The music starts for us from the first evening. Tarab, a group coming from Cyprus,
plays under the olive trees of Halki’s tavern. The villagers drink, laugh, forget their worries
with endless sirtakis. A woman suddenly put her glass up, and yell that politic belongs to people.
This call gets a total indifference, the music and the danse restart : tonight is about enjoying,
we talked enough about all those things. Philippa whisper to my hear :
“Anyway, till we have a land to cultivate, we are safe”.