Adio

Greek for "Good-bye." An "adio" was a going-away party. Mine was at Chi-Chi Ferez's, a short distance from downtown Iraklion. Chi-Chi's was a favorite spot of mine. The tables were arranged around the inside perimeter over which were living grape vines. In season, one could actually pick a bunch of grapes while seated. In the center was a circular dance floor open to the sky. Close by was the bandstand. I left in late June, at the beginning of yet another tourista season. Having stopped at Caprice's on our way to Chi-Chi's for my adio, we were feeling plenty good by the time we arrived and joined friends. The band was playing half-heartedly and absolutely noone was dancing. There were perhaps 100 tourists, 100 Greeks and 30 G.I.'s there that night. A respectable crowd. Everyone was talking quietly. It was my "adio" so I felt it was my obligation to liven things up.

Fortified with ouzo, I went up to the band and hummed "Let's Twist Again Like We Did Last Summer," asking them if they could play it. They could. (I had a theory at the time that anyone who sang into an amplifier would sound good.) I sang over and over the only words to that song I knew: "Let's Twist Again Like We Did Last Summer, Let's Twist Again Like We Did Last Year."

Within about a minute, I was left alone on the floor with a spotlight on me, arms outstretched as I alone interpreted the traditional Greek movements. I kicked off my shoes so I could dance "better." Naturally, my friends called for me to take off more. I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it into the cheering crowd. Then my tee shirt. Then my socks. Then my belt. The Greek music droned on and on as I spun around alone on the floor, mesmerized by the spotlight. Every now and then I could see or hear a G.I. or a table full of touristas. I think at this point half of the dishes in the place had been broken. Just as I unbuttoned the top of my pants, the music stopped abruptly and I realized fully what I was doing. The plates that hadn't been broken previously were now smashed and the place was in a cheering pandemonium. I ran outside minus most of my clothes. For my remaining two weeks on the island, every time I went to Florida Beach, or to Caprice's, a Greek or tourista would come up to me and ask if I had been the one at Chi-Chi's. Then they would motion as though they were removing clothing.

Of course, the Americans were howling with drunken laughter, smashing plates and glasses on the floor. I kept singing. Suddenly, G.I's were dancing with touristas, Greeks with Greeks, tourists with tourists. When I rejoined my friends, the band reverted to traditional Greek music and all dancing stopped. Because it's customary in Greece for men to dance together, a friend and I went to the dance floor and began our version of a traditional Cretan folk dance.