Ouzo & Bouzouki!
A night on the tiles, Greek style!
Amongst the packing, sorting, selling and admin we found a moment with The Richardsons to enjoy the local sounds of a Greek ouzeri. (Thanks in part to Long Summer’s new owners, who very kindly babysat all the kids for us! More on that to come…!)
One evening after dinner we wandered over to a local bar to try out their ouzo and listen to some traditional folk music. After being promised that the band would come on at 9.30pm and then 10.30pm, in typical Greek fashion they finally picked up their instruments sometime after 11pm. But it was worth the wait, of course! We were treated to that most authentic sound of Greece; the bouzouki. This long-necked lute (reminiscent of a mandolin) is the country’s most beloved instrument. Its sharp metallic sound is easily recognisable, especially when songs build in tempo à la Zorba the Greek!
And so, the band struck up the music. Our bouzouki player let his fingers expertly dance over the fretboard, filling the room with that unique Greek sound. He was accompanied by a guitarist who deftly played along with a cigarette permanently fixed between his strumming fingers, and two vocalists; one who occasionally added in a few percussion accents, and another who chain-smoked all night. The resulting harmonies conveyed the emotion of a nation.
It was a mood that moved the small crowd to dance. Patrons took turns to get up from their tables and step out slow, silent choreography, with hands resting on neighbour’s shoulders. Others got down on one knee beside them, clapping along leisurely. At one point, packets of napkins were handed out by the landlord so that patrons could throw fistfuls of paper over the dancers like giant confetti. When the makeshift dance floor became too slippery, the paper was comedically moved to the edge of the restaurant with a mini leaf blower.
The absurdities continued when at a certain hour large panes of glass were carried aloft through the bustling festivities like something from a slapstick sitcom. It was time to close the alfresco dining and shutter in the noise and smoke, remindful of an old pub lock-in. The landlord’s wife (dressed head to toe in white and oversized sunglasses in the dark), oversaw proceedings from the bar, dealing only in cash and noting down sales by hand in her ledger.
As the only foreigners in the joint, we were eventually summoned to try out our best Greek moves. We self-consciously tripped over our own feet while kindly encouraged on by the locals. All the while the musicians plucked away unfazed in the corner for hours. In this little taverna hidden down a laneway in the middle of a modest city, locals breezily socialised through the night and Greece’s zest for life was captured in one room.