Second the motion, Jerry.

El Greko, when I was a raggy youth of eighteen, circumstance found me wandering the waterfront of a port on the far side of Rhodes, a little town whose name I forget, smaller than Iraklion. Alone and feeling (as eighteen-year olds often do) unloved in the world, I pressed my nose against the windows of a taverna which seemed to be occupied even though closed. There was some interesting laughter coming from within, and some music.

The door flew open and a bevy of friendly men and women whisked me into the wedding party which had rented the whole tavern -- old Greek fartmers in high boots and beautiful maidens in lace, dancing handekerchief dances and playing bazouki to make the roofbeam shiver with delight. They found someone who spoke a little French and stuck a huge tumbler of retsina in my hand and loaded me up with lamb and good food and huge smiles, and we danced the evening away. I have since found that it is part of the tradition of weddings there that the arrival of a stranger brings good luck to the marriage. (I thought it was my personal charm, but, hey, I used to be conceiited before life taught me better! :D)

It was a moment of my youth that I have never forgotten -- the spontaneous and heartfelt welcoming of strangers to a stranger, a deep-rooted recognition of common humanity across all barriers of culture and language.

I am LONG overdue to write a song about it.


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