Surrender: The Greek Affair Series Book One (4 page)

Hope was one of these tourists; this was a part of her that had not assimilated to her Greekness. She always ate early, like the Anglo environment she had grown up in. She could never be a whole Greek or a whole Australian. Rather, she was part of one and part of another, but she was also part of who she was that was still undefined.

The
vólta
was a tradition that can be traced back in time, (mostly a summer ritual), children playing in the street, young adults laughing and being pleasantly loud, while the men clicked and rolled either their
kobolói
(worry beads), or their key rings, talking politics and believing that they alone can save the world from its problems. Meanwhile, the women walked arm in arm looking very serious in their conversations, but were only talking about clothes, jewellery, cooking, and children. This was the tradition. This was the culture. This was the history.

Hope arrived at the port that ran along the sea front, on one end coffee shops in a row, and on the other end leading all the way to a small pier, not in use for boats anymore – just a collection of
tavérnes
serving the best of Greek food. And, as this was part of the Aegean where fishing is plentiful, the island had a great tradition of seafood. All this was surrounding a small harbour for small fishing boats, where the men would take off every morning before sunrise, to bring back their catch to the
tavérnes
.

The aromas were overwhelming; much was cooked on charcoals and the aromas carried smells of the sea. The aroma was of sea creatures, (charcoaled octopus and calamari), along with charcoaled fish and lobsters, that were in plenty in this part of Greece.

Hope had a favourite
tavérna
. It was on the small wooden pier at the end of the harbour, (more than likely, it was made for small fishing boats). These days, there are tables and chairs on the wooden slats used for a seafood
tavérna
, where the sea licks the pylons, and the pastime of the diners when not eating, is to throw bread and feed the fish.

Sitting on that pier with the fresh fish under her nose and on her plate, the smell of the sea under her feet, the enormous fortress in her view, (which was lit up at sunset), and the soft Greek music in her ears, filled all of her senses and she was complete. She did not need to talk to people. She was at that moment, complete - floating in her own paradise of contentment; a contentment that only she understood.

When she finished her meal Hope would walk back to her neighbourhood via the cobblestone small side streets and she would go for a drink at a small intimate outdoor bar.

All bars were outdoor at this time of the year, as were the cafes and
tavérnes
. This small bar had some advantages for Hope. It was in a residential area. Therefore music was very toned down and never over-crowded; it was in front of the sea; and a few doors from home. The people who would congregate there, were as a rule, the same ones for the whole summer season and often became ‘summertime friends’. It was a comfortable and easy place to be and to live, under the hot summer night.

Chapter Four

It’s that time of the year again. Summer. The Greek, long, hot summer, and Hope was back on her island. She considered this place her island, (no matter that she had not grown up here, nor did she any longer have any family connections here). When she came to this place blessed by the Greek gods she became oblivious to these facts, simply claiming the island as hers. She would lay her towel on the hot sand and literally throw herself face-down, moulding her body into the sand, becoming part of the island, within her soul. She immediately felt the sun healing her.

Lazing around all day, dipping in the aquamarine crystal-clear Aegean, watching the people on the beach, (Greeks and foreign tourists), although she loved to watch the extremely overbearing Greek mothers who harass their young children (and their grown up children) about food, time spent in the sun, time spent in the water and generally doing what they do best, being controlling Greek mothers, especially with their sons! It’s something that seems a common thread in a Mediterranean mother’s culture. Everywhere there were young people playing ball games, and other noisy, but harmless carefree beach pastimes.

Eventually, in the late afternoon she would go home. She would go through her usual routine, have a shower and always notice that the time spent in the sun made her libido go crazy. Hope ignored the overwhelming feeling that her body communicates to her, never quite understanding why she had these strong feelings, as it seemed to her that it was only about the island.

She lay down to have a short siesta. Hope tried not to think about her libido, but it did make her think about her life. How her whole life had always been erratic, and her personal, adult life had not fared any better. There had never been steady and regular of anything, to speak of. Being aware of this, makes the journey to understanding oneself easier, but not better.

She had no other type of life model to measure herself by. She understood being alone, not sure of the goal in her life’s journey. She understood how to grab instant gratification, but she also tired of, and gets bored easily with people and situations. She had never known stability and this permeated through everything she did in her life, so she chose in a conscious way to escape her reality into creativity, escaping therefore herself.

Hope found this place so enchanting, and while she was here, none of the pitfalls of her character were significant, or even evident.

Life flowed around her without any effort on her part. It is the nature of a Greek island in the summer months. People mingle, become summer-time friends, (often friendships made instantly), have drinks with them, hang out for coffees together, eat at
tavérnes
with them, go dancing with them, and generally come together at any given time. Hope did not have to work for these things to happen. They happened organically and everyone suddenly knew everyone else, as if it had always been like this, whereas in fact, no one knew anything significant about each other and maybe that is what suited her most too.

***

On one of these balmy warm nights Hope finds herself at her usual little sea front bar and nearly everyone from last year’s summer is there again. There are hugs and kisses all round with greetings of “have a good summer” and “welcome”. Drinks are served and the night progresses into laughter and friendships that seem to an outsider as if these people are lifelong buddies and all year round friends, whereas nothing could be further from the truth. This is the stuff of Greek island summerlife. These friendships are only about the hedonistic enjoyment of the Greek summer that is happening in the now.

It’s late, almost midnight, and time to put on dancing shoes. This happens spontaneously; the dancing clubs are out of town for the noise factor, situated in places where only private transport can go, (not everyone has their own means of transport, and so taxis have to be organised and people distributed accordingly, to get to the destination of the club). The beauty of familiarity amongst strangers means that no one cares who goes with whom, often finding people sitting next to one another who may have never met before. Private cars and taxis are packed with the revellers.

The taxis and the other means of transport arrive at their destination on the beach-front. Nestled amongst reeds by a small river creek, emptying itself into the sea, is the club - an idyllic spot, on an idyllic island, with an idyllic climate and an idyllic sense of freedom!

In an unorganised rabble the group finds its way inside the club. Hope has that feeling she always has, when she comes to the clubs and bars on the island. The feeling of having missed out on her youth, and it’s in these moments she is glad she is in Europe, where the age doesn’t matter as much. At forty she can make friends, and dance as if she were twenty. The subject of age is never raised, and in reality, no one cares. She estimates that most of the people she is hanging out with are more than likely in their thirties. She is also sure she is the only one thinking of the issue of age.

She considers herself lucky to be able to experience this euphoric state of being, the feeling that comes just from the sun and the sea, good food and the people around her. There’s also relentless summer and ongoing summer island nights, the carefree state of being, which she has only ever experienced on the Greek islands, but mostly on this one, that she has fallen in love with. For Hope it’s almost like an “out of body experience”, this feeling that changes her personality, be that temporarily. She interacts more with people, goes to bars and clubs, makes friends more easily, (if only summer friends), and she is doing things she is not normally interested in, in her daily life.

As they step into the club, Hope is on the tail-end of her company. She looks around at the vibrant place, pumping with music. She always admires the Greeks for their lightweight drinking habits. Drinking means dancing, and in places where food is consumed and alcohol is consumed in larger quantities, they break out into song, and it’s funny how a guitar materialises from nowhere. With some alcohol in them the Greeks become loud, the conversations have more gusto and the only thing they argue about is politics.

One of the guys goes and gets drinks from the bar. Hope takes her drink, turns around and does what any self-respecting person would do, and that is to check out the crowd. She loves the summer outfits, clothes that cannot be worn anywhere else but on a Greek Island, not even in Athens, even though Athens is hotter. As much bare skin as possible accentuate the golden suntans. Hers is only just beginning; it will be a deep golden hue soon and by the time she leaves, she will be a light caramel colour, accentuating her hazel eyes.

As she looks around she catches herself looking for Jason. “Geez get a grip”, Hope,” she tells herself, and forgets about him immediately.

There is a wonderful beat in the club, the stars are above, and the club is in front of the sea. There is a bar counter halfway around in a semicircle, a wooden dance floor set up in the middle, on the sand, huge ceramic pots with large plants, lots of tables and chairs to sit and drink at, and from which to gaze at the stars and watch the reflection of the moon in the sea. And tonight it looks like it might be a half-moon. The warm breeze caresses Hope’s skin and sunburnt cheeks and at the same time, has a cooling effect, an amazing sensual feeling, as if the sun had not been enough during the day to arouse. The moon never disappoints in the summer on a Greek island!

The
paréa
(group of friends) finds a table, they settle down and proceed with introductions by names. There are some new faces, unknown from last year. There are seven from last year and at least three more added this year. There seems to be more men than women, but no one cares and no one notices. They all have drinks, and they relax in the comfortable and attractive wicker armchairs, feet tapping to the beat of the music, and not much talking is done. It’s hard to have a conversation over the noise anyway. The music is retro, mostly 80s dance music, interwoven with some other eras. Before long, some of the tapping feet take to the dance floor.

Hope watches the dance floor with a smile on her face as one of the guys dancing drags her by the arm to dance, because they are all up now, doing what one does best on a Greek island in the long hot summer late at night, to let go and forget the existence of any other life that gives you angst.

It’s heady, exhilarating and very liberating. And it is maybe the only time Hope feels detached from life’s obstacles and all that could have been, all that may be, but most of all that will never be. She dances the night away and the time passes in the midst of a little alcohol and lots of music.

And it’s at a moment of utter free fall from the music and dancing, that she suddenly sees him, standing by the bar, a cigarette in his hand, in black t-shirt and jeans, looking more like a rock star with his short hair that is a “look”, and not a soldier’s haircut. And he is watching her. Wow! What a rush! She has had a couple of drinks, maximum. Hope is a total amateur at drinking, but these drinks have done wonders to release her from her usual inhibitions, and suddenly she realises that she is showing off.

“Bugger, bugger, am I making a fool of myself?”

She pulls herself together and goes to sit down. Enough!! Slightly tipsy, she is feeling elated to be here, away from reality, amongst people that she sees only during the good times, where no one talks about the bad times.

It’s a Greek summer on a Greek Island, (her island), her place of refuge, and she is flattered that there is a young, gorgeous man looking at her. But it’s time to go, back to her white home by the sea, and the dolphins. Time to sleep; she is not good at having all-nighters. She says goodnight to whomever is nearby, picks up her clutch bag, and goes outside, away from the noise, to ring for a taxi. As she stands waiting for the taxi she is startled by a husky voice and she jumps slightly.

“Going already?”

She jumps and lets out a small yelp.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”