The Countdown

The Countdown

“You should have stayed two months, Yianni.” Yiota wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. But I miss my family—so I feel conflicted. We should all suffer such happy conflicts.

Mid-90s at 10 a.m.

The first four-fifths of time here was spent in a frentic attempt to consummate the citizenship and a European passport; clean up the field and build a stone wall; and finish some light improvements on the house. Now, with a week to go, it’s time for less work and more fun.

What a transformation in a mere three years. My family will be impressed and have a clearer understanding of why I am so drawn to this remarkable place.

Not the Lamborhgini I had in mind

The One Meal

Much like sleep—four hours a night, catnaps on the beach, a one-hour siesta in the heat of late afternoon—eating occurs in fits and starts: a banana and a coffee for breakfast, 2 liters of water on the beach, and then a large meal at 10 p.m., when the temperatures have dropped and the appetite builds. You can’t walk by the dozen or so village tavernas and not be hungry.

Pork souvlaki, chips, tomatoes and tzatziki

Dimitir's "pikalia" (assortment) of appetizers--the "papoutsaki" (stuffed shoe...eggplant) to die for

Lord of Finikounda

Forced to eat dessert--against my better judgment. Loukoumades

Dinner a few nights ago at “Dionysios,” on the waterfront, was unparalleled—a commentary repeated for nearly every meal. Dimitri reeled off the evening offerings, which lead to a not-so-unusual request. “Can I have a platter that features a little bit of everything?” He was happy to oblige. The pikilia (assortment) included cheese-stuffed baby eggplant, fried cheese (saganaki), gigantes (giant beans cooked in tomato and olive oil), briam (mixed, oven-cooked vegetables), fried zuchini, and whole peppers stuffed with goat cheese and herbs. A half-liter of rose from the family vineyard (the second half liter compliments of the owner), grilled homemade bread…and the the main course: lamb kleftiko (lamb cooked in sealed parchment paper with vegetables.

Dessert (also on the house) was loukoumades (fried dough balls with orange blossom honey and pickled orange peel). It was time for a nap...

Cost with tip: 15 euros. I have died and gone to heaven. Every night.

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Down the Dark Alley of American Politics

I promised not to stray into the ugly realm of U.S. politics. And yet…

I have ordered my Impeach Clinton tee shirt. Order now while supplies last! It should be a bestseller come Christmastime. It looks like Hillary will become the president of the United Snakes of America, to quote the great Nina Simone. Like Bill before her (a pathological liar enriched by the establisment) we can only hope for the worse.

Compulsory Military Service

All young men in Greece perform compulsory military service. What once lasted 20 months, can now be completed in a mere 9 months—not too onerous for a character-building exercise.

I will astound and confound my fellow progressives by suggesting that we need the same in America. It ought to include all men and women, regardless of social class, gender, age, or race, and be unavoidable--no service, no federal student loans (or some such caveat). For those constitutionally opposed to warfare, the service can be in the parks service, education, the arts---just about anything would work.

For those inclined to a more martial experience, offer them a small stipend. And everyone is liable to call-up through age 45 (as in Greece).

Why not take some ownership of your citizenship?

Such service, as here in Greece, might reduce the chance of reckless military engagement. If the wealthy and the privileged, the scions of corporate America, and of the political establishment, were to face the prospect that their precious sons and daughters might face war---war would never happen. It is just a theory.

I was born with a plastic spoon in my mouth.

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Last night, before the sun vanished into the western Mediterranean, I visited Panayioti the beekeeper and honey merchant, not far from our house. I bought 4 kilos of orange blossom and pine honey blend—an utterly intoxicating flavor--to bring back to Maine....as the bear destroyed our hive. He and his wife and I enjoyed a coffee and a sweet on their porch and discussed the business of beekeeping. He has 275 hives on the mountainside. I felt a bit foolish talking about our two hives. He has promised to take me and Ann to his apiary next summer.

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Nearly all of my British friends were in the village last night, their eyes cast on the screen for the quarter finals in the Euro 2016 championship. Mighty England was defeated by diminutive Iceland in a fanastic and historic game. The moans, the groan, the cries—the long-suffering British have suffered two defeats in five days: the Brexit and then being vanquished by a nation no larger than Liverpool.

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Early this morning I ran down the mountain to the Loutsa Campground by the sea. I spoke with P. about the prospect of us sharing the cost of electricity—we will need at least 6 poles, at some cost, to reach our houses.

“What can I offer you,” he asked when I arrived. “Would you like a beer”? It was not quite 9 a.m. and the prospect of running back up the mountain was daunting. I deferred and enjoyed instead some fresh-squeezed orange juice.

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Tomorrow morning I will pick up S., the one-handed Albanian gardener, who will help me work on our fruit trees, olive trees, and avocados. He is a master gardener who does the work of four hands—and he is such a very sweet soul, with a generous smile and a friendly demeanor. His daughters and our daughters were friends in the local school in 2009.

The Albanians, who have been in Greece since the early Middle Ages, by and large, are honest, hardworking, decent folks—but are often treated like our Mexican laborers: distrusted, castigated, and used as scapegoats for all the nation's woes

I am gratified to give him some work and to share his company for a morning.