Walking back to my hotel at night, down a darkened, unfamiliar street in the old part of Athens. Far in the distance, the lights and sounds of the square. Here, the darkness relieved only by the lights of the last shop, now closing, sparkling jewel-like through windowglass rippled with age, while the staff, out of sight in the back, concludes the business of another day,
Half-illuminated by the light of the shop window appears a machine, vague in the shadows. A sign on its front in archaic letters, at first unreadable, then seems to shimmer and resolve itself in the dim light:
“Your Weight & the Will of the Gods, 10 Drachmes”.
I pause, coin in hand, uncertain.
Except for the sign, the story is all true, and even the sign itself I imagined as I stood there, and thought how wonderful it would be should I come across such a thing, which late at night in the darkened street seemed not wholly beyond the realm of possibility. Such a state of mind is one of the pleasures of travel.