Rhodes Town

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Rhodes Town

Nellie and Monk flew to Athens and changed planes for a flight to Rhodes. After dumping his bags at the hotel at around 10, Monk ventured out to eat without any real hope of finding anything too interesting in the Neohori (new town) district of Rhodes. The whole area is dominated by down-market fast-food joints and pseudo-Greek picture-menu restaurants targeted at the mostly Scandinavian package tourists. After a reckie of the restaurant streets Monk chose one in Odos Nikiforou Mandilara that looked as though it was more promising than most despite having the most un-Greek name of La Casa. What a surprise - excellent fava, octopus and Greek salad. The draught retsina was also a pleasant surprise. So well did the the retsina go with the food that Monk managed to finish a kilo of it. On the way back to the hotel, Monk stopped off at a bar called Koykos in the same street for a Greek coffee and a glass of souma. Souma is the Rhodian equivalent of tsipouro, tsikoudia, raki etc, aka eau de vie in France and grappa in Italy. It's a clear spirit, unlike ouzo, and doesn't taste of aniseed. It's the distillation of the grape skins, stems etc left over from the winemaking process - it's the ultimate 'recycled' drink, which Monk thinks is a passable excuse for drinking it. Despite asking for just a small glass to go with the coffee, the waitress brought a mini-carafe. With a characteristic lack of will power, Monk left the bar 45 minutes later leaving behind an empty carafe of souma and what remained of his sobriety.

Monk's Meanders

Irene and Monk first succumbed to raki in Crete in 1979, the second year they went to Greece. They'd flown to Iraklion and Monk remembers them catching an old, rickety green and cream local bus along to Aghios Nikolaus as the sun was coming up - it took hours. There wasn't much along the coast - even Malia and Hersonissos didn't exist as resorts in those days. Ag Nik was a lively place but not in quite such a sophisticated way as now, it was mostly backpackers and leftover hippies. At night we'd drink raki in a bar in the square that was served up in the same mini-carafes as Monk had drunk from last night. Only when we got back home did Monk discover that Irene had brought back a souvenir of those nights. The carafe is still going strong - Irene used to use it for single roses she'd picked from the bush outside the house. Irene had this desire to collect 'souvenirs' from bars and restaurants and Monk was always on the lookout for her 'collectomania' to appear and would move any likely looking object well out of reach.

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