Working at the bar again
It’s May 2007 and it’s afternoon at the bar time again – working you understand, not drinking. It’s cloudy today and spots of rain are falling. The blue canvas chairs are out and I may, at any time, need to rush them inside and replace them with the white plastic ones. Fingers crossed it doesn’t rain.
George from the taverna is sitting at the table beside me easting bread and blue cheese, would I like some? No thanks, just eaten – actually I haven’t but I don’t fancy it and it’s impolite to simply refuse. He is throwing pieces of bread to the sparrows who hang out in the vine overhead. I watch day trippers heading back down to the harbour, the village is not exactly busy but there are people about. There is modern Greek music playing quietly in the taverna and this mixes with the sound of plates and cutlery being collected and washed.
It is actually May 26th I note and tomorrow is Pentecost; there will be church services and many visitors to the island for the festivals at the churches.
Two people walk up the Kali Strata and pass by – I do some washing up that Yiannis have left for me. Terri has been sitting with me but has now left to attend her Greek lessons, these are provided by the council using European grant money and several non-Greek speakers attend. I come outside again to see more visitors heading up the steps and wandering off into the village. It always amuses me that more people walk into the village than I ever see return and I imagine hoards of people wandering the lanes for days, missing boats and falling into despair as they try to find their way back. Either that or they find another way down again.
A couple in Lefteris’ kafeneion next door seem to be staring at me. I expect they are wondering why I am noting down everything that takes place and wondering what I am writing about them. George leaves and donates to me the last of his blue cheese, I thank him and say I will have it later. Neil appears with two giros (not the Social Security kind but the meat in pita kind) just as George has left, so I have got away with my ‘I’m not hungry’ tale.
The contents of a Giros: Pita bread of a particular kind, in it: Meat of some sort (pork today I think), tzatziki, six cold chips, tomato and chopped onions. But I am hungry and do my best. As I eat, some well stuffed punters leave the taverna and waddle down towards the arbour.
I have customers! One frappe and one bottle of water is the order. I head to the kitchen to make the frappe. Here’s how it’s done, in case you have ever wondered:
Into a tall glass put a teaspoon of coffee powder, add sugar if needed – one and a half tsp for ‘metrio’ and at least three for ‘gliko’, add a little water. Place glass under the frappe whisker and put the whisk into the water before you turn it on to avoid being splattered with coffee powder and sugar. Whisk for a few seconds, turn off machine and lower the glass so that the rest of the liquid whizzes off the whisk and into the glass – not onto the walls. Add an ice cube or two, add a drop of condensed milk (if ‘me gala’) and top up with cold water from the fridge. Put in a straw, allow to settle and enjoy. There, now you know.
I deliver the drinks and two minutes later direct the customer to the toilet. Is my frappe that bad I wonder? A Greek visitor walk up and ask directions from Damianos at the taverna while others of their party investigate the now closing eatery. Some brightly dressed tourists walk down, I remember it’s early season and so still quiet – quieter than their clothes at any rate.
A fly drowns in Neil’s beer as he sits reading Symi 85600 (Neil that is, not the fly.) A couple more hopeful tourists pass wearing shorts and T shirts, but the day remains overcast.
Next door Manolis’ father, George directs Yiannis’ son Manolis on how to tidy the café tables and chairs. His advice is not appreciated. Sparrows discover George’s leftover bread in the street and have a noise field day with it: much excited chatter and feeding of the young.
My customers want to pay: €2.50 please, change from a €50? Er… nope! Anything smaller? I make them search for a while. Miracle, yes, a €10 is found. I knew you had it all along your naughty people you. I get a 50 cents tip – apparently the frappe was just fine. I do the washing up.
Back outside and little has changed. The fridge hums behind me, the birds chatter, Neil reads, time passes with more visitors. Old George (2) has a good old nosey in the taverna as if checking that the tables and chairs there are correctly arranged as Nikitas leaves the peripteron (kiosk). He leaves his brother Michaelis in charge. The post lunch rush in the square is dying down, the last punters finally leave the taverna, swaying somewhat, fewer and fewer people pass by. The clouds start to break up over Nimos and the sea turns from grey to blue and silver. Nikitas comes back from his mission then delivers cigarettes down to old George who is now back at Lefteris’ and hoiking noisily.
They weren’t the last punters: Dawn and her son Pandelis now exit from the courtyard at the taverna with Rhiannon, waves are exchanged. A motorbike chugs across the square; it’s twenty to four and the flower shop is opening early, maybe in anticipation of a Pentecostal rush.
The afternoon breeze that we have been getting recently thinks about picking up a bit but then drops the idea, maybe it will try again later. Neil and I chat about the up-coming front page of the Symi Visitor – his photo of the clean up Symi day and, inside, the review of my book Symi 85600. A speed boat cuts across the now gun-metal grey sea leaving a white gash of a wake behind it and two cars have a face off in the street; one finally reverses all of two feet and all is well.
The hour ends with the sparrows finding more of George’s discarded bread and embarking on a feeding fiesta. This will go on until Yiannis comes back and starts throwing them peanuts. At least it didn’t rain. |
