Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Writing

Day 177

We stayed up too late last night because we’d got a bit tired of all the same faces in the full-board hotel, faces we don’t actually much speak to because they’re mostly English. We were the same on our honeymoon in Veniceand Bellagio over 31 years ago, spending most of our time just in each other’s company or talking (trying to talk) to locals.

We spent a long time talking with Giorgo, the guy who owns the bar/restaurant which has the concession to the strip of beach we sit on each day. He came to sit with us towards the end of our evening and told us all about his life, the struggles the bar has been through since he opened it 10 years ago, and how he is a great believer in kindness, and how good things will happen to those who wait and work for them. He’s an impressive young man (20 years younger than me), and we met his wife K and daughter M. He works from 7am each day 7 days a week until well past midnight. We told him (although he wasn’t very convinced) that that kind of work ethic can be difficult to find in England nowadays (all generalisations are false, inc this one). And his co-workers are alongside him all the way.

My Greek vocabulary is improving, and I’ve managed to have at least two or three broken Greek conversations with G and others here on the beach, and with S back at the hotel. Part of me wants to stay here for at least six months so I could make myself fluent (and be warm).

It’s now past 5om local time, and I just popped back to the hotel for something. On the way back down here, I saw a lad carrying a pick-axe and a walking stick to a car. We need all sorts of tools to live.


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