Day 17

Not one to waste a minute of vacation, the last night in Rhodes night didn't really start until midnight when we met the pension owners and their two daughters at a small club for three hours of traditional Greek music and dancing -- not a tourist in sight, this was "the real thing." The music was wonderful, played on traditional instruments such as the lute, and as the wine and liquor flowed so did the clientele's inhibitions (if they ever had any). Women got up and really belly-danced, sans the costumes (like I said, this was not a show for tourists) -- which is incredibly difficult to do if you've ever tried it (which I can now say that I have). Men did the hands-on-shoulders, stomping and kicking, knee and heel slapping numbers, and everyone joined in the Israeli-like line dancing. (The pension owners were surprised at how quickly I picked up the steps; I refrained from telling them that the hora is the hora is the hora, whether it be at a bar mitzvah or a Greek nightclub). We didn't crawl out of there until almost 4 a.m., a mere two hours before I had to be at the airport. So, rather than even attempting to sleep, I spent my last hours of vacation repacking my luggage, filling out the details in my (hand written) journal, and desperately wishing that all of life were a vacation . . .

Rodos, Greece