AMORGOS BY CHRIS KONTOS
My first swim at Mouros this August in Amorgos was one of spiritual and cleansing experiences of the last year. One a desolate piece of land, two bodies in their shameless nakedeness, underwear dropped casually on a rock, the wind whispering to my ears secrets for my sake only. I can swear I listened to the gods for an instance, calling me.
The next morning at Parvas on old sailor shared his fables from trips to Japan, and New Zealand. In fact he told us if he could live in another place on the world except Amorgos, that place would be New Zealand. We also bought some goat cheese from him. A salty dynamite that soothes the soul and asks for a morning raki. He had to ask his daughter to bring the cheese from the village or Arkesini that he likes to call Massachusetts, because it’s where he goes to escape when he feels trapped by family life.
The sun was pouring like gold over Pirgos the next evening. The last dying rays of the star were pink, the white painted walls swallowed every bit of them greedily while we devoured the last drops of olive oil in our plate using pieces of bread.
Until next year.
