might be coming down to tell me she’d decided to stage a Shakespearean play at school and wanted me to direct it, or she might be bringing me a plate of chicken. The knocking grew louder and more insistent until I heard a familiar voice; “I know you’re in there. Are you hiding from me?”
“No, no!” I scrambled to let Kaliopi in. “I didn’t expect it’d be you. Why’re you back so early?” But Kaliopi was momentarily distracted. She was eyeing my little flat and shaking her head.
“You see? A hole of shit. Your boss must have lots of money, and yet she doesn’t have the decency to furnish the place properly for you. I bet you her place is better furnished,
eh
?”
“Let’s not focus on that,
eh
?” I repeated the very Greek ending of the sentence. Deep inside, I’d been thinking similar thoughts—but despite her demeanour, I felt a strange sort of loyalty towards Mrs Stella.
“Anyway,” Kaliopi shook her head as if to clear it of the image in front of her, “I had a few days off work, so I met an Italian acquaintance on his yacht. We sailed for one day, but he couldn’t satisfy me, so I slapped him. He yelled ‘No-one, not even my mother or sister has slapped me!’ and I was afraid he’d throw me out of that round window thing in his boat, so I jumped from his yacht in Santorini and flew back to Athens.” I was familiar with Kaliopi’s antics by now, but even this escapade gobsmacked me. She continued… “So I’ve come back early to continue your education. Tomorrow I am taking you to Delphi. Go to bed now because we will take the early bus. It is only a forty-five minute ride, so a day trip is enough.”
“Kaliopi, that ‘round window’ thing is a porthole, and as my friend I want to tell you that I really think you should pick your ‘acquaintances’ more carefully!” But she was backing out through the door already, glancing around her as if fearing that she might catch something nasty from my ‘hole of shit’ flat if she stayed longer. I was left with an image of her being thrown through a porthole into the Aegean Sea. This girl was better than a soap opera.
Early the next morning I walked to the bus stop, dressed warmly for the winter weather. Stomping my feet and attempting to blow smoke rings with the clouds my exhalations formed, I waited moodily for my friend. I realised why I love teaching in the afternoons and evenings; I really am not a morning person. At last Kaliopi waltzed up at exactly the right moment for the bus to arrive.
Seeing my grumpy face, she commented, “It’s not my fault you are British and always on time. And besides,” she looked at me, “what is wrong with you? You are usually, how you say, ‘beat-up’?”
“Upbeat,” I corrected her, the coldness of my mood starting to defrost in the warm bus. “I’m just not used to early morning rises, especially when it’s so cold. Who’d’ve thought Greece could get so cold in the winter?”
“Yes it does, and you’re in the mountains now. You see? It’s not sunshine and warmth all year round, but certainly more sunshine at least than your place. This early start will be worth it,” Kaliopi said. “Look, we’re heading up into the mountains now.” We wound up narrow roads and then onto the two-lane highway towards Delphi. The view grew more and more glorious the higher we ascended: steep ravines and drops on either side making me feel a little nervous, log cabins set into the hillside and the occasional goat here and there. It felt more like Switzerland.
After traversing a particularly difficult stretch of mountain road
(God, please let us arrive safely! I promise I’ll be nicer in the mornings to everybody)
and passing through the après-ski village of Arachova, known as the “Mykonos” of the winter months due to its clubbing scene and party atmosphere, the bus pulled into the village of Delphi. We disembarked and I looked around. There were the usual tourist shops but also smaller
“No, no!” I scrambled to let Kaliopi in. “I didn’t expect it’d be you. Why’re you back so early?” But Kaliopi was momentarily distracted. She was eyeing my little flat and shaking her head.
“You see? A hole of shit. Your boss must have lots of money, and yet she doesn’t have the decency to furnish the place properly for you. I bet you her place is better furnished,
eh
?”
“Let’s not focus on that,
eh
?” I repeated the very Greek ending of the sentence. Deep inside, I’d been thinking similar thoughts—but despite her demeanour, I felt a strange sort of loyalty towards Mrs Stella.
“Anyway,” Kaliopi shook her head as if to clear it of the image in front of her, “I had a few days off work, so I met an Italian acquaintance on his yacht. We sailed for one day, but he couldn’t satisfy me, so I slapped him. He yelled ‘No-one, not even my mother or sister has slapped me!’ and I was afraid he’d throw me out of that round window thing in his boat, so I jumped from his yacht in Santorini and flew back to Athens.” I was familiar with Kaliopi’s antics by now, but even this escapade gobsmacked me. She continued… “So I’ve come back early to continue your education. Tomorrow I am taking you to Delphi. Go to bed now because we will take the early bus. It is only a forty-five minute ride, so a day trip is enough.”
“Kaliopi, that ‘round window’ thing is a porthole, and as my friend I want to tell you that I really think you should pick your ‘acquaintances’ more carefully!” But she was backing out through the door already, glancing around her as if fearing that she might catch something nasty from my ‘hole of shit’ flat if she stayed longer. I was left with an image of her being thrown through a porthole into the Aegean Sea. This girl was better than a soap opera.
Early the next morning I walked to the bus stop, dressed warmly for the winter weather. Stomping my feet and attempting to blow smoke rings with the clouds my exhalations formed, I waited moodily for my friend. I realised why I love teaching in the afternoons and evenings; I really am not a morning person. At last Kaliopi waltzed up at exactly the right moment for the bus to arrive.
Seeing my grumpy face, she commented, “It’s not my fault you are British and always on time. And besides,” she looked at me, “what is wrong with you? You are usually, how you say, ‘beat-up’?”
“Upbeat,” I corrected her, the coldness of my mood starting to defrost in the warm bus. “I’m just not used to early morning rises, especially when it’s so cold. Who’d’ve thought Greece could get so cold in the winter?”
“Yes it does, and you’re in the mountains now. You see? It’s not sunshine and warmth all year round, but certainly more sunshine at least than your place. This early start will be worth it,” Kaliopi said. “Look, we’re heading up into the mountains now.” We wound up narrow roads and then onto the two-lane highway towards Delphi. The view grew more and more glorious the higher we ascended: steep ravines and drops on either side making me feel a little nervous, log cabins set into the hillside and the occasional goat here and there. It felt more like Switzerland.
After traversing a particularly difficult stretch of mountain road
(God, please let us arrive safely! I promise I’ll be nicer in the mornings to everybody)
and passing through the après-ski village of Arachova, known as the “Mykonos” of the winter months due to its clubbing scene and party atmosphere, the bus pulled into the village of Delphi. We disembarked and I looked around. There were the usual tourist shops but also smaller
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