It's all Greek to me

Three Saturdays ago I sat on a sofa in the seaside village of Akrata, Greece. A long row of windows providing incredible views of the Mediterranean, as the house is situated on a hill, thus avoiding any obstruction of the view. Although, seated on that sofa, I wasn't absorbed in what lay outside; the situation occurring inside was ten times more riveting.

Freda, a friend of mine's mother, her son Alex and his girlfriend Aurelie were in a discussion trumping all discussions. Their voices raised, spewing out Greek so fast it left my head spinning. (Not that I understand the language no matter how slowly it's spoken). But the dialog appeared so intense it was as if the world would end in five minutes unless they, and they alone, could find a way to stop its eminent destruction.

Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth it went until at one point Alex stopped, looked at me, and stated: "We're just figuring out what to get at the grocery store."

Naturally.