Soon
after leaving Santorini, Greece in 1988, I gave some serious
thought
to returning and spending more time. It’s a lovely place,
old
world charm, majestic Aegean Sea, traditional Greek food and
drink,
music, dancing, far removed from the chain commercialism,
a
refreshing respite, a change from the everyday hustle-bustle, hum
drum
crazy of the USA. Besides, my grandfather came from Greece.
I
might support myself doing caricatures of the tourists. Perhaps
I
could assist at one of the local hostels and inns doing mainten-
ance
and odd jobs. I’ve always had a romantic streak in me, and
this
could be my ticket to realizing one of my wild exotic dreams—
sunny
days on the beach writing my poetry, brilliant evening sun-
sets,
fresh seafood to eat, copious amounts of retsina an ouzo to
drink,
and lots of Greek music and dancing every night.
Funny
how fantastic dreams never seem to include hardships invol-
ved
with such a drastic move. Well, as it so often happens with pas-
sing
time, I came to my senses and had a change of mind. Notice,
the
key word here is, mind. I left me heart behind living my fanciful
dream
in Santorini.
I
returned to my boring 8 to 5 work routine in the good old USA. I did,
however,
buy a Greek fisherman’s hat. And the local liquor store pro-
vided
me with all the ouzo and retsina I could ever need. I bought a
couple
of Manos Hadjidakis and Yanni CDs, purchased a small fan to
replicate
a mild sea breeze, and cooked up some Dolmades and Mous-
saka
to eat.
Granted
all the substitutes don’t quite measure up to the genuine
article
of Santorini, Greece, but when I scream “Opa!” from
the top
of
my lungs, the tenants
in the apartment next door surely must be
wondering
where in the world is
that
lunatic from? What can I say,
folks?
It’s
my inheritance; it’s
part
of me.
It’s
is in my blood, Greece!
-30-
Chris
Hanch 4-29-2020
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