Elounda - Papoutsi Pano Porta! — Woody's Wax Works

Dap Tavern !! What a place ! What a holiday ! Legendary !

Taverna Paradeisos ! The family Pediaditis, Kostas & Demetria, Soteria & her little sister, Maria.

Welcome to Elounda!!!

The Hotel Kalypso (in the picture below) is owned by friends of the family Pediaditis. Not a lot of people know that!

The Three Graces....The conductor who never did the buses.......The Banshees..........Kate, the Cleaner.....the Cure.......the Bunnymen..........Scritti Politti..............the Decadent Few...........& Rod Steward.............not Stewart !! And the kounoupi.........mozzies on speed..........& Dino's drinking & daily fashion parades........

It was 1981. Simply Crete took the booking and, at the end of September, we set off for a 3 week sojourn in Elounda, Crete. At the one end of Elounda is the ancient submerged city of Olous. All around there are the salt-lakes , beloved by mozzies, affectionately known as "kounoupi" by the natives. There are also stacks of windmills in the neighbourhood, known as "sheet-grinders" by visitors from Yorkshire.

Here they are......If you walk down from Taverna Paradisos past the salt-pits and the "sheetgrinders" (past the Canal Bar) for about 1/2 an hour you can go over the nearby headland to Kolokitha Bay (pronounced 'Kolocheetha' by the locals) and the fantastic beach pictured below. It's one of the best around and beats the pants of that ill-conceived man-made monstrosity in the village by the lagoon. That was not there in the 80s...Unfortunately, Kolokitha has also succumbed to boat-trips from Ag Nik.....tourist prostitution.

Here is the original version....

The Three Graces: During our stay we encountered not one but three Graces (we knew we'd be breaking new mythological territory there & then). One was on a honeymoon and loved standing on the taverna roof looking into Cretan space. Another was the wife of a Yorkshireman who kept going on about the Sheetgrinders....one day I asked him what he'd been on about for the last week......and he replied, "Over there....the windmills........we call them sheet grinders! Sheet! Sheet?" We looked puzzled. "Ah! Sheet? It's the Yorkshire for shite!" We still didn't know why a windmill would grind shite, but that's what everyone called them thereafter, even Kostas, if we could get him in the mood. So, when you go to Elounda, look out for the SHEETGRINDERS!! The third....??

The conductor who never went on a bus! On the plane out I started pouring the gin. Those were the days, easy-going air-hostesses and very willing passengers. What luck! Two or three rows behind was my Emeritus Greek Professor, off on a pre-term jolly to the Annual Cretological Conference at Aghios Nikolaos. He was up for a few twists of the clear potion of madness. Unbeknownst to me at this time some soon-to-be-friends were watching our merry band getting steamed-up. We arrived very late in Elounda to be greeted by Anna, the rep, who prefixed every phrase with her local Greek, "pollee." This did our heads in, so we called her Poly-Anna.

When she said the proprietor would do deals for eating at Taverna Paradisos, I pulled out a bunch of drachs (notes) and put them on the bar.

I announced grandly, "Fine. Have these for starters.....we're eating here every night!" Kostas was delighted by this bold and stupid gesture and became an instant Woodophile and lifelong admirer of my business acumen! When I introduced my friend as Dino, that was it.....for some reason, his name struck a chord and we were in! & Pollee-Anna was right out!

We soon became even more wazzed on the drinks accompanying the bountiful feast we were being offered and the watching throngs included one special ticket-master. While we were telling jokes and causing mayhem, another table opposite (quite a large party, consisting mainly of toffs, as far as I could ascertain, though there was no animosity, I should add) was in conversational crisis.....lots of difficult pauses apparently and much chat about Purcell & Wagner & shit. Dino & I continued to fall about before heading off in the direction of electricity and the local barn that was the disco.

The next day I remember walking towards the village and having to stop for an orange juice. It soon became a gin & orange in my system & I immediately dashed into the cafe to throw up in their outside loo. Welcome to Crete! A while later we were sitting under the trees of a taverna, pondering what to do with our three weeks of sun, ouzo & metaxa, when two figures stood over us and enquired if they could join us. They said they'd overheard our jokes the previous night and wanted some entertainment. We bade them to sit down. They'd been party to the large entourage the night before and much the centre of attention, because of the man's job!

The first thing the young woman said was that I looked like her brother. I asked why she was on holiday with her dad and.........yes, she said, "This is my husband, Todd."
Dino choked on his Amstel. I tried to switch the subject and moved the conversation forward to his occupation.

"What do you do, Todd?" I asked appearing interested.

"I'm a conductor." he offered. I'm still reeling from the concept of young stunning blonde married to old man.

"Where are you based? What route are you on, Todd?" I enquire, as sympathetically as I can, inwardly smirking at this crap position he must have.

"I'm the leader of the London Philharmonic," he responds quietly. Dino chokes on his Amstel for a second time. I die. "and this is my wife, Vicky - I suppose I'd better point out that she's Grade 8, concert piano, too."

And then we all piss ourselves laughing. We'd acquired two new friends. They were instantly rid of sycophants, too.

The Banshees & Kate, the cleaner: Things moved on nicely. Vicky had a disconcerting habit of coming up to you in the bar and on the beach and chatting whilst topless, often catching a nipple on your bottle or nose or something if you were in Kostas' fridge. All adding to the ambience!

I had some serious cassette-tapes with me of emerging musicians in the UK, many of whom had yet to be heard or 'break.' The cassette had tracks by the Cure, the Bunnymen, Scritti Politti & the Banshees.

Titles - Pictures on my Wall, A Forest, Skank Bloc Bologna, Metal Postcard, etc. This was good - throw in the Monochrome Set & Reptile Ranch & most people get stuck (never heard of 'em). I persuade Kostas to play some of the Banshees one day. The other guests found this weird.

It wasn't that long before I had to get a bus into Ag Nik to purchase Rod Stewart's (Steward printed on the cassette) Greatest Hits for the taverna! Kostas led the Greek dancing to Hot Legs most evenings...brilliant!

Anyway, our cleaner, Kate, couldn't get into our rooms. Such a strange sleep-pattern was evolving. One morning she was sitting outside wondering why 'Switch' (the Banshees) would be the holiday-music of choice.....?? I told her this was the future of rock 'n roll. She laughed. Odd for someone who had to empty shit-bins!

"Not much of a future for that lot! They don't have a rhythm-section!"

"How do you know, Kate?" I asked, bemused.

"Coz my brother's the drummer & he's run off with the bass-player!"

Time for Dino to piss himself again.Turns out she's a Morris too & this is her first summer job. Small world.
She wasn't fussed on the music.

Dino, enjoying the delights of Kolkitha beach

Dino: The Clothes & the Drinking

6.30p.m.– 7p.m. ….. the moment the gathered throng had been waiting for......what would Dino be wearing tonight?

Every night would be the same. He was a picture of sartorial elegance.

I went with one pair of battered jeans, some t-shirts, several pairs of shorts and some ripped flips, much like all the other guests.

Not Dino!

Out came the gear.....coloured socks....socks!! in Crete! degrees of oppressive heat.

Trousers & fantastic shirts. A different outfit every day. Amazing. Must have spent half of his redundancy on clothes! Usually his entrance would be greeted a loud round of applause, since I would have showered & hit the bar 30 minutes prior to his grand-entrance!

Demetria loved it & Kostas was always laughing at this. Fair play, Dino's suitcase was like a Tardis.

I still don't know how he did it. Then Kostas would go through the routine of asking what he'd like to drink......as if....... & it would always be beer! Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Supper. Down the disco.

“Mia bira, parakalo!” Dino's Greek was impeccable. Didn't have to know anything else.

The only downside to this excessive drinking was the excessive hangover. I could never drink beer like that.......but in the evenings (kal 'uspera!!) things took on a life of their own. We invented new cocktails, such as Myxametosis (Metaxamet'ouzo) – worked it out?

Metaxa brandy (I found the 3s & 5s better than the higher quality 7s) mixed with ouzo. A dash of orange or lemonade was delicious. This usually appalled Kostas who poured it out with concern but also with some admiration after a couple of weeks. Dino occasionally joined in, but preferred his own something + coke later in the night. More often than not, after a night of this stuff, we would be seen casting giant rocks into the ocean at about three or four in the morning.

We were also introduced by the local EDS (Elounda Drinking Society) – the young local men – to Batida de Coco, an unlikely low alcoholic bevvy, which was a social thing. Plenty of ice and straight.

It would be left on the table until one of them shouted, randomly, “Batida de Coco!” At said moment, all would stand & raise the glass & down it. What a way to spend an afternoon!

After several hangovers, Kostas would come out to breakfast with our omelettes and bread & ask how we were coping. We always said it was like having a very dry mouth, a mouth “like a ripped flip.......or a dap!” He looked bewildered at the slang.

“Like a dap!” said Dino. “A plimsole, a busted trainer, an old shoe! Dry!”

We say, “ I've got a dap on! A dry mouth, like a dirty dap!”

“Ah!” said Kostas, “ Papoutsi!”

“Yes,” said Dino, “Dap!” And he added, “This is Dap Tavern!”

We didn't think Kostas had really got the joke or understood our English that well.

However, some nights later, after one of Dino's fashion parades, we all sat down to eat. Kostas' fridge was always full of fantastic fresh meats & fish. His wife always prepared a new traditional Greek dish every day too. None of your winter-prepared foil-covered microwaved moussaka here!

So, we're all tucking in to our fab meals, while Dino looks on, worried. He's got nothing. No meal. It is odd, but we just think it's taking a bit longer.

Suddenly, the lights go out, the Greek music stops and Kostas shouts from the doorway of the kitchen, “ Dino, to fageto sas! Papoutsi special!”

And out he comes ceremonially transporting above his head a huge plate. We cheer.

He places it in front of Dino and, with a beaming smile, proclaims, “Papoutsi! For you! Dap!”

On the plate, surrounded by a nice salad & some fries is an old dap! or the sole of it.

We roar. Dino's face is a picture. None of us are in on this. This is purely Kostas & Demetria's doing.

It's one of those moments. You couldn't write it.

Moments later, his real food appears and the lights & music return.

Everyone's up for a massive piss-up that night.

It gets better......

The next day. Big headaches! Dap on!

Suddenly we are woken by banging.

Thud! Bang! Hammer! Thud! What the hell!

Dino, “Go & have a look at what's happening. This is unreal.”

So I stagger outside, but the hammering is coming from the other side of the taverna. I can't believe someone's hammering at this time. Off I go round the front and there, hammer in hand, standing on a chair, in front of the main doorway, is Kostas, beaming. He's nailed the dap to the wooden frame above the door. He grins and announces the immortal words to me, “Pavlo. Papoutsi pano porta!” <shoe above door>

I can't believe it. I give him the thumbs up and rush back to Dino.

“Dino, he's just named the taverna after us....Dap Tavern! Your dap is nailed to the frigging door!”

KOUNOUPI !!

Kououpi is the Greek for mosquito or mozzie. Since there are hundreds of salt-pits around Elounda and reeds and marshy areas there are also these beauties, normally harmless to tourists. A good spray and you usually get away with the odd nip. We were still taking the mozzie-burners in those days which you left on at night. Also, it's written that they go for ovulating females. I'm ok then!

But, for some reason, they begin to become very interested in Dino, then attached to him, then start devouring him, before trying to murder him. He gets bitten, then bitten on his bites, then bitten on the enormous lumps which appear, then bitten on the bites on the lumps, etc. I'd never seen anything like it, nor Kostas. Quickly, he's confined to bed. Within two days he's got a dose of something which looked like malaria or some nasty shit. He's hallucinating, without beer!

Demetria has seen it before. Soteria, her eldest, had marks all over her forehead and had been attacked as a child. She prescribes cold tea, lemon juice and rice and keeps him in bed for a couple of days. He didn't need a doctor, thankfully. But the mess on his body – bite marks everywhere.

He learned to spot mozzies from yards away, and in the room in the dark could hear them. He became a top marksman at striking with the ripped flip! They had no chance after this episode.

I've never taken them for granted, thereafter, and I always spray or roll-on constantly. But I've never seen anyone get ravaged like that in my life.

Paul, the Champion

About a week after Todd & Vicky returned home, this skeletal creature arrived with his girlfriend.

He looked painfully scrawny and weak as hell. I'd already been caught out by Todd (whose stage name was Vernon Handley, the master of all-things Delius, as well as carpentry, photography & Celtic languages!), so we treaded a little more carefully this time. Not so judgemental.

Dino, “How does he get a missus like that?” Told you. Diplomatic, us.

Me: “I'll ask him, tonight.”

Paul: “Yeah...I'm having a break. World championships coming up next. Thought Crete would be relaxing.”

Dino's ears pick up......

His girlfriend interjects, “Yeah...he's just won the British championships, so we're having a hol.”

Turns out he rides enormously powerful motorbikes which most beasts can't handle.....and he's the best! They have to lift him onto the machines!

As I said before, you couldn't make it up.

Later on when we're back home we meet Todd for one of the ultimate English activities, a Prom!

Yep! Dino & me at the Colston Hall, Bristol, where Todd's in his penguin-garb, waving his arms about wildly & hundreds are singing “Land of hope & glory” and none of it is making any sense to us!

This is followed by dinner in a local Greek, where we're introduced to Natalie Wood's first husband, etc. It's not our bag nor Todd's (sorry, sycophants).

Epilogue:

“PASOK e Nea Demokratia?”

“Batida de Coco!”