A new and perplexing problem has arisen here in the land of oil and wine. Nobody seems to be able to stop eating. One problem is that food is really cheap. It's 5 euros for dinner, and 1.50 for a gyro. And the bread is, for some reason, really tasty. So we eat a lot of bread, and gyros, and dinner at 11 pm because that's how the Greeks do. (Yo.) And, oh my God, there is an endless supply of Kinder eggs here! It's like sweet crack with toys inside. We've almost assembled an entire Kinder egg toy soccer team from my stash. Unfortunately, we're not really doing much except eating on the weekends. We eat, and then, while eating, we discuss how fat we're going to get. Afterwards, it turns out that we're still hungry, so we eat more.
I'm starting to come around to the non-existent Mediterannean work ethic. On Saturday, we spent four hours sitting in the square drinking coke and eating gyros and talking about...the various uses of the aorist in Attic Greek (among other things!). It was pretty awesome (kind of like our previous Pierce brunch extravaganzas, but in a nicer climate). But then we couldn't figure out how to get the check and sent James in to negotiate. James returned saying that he had tried to sign language his way into a check, and that they had suggested that he wanted a "pota" and he agreed. "They might bring us the check," he explained, "or a turkey." Actually, it was a cup of tea. Almost.
Other than this, things are ok. I've decided that I hate Greek people in general for two primary reasons: 1) We can't talk to each other except to say "Mia milopita" (one apple pie), and 2) As a result, they mostly just yell at me to do incomprehensible things. So my impression is that they're surly, angry, and either very young or very old. I think the age thing is a matter of premature Slavic/Balkan aging that happens to all Eastern Europeans when they turn 35. It's like nature's way of saying, "Be grateful you're living any longer than this, surly salami-eating people."