INTOXICATING TASTE OF FREEDOM ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON…

Last Sunday marked the picking up of where we had left off, the revisiting of old habits missed so dearly. We were resuming our Sunday lunches out, now that restaurants have been given the green light to serve meals outdoors. No more cooking at home on Sundays or ordering a takeaway and devouring it in front of the TV while watching a replay of Friends…good riddance to that meaningless boring stuff. But before hitting the road, I needed something to wear. My winter clothes were an untidy mess in the cupboard, drab and tired looking. Their wooliness made me itch all over. I stepped out on the balcony of our room to test the weather, stretching out my arms and feeling the spring sun gently warming my skin with a hint of a cool breeze rustling up…` What could I wear?…What do I have?’ I needed to step into something light and easy to shake off that dreary winter that confined us indoors, clipped our wings and turned us into couch potatoes…` Yes a nice t-shirt over a slim fitting pair of jeans and then casually throw a thin cardigan over my shoulders …and step out to a delightfully fresh beginning.

But the snag was this…I needed to descend into the basement where our summer clothes were tucked away in a huge wall to wall cupboard. Every year, when the season was over, I used to slavishly, with the help of the cleaning lady, take all our clothes downstairs to the basement…all the casual clothes were folded away neatly and the good clothes were hung up. But two years ago I had one of these brainwaves to cut corners and simplify my life. I got four enormous sturdy shopping bags, folded and squeezed all the clothes into them, lugged them down and shoved them into the cupboard. When the season changed I would bring the bags up, sort out the clothes and drag the next batch down…very easy, just a matter of bags going up and down. So I went downstairs and peeked into the summer bags and started pulling things out. They were a dismal lot.

I ended up with my favourite brick coloured t-shirt, a little worn out but not too dowdy and a pair of trousers, elasticated at the waist because the jeans I had been intending to wear were squeezing my tummy to death. They may have shrunk in the wash…that’s what I’d like to think…no harm in a little positive thinking. Then I slipped into my trainers…at least they still fitted me…and looked at myself in the mirror. Gosh! I looked so outdated and jaded… The problem is that after the long lockdown when your only outing was the supermarket and you threw on any old thing… you tend to fall behind and lose the knack of putting a few numbers together and pulling off an interesting look. But then, come to think of it, even before the lockdown, my Saturday night friend and I would lament about our clothes as we were returning to the car park with brains drizzled with wine and tongues wagging freely… the bright boys, our spouses whistling and waving and shouting out to us… …` Hey! Pou pate?’  [Where are you going?]….our total absorption in the pathetic state of our clothes was taking us on a course straight past the car park.

We weren’t buying anything new because we couldn’t find a thing that would flatter the very essence of who we were… AND WHO WERE WE?… We were two individuals who couldn’t find clothes that would give expression to our personalities … and besides, they only seem to be whirring off clothes for young people. We were the marginalized lot, reduced to wearing old favourites or risk looking like mutton dressed as lamb. I remember walking down town behind a woman, clad in a mini skirt, black tights and knee length boots. Her hair was all bouncy and had a brilliant sheen to it…` I wonder what she looks like from the front?’ I thought… and just then two young men whizzed past on a motorbike. The pillion rider turned back with a grin to look at the woman and whistle at her… he stopped short and shouted to his friend over the roar of the engine…` GRIA EINAI!!!’ [ SHE’S AN OLD WOMAN!!!] So we were having none of that…no need to look ridiculous. We just needed clothes that would reflect our… AGELESSNESS and throw in a little sophistication into the bargain. 

So there I was, on Sunday afternoon, looking into the mirror, wondering what I could do about my washed out look…maybe a few little tweaks to the trousers to make me look a little more hip. I turned them up a little at the ankle and…OH YES…I looked a little carefree and as the French would say, it’s all about `attitude’…the way you carry yourself…the impression you give…hoodwinking the world with the magic of pretense. I had picked up on one of Shakespeare’s pearls of wisdom, clattering on the floor over the ages …` All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.’…and now… I could feel that hint of nonchalance easing into my stride.

 But what did any of that matter anyway? The bottom line was that the restaurants were open and we could sit outside with other people and feel the throb of the human race again…` Where shall we go? ‘ we asked each other. The answer came loud and clear with a ring of excitement in our voices…to our familiar seafood restaurant at the old port of Chania. The tables and chairs set out under the tent, were occupied by a few families, people like us who had come for an early lunch to avoid the crowds that would slowly build up over the afternoon. We were there nice and early…the early birds, the eager beavers. The waiters knew us well and greeted us like long lost friends…` Kalos oreisate! Kalos oreisate!’ [ Welcome! Welcome! ]  they echoed each other, beaming with delight and showing us to our comfortable corner. Then they brought out our favourite beverage…a Sauvignon blanc…chilled, aromatic, crisp and dry.  It was such a gorgeous afternoon, sunny and breezy with swallows scattered in the sky, flying like scraps of paper blown up in a gust and boats rocking in the blue embrace of the marina…and real live people around us, chatting and eating and clinking their glasses.

Cheers to a wonderful summer!