was just going to have to stop trying so hard. It was a good principle to live by, but maybe I should also think about applying it to my relationship with Kirsty?
At Kaliopi’s insistence, I agreed to join her in Athens on the last weekend of October.
“You have been in my beautiful country for over a month and still have not been to its capital city. An important weekend in Greece’s history is coming up, and Athens will be the perfect place to experience it. Besides, you need to get out of this hole of shit. You are becoming like one of
them
, a local.”
I smiled. I didn’t see the village as a “hole of shit”. She might, but I hadn’t tired of its rugged mountains and quaint shops yet. But Kaliopi did have a point: I hadn’t been to Athens and had no idea what the weekend of 28 October meant in Greek history. What better way to find out than with my Greek friend?
That was how, on Friday night after school, I found myself standing with Kaliopi at the village railway station, waiting for the last train to whisk us to Athens.
“Ah yes, this is an important weekend. Go! I will cover your remaining class of the day; you need to make that train. Go and learn!” Mrs Stella had been uncharacteristically generous and enthusiastic. I wondered what, exactly, I might learn this weekend?
“We’ll be arriving in the capital pretty late, eleven p.m.” I said, eyeing the quaint station, complete with its stone cottage railway house with an incongruous-looking thatched roof.
“Don’t be silly” snorted Kaliopi, who was wearing what could only described as a clubbing outfit of black high heels, a navy blue sequined skirt, red vest top with a pink rose pinned over the left breast her black jacket only just covered. “You have surely been here long enough to understand that it is not until 1 a.m. that things start—how you say? —‘hotting the up’ in Greece. But of course,” she patted my hand in sympathy, “you have been stuck here in this hole of shit the whole time, so you are turning into a Hillbill.”
“Hillbilly,” I automatically corrected as I looked down at my jeans, Marks-and-Spencer t-shirt and trainers. I suddenly felt under-dressed and far too plain in comparison. I smiled at my friend’s skewed English but,
reflecting on my own dress sense of late, I thought:
Maybe I am turning into a hillbill.
“We will go out straight from the train and meet some of my friends. You will get an education this weekend, my dear, a lesson about our history and a lesson on how genuine Greek people really are—not these hillbills.” Kaliopi had a habit of not really paying any attention to the English corrections I made. That—and the fact I was becoming increasingly aware that it was quite rare for me to actually get a word in edgeways around my friend—made me wonder if she ever really listened to me at all.
“Are you like this with everybody?” I asked her.
“Actually, I have complaints from my sisters that I talk too much, is that what you mean? Come to think of it, my other friends tell me the same. Is it true? Do I talk too much? It doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate your friendship.”
I was saved from answering as a growing rumble from the tracks announced the approaching southbound train. We were the only ones on the platform.
“Come along” yelled Kaliopi above the noise of the screeching brakes. She boarded the carriage and held out her hand. “Let us leave this
Railway Children
station for the lights and the action!” Smiling, I allowed myself be swept along by her current high.
“What do you know about
The Railway Children?
”
“I watched it when I was younger, and this station always reminds me of it. Probably the only nice thing about this shit hole.”
“Hey! You said it right.”
I settled into a big, comfy seat whilst Kaliopi wandered off.
So, not quite the old Soviet-style carriages I’d been anticipating, then,
I thought. The train was more spacious than the trains
At Kaliopi’s insistence, I agreed to join her in Athens on the last weekend of October.
“You have been in my beautiful country for over a month and still have not been to its capital city. An important weekend in Greece’s history is coming up, and Athens will be the perfect place to experience it. Besides, you need to get out of this hole of shit. You are becoming like one of
them
, a local.”
I smiled. I didn’t see the village as a “hole of shit”. She might, but I hadn’t tired of its rugged mountains and quaint shops yet. But Kaliopi did have a point: I hadn’t been to Athens and had no idea what the weekend of 28 October meant in Greek history. What better way to find out than with my Greek friend?
That was how, on Friday night after school, I found myself standing with Kaliopi at the village railway station, waiting for the last train to whisk us to Athens.
“Ah yes, this is an important weekend. Go! I will cover your remaining class of the day; you need to make that train. Go and learn!” Mrs Stella had been uncharacteristically generous and enthusiastic. I wondered what, exactly, I might learn this weekend?
“We’ll be arriving in the capital pretty late, eleven p.m.” I said, eyeing the quaint station, complete with its stone cottage railway house with an incongruous-looking thatched roof.
“Don’t be silly” snorted Kaliopi, who was wearing what could only described as a clubbing outfit of black high heels, a navy blue sequined skirt, red vest top with a pink rose pinned over the left breast her black jacket only just covered. “You have surely been here long enough to understand that it is not until 1 a.m. that things start—how you say? —‘hotting the up’ in Greece. But of course,” she patted my hand in sympathy, “you have been stuck here in this hole of shit the whole time, so you are turning into a Hillbill.”
“Hillbilly,” I automatically corrected as I looked down at my jeans, Marks-and-Spencer t-shirt and trainers. I suddenly felt under-dressed and far too plain in comparison. I smiled at my friend’s skewed English but,
reflecting on my own dress sense of late, I thought:
Maybe I am turning into a hillbill.
“We will go out straight from the train and meet some of my friends. You will get an education this weekend, my dear, a lesson about our history and a lesson on how genuine Greek people really are—not these hillbills.” Kaliopi had a habit of not really paying any attention to the English corrections I made. That—and the fact I was becoming increasingly aware that it was quite rare for me to actually get a word in edgeways around my friend—made me wonder if she ever really listened to me at all.
“Are you like this with everybody?” I asked her.
“Actually, I have complaints from my sisters that I talk too much, is that what you mean? Come to think of it, my other friends tell me the same. Is it true? Do I talk too much? It doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate your friendship.”
I was saved from answering as a growing rumble from the tracks announced the approaching southbound train. We were the only ones on the platform.
“Come along” yelled Kaliopi above the noise of the screeching brakes. She boarded the carriage and held out her hand. “Let us leave this
Railway Children
station for the lights and the action!” Smiling, I allowed myself be swept along by her current high.
“What do you know about
The Railway Children?
”
“I watched it when I was younger, and this station always reminds me of it. Probably the only nice thing about this shit hole.”
“Hey! You said it right.”
I settled into a big, comfy seat whilst Kaliopi wandered off.
So, not quite the old Soviet-style carriages I’d been anticipating, then,
I thought. The train was more spacious than the trains
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