Read Online Girl Gone Greek by Rebecca Hall - Free Book Online

in the UK, and cheaper given the two-and-a-half-hour journey. Kaliopi tottered back with two steaming cups.
    “Coffee for me, and of course, the tea for you.”

    Ahh, Athens.
I drew in a deep breath of air, and started to cough.
    “Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Kaliopi advised. “You’re not in the village now. Athens has been labelled as the smokiest city in the world.”
    “Smoggiest. And what about Beijing?”
    “So, I have changed my mind,” Kaliopi continued, once again ignoring my correction and question. “We will go to my apartment, get you something else to wear,” she gave me the once over “and
then
we shall go out about one a.m. to meet Dimitrios and Nektarios. Oh, and probably Melanthi and anyone else that turns up.” I stifled a yawn.
How does she do it? And I didn’t start my day until about two p.m…she’s been up since 6, probably running too!
    “Come, we need to get the trolley to my apartment. And be careful around here—there are some strange people.”
    “Stranger than you?” I joked with her. This time she reacted.
    “Yes, believe it or not, I am one of the tamer Greeks.”
    She was right about the strange people: on the way to the trolley, whatever the hell that was, we found ourselves walking through a crowd of young Greeks with black scarves wrapped around their faces, wielding steel baseball bats. Kaliopi cleared a path straight through the middle of them and they parted like the Red Sea.
    “Kaliopi!” I hissed. “Shouldn’t we cross over to the other side of the road?”
    “Eh? Don’t mind these idiots,” she said, a little too loudly for my liking. “We are the ‘right colour.’ Just hold your head high and they will leave us alone. Besides, they are probably admiring your English rose complexion, despite your jeans and that awful t-shirt.” I was left to ponder the remark about “being the right colour,” but decided not to push the matter further. I’d discovered, in my limited time in Greece, that one of its drawbacks was a significant lack of tolerance towards immigration, rather like British attitudes back in the 1950s.
    As we stepped through the small gathering, I did indeed notice that they were paying me no attention whatsoever.
    “So what exactly are they doing, casually hanging around on the street corner with baseball bats?” I asked her, once we’d passed.
    She stopped and turned to face me, causing me to bump into her.
    “Rachel, I don’t know the workings of the minds of stupid people. We’re not in a particularly ‘nice’ area of Athens, the train station never has been. Maybe they feel they’re protecting the area…a Greek vigilante group? If you’re that intrigued, go and ask them.”
    “I think I’ll give that a miss, thanks.” Despite her frivolousness, I felt safe around Kaliopi. I allowed her to lead.
    Suddenly, “Quick, run!” she yelled, grabbing my hand and tugging me into the road.
    Oh God, we thought we were safe, but they’re after us!
I glanced back. But no; they were still just hanging around, some smoking, others chatting, drinking frappes from plastic cups—all looking bored. Up ahead, I saw a yellow “bus” pull up, with antennae on its roof attached to two parallel overhead wires that were dangling over the road. It was towards this that Kaliopi was dragging me.
    “Ah, that is better,” she sighed after sinking into the seat. “These dashes for the trolley always leave me short of the breath. Now then, we will get you into my flat, re-dress you, and you will be ‘as rain as right’ as you say in your country.”
    Ninety minutes later, I found myself sitting in a cosy bar, sipping hot chocolate. I was increasingly enjoying evenings in Greece as I realised the people had a much more civilized approach to a night out: no-one seemed to give a damn that I didn’t want an alcoholic drink…there was no pressure. I was squeezed between two of Kaliopi’s friends—Nektarios and Dimitrios—having first