Athens
I left Athens full of retsina and having been kissed by a man. The hostel we were staying at had a bar and the bartender was George.
“I’m George. George Bartender.”
I doubt his last name was actually Bartender, unless he shortened it from “Bartenderopolous.” This guy was all about the party and he’s been at if for over twenty years. He played some guitar.
“George, were you in a band?”
“Before Christ.”
I never found out if that was the date or the name of the band.
There were six women from Spain staying in a room. One evening was starting slowly so George called the Spanish women on the hostel phone.
“Hello ladies. It’s George Bartender. We are having party. When will you come?”
He threw up his hands when he found out that they wouldn’t be down for another hour.
“What do they have to do to get ready?! I don’t know.”
I was telling him about a great drink I had in Spain, tinta de verrana (sp?). It’s wine and Fanta, not a combination that I thought would work, but it’s really good. George said he could make me something like that, but better.
“George, what’s this called?”
“My Cold Blood”
At any given time, George usually had someone else working the bar for him, usually a pretty patron. Martha worked the bar for a bit. She learned to work the cash and make some kind of green drink. In fact, George got pretty flirty with Martha. He said that if we ever broke up, he’d be right there. I told him to stop making me jealous.
In Athens we saw most of the sites that we wanted to. We didn’t want to spend more than two nights in the city. It’s nice, but grimy and there’s not as much old broken stuff as Rome. On our last day, we had hours to kill before our night ferry left for Naxos, so we headed back to the hostel. George had just gotten up (it was around 6 or 7pm), and the bar was pretty slow. Martha got behind the counter, I took a stool and so did George. We chatted. He told us about his kids, who asked him if he’d ever grow up. He said he didn’t fear anything, just God, but he’d see Him in heaven. He poured us his special wine, which was retsina from a plastic bottle.
“This wine is only for bartender. I don’t sell this. Only for me. But I want you to have some.”
He showed us the letters other patrons had written him and said we should write him one. Both Martha and I scribbled something. In my letter I said that George would make a great bartender for God. When he read this I got kissed on both checks. What else could I do, I kissed him back!