A Certain Address

The Beach Hut lies equidistant from the tax office and the cemetery. It’s five minutes east for this life, five minutes west for the next. Benjamin Franklin would be pleased. Yes, even in Greece, there’s no getting over the fact that immortality ended with the Gods and taxes started with The Crisis. Here we are, on this warm and sunny week, welcoming Spring. The hardiest swimmers on the beach have had their ranks swollen by sunbathers and curious paddlers. With the sunbathers come the attendant gawkers, standing on the promenade with their feeble excuses for staring (stretching before running, tying up shoelaces, fixing the bicycle, making a phone call – all Sisyphean tasks, natch). The sea lies flat now, a quiet murmur at night where it touches the shore. The full moon was able to cast a broad, unbroken, glow on Sunday night. The restaurants and caf├ęs along the promenade are bustling, especially at the weekend with the Lenten seafood eaters. More tourists are arriving, the first cruise ship of the year came in on Wednesday. Noticeable for their temperature appropriate clothing (the rest of us are only just being prized from our ‘winter wardrobe’), they enjoy the sun and the sights without the summer crush. Passing the not-so-new marina development in search of development, I have counted a maximum of 11 men and 2 dogs working down there. I’m told there are officially fifty workers (men and/or dogs, not sure). There is activity, there is change, there is movement, but nothing is ever finished… In other news, the Kolonna boardwalk marches on while the Amboise Gate project has actually speeded-up and may be ready next month or May or…

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