When a blog becomes a blob
Sunday is typically my only ‘free’ day. I have no weekend, really. To me, a weekend is made up of three phases: Sleeping late. Waking up, and partying long into the night, sleeping late the next morning.
Since I work on saturdays as well, I don’t have that.
I woke up on Sunday a little after 1pm. Friends were already planning what to do, and I was included in the plans, since I wasn’t conscious at the time of conception.
We were going out for lunch at this restaurant.
So, we get there, and I’m thinking: ‘wow, this isn’t half bad… actually, this is pretty nice.’ We were in the middle of an old street, lined with trees, sidewalks wider than the street itself, sun shining through the leaves, laughter rising from tables all around… I draw a picturesque scene, huh?
So we sit down, a plump waiter comes along. Apparently it’s a family business and he’s the uncle. The guy speaks English in a funny accent, and he knows it. A little distance up the street, some musicians start playing. The bottles of homemade white wine that we ordered arrived, and we were about set.
At this point, I was really getting into it. Lots to drink, funny people, nice atmosphere, sunshine, music, friends… Not too shabby… But I should have known better.
The funny waiter took a break and was replaced by, I guess, his nephew. I guessed because the nephew didn’t speak a word of english. I’m pretty certain his greek sucked as well. The waiter started hushing people, and screaming at the musicians to stop. It was Siesta time, someone later explained, loud noises were forbidden because the people needed their beauty sleep. The food arrived, and (I won’t deny, it was good) it wasn’t what we ordered. Try explaining that to the waiter who speaks no languages…
Dark clouds rolled in, the sun shied away. Birds rushed back to their nests before the impending storm. Rain!! Lightning!! This was beyond comprehension. Suddenly, the people on the table next to us started arguing. One of them pushed the other back and he turned over our table. The waiter came screaming. The customers screamed back. Swear words flew alongside friend shrimps, napkins twisted in the wind, Tzatziki flowed down the street like a foaming, angry river… And in the middle of that, I stood. Stranded. A Robinson Crusoe (hey, I remember watching that crappy movie with someone…) on my chair-island, surrounded by oceans of angry Greeks…
It seriously seems like something out of one of those Greek tragedy movies. Cut to a scene of Mt. Olympus, with the Gods and Goddesses sitting around a small pool, watching us mortals going our ways, trying to make something of our insignificance…
Ok, you didn’t believe the last part happened, did you? It’s been sunny ever since I started working here (excluding my first day, and, apparently, today). None of that stuff really happened. The waiter couldn’t communicate with us, but luckily, two of my friends spoke Greek. The food was great, we had fun, the atmosphere was a bit dampened by the Siesta-imposed silence… (hey, I heard that a major part of the delay in the construction of the Olympic venues here was that the people were complaining that they couldn’t take their afternoon naps… so construction workers would pause between 3-5)… All in all… not too bad for any given Sunday.