October 2, 2017:
New this time — immediate, radical, probably the single most meaningful evolution in a lifetime of change — is my deep love of Greek cuisine. Tzatziki, dolmathes, kota riganati, avgolemono, lemon rice, souvlaki: my good fortune at home is to have a very fine family-style Greek restaurant nearby. In 1979 though I still struggled with a child's American diet of spaghetti and hamburgers, so that the strange smells and unknown textures were intimidating, even frightening; and I expended a good deal of my then-limited energy searching out pork chops or pasta or other dishes which seemed familiar.
Limited energy, because I'd been poisoned by fish & chips on the ferry from Dover to Calais, dropping several pounds that first week, more subsequently as constrained dietary options collected their tax, so that I was fifteen pounds down by the end of the trip: about 160 pounds at 6'4", not good. Where much of those weeks were bounded by fatigue.
Today I want nothing better than to eat and walk, eat and walk, snap some pics, eat and walk, eat some more, take food home, look through the pics, and eat yet more. At 185 with full belly and gym-toned legs, this is a very different world.