Man and Beast

It was hot. The scorched earth seemed to tremble in the heat as we swaggered down the dusty path in the south Cretan hills. The wild wind whipped white whirls of dust around us, stinging our eyes and filling our ear canals with a fine billiards chalk-like powder.
A hunger gnawed at us, although we had been well fed with gyros. It was a hunger that meats and spices could not sate. It was the hunger felt by men of ambition - the stabbing pain that unsettles even the most peaceful moments of a man's day with restlessness and agitation. We were possessed by a nervous excitement and our souls yearned for the solace that would surely soon be found in the ultimate game of billiards.
Such were our thoughts as we pressed on through the infernal wind and dust before finally arriving at our destination.
The Lefkogia Donkey Sanctuary was founded in 1800BC by a mad Cretan farmer whose love for donkeys ran deeper than the deepest waterous formation. He rescued these humble beasts of burden from cruel farmers who buggered them and fed them tainted gyros meat. His legacy was the donkey sanctuary, and thus for thousands of years the sure-footed ruminants enjoyed a peaceful life frolicking in the lush paddocks.
The reason for our visit was cultural curiosity. We had been told by many that a Greek man loves nothing more than riding a good ass.

And so we rode ass.

And for a few beautiful hours the hunger was kept at bay. The wind died down and our nervous excitement settled into a contented bliss. Such was the transfiguring power of donkey-love.


Thought of the day: With regards to the assessment of cans, tone is an often underappreciated parameter: "cantone" is more important than can size.

Gyros tally = 17