Welcoming

The early morning flight had left him so tired that when he reached the hotel he had to tell her he badly needed a good rest.  She had been so kind as to pick him up at the airport. She had made some plans for the day. He apologized. She understood. They could meet later for a light dinner. Lying flat on the bed of his room he felt the weight of his fatigue, anticipating the pleasure of a short nap. Wouldn't it be nice? It most certainly would. 

 

Sleep would not come though. Unforeseen circumstances in the form of shouts and yells from a multitude of schoolkids conspired against him getting any sleep. His room - oh well - happened to be overlooking a school's playground where some sort of carnival celebration was going on despite it being a sunday afternoon. He longed for the silence that fills those few hours after lunch on a sunday afternoon in any Mediterranean city, the heat, a soft breeze gently ruffling the curtains of a half-opened window, and, topping it all, the monotonous background sound of the cicadas softly driving your body to a profound slumber, a trickle of drool at the corner of your mouth. That trademarked silence was nowhere to be found. It was being most brutally broken by a bunch of cheap hit songs at full volume. The cheapness was notorious, every single crappy hit was aired - Shakira's, Enrique Iglesias', Lady Gaga's, chart-toppers from all sorts of influential luminaries of present-day culture. This was a lot however so unmistakably characteristic of what one is likely to expect in this kind of celebrations in any Greek city that it made him smile against his pillow (and against his will). It was no surprise, it was just what he should've somehow expected.