But one tour operator from Germany is undaunted by this situation. He is building his very own hotel to make sure his clients get what they paid for.
There are ugly rumours that he was once a commander at a concentration camp and that the financial backing for his enterprise comes from South America. And my suspicions were far from dispelled when I met Herr Wolfgang Amadius von Fahrtstuhl at the construction site of his new hotel, thirteen kilometres off the inland road to Sounion.
He was a dapper little man, ramrod stiff with a monocle in his right eye, wearing riding boots and a Panama hat, and holding a riding crop in his hand. When I approached him, he half-raised his right hand, then extended it for a handshake, clicking his heels smartly at the same time.
‘Vot can I for you do?’ he asked sternly.
I explained that I had come to interview him for The Athenian and that our readers wanted to know something about his plans to bring tourists to Greece.
‘Ach so,’ Herr Fahrtstuhl nodded. ‘Veil, I vill explain. Mein organization — Fahrtways Gmbh — vill stand no nonsense from ze tourists or anybody. Everything is strictly laid out in our brochure und ve vill carry out our obligations to ze letter!’ he said, hitting his boots with his riding crop. He pointed to the grey, barrack-like building that was rising among the vineyards. ‘As you see, zis vill be a maximum-security hotel. Ze votch-towers vill be going up next week.’
‘But why should you want to build a maximum-security hotel?’ I asked in surprise.
‘Because I don’t want anybody stealing ze ashtrays or ze cutlery,’ he snapped, ‘Do you know how many spoons ze Grande Bretagne loses every year?’
‘And how will you be bringing them over, by charter flight?’ I asked.
‘Certainly not. Ve vill be offering ze cheapest fortnight in Greece anybody ever had. Ten marks per person including transportation, bed and breakfast und sightseeing tours.’
‘But that is impossible,’ I protested.
Herr Fahrtstuhl smiled thinly. ‘Nothing is impossible if der Fuehr — I mean, if one puts one’s mind to it. Say you are a German tourist who has paid his ten marks and got his tickets and vouchers in Frankfurt. He vill be ordered to assemble -mit all de oder victims — ach, vot am I saying, tourists, at 8 a.m. punkt at ze Frankfurt railvay station, und vait for ze command to board ze train. On ze train vill be an orchestra playing ‘Deutschland uber Alles’ continuously all ze vay to Greece. Zis means everybody vill have to stand because zere vill be no room to zit anyway in ze cattle cars.’
‘You mean you will bring your people in cattle cars?’
‘Vot do you expect for ten marks? Mussolini’s private train?’
‘By ze time ze tourists get to ze hotel it vill be dark because it vill take zem at least three hours to get from ze Larissa Station to ze hotel, even at a quick trot…’
‘For God’s sake,’ I protested, ‘you’re not going to make them run thirteen kilometres from the station to the hotel?’
‘Und vy not? It vill do zem good. In front vill be ze baggage truck mit ein loudspeaker playing military marches ind behind vill be a professor from Heidelberg University lecturing on der ancient monumenten von Greece. Is good, no?’
‘Magnifique!’ I gasped.
‘Und as you vill see from ze brochure, mein group vill zen see “Athens by Night”. On top of ze hotel is mounted ein powerful telescope und each one in turn vill look at Athens by night.’
I looked at the hotel and then at Mount Hymettus blocking the western horizon. ‘I’m afraid they won’t see very much of Athens from here,’ I remarked.
Herr Fartstuhl followed my gaze and slapped his boots again with his riding crop. ‘Ach,’ he exclaimed, ‘you are right. Never mind. Ve vill turn ze telescope ze oder vay und zey vill see Markopoulo by night. Ze problem iss solved!’
‘And what about the rest of the program?’ I asked.
Herr Fahrtstuhl pulled out a brochure from his back pocket and handed it to me. ‘See for yourself. Ze program has endless possibilities.’
I looked at it and discovered that the program for every one of the days throughout the fortnight was ‘walk in the countryside.’
‘Just walks?’ I inquired. ‘Won’t they get bored?
‘Nein, nein,’ Herr Fahrtstuhl exclaimed. ‘If zey valk long enough und far enough zey can visit Delphi, Sounion, Mycenae, Argos, Thermopylae, Meteora, Olympia — as I said, ze possibilities are endless.’
‘But if they go so far they’ll never be back in time for bed,’ I argued.
‘Ach,’ Herr Fahrtstuhl said, ‘who vould vant to sleep in a bed mitout a mattress or sheets?’
I looked nonplussed. ‘But the brochure says “Bed and continental breakfast…'” I began.
‘Ja, ja,’ Herr Fahrtstuhl interrupted, ‘but nowhere does it say mattresses und sheets. Ve didn’t have zem at Auschwitz und nobody complained!’
‘And what about breakfast? They’ll miss that too,’ I pointed out.
Herr Fahrtstuhl looked at me pityingly and said: ‘Half a sardine only. Who vould miss zat, if you please?’
‘Half a sardine? Surely there’s more to a continental breakfast than that?’ I protested.
‘Nein, nein,’ Herr Fahrtstuhl said vehemently, shaking his head. ‘We do not specify vich continent we are talking about. Und vot do you tink ze penguins eat for breakfast in Antartica? Buttered toast mit marmalade?’
