Stories

The wind blew hard for 3 days.   Instead of swimming I walked, around the resort, discreetly taking photos. This is a military area and I don't want to be arrested for spying. 

Every afternoon I meet the same women, also out walking.  

One of them is always on her phone. Talking and walking.

We exchange greetings and the other woman asked where I got my trekking sticks.  I told her my brother had brought them for me from NZ.  NZ??? Where was that.  Down there beside Australia. No. She just couldn't understand.  I ended up waving my arms and telling her it was a long way-away.

It's been a long time since I've had to explain where NZ is. Most people at least have heard of Australia.

Once someone asked me if we all lived underground 'downunder'.    

So many people thought I came from Iceland or Ireland or even Greenland.  Maybe it was my accent.  

Nowadays everyone, nearly everyone, knows about NZ, and have eaten it's frozen lamb. A surprising number have visited. 

I've mentioned before my greek m-in-law who thought the whole world spoke Greek and was puzzled that I couldn't speak the language fluently. 

She attended the first few years at a tiny school and could barely read and write.    She and her sisters helped in the fields, picking olives, gathering almonds and oregano and herding their goats. 

Passing certificates were rumoured to be handed over after a present of a 17 kilo tin of olive oil. 

Being part of the Greek Armed Forces does not make you a law abiding citizen. That is glaringly obvious here at the Navy resort.

In the cafeteria we slide our trays along, choose the food we want to eat, pay when our turn in line comes along. 

We choose a table and go off to a side trolley to pick up a paper tablecloth and napkins, salt and pepper and use the oil pourer to put olive oil on our salad. 

Some people go well beyond this and stuff their handbags with extra napkins, tablecloths, packets of salt, even glasses and cutlery.

What we saw today 'takes the cake' as they say .

Vinegar on the left, olive oil on the right. (She didn't manage to empty the whole container)

An old lady...older than me anyway, took a plastic water bottle out of her bag and filled it up with olive oil from the glass salad-oil pourer . 

K didn't let that pass. He accosted the woman, and her daughter . Their excuse? Their door was squeaky and needed oiling. Original at least. 

It wasn't just oil but a stack of paper napkins and a few hundred grams of salt.

If anyone needs extras the subsidised mini market sells oil, salt, napkins and even knives and forks.  Knives and forks were what we saw last year disappearing into someone's bag.

The weather is beautiful now, the beach peaceful. We go swimming every day. The water is freezing but I manage to wade in, dunk under and swim around. 

Having done my duty I can dry off in the sun and get a little colour. I could sit here for hours listening to the murmer of voices coming from a few dozen bobbing heads, reading one of my 6 books and occasionally checking my tablet. Internet on the beach is strong. I can play my daily wordle and quordle and check into Shein.