2012 09 16
Preveza, Greece
Just past one on a dreary Sunday afternoon. Every citizen of this country is in one one of three places: in a cafe, enroute to a cafe, working in a cafe. Nothing else is open.
Every shop, business and enterprise here has been closed up tight since Saturday noon. Greeks close early on Saturday so they can prepare for Sunday rest. Sunday is not to be taken lightly in Greece. One must prepare.
A gentle rain falls, detritus of a minor TCU that strolls gently along the pier that runs for half a kilometre along the water in this quiet tourist town. Only gentle rumbles draw the attention of the alert to presence of danger in those dark bottomed billowing cumulus clouds. It is a pleasant pace calculated to alarm no one. In Greece not even the Gods screw with Sunday rest.
The Budget Committee and I have just returned from a cafe date with Alain and Marie, French sailors whom we met in Mahon and with whom we crossed the Mediterranean to Tunisia. We were hearing about their adventures with Tunisian authorities, they having stopped before they got to Sidi Bou Said as dark was falling. It was a humorous recanting of decent treatment by friendly police who did not know how to handle immigration.
The storm is past us, life is good. Time for the next step: to Italy and home.
Preveza, Greece
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| Sunday at only one of the Preveza Cafes. There are hundreds. |
Just past one on a dreary Sunday afternoon. Every citizen of this country is in one one of three places: in a cafe, enroute to a cafe, working in a cafe. Nothing else is open.
Every shop, business and enterprise here has been closed up tight since Saturday noon. Greeks close early on Saturday so they can prepare for Sunday rest. Sunday is not to be taken lightly in Greece. One must prepare.
A gentle rain falls, detritus of a minor TCU that strolls gently along the pier that runs for half a kilometre along the water in this quiet tourist town. Only gentle rumbles draw the attention of the alert to presence of danger in those dark bottomed billowing cumulus clouds. It is a pleasant pace calculated to alarm no one. In Greece not even the Gods screw with Sunday rest.
The Budget Committee and I have just returned from a cafe date with Alain and Marie, French sailors whom we met in Mahon and with whom we crossed the Mediterranean to Tunisia. We were hearing about their adventures with Tunisian authorities, they having stopped before they got to Sidi Bou Said as dark was falling. It was a humorous recanting of decent treatment by friendly police who did not know how to handle immigration.
The storm is past us, life is good. Time for the next step: to Italy and home.
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