“Sure, coffee now, save the world later.”

SO FAR AS I could tell, Vogiatzi was the main street in Kymi. Kymi Square, with its statue of Georgios Papanikolaou, the man who developed the Pap test, was on Vogiatzi. So was the church and most of the stores.

“Small world,” said Mimi.

There was a taxi parked at the curb, and standing next to the car was the same guy who had picked us up in Athens.

“Our English-speaking driver.”

There was a teenage boy in the car. As soon as the man saw us, he began talking rapidly to the kid.

“Good morning,” said the boy. “How are you today?”

The boy’s English wasn’t great, but it was considerably better than my Greek.

“Hi,” said Mimi. “We need a taxi.”

“I am Talos,” said the boy. “My father is Stavros. He is very good driver.”

“Poso tha kostisei na paei Maletiani?” I said, exhausting all of my Greek.

Talos quickly consulted with his father. “Exi,” he said.

“Euros?” I flip my komboloi a couple of times, in case there’s a discount for fellow Greeks.

“Yes.”

“Both ways?”

I tried to imagine what Talos would do with his life. Good manners. Good looks. He could be an actor. Or a musician.

“Okto,” he said. “Eight. Both ways.”

“Will you come along and translate?”

“Sure, yes, deka. Ten. You understand?”

A lawyer. The kid had all the makings of a lawyer.

The ride up to Maletiani took a little over ten minutes. I wanted to learn as much as I could about Kymi, and Talos wanted to talk about Toronto.

“Toronto is very big.”

“It is,” I told him. “So is Athens.”

“Yes,” said Talos, “but no jobs in Athens.”

“Were you born in Kymi?”

“Yes,” said Talos. “The family goes to Athens. Two years. But no jobs, so we come back.”

The road to Maletiani was windy and slow, with tight turns around granite outcroppings and tough, stringy trees.

“Why are you to Maletiani?”

“My pappou is from Maletiani.”

“Your pappou? You are Greek?”

“My mother’s side.”

“You are here to buy the village?”

“What?”

“Maletiani,” said Talos, “is small. Ekato. One hundred persons.”

“In Maletiani?”

“Yes. Very old.”

“The people?”

“You should buy the village.”

Mimi was intrigued. “Why would we buy a village?”

“Americans. American dollars,” said Talos. “They come to Ellada and buy, buy, buy.”

“We’re Canadians.”

“If you buy Maletiani,” said Talos, “then you could fix.”

“I don’t think we’re going to buy a village.”

“If you fix,” said Talos, “the people will love you. Then you will be king.”

MIMI AND I STAND on the sidewalk in front of Keleti station and ignore the people pushing past us.

“Here we are,” I say, making sure my voice is filled with artificial enthusiasm. “Budapest.”

Mimi ignores me and digs the brochures out of the pack.