As a touro it feels like I’m obliged to talk about the weather.

It’s hot.

Bit of a given considering it’s the Mediterranean summer; but it’s ‘feel your skin cooking’ hot, which is both awesome and burny.

Although most travel guides bang on about how easy it is for an English-speaking tourist to get around Athens, when you get to a distant seaside suburb like Kalamata, yeah not so much. We’re being routinely ignored by waiters who can’t be arsed speaking English. Most of the time we have our secret weapon, Angelo (my sister’s fiancé), to get us by; but the rest of the time – like when we’re sitting on the beach chairs, which you’re meant to pay for – we’re left alone. We may as well being signs that say IGNORANT WESTERN TOURISTS. In Greek, obviously, otherwise it’d compound the problem.

The alienation is a bit of a blessing and a curse, because I find conversation with them a bit painful. Most learnt English in school, but they don’t practice it often. You know it’s bad news when you say something to the hotel receptionist, like “Is there a problem with the wifi?”, and their eyes just gloss right over. Or you both play the repetition game to see if echoing each other will help any, which it never does. As such, there’s a limited amount of places you can take the conversation, so you find yourself constantly referring to the weather. It’s an easy out. The parents, meanwhile, prefix almost everything with, “In Australia…”

And all the Greeks sound like Borat. Seriously. “It is verrrry niiiice,” etc. One of them said “August” with the same rounded vowels as ‘anous’ the other day and I almost lost my shit.

Speaking of the locals, the talent isn’t as impressive as I would’ve thought considering that whole ‘Greek Adonis’ thing. But you know what it’s like when the climate gets a bit warmer… You see a bit of skin and you’re basically anyone’s. Well, I am at least.

The lifestyle here is fantastic though. Everyone seems to get up late, say 9am or so, then potter round until lunchtime, which is 3pm. They then go for a nap, waking at about 6pm to go the beach. Most of the beach is covered in cafés and bars that extend out in a mess of deck chairs and umbrellas, and everyone sits around drinking freddos – basically an ice coffee. But not coffee flavouring and milk; these are proper espressos tipped into a glass with ice. They’re like coffee that’s gone cold, but by that’s selling them short. If you want actual coffee that’s gone cold, Nescafé sells a feral canned version.

Dinner comes at around 10pm, which is terrible for the carb-conscious eater. And probably goes some length to explain why there’s no Adoni. (I assume that’s the plural of Adonis. If not, it is now.)

The food is great, and eating with the locals reveals something about the Greek attitude: they are fiercely patriotic. Everything from the fetta to the tomatoes to the olives to the meat is “the best in the world”. It’s admirable they think so highly of their produce (and it is pretty good), but as an Australian who’s used to conceding most of the country’s wares are average, it’s not something I’m used to. Like, when I worked at Sensis on Yellow Pages Online, if a restaurant wanted to place an ad saying that they were the best eatery in the suburb, they would have to back it up with an award that certified as such. And they never could, that’s why you see so many Yellow Pages ads that say “one of the best” – they don’t have to verify that because it’s so vague. Anyway, my point is, it’s all conjecture from the Greeks, but in their eyes, their trophy case is overflowing.

One thing that isn’t ‘the best in the world’, though, is their plumbing. There’s a sign outside my bathroom door that reminds me to “do not drop toilet paper in toilet seat”. Because the pipes are so old, they can’t withstand toilet paper. There’s a bin next to the toilet specifically for this purpose. Use your imagination to figure out the motions you would have to go through to wipe your ass and dispose of the tissue. I’ve never been one to check my own stool before but it’s kind of unavoidable here.

You never know, it could be like reading tea leaves. The story of my whole future may be smeered right under my nose. My destiny could be revealed on a scrunched up bit of bog roll.

You know, it’s probably best for me to just keep talking about the weather.