The next morning, our driver was waiting for us when we came out of the hotel. He was holding a handwritten sign that said “Mavrias.”

“I’m Mavrias.”

“Good morning, good morning.”

“Car service to Kymi?”

“Kymi. Yes.”

“How long is the trip?”

“Kymi. Yes.”

When I booked the service, I had asked for an English-speaking driver. I just hadn’t specified the degree of fluency.

“So, you speak English?”

“Kymi. Yes.”

I would have preferred someone who could have pointed out any sights along the way, someone who did not spend most of the trip talking on his cellphone.

“It’s his girlfriend,” Mimi whispered to me as we drove north. “Or his wife.”

“You don’t speak Greek.”

“Don’t need to,” said Mimi.

Looking at the map, I had thought that Kymi would be right on the Aegean. But it wasn’t. It was in the hills above the port, a village of about two thousand, built into the slopes and angles of a rocky landscape.

“It would have been smaller when your grandfather was a boy,” Mimi told me as we drove along the main street. “But I’ll bet it hasn’t changed all that much.”

I had booked a room at the Archontiko Kymis, with a view of the village and the ocean.

“It’s only four thirty, but I’m hungry.”

The woman at the hotel spoke enough English to give us a recommendation, a place called the Kapitsalio, just down the street and around the corner.

“It’s the restaurant we saw when we came into town. The one with the sign of a guy holding a beer and a fork,” said Mimi. “Let’s hope they have an English menu or something with pictures.”

The Kapitsalio was in a yellow stucco building with a small covered patio at the front.

“You want to sit outside or in?”

“Outside,” said Mimi. “We’re in Greece.”

I wasn’t sure what “Greece” and “outside” had to do with each other, but the weather was pleasant, and we could sit and watch the cars go by.

The menu was all in Greek. My Greek wasn’t completely nonexistent. I could ask to borrow the car, and I could sing “Christos Anesti” from the Greek Orthodox Easter service.

“Signomi, milate agglika?” I asked the woman who had brought the menus.

“Okhi,” said the woman with a shake of her head.

“So, we’re going to have to guess?” said Mimi. “That could be exciting.”

“Perimene ena lepto, parakalo.” The woman held up a hand, then turned and went back into the restaurant.

“What do you want to do?”

“I say we close our eyes and point to something on the menu,” said Mimi. “Put our fate in the hands of the gods.”

“There are no gods.”

“If you made a noise like a chicken, we might get an egg dish.”