The holy island

Mid-august in Greece is very hot and humid. Fifteenth of August in the rocky island of Tinos is despise its reputation of been a holy island and the island of Maria, is like hell. Burning hot and even though sometimes the wind from the Aegean Sea is strong doesn’t help much. You just have to stand for a couple of minutes under the sun to understand. And that’s something difficult to avoid. Not many trees around just some dry bushes here and there.

The nights are different. Soft wind from the sea and the smooth smell of all the night flower that bloom in that blessed island.

“Be careful, there are steps here, you will fall!” and it was the third time that shriek voice this woman we had just met in the port was yelling at me and she was saying for the third time exactly the same thing. The last two times was when we passed the garden door and once more on the hallway going to the room my grandmother had red for three nights.

“Be careful, here is the step!” and while I was turning my face towards her really angry ready to say something not very polite the eminent step found its way in front of my feet and I found my self on the floor with a plastic bag full of fresh apricots melting under my weight and the speed of my fall. My grandmother didn’t say anything, just stood there next to that fat strange woman staring at me.

My face had turned totally red, like an Easter egg and I could feel my ears shaking and burning. I get this thing when I’m …sentimentally overwhelming even now I grew up. Of course nobody wants to admit that my ears shake, nobody wants to understand what am talking about, neither my friends nor the two wives I had, different times!

>>> continues in the next.