I taught Sergio how to take corners and he instilled in me the (Italian) importance/imperative/necessity of having a coffee and a cake in the morning. "We need to find a bar" (cafe) is ringing in my ears. The weather got hotter the further South we rode, estimate late 20's early 30's.
We are at Stylida near Lamia. We found a campsite the Camping Interstation, with green grass, bloomen and a bar serving Amstel and Heineken. Three guess who runs this campsite. The barman, in his orange 'T' shirt, is the owners son. Greek father, Dutch mother and his name is Stelio, the barmaid is Anna. A few drinks in and were reminiscing about 'Manear de Owl' and ' Pippy long couse' (I lived in Nederland for 2 years from the age of six) which will mean nothing to most of you but was part of my childhood TV viewing.
We broken the golden rule of bike touring, which is TSB: tent, swim then beer. No other combination, unless it starts with T. We arrived swam in the sea and got on the beers, hence my tent looks like a bouncy castle at the end of a party. Still at least it's up not like last year in deepest darkest (Basque Separatist region) Spain when my brother tried to sleep wrapped in his tent fly-sheet before it thundered and lightning in the middle of the night.
We had pleasant evening in the local town piazza, at La Piazza restaurant sitting out al fresco . I think it's great when the old folk sit out and socialise. We need some of that in the UK. The youngsters were posing on there mopeds and in their Carlos-fan-dango cars, but our bikes were the stars that night. A barmy evening.