Finals, feta and a farewell to summer: PART 2
What’s more, after the Greeks departed back to their lives Athens, it seemed that the culinary delights didn’t stop there.
Indeed, I must admit that having sold his last pizzeria ten years ago, I never thought I’d see my dad dish up another pizza…especially not overlooking the Aegean Sea from one of Tinos’s 80 or so windmills…
Exhibit A. Armed once more with teatowel and pizza stick, it wasn’t long before the obligatory Italian temperament was fired up along with about 20 pizzas.
Having stumbled upon a beautiful restored windmill during an after-dinner stroll along with its more than hospitable owner, we were consequently invited back one night for a rather surreal evening of German company, Elvis classics, and pizza making out of a beautifully constructed stone oven under the stars and overlooking the island of Syros. Ironically it wasn’t upon arrival that our hosts actually discovered my dad wasn’t only a chef but, if I may say so myself, one of the best Italian pizza makers you could wish for.
And so with a few weeks of views like these, coupled with all the Greek feta and Kalamata olives in the world, one couldn’t complain really.
In fact, after a fortnight of Greek sunshine and the notoriously strong winds of the Aegean, I had almost forgotten the tribulations of our outbound journey. It wasn’t until our arrival at the island of Mykonos and its not-so-plush and rather fly ridden airport that we were reminded of how no Lussana journey could be complete without its fair share of dramas. And ours certainly weren’t over yet. After being told my EasyJet that our flight had been overbooked and that we were subsequently being placed on standby (which resulted in us having to spend the entire afternoon in the airport until the plane had actually boarded in the hope that people would not turn up) it was finally concluded that we wouldn’t be returning home that day. However, despite our tired states and by this time, having laden our cases with honey and olives galore from Duty Free, it turned out that not catching that flight was somewhat of a little blessing in disguise.
I can’t deny that after two weeks of cooking ourselves in the middle of nowhere from a rather scarce source of supplies, I certainly wasn’t going to turn down a little EasyJet-funded luxury for just one night at least.
And so another rather surreal trip was concluded. However, they say that mishaps occur in threes. Perhaps there is some truth to this after all as my family and I soon discovered once we finally found ourselves on a plane home the following afternoon. After having said our goodbyes to our new friend and fellow EasyJet victim Siobhan, along with Mykonos’s team of flight attendants (with whom by this point we had become quite acquainted) the final calamity of the trip took place in the form of some sort of allergic reaction/panic attack suffered by yours truly en route.
Safe to say I made it home in one piece and am alive and well to tell the tale. I have since, however, come to the conclusion that I simply seem to attract drama wherever I go. Talking of which, unless I want to be packing at 2am the night before I leave to go back to Warwick (as was the case when I left for my six months in South America) I should probably start conditioning myself out of holiday mode.