" Grant (pretending to have a conversation with Valencia): "Oh, hi Valencia! Yes, It's nice to see you again too! Me? Oh, I'm fine. Yes, yes, just great. What about you? How are you doing? Oh, you're fine too? That's wonderful! What's that, Valencia? Would I care for a drink? No thanks, I'm not thirsty tonight, but... [loooooooong pause] ...how about you jerk me off for thirty Euros?"
Holy shit, I laughed so hard I almost had a heart attack. Thus ended our first day in Crete. Nighty-night!
On the car ride back to our resort, Grant suddenly started yelling "PULL OVER! PULL OVER!" I freaked out, thinking I had accidentally clipped a Cretan nun or something, screeched to a halt only to have Grant point excitedly out his window and say "Look dude, it's my store. It's called "Grant!" See? We totally gotta get a picture." (The best part of this picture, if you look carefully, you'll notice Grant is using both hands to point to himself. Hahah).
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.
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.
After we were done with the laser show, he headed back to the streets to look for something fun to do. Having totally given up on any of us scoring some "Haha" for the night, we decided to do what we do best: Take. Stupid. Pictures. Yeah! Here's Grant doing his first DLR-Kick (That's David Lee Roth) on (off?) Cretan soil.
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)
Right after eating, we decided to do grab some groceries for the condo. (If you take our collective will-power and combined it, it would be equivalent to the will power of a cranky six year-old with ADD. Therefore, grocery shopping is an event we recognize can only be undertaken upon full stomachs!). Right when we walked into the store, we quickly got distracted by absolutely amazing rack of "SOUVENIR FROM GREECE" buttons. Here's just a few of our faves: Grant holds up "Suck My Bell End" (for all y'all not familiar with this charming British colloquialism, a "bell end" is the head, or "glans" of the penis).
And then, always a big hit with the ladies, there's the incredible "Show Us Yer PISS FLAPS" SOUVENIR FROM GREECE button. Seriously, if you're having a difficult time meeting people at parties, you need to get yourself one of these buttons. It's a no-fail conversation starter!
We actually purchased all three of these buttons in hopes that the person who woke up one morning and thought to themselves, "Hey! Wouldn't THAT make a GREAT souvenir button?" has since become a rich man.
Our resort, The Leoniki Residence, was about 5 km outside of downtown Rethymnon in a little village called Platanias. The place was amazing. Way nicer than any of us expected. Here's cranky Grant crashing out on the couch while Chris sweet-talked the check-in lady in Greek. We got our into our condo, grunted an approval regarding our accommodations, dropped our shit on the floor and immediately went to sleep.
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.
So at 5:45am, we're all in the condo's living room still laughing about "Live Show" and we see all these flashes coming from the bedroom. We raced in to find Grant taking pictures of himself in his underwear in the mirror! We were like "What are you doing?" Grant: "Taking pictures of myself in my new underwear." Us: "Why?" Grant: "So I can see what I look like in them!" Us: "Yeah dude, but it's a mirror! Can't you already see what you look like in them?" Grant: (Says nothing. Looks at the floor).
We all ended up oversleeping and had to rush out of the door so as not to be late meeting up with Grant's parents, grandmother (Pam!) and (hot) sister, Gemma in Covent Garden. Grant was freaking out the whole ride in. He was like "We can't be late! My dad'll kill us!"
Chris (being a ninja and all) out of the blue decided to climb the giant, bronze lion statue. Evenutally (with much more difficulty) the rest of us managed to climb up there with him, but I can't find the picture of all four us up there (which is a good thing because a picture of the four of us snuggled up riding a lion statue would be so gay that if I posted it on the world wide net there'd be a risk that it could cause a chain reaction and turn the entire world gay).
...a huge Cretan man that looked like a bizarro "Ogre Version" of our good friend Ross Martin. Not willing to let him escape undocumented, we dispatched Chris (who speaks fluent Greek) to tell the giant Ross-Ogre (R'ogre, if you will) that he looked just like a friend of ours and would he mind posing for a picture. There was an uncomfortably long pause as he pondered our request (which I spent fearing he was about to crush all of our heads like grapes) but instead he gave a polite nod and posed for this fantastic pic.
Gemma was feeling really ill (I think Grant poisoned her so she couldn't stick around to be flirted with any longer) so around 4:30pm the Stoddard fam packed it up and headed back to Essex leaving us to sightsee.
When Grant went up to get a round of drinks, the bartender accidentally smashed a glass and cut Grant's fingers (he probably heard G's Essex accent - they apparently don't go over well in "private clubs."). You'd think a little bloodshed would've earned us a break on the £10 drinks, but nooooooooo!
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...
After dinner, we stayed in Soho and upon Charlene's suggestion, decided to see if we could talk our way into the Kingly Club (which is this private, uber-exclusive, membership-only club that had only opened a few days ago). The rest of the group hung back and Charlene and I headed for the door to attempt to crash the club.
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!)
Charlene, PR whiz that she is, totally snowed the doorlady into believing that we were some fancy VIPs from New York that had been flown into town by her company the previous night to attend the AC/DC concert.
After a nap and some tea, we all met up later that night for pre-dinner drinks at a bar called The Social. L to R: Grant, Danni, Chris, Kate (I think), Layla, Fatty, Charlene and Grant Morris.
So a little after 1am we cut out of the Kingly Club and headed over to the "sushi bar." The place was closed, but the door was open. We walked in an were greated by a Japanese guy who eyed us suspiciously. I took the lead, "We're hear for the, ummm, you know" as I nodded my head knowingly in the direction of the 2nd floor. He played dumb, "I don't know what you're talking about." So I gave him the ol' reassuring "Of course you know what I'm talking about" smile with another vigorous, knowing nod towards upstairs.
He considered us for a few seconds and then turned around and looked toward another guy who'd appeared in the back of the restaurant. The man in the back gave him a single nod, and suddenly, a curtain was whisked back to reveal a stairway. The 2nd floor! We'd been granted access! Here's Grizzle kicking off the karaoke festivities with some Bowie.