Sometimes it's nice to just stop and enjoy village life. When offered coffee by hospitable strangers this is the best opportunity to do just that. In the village of Finiki we stopped at a shop to resupply to eat further down the road. Curiosity got the better of the locals s we had seriously strayed of the beaten path. "Where are you from?" "Here have some bread!" "Do you know about our church?" "Hey Gianni come over here and meet these people from Canada!" "I'm giving you some peanuts from Kalamta." "Can I offer you a coffee?"
As we slowly drank our cold frappes we learned that the shop we were sitting in front of got it's start as a crate of candies sold in the street. The business eventually grew into the main shop in Finiki. The founder, now 74, is still spritely and still goes out to work in his orange and olive groves. He never sits still.
While drinking our coffee I observed a troop of children coming and going from the house on the corner in front of us. They had beautiful dark skin and looked different from most Greeks. I was curious about why they weren't in school. We were told: "They're the children of migrant workers from Bulgaria - Gypsies." "They don't go to school because they don't have their shots."
I thought to myself, or because they're gypsies. I was fascinated by these beautiful and delightfully happy kids. One of the girls spoke some virtually accentless words of English. Amazed at where such English might be coming from without going to school in such a tiny village, Basil learned that she had a relative who spoke some English. The conversation was going along quite nicely until the pretty little thing rendered Basil completely speechless by innocently and quite clearly asking him, "What is...........Motherfuckingsonofabitch?" I guess there is no Greek equivalent for that.
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