Girl Gone Greek by Rebecca Hall Read Free Book Online Page A

looked up from his marking. I gave him a questioning look, but he wouldn’t elaborate further…I soon understood.
    The small village where the school was located had the main highway to Athens cutting through the middle of it. I say ‘highway’—this consisted of only two lanes. Outside a
periptero
—a small yellow kiosk found everywhere in Greece selling newspapers, magazines, cigarettes and sweets, the newsagent’s equivalent—was a small shelter, a sign with a crudely drawn bus attached to it. This, I assumed correctly, was the bus stop.
    Once on board, I saw most people were sitting on the aisle seat with their belongings stacked next to them, occupying the otherwise empty window seat.
Surely they’ll just see me and move their things to make room
, I reasoned, but no, it seemed that Greek bus logic was different. I began to feel uncomfortable after standing beside a middle aged lady for half a minute, and the bus was on its way already. She showed no signs of moving or even acknowledging my existence, so I cleared my throat, pointed to the window seat beside her, and smiled. She slowly tilted her head in my direction, placed her sunglasses on top of her head and making direct eye contact, she snorted and indicated the row behind with a jab of her thumb. I glanced at the alternative suggestion, but the aisle seat next to the empty window seat was occupied by an Orthodox priest.
Is it taboo for a female to sit next to a priest?
I knew it wasn’t allowed in Sri Lanka, so I once again pointed to the spare seat next to the woman. She responded by crossing her arms, closing her eyes, and pretending to fall asleep.
    It was time to get down and dirty. I was fed up by this point, so grabbing the woman’s belongings, I placed them in the overhead rack and squeezed myself into the seat next to her. I contemplated treading on her foot, but didn’t, yet braced myself for some sort of retaliation, given my brazenness. I was surprised when she shuffled slightly to allow me to manoeuvre past—albeit with lots of tutting and muttering, but nothing worse. Clearly she didn’t begrudge me doing any of her work and so, having won that particular round, I mentally licked my index finger and drew a ‘one’ in the air, smiling as the bus trundled through the growing dusk to the village.
Mastered the art of dealing with the locals on buses; don’t take any rubbish from them.
    After a 15 minute ride, the bus pulled up outside a taverna in my village—this was our bus stop. Here I found Kaliopi standing in jogging pants and running shoes. I grinned at my new friend, who was bouncing up and down on the spot. She grabbed my hand, “Come. I’ve done another six kilo run and need a coffee and baklava…you’re joining me.”
    “Kilometre Kaliopi, it’s Kilometre” I decided her English education would start now.
    “Yes, you and your bendy/flexible/kilo/kilometre…whatever. ‘You say tom-
ah
-to, I say tom-
ay
-to’ blah blah…let’s just go get coffee.”
    “Go
and
get coffee…” I started, but stopped yet again with an internal shrug of my shoulders. Plenty of time to correct my bombastic friend.
    Settling into our riverside spot with the refreshments, Kaliopi shook out a crumpled cigarette of some indeterminate local make, lit it with a disposable Bic and held it between her manicured fingers, attempting to blow a smoke ring, frowning as she failed to.
    “A cigarette...after jogging?”
    She patted my knee and blew smoke from the side of her mouth, “My dear, you haven’t been in Greece long enough to know that everything about this country, including its people, is contradictory. Give it time; you’ll see. Now, how was your second full day at school?”
    I mentally rehashed my day:
    “
Kyria
Rachel, thank you for saying not a thing to
Kyria
Stella, she likes to pull the ear” Konstantinos had said that afternoon. I hadn’t had time to ponder if this was an exaggeration, a mis-use of the phrase ‘pull my