Martini? Never heard of it.

I turned 30 on the 30th so decided to celebrate my golden birthday with a trip to Greece. The group of gals who came with:  Sammy, Michelle, Mary and others, all contributed to the fun and Mary, a well-traveled business consultant, even let us use some of her "miles" to stay in one of Athens' finest hotels.

As you expect from a great hotel, the bartenders were top-notch and poured perfect drinks, including one of the best martinis I've ever had. (Though I may have been a little punch drunk even before the first sip, Greece is a heady place.)

At the time I was just dipping my toe into the pickled vat that is high cocktails and vodka martinis were my upscale drink of choice. I wanted to be a martini-sipping lady. After all, I was turning 30, which is the year of sophistication, right?

Martinis stateside are an everyday occurrence. It never occurred to me the rest of the world wouldn't know what a martini was, especially after having had such a perfect pour at our first stop.

That night we took a taxi to the new hot dance club. It was nestled into the rocks at the very edge of the ocean. We didn't get there until after 11pm, but it being the Mediterranean in the summer the joint didn't start jumping until the wee hours of the morning so we were the first ones there. Fail. Oh well, it was a gorgeous club with lights submerged in the ocean to make the crystal clear water glow. The open-air club was filled with tables upon which we weren't allowed to sit and ottomans we couldn't even look at. They were reserved. Fine by us. Keep the drinks flowing and these girls will happily live up to the friendly American girl reputation.

I ordered a martini from a Grecian beauty who looked at me askance, then handed over a glass of liquor on the rocks. One sip and I sputtered and stammered. This was not a martini. She held up a bottle of Martini & Rossi vermouth and sassed, "Martini, right?" I rolled my eyes and ordered something else while we laughed at her. Obviously she was there for her looks not her bartending prowess.

Another bar, later that night (earlier that next morning?) I tried again, asking the swarthy crystal blue-eyed, dark-locked guy behind the bar for a martini and getting another glass of vermouth. What the hell?!

I learned my lesson. I didn't want to be one of those awful Americans who refuse to accept that cheeseburgers aren't on the menu so I just stopped ordering martinis.

Another day, another sun soaked island. On an explorative shopping excursion Mary and I discovered a small jazz club tucked into an ancient alley. We went back that night and found it populated with a crew of Austrians on a sailing holiday.

They were cute and so were we so naturally we struck up a conversation. Our talk started in New York and quickly turned to martinis. The Austrians weren't surprised that no one had heard of martini cocktails and reported that it was more common in places like Spain and Greece to drink vermouth on the rocks.

Fun liquor fact: vermouth is, in fact, a wine. Though I still think people are crazy to drink it on the rocks.

Another round of brews later one of the mates in our chivalrous Austrian crew shuffled the 15 year old bartendress off to the side, hopped behind the bar and made martinis for us all that whole night.

The moral of the story? Persistence is the key to getting a great martini? Find an Austrian sailor and you'll find a good time? Or, the martini cocktail can unite the world? I vote yes.

Cheers!