Page 10 of Old Girls Go Greek
‘Oh yes, it’s true,’ Beryl said. ‘I was in Japan in the eighties, when Hirohito died, and I still have friends there. Last time I visited I tried red bean flavour. The Japanese think KitKats are lucky because “Kitto Katso” in Japanese means “you will surely win”.’
‘What did it taste like?’ I asked.
Beryl pulled a face and shrugged. ‘Red bean.’
‘Have you travelled everywhere? You seem to know so many different countries and languages,’ I said.
‘Universal tourist, that’s me. Actually, Effie is just as bad – once you get the travel bug, I warn you there’s no cure,’ Beryl said. She looked up and down the water’s edge. ‘Now then, there was supposed to be a short boat trip to some deserted little beach around here. I can’t remember where it goes from.’
The heat of the afternoon gradually cooled as the sun began to dip down towards the horizon.
Walking alongside the Mediterranean, we came across a large group of people, laughing and chattering away to each other, all of them about our vintage. Smartly dressed and cheerful.
We slowed down to negotiate them because they were blocking the road and then we stopped and a very nice-looking man offered us glasses of champagne in elegant flutes.
‘As giortásoume!’ another man said, throwing one arm around Effie’s shoulder.
‘He said, let’s celebrate,’ Beryl said, taking a glass and raising it in his direction.
‘Yes, let’s!’ Effie shouted.
The man threw back his head and laughed, showing excellent teeth, and then he clinked his glass with ours.
‘Mia tóso charoúmeni méram,’he said.
‘What a happy day,’ Beryl agreed, and we all raised our glasses and chinked them together again.
A young waitress came towards us with a platter full of delicious-looking treats and we cheerfully accepted some.
‘Well, isn’t everyone friendly,’ Anita said approvingly. ‘I didn’t expect this.’
‘The Greeks are famous for it,’ Beryl said, taking a tiny blini and eating it in one mouthful.
The man with the excellent teeth topped up our glasses and we all shouted ‘Yamas’ at each other, and then another man with a beard and glasses came towards us, doing a restrained little jig before he offered us a plate of some miniature cakes, which really were works of art.
‘Isn’t this marvellous,’ I said. ‘I’m loving this.’
We stood around knocking back the champagne and smiling, and every few minutes we were presented with a platter of dainty morsels to eat. Tiny pastries, little tomatoes stuffed with feta cheese, beautiful little segments of fruit on cocktail sticks and bite-sized bruschetta. Some minutepastaflora,which were like much improved jam tarts.
After a while, a man with an accordion came along and started playing and, fired up with excitement and champagne, we all joined in the dancing. We linked arms and did a bit of uncoordinated Zorba, the Greek-style prancing and kicking. An elegant grey-haired woman with flowers in her hair seemed to be taking the lead alongside the man with the beard, who then had a matching flower between his teeth.
The dance finished with a loudHey!from a man who had shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, and we all turned and hugged our new friends. My word, this was a splendid way to spend the afternoon. Who knew Greek people could be so welcoming?
Everyone stopped, laughing and gasping for breath, and the champagne glasses were refilled.
‘Is anyone going to smash a few plates?’ Effie panted. ‘I love doing that.’
‘Better not,’ Beryl puffed back, ‘those plates look very expensive.’
Meanwhile, the little waitress was wandering around with a clipboard and a puzzled expression, ticking things off and nodding. She got to us.
‘Ta onómatá sas parakaló.’
‘She wants our names,’ Beryl said. She turned the clipboard to look at it and frowned. ‘It’s a seating plan.’
‘Why does she need our names?’ I asked.
Beryl emptied her glass, put it down on one of the tables and pulled an agonised face.
