ABSTRACT
Paradise has its little odd rules and regulations that one gladly puts up with. There is a place for an automobile some of Telos' best beaches are several miles from the village, but how to go about reserving it remains a perennial Mediterranean mystery. Only one Athens travel agency knows anything about the intricacies of coming and going, and there appears to be a feud between mainland and island. After all, Telos has so little to offer. But little is taken as tragic: except, possibly, that bewildered Telos soldier who happily returned home; but, with his raspberry-smeared face, was taken to be the first casualty of the Turkish invasion. Curiously bearded young Dutchmen and Danes no longer find the little rooms to stay in, as soldiers and workers move in. For the moment, theft, the old cries against Tourism as the Enemy of Native Culture seem almost to be stilled.
