sorry gang, no pictures. We are limping through some bad internet problems and we can't spare the bandwidth. There is a big snow storm on the other side of the mountain. It's still summery here but the cables come from Athens. So here's this to tide you over:
The gang at Tikla's is just now breaking up. They've been at it all night. I know because I saw them all there at 4 in the morning, and now at 10 they're going home to bed.
It was the last night of Carnival, the last night before Lent. There was some crazy goings-on and now, apparently, it was time to settle down and get serious. No meat until Easter....shit, where does that leave me?
So I'm sitting out on Maria's patio, next door to Tikla's, enjoying a most delicious cappuccino and what Maria offered as "toast" which turns out to be a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. It's a somewhat cold and rainy day and I've got my jacket over my shoulders. Nick's internet is down so I've come to Maria's for the Wi-fi. Her's is also down so I'm on from Tikla's.
Suddenly, a glimpse of naked flesh and by walks the crazy musician guy, with the long sharp fingernails, who lives upstairs. He trots down to the end of the quay in his loud trunks and flip-flops, drops the flip-flops, genuflects for divine protection, then jumps in feet first and straight. He's a beautiful guy with a Chaplinesque smile and in wondrous shape for a man his age...either 72 years or 38... not sure. He's out now and walks up the hill from the sea, which made me somewhat breathless yesterday after I was down there taking pictures, and stops at the patio to give me that smile and some great words that I don't understand. Apparently, we're old friends.
I'm starting to think that in my frustration of my failure to get back to Athens and my search for Zorba, that I've been missing something. It might just be that Zorba's been all around me all this time. It's even a dawning possibility that Zorba might actually be in me!
This country has an incredible soul and I got to see it close-up and personal last night. We drove up into the mountains, to a taverna completely untouched by tourism... a family place really, wall to wall tables, and by the time we had squeezed our way through to our table we were on intimate terms with everybody. The men had these rugged faces, enormous rough, hard-working hands and the women were also quite beautiful and struck me that they could go from slaughtering a goat to making passionate love to these men instantaneously. All ages and body types were represented. There was a table full of young, hip looking kids, long tables of families, some intellectuals, some farmers.
Everyone was high on life, liberty and a red drink that came in little tiny glasses and that just kept coming and coming and we soon caught up. Then the bouzouki started up, slowly at first. A woman who reminded me of Melina Mercouri, she had a look of strong coffee and wine about her eyes, got up, extended her arms and began to do this slow, finger snapping dance. Suddenly, men got up and removed a couple of tables to create a dance floor. Melina moved into the center of the space. Her table mates all got up and crouched down around her, slowly clapping and making floor sweeping motions with their hands. The motion looked like they were indicating that the floor was beautiful and graced by her presence. Every so often, someone would set off a loud bang and silvery confetti would fill the air.
I was feeling pretty merged by then, what with the little red drinks, and felt that if I was moved to dance no one would mind. Nick taught me a word to use to request a song about a 16 year old shepherd girl and a 10 year old boy who loved her. I did so and everybody was really impressed with me and it became obvious that everybody in the room now knew my name.
Next, this kid from the young peoples table got up, a handsome young man reminding me of my own Benjamin, wearing a scarf around his neck and he began to dance. His dance was different, quite manly and his friends also gathered and crouched around him. His dance involved a lot of up and down and some unusual heel slapping. The dance simmered...that's the only word to describe it, it slowly cooked on until the music picked up speed and he began to boil. So strange to me, the kid looked all rock and roll but had this deep passion for the folk dance.
Did I mention that they fed us? Oh yes, one didn't order dinner...it just came, dish by incredible dish. The owner and his wife were our hosts and at the end of the evening (3:AM!) there wasn't a person there whom I missed double-cheek kissing! Kali nikta Dave!
Then we wound our way down from the mountain stopping at Tikla's on the way where the party was just getting started. All the while, mind you, there were people in costume here and there. I remember having a little dance myself ....with a large penguin.
Such a night. If that wasn't Zorba, then I don't know
The gang at Tikla's is just now breaking up. They've been at it all night. I know because I saw them all there at 4 in the morning, and now at 10 they're going home to bed.
It was the last night of Carnival, the last night before Lent. There was some crazy goings-on and now, apparently, it was time to settle down and get serious. No meat until Easter....shit, where does that leave me?
So I'm sitting out on Maria's patio, next door to Tikla's, enjoying a most delicious cappuccino and what Maria offered as "toast" which turns out to be a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. It's a somewhat cold and rainy day and I've got my jacket over my shoulders. Nick's internet is down so I've come to Maria's for the Wi-fi. Her's is also down so I'm on from Tikla's.
Suddenly, a glimpse of naked flesh and by walks the crazy musician guy, with the long sharp fingernails, who lives upstairs. He trots down to the end of the quay in his loud trunks and flip-flops, drops the flip-flops, genuflects for divine protection, then jumps in feet first and straight. He's a beautiful guy with a Chaplinesque smile and in wondrous shape for a man his age...either 72 years or 38... not sure. He's out now and walks up the hill from the sea, which made me somewhat breathless yesterday after I was down there taking pictures, and stops at the patio to give me that smile and some great words that I don't understand. Apparently, we're old friends.
I'm starting to think that in my frustration of my failure to get back to Athens and my search for Zorba, that I've been missing something. It might just be that Zorba's been all around me all this time. It's even a dawning possibility that Zorba might actually be in me!
This country has an incredible soul and I got to see it close-up and personal last night. We drove up into the mountains, to a taverna completely untouched by tourism... a family place really, wall to wall tables, and by the time we had squeezed our way through to our table we were on intimate terms with everybody. The men had these rugged faces, enormous rough, hard-working hands and the women were also quite beautiful and struck me that they could go from slaughtering a goat to making passionate love to these men instantaneously. All ages and body types were represented. There was a table full of young, hip looking kids, long tables of families, some intellectuals, some farmers.
Everyone was high on life, liberty and a red drink that came in little tiny glasses and that just kept coming and coming and we soon caught up. Then the bouzouki started up, slowly at first. A woman who reminded me of Melina Mercouri, she had a look of strong coffee and wine about her eyes, got up, extended her arms and began to do this slow, finger snapping dance. Suddenly, men got up and removed a couple of tables to create a dance floor. Melina moved into the center of the space. Her table mates all got up and crouched down around her, slowly clapping and making floor sweeping motions with their hands. The motion looked like they were indicating that the floor was beautiful and graced by her presence. Every so often, someone would set off a loud bang and silvery confetti would fill the air.
I was feeling pretty merged by then, what with the little red drinks, and felt that if I was moved to dance no one would mind. Nick taught me a word to use to request a song about a 16 year old shepherd girl and a 10 year old boy who loved her. I did so and everybody was really impressed with me and it became obvious that everybody in the room now knew my name.
Next, this kid from the young peoples table got up, a handsome young man reminding me of my own Benjamin, wearing a scarf around his neck and he began to dance. His dance was different, quite manly and his friends also gathered and crouched around him. His dance involved a lot of up and down and some unusual heel slapping. The dance simmered...that's the only word to describe it, it slowly cooked on until the music picked up speed and he began to boil. So strange to me, the kid looked all rock and roll but had this deep passion for the folk dance.
Did I mention that they fed us? Oh yes, one didn't order dinner...it just came, dish by incredible dish. The owner and his wife were our hosts and at the end of the evening (3:AM!) there wasn't a person there whom I missed double-cheek kissing! Kali nikta Dave!
Then we wound our way down from the mountain stopping at Tikla's on the way where the party was just getting started. All the while, mind you, there were people in costume here and there. I remember having a little dance myself ....with a large penguin.
Such a night. If that wasn't Zorba, then I don't know
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