After reading this little story in Greek on the web, I decided to share its potent message with you by translating it.
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The reastaurant was on our right; the people came here for lunch after us.
"Sorry guys, there's no free table," said the restaurant owner, "except if you don't mind us setting up a table outside."
The lucky ones came late and they got the best table, while we all sat crammed indoors. We tried to enjoy our meal amidst the muzak of chomping jaws, the cries of the urban peasants shouting out every now and then "hey, koumbare, we ordered a beer, you forgot us". Screaming kids: "Aaaaaaaaaaa I want an ice-cream", and then their parents: "You can't have one, it's too cold."
My wife had recommended the restaurant. At one point, I couldn't tolerate the cuffufle any longer and I asked her: "Are you sure you brought me to the place you'd come to?" She asked me why I was asking. "Because I have the impression you've brought me to a madhouse."
When we eat, we Cypriots have some kind of penchant for talking too loudly, as if the person across us is a kilometre away. Sure, we are a lively people, but it doesn't have to come to this. All the while, those lucky ones were sitting outside enjoying the peace and quiet under the pine trees with the sounds of the singing birds, and they were being served as if they were the most prestigious of the elite.
And I ask myself, weren't they lucky?
"Sorry guys, there's no free table," said the restaurant owner, "except if you don't mind us setting up a table outside."
The lucky ones came late and they got the best table, while we all sat crammed indoors. We tried to enjoy our meal amidst the muzak of chomping jaws, the cries of the urban peasants shouting out every now and then "hey, koumbare, we ordered a beer, you forgot us". Screaming kids: "Aaaaaaaaaaa I want an ice-cream", and then their parents: "You can't have one, it's too cold."
My wife had recommended the restaurant. At one point, I couldn't tolerate the cuffufle any longer and I asked her: "Are you sure you brought me to the place you'd come to?" She asked me why I was asking. "Because I have the impression you've brought me to a madhouse."
When we eat, we Cypriots have some kind of penchant for talking too loudly, as if the person across us is a kilometre away. Sure, we are a lively people, but it doesn't have to come to this. All the while, those lucky ones were sitting outside enjoying the peace and quiet under the pine trees with the sounds of the singing birds, and they were being served as if they were the most prestigious of the elite.
And I ask myself, weren't they lucky?
I remember a cold wintery afternoon, sitting alone with my family in a cafe by the harbour. Everyone else was sitting outside bundled up in their coats and jackets, talking on their cell phones, talkign to each other, surrounded by clouds of cigarette smoke, while we had the place to ourselves, save the cafe owner's children...
©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.
Ig given a choice or restaurants I would choose the one in which I sat outside.
ReplyDeleteI always prefer to be outside, unless the patio is full of smokers. Many places here are tearing down their little patios now for the winter - they build it over the sidewalk and add a little boardwalk in their parking spaces, so pedestrians can get around it.
ReplyDelete