Yesterday while I was working the front desk at the hostel (how does that always happen to me?) a man entered the door. Probably 60 years old, a scraggly beard, weathered face, hair that hadn’t been cut in a year, and to top it off- he was bleeding profusely from his finger! Great.
I sat there, in the rain under a canopy of trees with the music pouring out the doors and windows, with wine in my glass and oil on my lips with a stupid smile across my face. In fact, it’s still there. I cannot help that it is the small things in life that make my heart sing.
I love this country and have since before I initially set foot in it. After my first trip in 2006 I thought back on this country as a magical place where the sky was unlike any other place in the world. The food, the people, the drinks, the language- I loved it all, and always thought back to it fondly.
Groups of people sitting outside their island style homes, cats & dogs meandering the streets, and friendly Greeks shouting at one another from their windows. Time to stop for a while.