The weather here has been strange. By strange, I don't mean frogs falling from the heavens or tiny Cupids flying around with their little naked butts blowing wind in everyone's face. It has been moderately warm, but the winds have come. By winds, I mean gale force, ships don't go to sea winds. Having been landlocked for most of my life, I never really experienced winds like this on a very frequent basis - only when a tornado was looming near, and even then, the winds never lasted more than a half hour or so. Yet here in Greece, strong winds like this are quite common, especially from late Autumn to early Spring.
Poor Athena has been covered in a fog of red sand, thanks to the vast desert of Africa. Luckily, Thessaloniki is far enough away that we don't experience these things in such measure. When we lived on Kos it was a reality for us though, and I hated it. That sand was everywhere, coating everything, you could feel it in the air you breathe, in your hair, in your eyes.
The heavy winds began last night, amidst the late night Carnivale revellers, and they haven't ceased all day. Despite the imminent danger of flying debris, I love these strong winds - the city, normally filled with noise, becomes quiet, all but the sombre moaning of the wind. The wind groans, it cries, it roars - a lugubrious song of the denizens of a past time. It is as if all the suffering, all the rage, all the glory of Greece's past can be heard in these gales. What a story there is to tell.