On Turtles, Nudity, and Nationalism--Oh My

Can't find my way home

Traditional Life

This is a conservative, traditional, and still largely religious society—the nudity on the beach and a few other trappings notwithstanding. Finikounda, the main village, survives in large part—but hardly entirely—on a tourist economy, with many cafeneions and shops geared toward visitors. But even here, a vibrant traditional life exists close beneath the surface--for those willing to recognize it. Tradition is manifested in expressions and attitudes, in foodways, in turns of phrase, in the nuanced gestured of hands and faces.

Can't get there from here

The Loggerhead Turtle

The dunes behind the big beach, called Anemomelos, falls under the European Union’s “Natura 2000” designation as a place of special natural significance. The sand dunes, aside from the wide diversity of plant and animal life, is a place where the threatened loggerhead turtle buries its eggs, usually at night. People on the beach—Greeks and resident foreigners alike—will ring the “egg zone” (a divit in the sand about two meters wide) with bamboo to keep unsuspecting beachgoers from treading on them. The usual predator, however, is the ordinary fox (and sometime the African jackal and the wild boar, once threatened and now ascendant), who dig up the eggs and eat them.

Path from the ocean to egg laying site

Turtle eggs

The loggerhead turtle can grow as large as a enormous platter, more than a meter or more across.

A slow snake--too slow for comfort

With a Little Help from My (Albanian) Friends

I mentioned to an English friend my wish to disappear about 10 ton of rock and cement debris that was “fallout” from the house renovation. I piled it all at the back of the driveway two years ago, with the help of Yianni's JCB.

My friend arranged to provide two Albanian laborers and a dump truck. In a matter of four hours of backbreaking work, the entire mess was cleared away, doubling the turning radius in the drive and otherwise “beautifying” the property.

These two men worked ungloved in the midday heat (+ 100 degrees Farenheit), loading the truck three times, breaking apart seveal enormous 500-pound boulders with sledge hammers so that they could lifted into the truck. Wathcing how they approach rocks is telling: a quick flip of the rock--never, ever putting underneath--and a fast scan for scorpions and snakes. I have adopted the same method of self-preservation..

One of these men was stung by a scorpion of the chest (unusual and perilous) last spring. He was rushed to Pylos medical center, where he received three shots of antidote. A sting so close to the heart can be dangerous if not treated quickly.

My Bee Buddy—An Unproven Theory

My American friends T. and K. have observed a sort of phenomenon on the beach, which has been borne out by my own experience. When one arrives on the beach, an extremely large bee-like creature (hummingbird size) appears out of nowhere. It flies around one’s encampment for hours, chasing away wasps and other aggressive flying insects. It does not sting or otherwise harrass the beachgoer, but seems to protect them. My friends have doubled this little flying acrobat their “bee buddy.” And so it is—I now have my own bee buddy. Who’da thunk it.

Guarding the castle gastes in nearby Methoni---Turks be gone!

Castle with boutzi at the end--a medieval jail used for executions then...and weddings today

-----------

Who Was That Masked Man (or Woman)—The Rise of the Fruit Fairy

Someone has been leaving small amounts of fruit—sometimes figs, more often lemons or oranges or apricots—on my porch most afternoons. This kind soul, whom I have not yet met, remains a mystery. I hope to have the opportunity to reciprocate…with something.

More Birds in the Sky

This region of southern Messinia is on a major migratory route for birds that transit from North Africa to points east and north. There is no shortage of a fascinating variety of winged creatures.

The Greek air force, stationed in nearby Kalamata, oftens flies their own sorties over the beach—in propellor-powered training aircraft. It can sound like the Battle of Britain, but there are no casualites (thankfully). Nevertheless, the very suggestion of warfare and the accompanying human discontent is enough to make one want to dive deep into the aqua blue.

------

So perhaps it is the climate, or the amount of sunshine, that creates our human dispositions. This unproven theory might explain why people on the 45^th parallel (e.g, Downeat Maine) are generally surly, irritable, and discontented…as well as addicted to their various vices and often unremittingly angry. I can’t help contrasting this with the people of coastal Messinia—despite suffering years of austerity and unemployment and hopelessness, a genuine levity prevails. It is nearly impossible to describe without experiencing it firsthand.

The Construction Yard

Following the disappearance of the rock debris from our driveway, the space is ready for some χαλίκη (haliki), the quintessential pea-size marble stone that is used locally on driveways and walkways. (It also serves a security purpose---at night, it would be impossible for someone to approach your house stealthily, as it makes quite a noise underfoot.) I stopped at the construction yard this morning to order five cubic meters of this stone. I made the request to Yianni, the affable owner of the construction yard.

Beyond the vineyard, looking home

Full of  figs

No apricots...yet

As with most establishments, the standard question is asked: What can I treat you to? Out comes a carafe of homemade wine, a platter of cold pork, and a bowl of sliced cucumbers.

It wasn’t quite 9 a.m.

Equipment Failure

The notion of equipment failure, as it pertains the beach, conjurs the thought of a lost bikini top for some Americans. In my case, it was the loss of the all-critical beach umbrella. As I floated 100 meters offshore, oblivious to the rising wind, my beach umbrella cartwheeled down the long beach, a pirouetting of my most important piece of beach equipment (well, a close runner-up to the 1.5 liter water bottle). The fear that this thing would skewer some unsuspecting sunbather motivated a fast sprint a half kilometer down the beach, in said “birthday suit,” in an attempt to intercept this colorful projectile. A final dive and tackle—mission accomplished.

Now said umbrella is a shadow of its former self, but still useable—with twine, duct tape, and a prayer.

Beach Attire…Or Not. That Is the Question

Count the people, umbrellas, and vendors on the beach

It is worth reiterating, as a kind of preamble, that this is a conservative, traditional rural society. And yet, there is a long history of nudity in Greece—especially on the beach. It would be entirely mistaken to suggest this is some kind of Western innovation, foisted on the poor Greeks by well-tanned Scandinavians.

The very word “gymnasium” has the cognate gymnos/gymnoi, meaning “naked.” (My apologies to the linguists among us who might feel obliged to adjust my grammatical observations.) The ancient games of Greece (Olympia, Delphi, Corinth, etc.) were performed nude—particularly the track and field events and wrestling. So it is not such an enormous intellectual/philosophical/cultural stretch to suggest that nudity might indeed have its place on the Greek beach. Some might dispute this theoretical continuum from ancient to modern--but not on my beach!

Ironically, I suppose, American sensibilities—in particular—suffer no shortage of outrage at God’s preferred form for us humans. (Most Americans, in fact, would be surprised to learn that YMCAs and YWCAs featured nude pools—same sex, mind you—up until the early 1950s, when the long reach of McCarthyism destroyed the final vestiges of sensible behavior in our retentive society. Google it if you doubt it! McCarthyism, sadly, is alive and well in 21^st-century America, masked as it is by sickly righteousness.)

I say “ironic” because we live in a culture where American sensibilities cast a suspicious eye on the very thought of even private, non-exhibitionist nudity. Why ironic? Because for all our prudishness the "culture" (quotations are needed here) continues to objectify women and girls, sanctions sexual violence on television and on the big screen, and promotes, fosters, and furthers a long history of sexism, both overtly and and subtlely. And yet we cannot tolerate so much as a bare breast on television. God forbid! The righteous simpletons in our midst—evangelical, fundamental crazy Christians are on the top of that heap—speak out of both sides of their hypocritical mouths. Whatever happened to the likes of Jimmy Swaggart or to James Baker--our beacons of religiosity?

Sorry folks, this is a family-friendly blog, devoid of beach photos. (In fact, it is indeed a creppy world--even the folks at Google are stealing my phoots--so the only "human" photos are of me, your hapless correspondent---thankfully, fulled clothed.) There is no oodling and oddling on the beach, just a quiet, respectful coexistence. It is not unusual to see entire familes—Momma, Pappa, brothers, sisters, grandchildren--lazing sans loincloth, celebrating God’s subtle gift of creation's glorious form.

Don’t forget about your birthday suit. It is the one you were born with. It is a point of pride, not shame.

----

The preceding diatribe notwithstanding, most people (Greeks and foreigners alike) are quite aware of the local sensibililities, traditions, and taboos. So there exists a kind of invisible Rubicon on the beach, several hundred meters on either side of a central point, that beachgoers respect.

It is far too hot (105 degrees by 1:00 p.m.) to have such arguments…or to fantasize about much more that sunshades, sunscreen, and a cool drink. Lighten up, folks: tan lines be gone!

-----

Walking waist deep in the surf and then plunging like a missile into the deep---ah, what pleasure to glide down, down, down…where the water changes from cool aquamarine into rich cobalt, eyes open to the underwater world, the fish scattering. I feel a curious smile emerge, an underwater smile, and then rising quickly for that first breath of precious air. And to repeat the experience again and again…it is an indescribable pleasure.

Citizenship

Get dressed. Splash on some cold water. We are on to more pedestrian subjects:

As of May 5, 2016, my daughter Evyenia and I have become citizens of the Hellenic Republic. Our older children, Manny and Lucia, may follow suit with a bit more effort on the basis of their father’s newly acquired dual citizenships. The hoops through which they must jump are not too high or hot. Their mother, Anna, will pursue her own course, pursuing European citizenship on the basis of her Italian (Sicilian) ancestry. (My challenge to her: become an Italian citizen, and I will learn Italian as my fourth language, which counts the mudflat Maine dialect). In the end, with some luck, all five of us will be bonefide dual citizen--ready to flee at a moment's notice. In either direction.

This comes at precipitous time, as England has just voted to leave the European Union. The consequences for our English friends with houses in Greece remains uncertain. Last night I offered myself as a one-man adoption service to those whose status and resident aliens is threatened. I am taking no marriage proposals.

For me, this is the culmination of a forty-year-long goal and the product of a steely and determined effort over the past five-plus years. In Greece nothing--absolutely nothing--is simple or clear cut. In some ways, it is the challenge of contending with a post-Ottoman bureacracy that is most heroic of all.

Fishing pier in Methoni

Citizenship, with all its rights and privileges, is something most folks take for granted--Americans perhaps more than most. For the desperate and diverse collection of migrants pouring into Europe, many of whom are now stranded in Greece, it is the Holy Grail of their very existence.

Pause, dear friends, if you might, to reflect on what it means to be a citizen. Never take this for granted. Be proud of your nationality (or nationalities), whatever is--or they--are, while avoiding the ugly trap of nationalism. For nationalism is the most vile of –isms, the birthplace of countless wars and righteous suffering inflicted on others.