My Trip to Hell and Back, by Ola

Rhodos Island sounds heavenly, doesn’t it? I thought so when my best friend asked me to go there with her and her friends. Having the prospect of sitting whole summer in the office and wearing smart suits in front of me, I decided that the name Rhodos sounded heavenly for me, and without further consideration I simply bought the ticket.

Completely unsuspecting, I got to Balice Airport, and during the journey form Poznan to Krakow I met “her friends”. Namely, two girls with whom I was supposed to stay in one studio for the next two months. They were like in Jim Morison’s song, the blond called Freedom, the dark one Enterprise. The blond little creature (150cm) was free because she was not confined by thinking; she had no brain, while the bigger one – Enterprise – was, like many newly established firms, lacking capital but covering it up with self–confidence.

Taking into account that I would possibly go mental after a few days I decided not to worry in advance. However, my peace of mind didn’t last more then an hour: it was totally ruined the moment I tried to check in. A lady in an ugly brown uniform informed me that my ticket had not been paid properly by the travel agency and I couldn’t fly to my heaven – Rhodos. The fury visible on my face, I got the number of the agency and, in the politest voice in my possession, I threatened the owner with all kinds of legal proceedings and damages I would claim for.

Within half an hour I was sitting on the airplane fastening my seatbelt and imagining myself in paradise. When I woke up from my daydream, I suddenly saw a God-forsaken place called Falihraki. To picture it properly and fully I can say nothing more than that the two main streets (the only streets) were Bar Street and Club Street, nothing to add. To tell the truth, can’t call it hell with a clear conscience because even the devil has his (or her) pride, and I truly and deeply believe that she (or he) would acknowledge this place as undeserving of the title ‘hell’. This creepy village was for me a dwarf-like, vicious creatures’ dwelling with nothing but suffocating stench filling it up.

Being accused of preferring the pessimistic version of reality, I decided to find something positive about this trip. At the beginning I was misled by my own brain, I came to the conclusion that I’d got slimmer and gained a great suntan. After a month, when the brown colour of my skin was only a vague memory and the yoyo-effect had done its job, I have finally judged this thing properly and without prejudice; my mind did it without my conscious help – it simply denied this memories the right of being memories, so these recollections are only unreal, nightmare reminiscences.