Breakfast on a mountain top

Whilst Jane painted in Teoman's atelier, Ken took me for breakfast - the mighty Kia roared up a narrow mountain track - it seemed as though we driving upon a ribbon of ball bearings - Ken drove with great skill -

I remembered that Ken had often taken part in the East African Safari Rally - he'd driven along roads made of rutted red earth, weaving around elephants, skidding round frightful hairpin bends - I relaxed - I looked out of the car windows - there, far below, were lonely villages, olive groves, dense pine woods -

We climbed up, higher and higher, to the top of the mountain ridge overlooking Gekova Bay - my ears popped - the car engine growled softly -

There, far below, was the bay, shimmering and remote, in the bluish haze - you could see Akyaka, with its pier, its white villas, set amongst the pines - there was the line of the kite surfers' beach -

Across the bay you saw the vague outlines of the far shore - beyond the empty pine woods, glimpsed now as only a dark green blur, were further mountain ridges, mysterious and vague -

It was like looking into a dream, into an unknown, beautiful, country -

We had a wonderful breakfast, with many dishes - I especially relished the large garlicky olives -