Hello everyone. The long French summer continues...
We just got back from a week in Greece, at a beautiful island called Kea. It's the northern end of the Cyclades and the closest to Athens. Just an hour by boat and you're in paradise. An old friend of Christophe's mother, Gilles, has a house there, at the top of the main village Ilouria in the middle of the island. I've been to Greece only once before, on a memorable trip with Gab to Crete. We almost stayed to marry the moustachioed Cretans, but their build-like-a-brick-shithouse wives gave us the evil eye. So we moved on to better things...
Back in Kea, the routine was more sedate: brekky on the terrace (yoghourt and honey) then to one of the dozens of perfect beaches which can be reached only by driving along perilous dusty tracks, lunch at a local taverna, a long siesta or even a walk, then dinner. Ouzo, tzaziki, grilled lamb cutlets, sublime tomatoes. (Sorry to be laying this on in the middle of the Melbourne winter but I really do "wish you'd been there".) Apart from Gilles, our gayer than gay host, there was Jean Claude, his even gayer friend. Both are in their 70s and excellent company. JC is small with a huge grin, just like the rich bloke with the yacht who ends up with Jack Lemmon (Daphne?) in "Some like it hot". Plus he's got a great repertoire of show tunes. Gilles is a former diplomat and it shows, in a good way. Leo was with us and he was sweet, but silent... And Christophe of course, sweet and less silent.
It was no big adventure, but it was just like a summer holiday should be...
Here are the boys...
and here's one of the sunsets...
and here's the sign for the Church of St Nikolas...
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We just got back from a week in Greece, at a beautiful island called Kea. It's the northern end of the Cyclades and the closest to Athens. Just an hour by boat and you're in paradise. An old friend of Christophe's mother, Gilles, has a house there, at the top of the main village Ilouria in the middle of the island. I've been to Greece only once before, on a memorable trip with Gab to Crete. We almost stayed to marry the moustachioed Cretans, but their build-like-a-brick-shithouse wives gave us the evil eye. So we moved on to better things...
Back in Kea, the routine was more sedate: brekky on the terrace (yoghourt and honey) then to one of the dozens of perfect beaches which can be reached only by driving along perilous dusty tracks, lunch at a local taverna, a long siesta or even a walk, then dinner. Ouzo, tzaziki, grilled lamb cutlets, sublime tomatoes. (Sorry to be laying this on in the middle of the Melbourne winter but I really do "wish you'd been there".) Apart from Gilles, our gayer than gay host, there was Jean Claude, his even gayer friend. Both are in their 70s and excellent company. JC is small with a huge grin, just like the rich bloke with the yacht who ends up with Jack Lemmon (Daphne?) in "Some like it hot". Plus he's got a great repertoire of show tunes. Gilles is a former diplomat and it shows, in a good way. Leo was with us and he was sweet, but silent... And Christophe of course, sweet and less silent.
It was no big adventure, but it was just like a summer holiday should be...
Here are the boys...
and here's one of the sunsets...
and here's the sign for the Church of St Nikolas...
Μακάρι να ήσουν εδώ
