I had my first swim in the ocean yesterday, SO GOOD. I've had a few problems uploading photos, but I'll try again now. This hot room of an internet cafe is swarming with mosquitos so I may have to make this short and sweet, the vicious little bastards.
Anyway, there is certainly time for a funny little story. A bit of background to begin with - Mike has been trying make friends and/or pick up since we arrived. When we got to the village he became increasingly disheartened. There was only one pretty girl, Tania. She works at the local taverna and the first time they met she wouldn't crack a smile. Not to be detered, Michael returned daily over the next couple of days, having developed a sudden love for horta (vadora, grass). Last night Sam, Angi, Barbara and I joined Michael for dinner at the taverna. Aside from quite a sad incident with a cat, we had a pleasant and delicious meal together. Full and puffing hearterly on our smokes (well, me and mike were), we awaited the arrival of our raki. Raki is a greek after dinner alcohol. It is clear and potent and best served chilled. Ours arrived in a small bottle, accompanied by the traditional fruit marinated in syrup. Ang abstained, as she was already begining to feel unwell (she is fine today and we can only assume it was heat stroke). Michael filled up five glasses anyway.
We sang "Aspro Poti" (Lit: White Bottom, aka empty glass) and downed our raki. The bottle was done, and the last shot was sitting on the table. We encouraged Barbara to drink it. She is pretty funny when she drinks, and I'm sure none of us, at that point, forsore how far it would go. Michael caught the eye of his favourite waitress, who promptly brought us another bottle, then another. Finally, she came over with a 1.5lt icy cold bottle. We found this quite funny, although by this stage we found most thing quite funny. Mike poured us another round before Sam and I begged off. He and Barbs went again, then again. I started to feel like maybe that would do and went to ask for the bill. By the time I returned to the table it was clear the two of them had continued banging them down. I might have joined in for one or two more, now the three of us crying "kokino paputsia" red shoes, or, in Michaels case "aspro koulo" - white arse. I rounded up the euros and went in to pay. I took the bottle, with just three inches swilling around the bottom, inside with me.
While I fixed up the bill, the pretty young waitress asked Monica (the australian owner of the taverna) to ask me Michaels name. It was pretty giggly.
I was still waiting for change when Sam came in to retrieve the bottle for my dear thia and my naughty cousin. When I got back to the table it was pretty clear they were looking to see the bottom of the bottle, so I walked Sam and Ang home (where, and this is a funny story for another time, mum and poppy where entertaining a village friend with whisky and Jagger).
I reckon it was about an hour before Mike and Barbs voices reached us from the main road, then another hour of talking and laughing under the grape vine before things really started to go down hill, particularly for Barbs, poor dear. I'm very sorry to report that she deleted all the beautiful photos I took after she insisted she be allowed to sleep for "20 or 25 minutes, pleeeaase" on the concrete, poor love.
Lipon, I finally killed this bloody mosquito but ive got bites all over my arm, the bastard. Lets see if I can get these photos happening.
