2nd of September 1999 Thursday. The watch which rests within easy reach inside the warm confines of my pocket has recently stopped working. How about that? Almost an hour after my Cousin who shares exactly the same name as me said he liked it. What does that mean? If anything. Last night while experiencing another boring episode hanging around the bar there in Exaplatanos I decided to help out. I started washing the dirty glasses. Foti walked up and said quite strongly to leave the dishes alone and to get some sleep. Washing the dishes is somebody else’s job! ‘ok, ok, ok…,’ I replied making a hasty retreat through the back of the bar towards the private residence and a comfortable bed. In the village and surrounding countryside you can see houses obviously abandoned, just sitting there unoccupied. Maybe people did live there once upon a long time ago. But now they seem to stand empty, like a testimonial to a forgotten past. This morning, early on, I went for another of my walks into the town of Exaplatanos. There is a little café I visit about five minutes away. Here away from the smoke filled bar I find some semblance of peaceful repose. Where I can write away the ever fleeting minutes which offer a calm hand to a rattled brain. I just do not know what a good time is. Not much means anything to me anymore. These people, a myriad of who profess to be my first cousins are like strangers to me. I have no idea how to approach them without risking some obscure faux pas. The café Omiro rests on the main road that runs through the town of Exaplatanos. I sit there outside at one of the tables and watch the trucks roll past heading to probably pick up and deliver produce at one of the many farms dotting the area. These Greeks that gather to sit nearby always talk about work, the struggles of the day. Work and money dominates the flow of conversation. There are those who start small arguments over what I would consider trivial matters. The Waitress called Roulla goes about her morning chores oblivious to the small argumentative battles going on around her. Everybody smokes here. I might find one person in every two hundred or so that does not, perhaps an old woman or a sickly man. Smoking cigarettes is widespread and very popular amongst the Greeks in these villages.
Posted on: Wed, 24 Jul 2013 13:14:52 +0000
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