Log of Greece, day 9
May. 16th, 2006 05:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
janestarzMost Greek restaurants, even the ones who are so aimed at tourists that the kitchen serves more hamburgers with fries than "real" food, consist of a small building containing kitchen, toilets and possibly a cigarette-vending machine, and a huge porch where all the guests sit. Just like Josef's Old River Restaurant, really, where the porch is indeed packed with neat tables and closed off from the wind on all sides but the one facing the street, where men like Emilios stand to draw the customers in. The men are like they are cast from a mold: long and well-built, with a prominent set of shoulders, a healthy tan, short slightly curly black hair, and pantalons (trousers, not pantaloons, although this is a nice mental image) that only seem to cling because they're belted to the waist, making you speculate about the firmness of underlying ass.
It helps if you wonder what they do in the winter. Emílios told us in the winter he tiles bathrooms for a living. No wonder all the waiters look like their shoulders are twice as wide as their asses (not such a bad thing to notice or look at, if you happen to like that in a man. After all, men like women's chests to be a number of times as wide as their waists) if they all work in construction als tilers, carpenters or painters. It suddenly makes you view them in quite a different light. It's certainly off-putting when a lonely woman on your terrace doesn't regard you as being a Young Greek God, but as the Young Greek God's bathroom refurbisher.
Somehow they're not used to dealing with this.
Emílios, by the way, is the new assistant-waiter at Taverna Alexandros, and would be somewhat disappointed to find out this little entry is in fact not about him, but the nature of porches.
Taverna Alexandros, where we've eaten all but three dinners in total, has no real porch to speak of. It is located off the main tourist roads, behind the main church, between the Agoras and Old Town if you happen to take a strange route there. The inside is indeed mostly kitchen and toilet, with extra chairs and the cash register taking up most of the rest of the space.
Perhaps it's the fact that the terrace is so exposed, with exit routes leading from beneath all tables and chairs, that the pussycats like it so much there.
Perhaps the mix between the presence of cats, the heart-warming attentions of Lydia and the roguish grin of Stamatis makes it so nice to have dinner there.
I miss Lisa and Dusty very much, despite the attentions of Fluff, Yowler and Grízo, who happily substitute for receiving cuddles. I do miss home, a little bit, mostly because of our friends.
Right now, I mostly miss home because I'd not hear the dog from across the street. It's barking nigh 24 hours a day, always in bouts of three yelps. He's not barking mad, he's Barking Three.
I will most definitely not miss Barking Three when we go home.
Or my sunrash.
It helps if you wonder what they do in the winter. Emílios told us in the winter he tiles bathrooms for a living. No wonder all the waiters look like their shoulders are twice as wide as their asses (not such a bad thing to notice or look at, if you happen to like that in a man. After all, men like women's chests to be a number of times as wide as their waists) if they all work in construction als tilers, carpenters or painters. It suddenly makes you view them in quite a different light. It's certainly off-putting when a lonely woman on your terrace doesn't regard you as being a Young Greek God, but as the Young Greek God's bathroom refurbisher.
Somehow they're not used to dealing with this.
Emílios, by the way, is the new assistant-waiter at Taverna Alexandros, and would be somewhat disappointed to find out this little entry is in fact not about him, but the nature of porches.
Taverna Alexandros, where we've eaten all but three dinners in total, has no real porch to speak of. It is located off the main tourist roads, behind the main church, between the Agoras and Old Town if you happen to take a strange route there. The inside is indeed mostly kitchen and toilet, with extra chairs and the cash register taking up most of the rest of the space.
Perhaps it's the fact that the terrace is so exposed, with exit routes leading from beneath all tables and chairs, that the pussycats like it so much there.
Perhaps the mix between the presence of cats, the heart-warming attentions of Lydia and the roguish grin of Stamatis makes it so nice to have dinner there.
I miss Lisa and Dusty very much, despite the attentions of Fluff, Yowler and Grízo, who happily substitute for receiving cuddles. I do miss home, a little bit, mostly because of our friends.
Right now, I mostly miss home because I'd not hear the dog from across the street. It's barking nigh 24 hours a day, always in bouts of three yelps. He's not barking mad, he's Barking Three.
I will most definitely not miss Barking Three when we go home.
Or my sunrash.
