Down into the volcano

The bus stopped at dolphin's square, a mere ten minute walk from where we had been picked up, but apparantly travel agencies liked to herd their tourists like the goats in the hills of Kos. The outer door opened and a man stepped inside. He was of average height and build, with a small yet noticable belly as older men develop when they enjoy life a bit too much. The man was well over fourty years old, and his fair hair, paled by the sun hardly displayed signs of silvery grey because it was so blonde. The mustache on his face hardly showed on his tan, but his slight one centimeter wide goatee was as white as his shirt and trousers.
What I noticed most of all, and would continue to notice during the day was his smile, or rather his teeth. They were quite large, especially the top row, slightly yellowed with age, and the whole row of them were rather grotesque. The man seemed to enjoy baring them at us in a gesture of goodwill and Zeus-forbid, comfort.

( continued with lots of pictures! )