After a couple of days ‘decompressing’ at our pool bar, we awake with a desire to wander.
A trek over the hill behind us takes us to Arillas, the neighbouring village. A seafront complex, that we come across, ticks all the boxes on the Turquoise Pool/Palm Leaf Sunshades/Cold beer/No Muzak /No Europop /Wonderful Lunch card!
Rhu is ecstatic which is quite infectious!
I awake to the sounds of religious choral singing coming rolling down the hill. It lasts for about an hour and is amazingly relaxing. I never manage to establish whether this is actually being amplified from a church/chapel or whether it is some antisocial Corfiot who’s just turned up the volume on the Greek version of Songs of Praise. As there’s no loud announcer’s voice or any sign of commercials at any point, I opt for the former.
An odd day. Up early, while the other two squared up to each other in the Great Corfu Snore-Off. Off to the bar to get some badly needed wifi. Today was a day we’d been looking forward to for several months, the last ever episode of Breaking Bad.
Having established that, with us being on the other side of the planet, then seeing it on the telly was a no-no and Netflix knew we were in the wrong territory. Downloaded the episode from a well known pirate site. It took over an hour. Back up to the house and watched it. So glad that it finished in the manner it did and a line was drawn under it, unlike The Sopranos.
We had decided a lazy day was in order, and so to the pool. Clouds were darkening and winds seriously strengthening. Before too long, the other two are concerned about the welfare of our washing and hurry off, back up the road, to ‘bring it in’. I elect to remain at the bar and stand guard over our paperbacks, sunglasses, cellphones and beer. A storm of biblical, if not Hollywood, proportions unleashes itself. I notice a man in long robes, and what is clearly his family, lead pairs of (married) animals, birds and beasts up the hill towards a large wooden construction that we clearly hadn’t taken notice of before.
A small child being cuddled by his grandfather kept staring at me and saying “Papas, Papas!”. This caused much hilarity to everyone except myself (not being a Greek speaker)
Papas it turns out is Greek for Priest.
Greek priests must be an odd lot if they sit about talking nonsense, drinking Corfu Real Ale, waxing their facial hair and wearing Magic Band tee-shirts!
Strolling back up the path, post deluge, in the nearby bushes I hear what is either a mentally disturbed turkey or a militant faction of the Lilliputian Liberation Front on manouevres.
Rain comes rushing at us across the sea from Albania. We’re standing at the highest point in the village looking over the sea at a sharp line, in the surf, hurtling towards us like something from 1950’s atomic blast footage. It crosses my mind that I may/must have inadvertantly pissed off Umbrellus the God of Rain, recently!
This deluge only lasts long enough for us to see off a beer and then it’s gone as quickly as it arrived.