Page 40 of Old Girls Go Greek
‘Good point,’ I said. ‘We need to be in training for tomorrow anyway.’
We all agreed this was a very good idea, and having left our bags at the hotel, we made our way through the little streets to the far end of town where behind a bus station, we found Artopolio.
I didn’t know what we had been expecting, but it was marvellous, and apparently open for twenty-four hours a day. Inside it was as warm, floury and intoxicating as only great bakeries can be, and there were trays of all sorts of bread. Beryl was happily on hand to translate the names.
Rustichoriatiko; psomidaktyla, a large soft loaf covered in sesame seeds;tsourekei,a sweet, plaited loaf;laganaflatbread; rosemary-scentedeliopsomo;andkoulourabread rings flavoured with olives, oregano or tomatoes. It was very impressive. Then on the other side of the shop were the ranks of cakes and pastries which were even more dazzling. Trays of sticky baklava, portokalopita and karithopita,puffy, flaky fruit turnovers, sugar-glazed doughnuts of all colours and flavours, dozens of different cookies and things that looked like shortbread.
At the back of the shop next to some plastic doors, which I guessed led to the bakehouse, were racks of filled rolls and pitas. What on earth should I choose? Feta cheese with roasted peppers? Lamb, dill and mint tzatziki? Tuna with green peppers? It certainly beat my usual cheese and pickle choice back home.
It took us a long time but eventually we left the shop with greaseproof paper bags and huge, satisfied smiles. As we made our way back to the hotel, we passed the little supermarket and noticed a colourful, scribbled sign in the window:Local wine – Ntópio krasi –€4.00.
‘Four hundred euros for a bottle of wine?’ Anita spluttered.
Beryl went to look. ‘Four euros actually.’
We stared at the bottles and we blinked a bit as we did the conversion.
‘That’s three pounds fifty,’ I said at last. ‘For a bottle of wine?’
Anita pointed. ‘Actually, it’s a litre of wine, not a bottle.’
We stood and looked at each other for a moment, slight frowns on our faces.
‘I bet it’s awful,’ Effie said, and we all sort of agreed.
‘Like battery acid,’ Anita said.
‘But if the locals drink it, and presumably more than once, it can’t be that bad,’ I said.
‘Good point. And in my experience these things are usually better than you might think,’ Beryl said. ‘Well, there is only one way to find out.’
She handed me her lunch bag and went into the shop, returning a few minutes later with two bottles of the same wine.
‘To be fair, it’s got a nice label,’ she said, holding one bottle so we could all see. ‘It’s got a screw top and these two came out of the chill cabinet, the man in there insisted. We had a lovely chat. He said the wine is from a vineyard near here and it’szoirós, very lively, and he’s sure we will like it.’
‘Lively?’ I said doubtfully. ‘I don’t think I’ve heard that before. We’d better stand back when we open the bottle. Goodness me, we are living dangerously.’
‘I remember not so long ago we used to answer the phone without knowing who was calling. Now that was living dangerously,’ Beryl said.
We carried on towards Hotel Costas, arriving just as Dennis, Susan and June were leaving, their art materials in their shoulder bags.
‘We are off to paint the sea,’ he boomed. ‘Don’t you want to come too? It’s such a fine afternoon and we have nothing planned.’
‘Perhaps we’ll catch up with you later,’ Anita said, and Dennis tipped his hat towards her.
‘I’m happy to wait if you like?’
‘No, I wouldn’t want to hold you up. We’re going to have lunch first,’ she said, holding up her paper bag by way of explanation, with a sweet smile that did little to dissuade him.
‘It’s no trouble,’ he said.
Behind him, Susan and June were sitting on the little wall outside the hotel, apparently chatting happily. Susan took one sandal off and they both looked intently at her heel, so perhaps they were discussing the progress of Susan’s blister.
‘I think your friends are eager to get going,’ Anita said. ‘Mustn’t keep the ladies waiting. After all, the weather may change. You know how clever you are at catching the light. It might rain. Or be foggy.’
We all looked at the clear, cerulean sky and obviously this was highly unlikely, but it seemed Dennis was persuaded, and after eliciting a promise that he would see us all later, he ambled off, June and Susan following at a statelier pace.
Having all agreed the rooftop terrace would probably be too hot at this time of day, we made our way to the lovely courtyard in the middle of the hotel. There it was deliciously cool, the shade from the hotel walls providing relief from the sun, and Costas had switched on the fountain in the middle, so the sound of splashing water added to the feeling we were in a little oasis of calm.
