T O T K a t

For 24 hours, the road outside the cottage became a river. The rain was impressive drops, ten times the size of our crappy British rain. And it was a bit cooler for a while afterwards. But still the mosquitoes came. 26 is the current count, including the one on the palm of my hand. The palm, goddammit! So here I am wearing jeans and socks and shoes, in near as dammit 30° and I'm not even feeling that hot. We sat and had coffee and tart in the Art Cafe earlier: Greek coffee, apparently a dying vice with the advent of frappes in these parts. The coffee was served in little copper pots and were thick with sludgey grounds which should be left to settle after pouring. The cafe seems to be the place where the British ex-pats hang out, at least in the morning, and drink frappes and eat apple tart.