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The moustache was soo perfect in cartoon style that it could have been painted on in two strokes of a brush. The sweat was acquiring in little pools under his weathered eyes, his face a glistening display of the master at work. He looks like a Bruno or charactured Super Mario but that seems a bit Italian for my isolated Greek Taverna.
The unthinkabley giant "giant" rocks erupt from the ground all around filling the skyline. Nature trying to fight for the heavens. The cheeky irreverent part of me imagines Hades sticky the bird up at humanity.
Anyway back to Super Mario. The embers were at the place of perfection glowing red with white ash coating every surface. My pork kebab above the slow heat cooking to perfect. (Bet your salivating now...)
Welcome to night time in Meteora. This must be the place to be. Im surrounded by a dozen ageing Greek me all shouting at each other over my very kebab and a beers spilling everywhere. glad dodged play full of all the other white folk and get it local. I wasn't disappointed. My salad a couple of dozen tomatoes suggests that olive oil ain't going out of fashion any time soon as pepper and onion alike are taking a bath in it. Maybe I should just lather myself up in the viscous liquid, get a good suntan and look like I should be on Jason and the Argonauts ;)
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