Messenia: Days 4-6

We haven’t had the time to compose too much about our first
few days here in Finikounda, and only
recently did we find a convenient wireless Internet connection from which to
post text and photos. So now we’re
playing catch up with our blog.

In short order: we have been swimming, eating, visiting, and
generally enjoying our Greek life—all on the margins of excess. The summer solstice came and went and now we
enjoy daylight until around 9:30 in the evening, which is about the time that
life begins in the village.

We are taken most, as we were in 2009, by the effervescent
displays of filoxenia (hospitality)
and the many acts of seemingly random kindness. Here in the village we were—and
continue to be—recognized as “those American Greeks” who spent a winter here,
enrolled their children in the local school, and became friends with just about
everyone. Locals and foreigners alike. In this way, our brief time here is
something of a homecoming. And we are comfortable calling this home, despite
the fact that our geographical heritage is south (Crete), east (Spetses), and
north (Nafpaktos). The curious thing is that Finikounda itself was founded in
the 1860s by refugees from Crete, those who fled the oppression of the turkokratia (the Ottoman occupation) following
the massacre at Crete’s Arkadi Monastery. This fact is exemplified by the fact
that most residents names end in -aki (as
our name, Aretakis, does), and there is much
in a name. The typical Cretan hospitality, intense pride, sense of place, etc.,
blends with the special character of southern Messenia, here on the exteme
southwestern tip of the Peloponnese.

Cheesemaking

Earlier in the week our friend Yiota—who Nia aptly refers to
as “Master Yiota,” a nod to the Star Wars saga—demonstrated how to make masithra, the much-coveted soft cheese
of village Greece. Most foreigners are familiar with feta, but rural Greece enjoys a plethora of cheese types, some of
which are specific to various regions or islands. These are made either with
sheep’s milk or goat’s milk, as cow’s milk is quite unusual. Masithra is distinctive of the latter
type, made with fresh goat’s milk. In this case, the milk comes from her father
Yioryio’s goats, which reside in Loutsa, a white sandy coastal strip just
beyond the town limits.

Loutsa

Yiota and her brother Taki, a young, bright lawyer, took us
to Loutsa, where they showed us their side-by-side stone houses, built by their
great-grandparents, that are being renovated by each of them. We arrive at dusk
at walked on the beach until nearly 10 p.m.—after which, true to Greek summer
form, we began to discuss where and when we would be eating dinner. Here in the village most folks don’t contemplate
dinner options until 11 p.m. or later. Entire families, including very young
children, stroll the waterfront until 2 or 3:00 in the morning. Young people
stay out much later—often returning home at dawn for a few hours of sleep
before starting a new day. Because of this the siesta (the afternoon nap) is
imperative.

Ayio Yianni Rigana
(St. John of the Oregano)

Greek village life revolves around the calendar of the
Eastern Orthodox Church, and the
celebration of panayiris
(celebrations honoring a particular saint or a date in church or liturgical
history) are much anticipated celebrations—featuring a ceremony in a particular
chapel, following by copious amounts of food and drink, and sometimes dancing.

We joined Yiota and many other villagers on Sunday morning,
at a tiny, ancient chapel (itself built on the site of an even older chapel)
located deep in the main agricultural valley. The church and celebration of
Saint John of the Oregano began at 8 a.m. Even by that early hour the intensity
of the sun made the densely packed chapel nearly unbearable. In true Greek
Orthodox form, the celebrants came and went from the chapel—the men dipping
outside for a smoke, the women sharing gossip, while still managing to cross
themselves at the proper time, whether inside or outside.

Pig in a Pickup

The village council supplies an entire roasted pig (always
with the head still on), which is a local delicacy, along with vats of beer and
soft drinks and galonis of local
wine—all of which is freely given to the celebrants. Large baskets with round
loaves of bread emerged from the chapel, blessed by the priest during the
Divine Liturgy. The bread was cut into large hunks, the pig was cleavered into
equally large pieces, and the celebration began.

Pork served from the bed of pick up truck, with copious
quantities of wine, beer, and bread—all before 9 a.m.

Tsapi

We had made prior arrangements to meet a collection of local
(mostly British) friends, all expatriate residents, in the quiet cove called
Tsapi, which is reached by an impossibly serpentine road about 10 kilometers
east of the village. Tsapi features a small horseshoe-shaped beach, where the
cliffs fall down to the sea. We swam and then gathered five or six tables, end
to end, and tweny of us ate and drank from 11 a.m. until after 6 p.m. Lucia and
Nia made fast friends with Sam, a young British man, and everyone laughed,
talked, and shared stories until the wine was done. Then more wine was ordered.

Methoni Castle

The previous day we returned to Methoni, a village dating to
the early Middle Ages, located about 10 kilometers in the other direction
(west) of Finikounda. The seaside castle is surrounded by a large moat and the
remains of several civilizations—the Venetians who built it, the Ottoman Turks
who besieged it, and the Greeks who, in the early nineteenth century, regained
control of it—are evident everywhere. At the very tip of the castle is the bourtsi, a tower that was once the site
of executions by the Turks. Today it is a place where young couples are
married. As we approach our twentieth wedding anniversay, which we will
celebrate on the island of Spetses next week, the irony of the bourtsi is not entirely lost on us. Long live this wonderous institution of
marriage!

Fire Jumping in
Finikounda

A celebration parallel to the morning’s panayiri was the evening fire-jumping on the beach, all in view of
the tavernas and cafeneions. A large bonfire is built on the beach and people
young and old sprint through the sand and leap over the flames—which is said to
bring good luck. Especially if one doesn’t stumble at the wrong moment.

Earlier in the day a family member who will go unnamed
suffered the indignity of a receiving a special aerial greeting from a passing
bird. When it was mentioned to Yiota that a bird had pooped in her hair, the
reply was: “How wonderful, this is a sign of good luck. Congratulations!”

European Football (aka
soccer)

The European cup
championship for soccer is a continential obsession. Despite the
suffering of the Greek people, now in the fifth year of an unfathomable
economic crisis, sport offers another necessary diversion, and Greece—seeming
to defy all odds—qualified for the final eight. A few nights ago little Greece,
under the heavy boot of austerity, was matched against mighty Germany—truly a
David and Goliath event. The Greeks and foreigners alike shrugged when Germany
scored the first goal in short order. Germany, by far, has the best team in all
of Europe, so when Greece answered with a goal of its own, the entire village
erupted in good-natured shouts, hoots, and catcalls. This particular goal
silenced the many Germans who watched along with the others, segregated as they
were at the their own tables. A feeling of pride (if not sweet revenge) lasted
but a few minutes. Alas, Germany proved the ultimate victor, with the game
ending in a final score of 4-2. There was nevertheless a short-lived underdog’s
triumph and a prideful enthusiasm for the effort.

Tolerance

Our friend Niko refers to the village as the United States
of Finikounda—there are, of course, the many local villagers but also a host of
many nationalities living here in their second homes: mostly Germans (who
purchase the best land—the hilltops,
which are now gated or walled off), followed by the indomitable British,
and also many Dutch, French, Italians. Nevertheless,
there is a tolerance between and among all of these diverse groups.

During the devastating wind-whipped fires of 2007, which saw
massive destruction and death (of people, livestock, and property), as the
flames approached the village the German and Austrian community quietly
organized a bucket brigade, extending from the ocean into the agricultural
valleys. By all accounts, the Germans here were quiet, stoic, highly organized,
and incredibly effective in saving the vast olive orchards and grape
vineyards. Even now, while the strong
arm of Germany demands so much sacrafice, the local people much appreciate the
contribution of their German friends.

Tolerance is the key to life here. Despite the usual village
gossip, the backbiting, and the waves of envy (a North versus South dialectic)
there is a common love of this place and a mutual respect among diverse
peoples.

Pylos: The New Castle

Pylos figures prominently in Greek history and has special
mention in Homer’s epics, The Iliad and The Odyssey. King Nestor hailed from
Pylos and local antiquities and archaeological sites bear witness to the
Homeric epics.

Within modern Pylos, there is the “new” castle (Neo Kastro),
with “new” being a singularly relative term. Built in the fifteenth century,
the Neo Kastro is very well preserved and it is a pleasure to stroll throughout
its walls imagining sieges, defense, and ultimately defeat and desolation.

Beyond the town limits, lies Yialova, home to the “old”
castle, situated on a cliff promontory. We walked within the Palaio Kastro’s
wall in March of 2009, but now the snakes are prolific and lurking beneath the
high, dry grass. Jonathan discouraged a walk there, so we spent most of the
morning (on Tuesday) strolling about the Neo Kastro.

Making Parea

In Greece one “makes parea,”
which in the American vernacular translates into “hanging out.” We have had
ample opportunity for parea with
diverse groups of friends—Greeks and foreigners alike. And the children have
meet new friends and reaquainted themselves with old ones.

Expressions

The Greek language is rife with expressions for every possible
occasion or sentiment. Jonathan was reminded of one the other day, an
expression that his Spetsioti grandmother used to great effect:

Σπιτι χωρις Υιαννη, προκοπη δεν κανει (spiti horis Yianni, prokopi then kavei):
A house without a Yianni (John) is without good fortune.

And another was also overhead: Οποις φιλάει τα ρουχα εχει τα μισά (Opios
filai ta rouha ehei ta misa): He who watches after his clothing, ends up
with half of them. Which means, we think: can always expect to be “ripped off” but the careful person will lose
less than the careless one.

The last one seems particularly apt given our present crisis—here
in Greece and throughout the world at large.

Turtles on the Beach

The giant (one meter long or more) loggerhead turtles are
now laying their eggs on the beach. One can follow their flipper tracks through
the sand. The local people who know, as do many of the foreigners, to take
extra precautions to protect the eggs, which are lain and then buried one
hundred feet or so from the high water mark. People place bamboo sticks in a
circle around them, so those who are unfamiliar with the mounds of sand will
not tread on them. This human precaution, however, does not stop the foxes and
jackals from digging up the eggs at night; and once the newborn turtles hatch
out and make their mad dash into the surf, the seagulls appear as if one cue.
Of the fifty or so eggs that hatch, a mere handful survive the escape into the
aquamarine.

Our Last Day at Hand

With some regret for the brevity of our stay here, our final
approaches. On Thursday we will cross the Taygetos range (more than 8,000 feet
in elevation) and work our way east toward the medieval city of Monemvasia, and
from there we will plot a course north to the small village of Kosta, across
from Spetses, where will be the guests of Jonathan’s mother’s cousin, Kyriakos
and Yianni.