Virus? What virus?

Saturday morning on the waterfront.   Our first coffee at the  harbour cafe  in 3 months. A double cappuccino (latte) for me, a  double  greek coffee for the traditional person at my side.

 The day goes on, the sun rises higher. Awnings come down as the shade moves around.

It's like living in a movie. I watch the couples walking by in short sleeves, pushing their babes, elderly gents in long sleeves  taking their daily volta (stroll)  beside the sea, in groups,  taxi boats bobbing in the breeze, ouzo on the table, passersby who stop and chat, the blue blue sky, not an aeroplane in sight, short sleeves, long sleeves, bright colours,  so many women in black.  

Our now white haired ex-mayor cafe-hopping on his bicycle, spiced beef and red wine, foreign faces, Athenian Greeks, scooters, and more scooters, white houses, ceramic tiled roofs, climbing up the fast browning hills opposite, blue and white greek flags blowing from the boats,  the cenitaph , the clock tower , alongside a tattered the red and white flag of olympiakos and the green of  pananthiakos.

 Bleached blondes with black roots, the car ferry pulling out on it's short journey to the island, weaving in and out of a water taxi, a fast boat speeding to an anchored yacht, both leaving wakes of blue and white ripples, cats long and lean, still shedding their thick winter fur, slinking between the tables sniffing for a crumb.

 Voices, voices insisting, educating, disagreeing, greek voices, long fishy tales, philosophy,   glasses empty, glasses full, glasses refilled,  long shorts, short longs, an overloaded motorbike carrying a sack of flour and a big box of wine, another motorbike right behind carrying a family of three, none with a helmet.

 A  bouzouki strumming a soulful greek love song, the priest scurrying on his way to a blessing, greek voices, greek smells, greek sights. Cafe tables full of glasses half empty, ashtrays, forks, dried up sauces, paper napkins, fluttering in the road, ends of loaves, corners, crumbs.

 Sun rising over the Modi, a large rock in the sea shaped like a lion, sunset over the 'Sleeping Lady', always the sound of that bouzouki, someone crooning , sounds middle eastern, but it's greek, toe tapping bouzouki, inspired steps, dancing, singing, finger tapping, virus? What virus. This is real life. Every day