I sat on the pavement somewhere in Athens and cried, and sitting there being burnt to cinders by the yellow Greek sun made me think of my shady courtyard with its pots of fragrant herbs and flowers, and I cried a little more. The so looking forward to day-off had really turned into a nightmare! When I got back to Kiffisia, I couldn't find a soul who understood which bus I wanted, but just as I was really starting to hyperventilate from frustration, voila, a good samaritan who assured me that he was going on the bus that would take me to Gounari street, and promised to show me the way! Which he did! Unfortunately I was put down at the wrong Gounari, miles from my house. I knew within minutes of boarding the bus that we were going in the wrong direction, and when after a while there was no sign of any of my landmarks, I tried to tell my friend , but he assured me that I was on the right bus! The Gounari where I was put down eventually was just about on the other side of Athens, and stretched for miles to my left and right, with not one thing that I recognised. So I walked for bally miles to the right, but later assumed that I should have gone to the left. I again walked for ages without anything I recognised. My house was situated in quite a hilly area, and there was no sign of even a bump in this area.
So, my poor legs by now feeling like jellysticks, I sat down. And cried! Not only because of my present situation, no, I used it to vent my anger and sadness at my child that flew away, and my wayward husband who betrayed me, and is now dead, and just about at the whole world.

Just as I was really getting into the swing of selfpity, someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I found a lovely woman smiling down kindly on me. And she could actually speak English! She listened to my tale, and said she would get me on the bus back to Kiffisia, and there I must go to the Steers restaurant, and  ask the owner to help me get on the right bus. I was so relieved I almost cried on her shoulder! So, weaponed with a piece of paper with her name on, I got back safely to Kiffisia, and found the restaurant, which belonged to a South African born Greek. He was very obliging when he saw who sent me, and also because I was South African, and introduced me to a British woman called Liz, who became a good friend. She got me onto the right bus after we had a coffee, and when I at last closed my door behind me, I exhaled properly for the first time that day. A good night's sleep cleared my head nicely, and when Dorah told me in the morning to pack enough clothes for me and Nikos for three weeks at sea, I perked up remarkably and almost winked at the old sour Ya-Ya!
The image is of my courtyard at home.