Somewhere in that ephemeral world between waking and dreaming, I had a heart-stopping nightmare that I was still in the Greek Islands, but everything had disastrously changed.
The people were big — they were so much bigger — and they spoke a strange language. A language that starts deep in the throat and never really rises. Their language was Dutch. Some of the people spoke English. They were Australian or British. But most of the people were Dutch* and they brought Holland along with them to an island that was once part of Greece.
There were bikes everywhere—just like in Amsterdam—and the people rode them.
The big people rode bikes. That’s how I knew they weren’t Greek! Greeks only ride motorbikes. Greeks hate to pedal, it’s too much like exercise.
The big people had really white bellies –blindingly white, like mine used to be — and they went to beaches that were jam packed with other white bellies. They had Phillippino women massage them on the beach while they laid on their bellies.
These were not the kind of beaches you have to follow a goat path up and down slippery mountains to get to, all while grabbing hold of thorny weeds to keep from going over a cliff. No, to get to these beaches, you just roll from your package hotel bed onto your belly, make a few turns, and end up on a sunbed by the beach.
The big people were not polite, they were loutish, and sloppy drunk, and disrespectful.
But most of all, they were on a mission to destroy the peace; and they succeeded marvelously.
Then I saw this guy:
What’s he doing here?
He did his best imitation of Pancho Villa/Che Guevara for me:
And I saw a mosque with a crazy name:
Then two Greeks asked me if I wanted to take an excursion boat to a neighboring island, and I realized that this was no nightmare, this was Kos, and I was only passing through. Just one night in Kos, before getting back to Greece.
I saw some things I liked too, like this octopus salad:
and these ruins:
and kindness between children:
* To clarify: I really like the Dutch and have been to their fine country many times. If my own countrymen took over Kos, guzzling beers, gobbling hamburgers and driving their huge SUV’s on the narrow roads, I would be just as, if not more , horrified.
© 2010 – 2011, Ithaka Bound. All rights reserved.
omg! loved this post! hilarious.. and as i am deciding where to go in greece right now.. you totally helped me decide NOT to go to KOS… symi sounds interesting although i am an expat in Italy and want to get away from ITALIANS!! haha.. anyway.. love your blog and your photos are amazing. I love that lens. We had our wedding photographer use that lens for all our photos. Keep up the good work!
Hello, Anna! Thank you for the kind words. I’m so happy to hear my nightmare in Kos actually served some greater good. It’s going to be tough avoiding the Italians, as they’ve occupied all the Dodacanese, the Ionian islands, and most of the Cyclades. The Northeastern Aegean has far fewer Italians than it does Balkan types, so it might be a good bet. Have a great time in Greece!