They were the Committee for Promoting Winter Tourism in Greece and the news from the ΝΤΟ grapevine was that they would be disbanded very shortly unless they came up with some bright idea for filling the country’s hotels in the off-season months , of January, February and March.
The Chairman of the Committee, who was a senior ΝΤΟ executive, called the meeting to order and confirmed their worst fears by announcing very briskly:
“Well, gentlemen, to quote a familiar saying, the knotted hairs have reached the comb. If we don’t come up with something good at this meeting we’re all headed for the axe — and I have that straight from the horse’s mouth.”
One of the committee members looked puzzled and asked: “A horse is going to cut the knotted hairs off our heads with an axe?”
His colleagues laughed, and more so because the speaker, Vassili Trihotos, sported a shaggy mane of hair that almost fell to his shoulders.
The Chairman glared at him and said: “You know perfectly well what I mean, Mr. Trihotos; even if I did mix up my metaphors slightly. And don’t try to be funny or I’ll put you on to answering that pile of letters we have from tourists complaining about hotel breakfasts.”
Vassili blanched visibly at the thought and shut up.
“Now, you have all received the memo I sent you a week ago. Many of you have served in our far-flung network of ΝΤΟ offices around the globe. You have first-hand experience of what other countries are doing to attract winter tourists. Perhaps we could do the same. Any of you have any ideas on those lines?” the Chairman said, looking round at them with raised eyebrows.
A little man at the far end of the table cleared his throat nervously. “Speak- up, Mr. Pitsounis,” The Chairman urged him.
“I — I was in the ΝΤΟ office in Nepal two years ago —”
“Ah, yes, I remember that. We had to close it down when we found out the only Nepalese to come to Greece in twenty years was Sherpa Tenzing, who conquered Everest with Sir Edmund Hillary in 1953 and came to Athens while on a world tour — a year or two later, I think — and he was the guest of the government. Well, what do you have to say to us, Mr. Nerovrastos, besides apologizing for a very poor performance, indeed.”
“I — I was only there for six months, but I did notice that during that time a good many people came to Nepal to look for the Abominable Snowman and that the authorities were charging anything between $500 and $1,000 for licenses to hunt the Yeti. The Nepalese were also doing a roaring trade selling Yeti scalps, tufts of fur, teeth, dried droppings and even sexual organs — all fakes, of course.”
“How disgusting,” the Chairman exclaimed. “But go on, my dear fellow, what are you driving at?”
Mr. Pitsounis gulped and looked down at his notepad. “W-Well, I thought that if we could spread word that an Abominable Snowman or something like him had been sighted on Mount Olympus, or somewhere like that, w-we c-could —” He stopped talking and looked round the table nervously to see the reaction.
The others looked cautiously at the Chairman, waiting to take their cue from him. They could see he had grasped the idea and that his keen mind was quickly weighing the pros and cons.
“Nobody has seen an Abominable Snowman on Mount Olympus,” the Chairman said slowly, “but that does not mean there are no Abominable Snowmen on Mount Olympus, does it? After all, it’s a huge mountain, and they could be keeping out of sight, living in caves, eating roots and berries and hunting small animals, couldn’t they?”
Mr. Pitsounis nodded eagerly and said: “They’ve also been seen in the Caucasus. I was reading in a book the other day that one was caught by a group of partisans in 1941 and examined by a Red Army doctor. He was very hairy and covered in lice — more like an animal than a human being. Nobody seems to know what happened to him after that. Some say he escaped and others that he was shot and killed by the partisans.”
“Very interesting,” the Chairman mused.”The Caucasus, you say. That’s nearer to home. If there are Yetis in the Caucasus, why not in our part of the world?”
The rest of the committee was catching onto the idea and there was an excited hubbub of conversation as they all began discussing it among themselves.
The Chairman held up his hand for silence and said:
“Now, gentlemen, don’t let’s get too excited at this stage. We must examine the possibilities open to us. As I said before, because no Yeti has been seen on Olympus doesn’t mean to say there are no Yetis on Olympus. Now, what would happen if somebody took a blurred picture of a very hairy person running naked through the snow on one of the ridges near the crest of the mountain. What would people think?”
“They’d think it was a streaker in need of a haircut,” Vassili Thihotos said quickly.
“Mr, Trihotos, there’s a second pile of letters in the Secretariat with complaints about our coastal passenger ship services. Would you like to tackle that as well as the breakfast complaints?” Vassili shook his shaggy head vigorously.
“Then kindly refrain from interrupting again. Now, where was I, oh yes, a picture like that would make the front page of every newspaper in the world. I can see the headlines now. “ABOMINABLE SNOWMAN SIGHTED ON MOUNT OLYMPUS” or “YETIS SHARE LAP OF THE GODS”. It would cause a sensation. In no time at all we would have hordes of tourists coming from all parts of the world and rushing up the mountain to catch a glimpse of our star attraction. And not only tourists but journalists, scientists, film crews — the lot. The winter occupancy problem of our hotels would be solved overnight. Mr. Pitsounis, you deserve a Nobel Prize for your idea. No, better than that, we’ll post you back to Nepal to act as liaison officer between Olympian and Himalayan Snowmen — you know, closer relations and all that sort of thing…”
At this point, one of the more serious minded members of the committee broke in to say:
“Excuse me, Mr. Chairman, but are you suggesting that we fake a photograph of an Abominable Snowman on Olympus? Perpetrate a hoax, an actual fraud?”
“Certainly not! All we have to do is get some hairy fellow to run about there naked. Somebody’s bound to take a picture of him sooner or later and there it is. We ourselves don’t have to do anything more or even say anything. The press will go to town on it all on their own. It’s a cinch!”
“And where will we find this hairy fellow who will be willing to run naked in the snow in the heart of winter on the crests of Olympus?” the committee member insisted.
The Chairman looked nonplussed for a moment. Then a gleam entered his eye and he fixed his gaze on Mr. Trihotos.
“Vassilaki,” he said, “pick a bag tonight. We leave for Litochoron in the morning. Or rather, don’t pack a bag. All you’ll need is a toothbrush.”
