Tonight was our last dinner in Matala. And the last place we’ll be sleeping to the sound of anything but the ocean. We’ll miss the t-shirts with peace signs and profiles of Joni Mitchell. I came close to buying one with a VW bus on the front. Gary and I had a beat-up red one, high on mileage and no parking brake. It would have been a sentimental purchase.
It’s close to the end of the season and places are beginning to wind down. There are still lots of tourists around, enough to keep most of the restaurants busy and the general feeling upbeat. We ate at another beachside restaurant where you go into the kitchen and pick out you food. They had the second best marides (fried smelts) I have ever tasted. The first best was at Karen Graham’s parent’s house in maybe 1972. We fried them in the middle of the night, squeezed lemon juice over them and sitting on the kitchen floor, polished them off like French fries.