you say, grudges—you know these grudge things that are unhealthy and ultimately lead to cancer?”
I desperately wanted to point out that the little white tube Kaliopi was dragging on as if her life depended on it was more likely to cause cancer, but I was starting to get a feel for my friend’s character now—passionate about any topic she spoke about—and I didn’t want to interrupt her flow. I also didn’t have the energy at that moment to correct her English and tell her the expression was to ‘fight like cat and dog.’ Besides, I wondered if Kaliopi had a point: Do we hold onto things for too long? I had to admit that in my short time here, I’d certainly observed people blowing up at each other one minute, only to be friends the next—Konstantinos and Dimitra were a perfect example, as were the two men I’d observed that first morning from my hotel balcony in Piraeus.
We finished up our coffee (tea for me) and baklava, and then I meandered through the darkening streets of the village, back up the steep, steep hill to my little flat. Although it was growing dark, I didn’t feel in any way threatened. People of all ages were still sitting outside cafés at tables on the pavement laughing, smoking, playing
tavli
. Kids as young as nine or ten years were running around.
This is nice. Young and old seem to mix all together. And I don’t see many people ordering alcoholic drinks either.
Unlocking my front door I let out a gasp as I realised something; I’d been so caught up in the adventure of arriving and starting school, I’d neglected to call Dad and let him know how I was.
“Yes, Dad, my boss is fine. A bit cool, perhaps, but I’m beginning to get the hang of her.” Restraining any comments about Stamatis, his pervert friend, I assured Dad that my arrival in Athens had gone without a hitch. “Yes, he collected me and took me to the hotel,” was all I said.
“Your boss probably has very strong political views,” replied Dad. “They all do in Greece.”
I rolled my eyes and thanked God this was a voice and not video chat. Dad had always loved politics, and the phone conversation spared me a lecture about the history of Greece and how it shaped its present generation, which would no doubt have taken place if this were a face-to-face discussion. Quite how Mrs Stella’s coolness transmuted in my father’s mind to a strong interest in politics was beyond me, but anyway…
My mind wandered back to the conversation. He was reminiscing about his experiences with the Greeks and their culture. Occasionally I had to bite my tongue: they weren’t ‘real’ everyday Greeks…these were Greeks in the shipping world—the very rich who had a worldview quite different from that of the everyday citizen. I’d have loved Dad to meet the old man with his tea and honey down the street.
“Rachel love? What do you think?”
“I think I might like it here long term, Dad. I’ve met an interesting woman who I go for coffee with; she’s helping to educate me in all things Greek.”
“I thought you might,” he observed. “Keep in touch sweetheart, and don’t let the students get to you too much.”
Autumn
My time in the village began to settle into a routine. Every second Wednesday a
laiki
, or Farmer’s Market came to town in the morning and took over the entire street at the bottom of the hill. If the village hadn’t already made me feel as if I was far removed from British culture, the experience of this fortnightly event made me feel almost Mediterranean, even if I didn’t need to buy anything, I looked forward to meandering through the stalls just to hear the cries of the fruit and vegetable sellers, marvel at the different products for sale—from fresh fruit and vegetables to lace lingerie. Elderly ladies dressed in black from head to toe came to haggle with the stallholders whilst they in turn chased off young gypsy children trying to steal an apple or two.
Once the students at school became
I desperately wanted to point out that the little white tube Kaliopi was dragging on as if her life depended on it was more likely to cause cancer, but I was starting to get a feel for my friend’s character now—passionate about any topic she spoke about—and I didn’t want to interrupt her flow. I also didn’t have the energy at that moment to correct her English and tell her the expression was to ‘fight like cat and dog.’ Besides, I wondered if Kaliopi had a point: Do we hold onto things for too long? I had to admit that in my short time here, I’d certainly observed people blowing up at each other one minute, only to be friends the next—Konstantinos and Dimitra were a perfect example, as were the two men I’d observed that first morning from my hotel balcony in Piraeus.
We finished up our coffee (tea for me) and baklava, and then I meandered through the darkening streets of the village, back up the steep, steep hill to my little flat. Although it was growing dark, I didn’t feel in any way threatened. People of all ages were still sitting outside cafés at tables on the pavement laughing, smoking, playing
tavli
. Kids as young as nine or ten years were running around.
This is nice. Young and old seem to mix all together. And I don’t see many people ordering alcoholic drinks either.
Unlocking my front door I let out a gasp as I realised something; I’d been so caught up in the adventure of arriving and starting school, I’d neglected to call Dad and let him know how I was.
“Yes, Dad, my boss is fine. A bit cool, perhaps, but I’m beginning to get the hang of her.” Restraining any comments about Stamatis, his pervert friend, I assured Dad that my arrival in Athens had gone without a hitch. “Yes, he collected me and took me to the hotel,” was all I said.
“Your boss probably has very strong political views,” replied Dad. “They all do in Greece.”
I rolled my eyes and thanked God this was a voice and not video chat. Dad had always loved politics, and the phone conversation spared me a lecture about the history of Greece and how it shaped its present generation, which would no doubt have taken place if this were a face-to-face discussion. Quite how Mrs Stella’s coolness transmuted in my father’s mind to a strong interest in politics was beyond me, but anyway…
My mind wandered back to the conversation. He was reminiscing about his experiences with the Greeks and their culture. Occasionally I had to bite my tongue: they weren’t ‘real’ everyday Greeks…these were Greeks in the shipping world—the very rich who had a worldview quite different from that of the everyday citizen. I’d have loved Dad to meet the old man with his tea and honey down the street.
“Rachel love? What do you think?”
“I think I might like it here long term, Dad. I’ve met an interesting woman who I go for coffee with; she’s helping to educate me in all things Greek.”
“I thought you might,” he observed. “Keep in touch sweetheart, and don’t let the students get to you too much.”
Autumn
My time in the village began to settle into a routine. Every second Wednesday a
laiki
, or Farmer’s Market came to town in the morning and took over the entire street at the bottom of the hill. If the village hadn’t already made me feel as if I was far removed from British culture, the experience of this fortnightly event made me feel almost Mediterranean, even if I didn’t need to buy anything, I looked forward to meandering through the stalls just to hear the cries of the fruit and vegetable sellers, marvel at the different products for sale—from fresh fruit and vegetables to lace lingerie. Elderly ladies dressed in black from head to toe came to haggle with the stallholders whilst they in turn chased off young gypsy children trying to steal an apple or two.
Once the students at school became
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