Bond, Baby, Bond!

I spent the rest of the week studying the drawings, locations and schedules. I made call sheets, assigned crew to specific jobs, made materials lists, and created a Gannt chart to be sure all the projects had supplies, personnel and a drop-dead date to finish.

The gig was a lot more complex than I ever imagined when I accepted the lead carp role. We were not only building sets, but all the props as well. Most of the locations had some amount of build-out as part of the set dressing, and the prop list was a bit overwhelming. We had to build patio umbrellas that could support the weight of a man, disguise a metal frame to look like a tree that could hold the weight of a car, build a wooden car that could be blown up, and create a wooden floating platform for camera crews that fit around a yacht.

The drawings were very complex, with a master plan and a pile of detailed sub-drawings with plan, elevation and isometric views. There were also eleven tubes in total, not just the three Andy had shown me at first. I spent six days pouring over the documents, making more piles of my own, and getting more nervous about my ability to handle the responsibility.

This was the biggest gig I had ever had, and what's more, most of the crew were older and more experienced in film work than I was, and union carps complained a lot, as well. The incredible paycheck made a lot of sense now.

On Saturday morning, four of the crew arrived and settled in at the bunkhouse. The rest were scheduled to arrive the next day and we shipped out early Monday morning to Meteora in Greece, where we would work for three weeks, then on to Corfu for two weeks, then fly back to Milan for a month. The full schedule was 10 weeks, and I would end up earning half a year's pay in two months.

I kept my mind on the financial rewards to keep my nerves in check.

Saturday night, I invited the four crew members out for dinner and a beer. Michael and Thomas (ugh another one) were British, Alanozo was Italian, and Marcus was German. Fortunately, everyone spoke English…so far. Thomas suggested a restaurant not too far away that specialized in Tirolian cuisine. I had no idea what that meant, but I was up for anything.

As it turned out, Tirolian food was to become a life-long favorite, particularly Zillertaler Krapfen, which was so good I lost count of how many I ate.

The beer was also amazing and I bought several rounds for the crew, in part to buy some loyalty. We drank and feasted for a few hours before eventually stumbling back to the bunkhouse. I was so full of both food and beer that I nearly passed out before I had even hit the bed.

The next morning, I met the guys in the common room for coffee. Two more of the crew were there, as well – one guy called Zits from Norway who had an obvious problem with oily skin, and Matteo, another Italian. We did our introductions and "sniffed" each other's creditials, which involved bragging about past gigs and trading stories. I got extra marks for the severed fingers story at the opera house.

While we nursed our hangovers and got familiar with each other, the ninth carp arrived. He introduced himself as Kaiser and eyed me with suspicion – I guess because I was the only American and a good bit younger than most of the crew – but before long we were all coming together as a team. Just in time for a large box of pastries to arrive for breakfast, compliments of Andy.

As about lunchtime the last carp arrived. A shadow crossed the Sun and a feeling of dread came over me. This guy was a monster and about the only part of his body that wasn't covered in thick hair was around his eye sockets. His beard was a black as his hair, which was as black as his eyes. He word all denim – a vest and jeans – with a black t-shirt, and he had a chain connecting his wallet to his belt. His boots gave him the look of a hirsute Frankenstein's monster and his voice was equally as frightening.

"My name is Ape," was all he said, as he grabbed a handful of pastries and collapsed into one of the chairs.

"Hi Ape, I'm Rex, the crew head, and this is…" I was cut off by Ape's roaring laughter.

"You're the crew head?" he said with exaggerated incredulity. I nodded.

"Holy sheet," he grumbled. "They are robbing the cradle these days."

I knew already this was not going to be easy. Ape looked to be about 35 or so, and probably had a list of credits as long as my are. The only thing I could figure out was that no one wanted the lead job. They preferred to do the work and leave the administrative headaches to someone else. I couldn't think of any other reason why I should have been put in charge of this crew on a major project like a Bond film.

It turned out that Ape was from Cypres and was fluent in Greek, which would have been a handy skill to have around, except that I was growing increasingly terrified of asking him anything.

We spent the rest of the day going over the drawings and my work plan. There were a few comments about being well planned that would have made my ego swell if Ape hadn't spent most of the time huffing and grunting. I wasn't sure want any of it meant, but I wasn't going to invite his comments either. We made some minor adjustments to crew assignments, based on special skills and experience among the group, but for the most part, my plan stood up to intense scrutiny.

As it got on towards sunset, we moved to a local café and ate dinner. Ape drank pitchers of beer to our glasses. I wasn't sure if this was some king of power play, or if it was his custom. In any case, we got back to the bunkhouse about 10, in order to get a solid night's sleep to be ready to leave at 9 the next morning.

I spent an hour or so getting my gear and paperwork together and laid down with my book. When I woke up, the book was on my face and I hadn't read a single word.

We gathered in the common room at 7, and Andy breezed in a few minutes later with donuts. "Are we ready to go?" he asked, looking at our motley crew with his usual bland grin. We all nodded – and grunted – signalling our readiness.

"Wonderful, darlings,' he enthused. "The bus will be here shortly to take us to the plane. Make sure you have everything, because you won't be back here for at least two months."

We all looked down at our packs out of habit, though no one moved to double check anything.

"Rex has done a bang-up job putting the work plan together, and you all know the drill, I think," Andy said, trying to act like a football coach before the big game, but it came off rather comedic. "Your pay will be transferred to your accounts every Friday at noon. If there are any problems, you have our number here, of course. Any questions?"

Andy scanned the group, but no one responded. "Good, then," he grinned. "Good luck and enjoy. Should be quite interesting…especially working in a monastery." His grin expanded and he whirled on one heed and breezed out the door.

We all knew about the work in the monastery in Meteora, but no one seemed sure what Andy meant by the comment. In any case, we descended on the donuts and drank gallons of coffee. Withing 20 minutes, a minibus had parked at the front door. We loaded our gear and climbed in and were soon on our way to airport.

When we arrived, the bus pulled onto the tarmac and drove up to a rather beat-up looking DC-3. I hadn't seen one of these planes since I was a kid, and this one looked as if it were a decade past its safe operating life. No one else seemed overly concerned, so I kept my comments to my self. We loaded our gear in the rear of the plane, then climbed aboard.

The seats were covered in well-worn leather and the cockpit was open to view. The aisle sloped down to the rear, since the plane's main landing gear were two pylons in the front, with a small tail wheel in the back. I wasn't crazy about this kind of configuration, since I kept imagining the plane catching in a pot hole and flipping onto its nose.

There was a smell of mold and old sweat, which I took to mean that this plane was only used to carry crews around. I sat near the front, and since there were plenty of seats, everyone had an entire row to themselves. When we had settled, the pilots climbed in, with the captain taking his seat, while the co-pilot pulled up the stairs and closed the hatch.

The left prop turned over and fired up. I watched out the window as the right one turned over and fired, but flames shot out the rear of the engine. I froze in panic as the co-pilot motioned to the captain. Instead of cutting the engines and evacuating, the captain increased the revs and eventually blew the flames out. The cabin radio crackled and I could see the co-pilot talking.

"Don't worry," he told us with a thick Italian accent. "Just a little extra fuel in the carburator. All better now," he said, pointing to the right side. Trying to look as casual as I could, I glanced out the window again, pretending to take it all in stride, since no one else seemed to react with any alarm.

I watched as someone on the ground pulled the chocks away from the wheels and the engines roared. We began slowly rolling across the tarmac. After a few minutes of taxiing, we lined up with the runway, paused for a moment, then the engines roared even louder, making it almost impossible hear anything else. As we gained speed, the tail lifted up off the ground and within seconds we were airborne.

Bern fell away below us and I could see the old town dominated by the cathedral. I wished I had had more time to see the place, but maybe later, I thought. I settled back in the seat for the five-hour flight. It wasn't worth trying to talk, except for something important enough to yell out. I watched as the Alps slid past, then northern Italy. I thought I could make out Venice on the coast, but couldn't be sure. Then it was all water dotted with small islands for quite a while.

I must have slept at some point, because we were already descending when I woke up. There were dense clouds below us and I couldn't see anything. The co-pilot's voice crackled over the PA and I heard something about seat belts. I saw everyone else buckling up, so I followed suit.

A minute later, the sun disappeared and the world turned solid gray. The plane began to buck and twist violently. Sometimes it felt like the bottom fell out of the sky, then it felt like enormous pressure pushing down on me. I looked around and saw that everyone else looked equally nervous – except for Ape, who was sound asleep.

The two pilots were busily pushing buttons and twisting dials, completely engrossed in their work. That did nothing to calm my nerves. At one point, it felt as if the plane twisted violently and we were flying sideways, then it straightened out almost as violently, like something had grabbed the tail and swung it back again.

At long last, we broke through the clouds into a dark and dismal rain storm. There were lightning flashes across the clouds and the plane shuddered and shook like a giant flying dildo. As we got lower, I could make out roads and houses, but few cars and no people. We crept ever closer to the ground, bouncing around on gusts of wind. Rain lashed the windows.

As casually as I could, I glanced around the cabin. Ape was still asleep and I caught Thomas' eyes. He looked as nervous as I did, but was also trying to be as nonchalant as he could.

The roar of the engines slowed and we dropped quickly. I could see the runway lights just ahead, as the airbrakes raised up, slowing us down considerably. The plane was bucking up and down, and swaying like a drunken sailor as we approached. Suddenly, there was a hard bump and screech as the wheels hit. We bounced up again, then back down for another hard bounce. Finally, both wheels stayed on the ground as the props reversed and the tail dropped down.

Still going a bit fast, the pilots swerved to the left to stay on the taxiway, braking the whole time. At last, the engines pitched down and we slowed to a reasonable speed.

The terminal was little more than a barn with a large weathered sign in Greek over the door. Under the Greek letters, it read, "Welcome to Kalambaka."

Andy yelled over the noise, "Grab your bags and meet on the other side of the terminal. We have a bus waiting for us."

The plane came to a lurching halt in front of the terminal. A man scurried out n the rain to put chocks on the wheels. The pilot stood up, turned and grinned at us as if he had just performed a miracle. He crossed to the hatch, opened it and lowered the stairs. We filed off, went back to the baggage compartment and collected our gear, then ran to the terminal to get out of the cold, driving rain.

By the time I got inside the terminal, I was shaking. I didn't know if it was terror or cold, but it didn't make much different either way. The "terminal" looked more like a barn inside than it had outside. It was a large, bare cement floor with an ancient creaking wooden building over it. There were puddles of water here and there where the roof leaked. The wind was blowing nearly as hard inside and I could easily imagine people shooing cows out as we were landing.

A sleeply looking man with an enormous moustache in a tattered uniform shuffled up to us and said, "Welcome to Greece." He sounded terribly bored, as if he said the same thing a hundred times a day, though I figured we were probably the biggest group to come through in a month. "Passports please."

We dug out our passports and he wandered through our group, taking them one by one and stamping a visa in them. He didn't bother to check the photos or any other information. After the last one, he said, "Thank you. Enjoy your stay," again sounding as if he were really put out by the whole ordeal.

I checked the bag with the tubes to be sure they were dry and was relieved to find they were. We gathered up our gear and headed for the opposite door. Outside was a bus that looked as if it had just pulled out of a time portal from the 1950s. It had a faded blue on silver paint job – where paint was still visible. There were Christmas light strung all over the inside, and tasles and flags hanging down in the front windshield. It looked something like a Mexican whorehouse on wheels and smelled like someone had spilled a bottle of patchouli oil and diesel all over the inside. We climbed aboard and settled in for what would no doubt be a memorable ride.

It was just after 3 in the afternoon, but it looked like night outside. When we were all in, the driver went to close the door, but the level wouldn't work. He got out of his seat and went over to kick the door, then sat down again. This time, the level worked and the door creaked shut, though it didn't sound as if it sealed. Thomas and I looked at each other and he rolled his eyes. I stifled a laugh and the bus rumbled to life and lurched forward. Then lurched again. And again. Finally, the driver down shifted and we began to roll out of the gravel patch that passed for a parking lot.

The trip was only four kilometers, but it was through rough terrain with craggy rocks ledges on both sides and hard oblique turns. The driver appeared to be doing some kind of complicated dance in his seat, as we swung back and forth up the road, rain all but completely obscuring the view out the window. The wipers, though on high, hardly made a difference. As fast as they wiped away the water, the window was blurred again.

I looked out the window and saw that we were swerving across the road, coming perilously close to the edge on numerous occasions. I decided it was best if I just closed my eyes and pretended to nap. Any other option only increased my terror.

At last, we pulled up in front of a large warehouse. The brakes squealed and groaned as the bus came to a shuddering stop. The door swung open and we all piled off, with all but Ape looking thankful to still be alive after the all-day ordeal.

A caretaker appeared out of nowhere and unlocked the main door, which was a large roll-up metal contraption that squeaked and rattled like the entrance to a crypt. I nearly fell inside, weighed down by my pack, the bag with the drawings and an adrenalin hangover from hours of mortal fear.

We were in a large, cavernous workshop. To one side, there were piles of lumber that had been delivered, but not stored. Near the back was a large table for the drawings and four big rolling toolboxes lined up next to it. As I scanned the scene, I saw a rather large rat scurry across the floor and disappear into a hole in the wall. Oh joy, I thought. I also noticed a rig that spanned the length of the warehouse with a heavy-duty pulley and a rolling carriage that could carry large loads across the room. That was a nice touch, I noted.

Alonzo called from the door, "Hey, take a look at this!"

We gathered next to him and looked up the road a bit. There, sitting on a rocky outcrop in the gloom was what looked like something out of a Dracula movie. Large, blocky dark buildings ran along the creast of the outcrop like some ancient dark castle. A flash of lighning enhanced the effect, briefly lighting up the scene and revealing austere stone edifaces that might have been chiselled out of the living rock.

"Well, darlings," Andy suddenly gushed. "Welcome to Meteora!"