The sea was lit like a swimming pool, vibrant underwater lights, changing purple to blue to green. Huge fish were wriggling and zooming just below the surface. I was with Yeorgia – the Greek English teacher I met in Monastiraki a few nights ago. She followed through on her word to show me the best parts of the city I might not have seen yet, and took me to this place. Flisvos Marina.
We were sitting on some steps looking out at the boats breasting the seafront. But we weren’t just enjoying the view. We were sharing language. Yeorgia gave me some brief lessons in the Greek language. She would say something, and I would try and translate it. She taught me how to say that the weather is beautiful. “O Kairos einai omorphi.” And how to tell the difference between the tenses and the masculine and the feminine. I’ve met many enthusiastic people on my travels now. Carlos was the most enthusiastic when it came to making dinner. Emmanuel was the most enthusiastic about the FIFA world cup. Harsh was the most enthusiastic about taking photographs and buying souvenirs; Aaron and Erika were the most enthusiastic about history. But Yeorgia is far and away the most enthusiastic about language, and she had brilliant patience in teaching me what she did. She even typed a fuck-load of notes into my phone so I’ve got something to write down and practice. This is what coming to Greece was all about… and Yeorgia has helped make it worthwhile.
In return for her kindness and excellent patience, I told her about a few English phrases she hadn’t heard of – like ‘Wrap up warm.’ ‘Get out of here!’ and ‘Get on the beer!’ I didn’t feel like I had much to offer but she was delighted.
I’m glad I took up her offer of going down to Flisvos; not only were the views great, they also had Mailo’s there! So, of course I went in for some pasta. They had a new recipe going. This pistachio-pesto cranberry Christmas themed pot. This was the first pot from Mailo’s I had that wasn’t quite as good as the others. The pasta was slightly overcooked for one thing, but it was still miles above mediocre, and such a good fat portion that I was full before I’d even taken the last bite. It was also incredibly Christmassy. I wouldn’t ever recommend eating pasta on Christmas day… except, now I would. Eating this pasta was like eating Christmas itself.
Yeorgia and I got the bus and the metro back to Syntagma square. Walking slowly about with her through the crowd – rather than rushing about as usual – I was able to appreciate the Christmas lights and festivities in a way I never do. Usually, I’m ducking and diving to get round tourists, but this evening I was more relaxed. Only now, did I truly recognise Christmas in the city.
As I walked back to Hawks hostel after parting ways with Yeorgia, I felt myself hankering for a sweet supper.
I don’t know what this first thing is, exactly. I’ll call it an almond sugar scone – it was too dry, too sweet, and despite its sweetness didn’t have much distinguishing flavour. But I made up for it with my next buy. Wandering into a bakery by Omonoia square, I bought a croissant drizzled in white and milk chocolate and filled with hazelnut cream.
Can safely say with confidence – the croissant I have eaten tonight is the best croissant I have ever eaten.
