Text by Alex Foxe, Copyright 2024
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Travel Days: Memories of 1996
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Finding myself naked on the roof of a gentleman’s club in Athens, Greece, was certainly not how I envisioned spending the summer of ’96.
The journey to Athens started while I was working the feature circuit in Canada. I had heard from fellow dancers that one could make substantial money in places like Japan, Macau, or Greece without compromising one’s personal boundaries. Tempted by tales of earnings over $30,000 a month plus tips, and enticed by stories of dancers returning with piles of cash and the latest gadgets, a few girlfriends and I auditioned through our agency in the plush executive suites of Vancouver hotels for a three-month stint abroad.
When an opportunity arose to meet a talent scout for a Japanese club, my friend Misty—who was absolutely stunning with her petite frame, long blonde hair, and natural beauty—and I attended the audition. While she was immediately selected, I faced a request from the scout to undress to my comfort level, which did not include removing my panties. Ultimately, I wasn’t picked for Japan, which was disappointing as Misty was the first real friend I had made in Canada. She had an impressive work ethic and aimed to own a franchise of the Original Pancake House, a place she adored. Misty was the one who introduced me to Dutch Baby pancakes, which remain my favorite to this day.
Instead, I landed a three-month gig at a club in Athens, accompanied by Georgia Peach, a colorful character with a tough exterior whose estranged husband was part of a famous motorcycle gang. Georgia was fiercely independent, the first wife in her husband’s chapter to get her own Harley Davidson—a rare feat at the time. She advised against getting too involved with the bikers, a tip I took seriously given her insights and my own prior knowledge of the organization.
Our trip included a 10-hour layover in London, where Georgia and I explored the city on a double-decker bus, taking in sights like Big Ben and Buckingham Palace, and sampling some classic fish and chips before continuing on to Greece. Upon arrival, we learned we’d be staying in a small guest house behind a large residence less convenient than a hotel, it required expensive taxi rides to the club and adherence to a strict curfew. One morning, returning late, we narrowly escaped an encounter with the estate’s guard dogs, thanks to the separating distance of a large swimming pool.
Rehearsals filled our weekdays. While some dancers easily picked up the routines due to their experience, others like myself found it challenging, especially since I wasn’t skilled in pole dancing, making group choreography mandatory. The club was often quiet—a result, we later learned, of the owners not paying off the local mob, which explained the sparse clientele. Despite efforts, the earnings were far below expectations. The regulars knew of the club’s tip policy and discreetly passed us cash folded into small squares, which I learned to stash in my knee-high boots—a wardrobe choice that soon became a daily necessity.
We had a diverse group of dancers from Canada, America, and Eastern Europe, who all bonded well. My heart went out to those who couldn’t leave or chose to stay because even a little money was better than none. Most of the girls sent money back to their families. During my stay, two sisters introduced me to a charming man named Dragon—indeed, his real name.
Increasingly wary, we were often pressured to hand over our passports for “safekeeping.” I knew better than to relinquish mine. One night, just after a performance and while clad only in my boots, we were tipped off about an impending police raid. In a frenzy, we were led along a hidden path that took us up to the roof where we hid for hours, shivering and fearing arrest for working illegally.
Lying there under the stars, naked and cold, I resolved to find a way out of Athens. Little did I know that escaping to surprise my boyfriend, Dragon, in Yugoslavia would be my way out. It turned out that while club security was searching for me at the airport expecting me to return to Canada, I was at another, heading to a completely different destination. This move effectively marked my escape from the club and its questionable practices, and unknowingly, set me on a path to a new chapter in my life.
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