There’s a beach on Paros where the rocks produce the perfect mudpack. People have been going there for years, happily assisting erosion of the hills as they chip, crush and plaster themselves in mud to achieve a youthful complexion.
Mom took us there yesterday and we smeared mud all over ourselves and each other. The clay mask really does work… This is what I looked like before:
This is what I look like now.
This is what I actually looked like during.
That photo should have come with a warning. I do apologise.
Here are more scary photos – notice I’m sparing you the pics of me in a bathing suit.
|Pretty girls who really don’t need the magical qualities of the mud…|
|Me and my mom, who do…|
|Inge and her daughters|
Have I mentioned that my friend Inge is visiting from Holland? Inge and I met on Paros in… when I was 17 years old. Some numbers are best kept to myself. We’ve been friends ever since. I’d visit her in Holland, she’d visit me in Greece every year, then I left for Australia and she’s never forgiven me.
For some strange reason I’ve always loved Holland. Its almost like I belong there if that makes sense. I always felt at home and not like I was in a foreign country – if you ignore the fact that I can’t actually speak the language.
And that’s another thing. I’ve always loved the sound of dutch and the dutch accent in english. Almost like I lived in Holland in a previous life…
Maybe I was Rembrandt.
…Ever notice how everyone who claims to be reborn was always someone famous?
Yep. I was actually a rat, living under the mattress of the woman who cleaned Rembrandt’s studio and once gnawed on a canvas he threw away… That would explain why I love art but can’t actually speak dutch.
Whenever I come to Europe I catch up with Inge and her family. I’ve watched her kids grow up from cute babies to gorgeous adults. I learned to change nappies on her oldest daughter. That’s just the kind of thing to mention in front of her friends.
Its been great having Inge and 2 of her daughters here on Paros again after so many years. We tell them stories about our youth and they laugh and laugh. It fun introducing the girls to Paros for the first time.
Only thing is, having friends and visitors means entertaining. Not me entertaining them as such, but going out, eating, going places, eating, going swimming, eating.
I’m so over eating. I mean that both ways. Overeating and over eating.
I’m trying not to eat much but when you’re faced with greek salads, fried zucchini, tzatziki, greek bread and pan fried potatoes… well, what’s a person to do?
I’m not hungry! I don’t want to eat! I swear. They force me to!!!
I was hoping for my ideal holiday: hours on the beach, reading, swimming, reading, swimming, walking, shopping, reading, swimming, eating. Pretty much in that order.
I can’t complain though. I love seeing them. Inge is as much family to me as my brother. At least she and I never argued over onion breath in my bedroom and who could burp loudest. After they go I can (maybe) do the humbug thing a bit and blame old age and living in Australia too long for having to stay home and go to bed early now and then.
Its very un-greek… but I enjoy being here without having to go out every night.