About eight hours ago, according to the thermometre nailed to the wall of this taverna, the temperature was 40 degrees C. The chilled Amstel beer was considerably cooler.
At that time of the day, anything sensible retreats from the heat. Natives disappear indoors, local dogs drop to the floor at the first available shade and the profusion of stray cats sleep under oleander and cyclamen.
Vassos, the owner of this taverna, is a huge man that manages to skillfully stay just this side of caricature. The internet, he claims, is bloody silly and only installed the thing as his daughter insisted that it would be good for buisiness. Bloody silly people wasting time. Bloody good business.
When asked what was good on the lunch menu, he threw his arms wide and feigned good-natured indignation. Everything on my menu is bloody good. The mezes of Afelia, Koupepia, Humus and Souvlakia were, indeed bloody good, as were the figs, peaches and apples that followed. Returning now to a more bearable 28 degrees C and settling in front of the computer with another cold beer and a two Euro coin prompted a smile from Vassos. Bloody silly, bloody good business.
Across the road and further down toward the harbour, an Irish theme pub is screening football matches. Corpulant Englishmen in replica football shirts are shouting at the television. Manchester United have been beaten by Arsenal. Ignoring the oooh`s and aaah`s and the swearing, the sun went down sharing an Ouza with Vassos. Now, with 10 minutes left of internet connectivity, it`s off to the market to pick up some fresh bread, tomatoes, cucumber, feta and olives for tonight`s tea.
On such a lazy Sunday, should there be thoughts of home? Don`t be bloody silly.