Aloof Americans at other tables. Grim. Unsmiling, non-conversational. They barely talk with each other, certainly not with the waiters.
We're the Happy Americans, the gregarious ones, bantering with our new friends, who hover and dote and ply us with round after round of free alcohol.
I ask, "What's the difference between the brands of ouzo? Is there one you recommend?" The answer is no, and to prove it, they bring shot after shot showing us conclusively they're all the same.
Then it's Raki, to teach us the spirits of the country. Raki from Crete, raki from Mykonos, raki from Attica. Then retsina, then black beer, then brandy. Always on the house, while we laugh and joke with the entire staff, and the Americans at other tables scowl, or mumble to each other, or argue among themselves.
Aren't they here to have fun?