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It was hard to cut, not because anything major happens precisely why it had to go , but it details a place in Greece that I hold so very dear to my heart, a place where I spent most of the summers of my life. Today, older, more mature? I walk all the way to El Camino Restaurant, past it, and to the very edge of the town. A few houses on the left, noises can be heard. A Greek family comes out to take an afternoon swim, and as they smile, I greet them politely; then they are off. Pay Here. I walk across this forgotten dance floor and see tents sprawled on gravel and realize I have entered, unknowingly, into a camping area. This must be where my American friends stayed, a camping area at the end of town. Apart from the tents, there are small bungalows and people scattered throughout the grounds. The entire place looks run down, may have been nice at one time, but now has paint chipping off every building. I keep walking and find myself crossing a patch of land that has weeds all the way up to my waist. There is a small path, so I continue to follow it. When I reach the end of the path there is a large eight-foot fence that encloses the camping area. On the other side of the fence, there is a road. I follow the fence all the way as it curves to the right and then—it ends in the sea, literally in the sea. A couple meters of fence are built right into the water, and then just end abruptly like a bad joke; rusty wiring gets splashed with the afternoon waves. The water is neck-deep, no way to get around it. I notice around fifteen feet to the left, closer to the street, a part of the fence is pulled back exposing a hole the size of a large dog. I bend down and maneuver my way through the space, the fence scratching my back slightly. Like Alice in Wonderland, I am on the other side, but it is no wonderland—just a small, dirty beach. I see a sign on the street that points north. Still, I keep walking. So I am back on the paved road. There are a few houses that face the beach. I pass two women who are wearing tennis shoes and seem to be doing a sort of jog-walk. They both have huge breasts and skinny legs. They are talking loudly, arms flailing with exaggerated gesticulations; I hear something about the bastard husband. I keep on walking and see a tavern on the left side of the road; on the beach, to the right, under a thatched roof, they have set up some tables. A young boy, early teens, who assumes the role of a waiter, stares from across the street, beckoning me to sit at a table. He is standing by a cooler, and I am dying of thirst. Making my way to his side of the street, he greets me as I ask to buy some water. All they have are two-liter bottles, so I end up getting a Coca Cola with a straw. I pay the woman inside, and she says they have delicious seafood if I want to come back for dinner. I thank her and keep walking. I look over my shoulder in search of the glorious white church that marks the center of Kamena Vourla. It barely looks like a grain of salt in the horizon and realize I must be walking now for several hours. I have no idea what time it is, but there is a slight breeze. I reach a small pier. There are some boats tied to it, and on the other side of the street is some sort of park. I can hear a lot of kids screaming. Something bites my arm, and I realize that there are a lot of mosquitoes. I need to turn around. More cars are on the road now, and they are going faster and faster. I can feel my hair blow up when they zoom by. My legs are so tired. I must be walking now for three, maybe four hours? I wave, but he does not slow down as there are people in the back seat. He is going towards Kenourio, opposite of Kamena Vourla. I keep my eyes peeled in case he comes back this way, hoping he will see me on the return. I wave frantically, but he zips past me as I feel the blood rush from my head and fall into my stomach in a heavy, sickly way. I am so, so tired. Then, suddenly, the taxi slows down and the brake lights illuminate the night. The driver turns into a dirt road, and he is gone again. I run about fifty feet and see the dark road he turned down. I hear all sorts of noises: cicadas, owls, slithering sounds in the weeds. It looks like the perfect setting for a Hollywood horror film. I quickly turn around and wait at the corner of the dirt road. An interminable wait, probably only five to ten minutes , then I hear a car coming again, and, anxiously, my heart beats faster. It is the taxi again, coming back a bit slower. I can see there is an older woman in the backseat who does not look happy. He rolls down his window and just looks at me. I ask if he is going back in Kamena Vourla and that I would like a ride. I will pay of course. I get into the front seat since she is sprawled in the middle of the back and makes no effort to readjust herself. My heart beat begins to settle. Still, I feel like I have been saved. I was hungry, weak, cold, and already covered with bites and a few blisters. And I was a bit afraid. Not of any real danger except possibly of being run over. But I did feel so alone. A red car speeds by. Share this: Twitter Facebook. Like Loading Leave a comment Cancel reply. Comment Reblog Subscribe Subscribed. Sign me up. Already have a WordPress. Log in now. Design a site like this with WordPress.
This is a deleted scene from my novel RED GREEK TOMATOES. It was hard to cut, not because anything major happens (precisely why it had to.
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In I spent a night near Lake Kerkini in northern Greece, at the Hotel Villa Belles. I caught two Macedonian Mice in grassland along the.
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