Anyone who has the great good fortune to live in Cornwall, beside the sea, has no reason to go on vacation at all. This I tell myself, with guilt, when I begin to feel restive, generally in winter, after too many rainy days. Soon the sou’westerly winds will cease, I can discard oilskins and sea boots, the sun will shine again, the straggling wallflowers bloom, and I can cross the ploughed fields down to the beach without being blown backward by a gale. And yet, a nagging sense of discontent remains. Hailstorms gather and April has not yet come. I glance at the weather reports of distant capitals and see that Athens is fair, with a temperature of 68 degrees.
I begin to dream of holidays long past, when, stouter of heart and stronger of limb, I set out, bound for Athens and a vacation to be spent hiking in the Pindus Mountains in northwest Greece.