Wednesday 28th September 1983
I awoke to a breakfast of bread and cheese spread (double ration as George declined to indulge) and we checked out and awaited the ferry to Thassos. Fishermen mended their nets and a local hooked a large fish which floundered on the quayside. The crossing was slow and calm (unlike 1979 when the the sea was rough and the decks were awash with passengers vomit) and Thasos Island emerged from the haze.
We put in at an obscure God-forsaken hell ten miles from Thasos and after kicking George’s reluctant bike into life we roared along familiar roads and into Thassos Town. Young World’s “Greek Village” had moved out wholesale to Golden Beach, but the town was the same as ever, and four years fell away like a discarded shroud. The sun beamed from an azure sky and we decided to park up and continue our investigations on foot. As we bumped our bikes over a high curb fate dealt it’s joker and my trusty charger was dealt a mortal blow. The oil bleeder nut on the bottom of the engine cracked against the unforgiving granite and split the engine casing, so as I wheeled onwards oil dripped from the ghastly wound to the undercarriage.
We went to the nearest café for a Coke where my baby spilled her life blood in a spreading black pool on the seafront promenade. We sat and made profound statements about fate. We had always said that we would be happy to get this far on the motorcycles and we had been reluctant to give up the bikes while they were still in good running order. Now our minds were made up for us in a quick, no nonsense Act of God!
Life must go on, however, so we found a nice 3 bed room in a guest house-type affair for 700 Drachma per night. We then togged up in our beach finery and trotted down to the old Young World “Greek Village” beach. Rows of sunbathing carcasses stretched away from the “Africa” Beach Bar where music blared. We settled on a quiet patch and gave our new snorkelling gear a test run. “A veritable treat”, was the verdict given by both of us as we burrowed amongst the waving weed fronds pursuing plain, but interesting fish going about their business.
When we tired of lazing about we returned via the supermarket for our traditional fare – yes, salami, and raw onion sarnies garnished with tomato and washed down with wine. As the majority of holidaymakers here seemed to be female we thought we might hit a disco tonight in the hope of satiating a hither-too unsatiated lust. Now we sit on our balcony and watch the world go by as the sun, and the level of the wine in our bottle, goes inexorably down. My pen, also reliable to this day, has now thrown it’s hand in along with the bike!
After a brief reading session we went along to “Gregory’s” purveyor of souvenirs and knick-knacks, where we used to change our traveller cheques when we were here in 1979. On George’s recommendation I borrowed “The Fall of the Towers” by Samuel R. Delany from the shop library (100 Drachma deposit). We then had a depressing beer at “Joes” which was deserted save for our old “chum” the village idiot of 4 years ago, still employed as a sweeper-upper and emptier of ashtrays.
On to an open air disco where we got bored listening to poor cover versions of bland British records and watching lairy Greeks “pulling the British holiday girls”. On this visit to Thasos we experienced the package holiday change-over days, where the Greek waiters waved a tearful farewell to their loved ones of the past fortnight as they left on the ferry. They then tarted themselves up to greet the incoming lovelies who would be the new “love of their lives” for the next 2 weeks.
Bike reading 16,032 miles.
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