We Are Famillie

We Are Famillie

The first day of summer, 21 June, the longest day of the year. Here in southern Messenia, with the sun at its apex, the sky remains light until well after 9:30—a pastel hue on the western horizon, a purple fog reflected off the broad expanse of Mediterranean.

Ann and Nia arrived in Kalamata, by bus from Athens, yesterday afternoon. I drove the three of us in the rental buggy back through the hot streets of Kalamata, through the market town of Messini, and on to our final destination: A mountain village named Akritohori, located just a few kilometers east of  Finikounda. It is difficult to paint a precise picture of this gorgeous place with words—or it is beyond my modest writing skills. We passed through undulating groves of olives, past the long rows of vineyards, soon reaching Homer’s “sandy Pylos” and the tip of southern Messenia. The ocean horizon reaches south toward Egypt, west toward Malta, and east toward the southern Cyclades and Turkey. The ocean, so obviously a predominant feature, a sort of blue-green infinity, alters reality. Either that or reality has altered us—in a precious and meaningful way.

“No Woman, No Cry?”—I Beg to Differ

We climbed the final curve of mountain road and eased into our property—the sight of fresh lemons, the wafting aroma of mandarin oranges, the sheer beauty of an olive grove punctuated with crimson pomegrante, oleander, slender cypress. My bride, Ann, and our younger daughter Nia were speechless, then animated, then thankful to have arrived at Temenos, our Greek sanctuary.

Misery Is Optional

Friends back home send stories of bleak overcast, and wet cool days. My mind drifts to forbidden places: to the dark days, the unpalatable food, the angry politics; to rain, sleet, snow; to a spring that seems to never come for the long-suffering, for winters whose grip can seem punishing and unrelenting. A cultural, ethical, and spiritual wasteland. All of which is churlish, a pouty exaggeration, but a gut feeling nonetheless. A Southern European soul trapped in a Northern European reality.

I speak of whence we came, not of where we have arrived.

As the saying goes, misery is optional. And so we are here, in southern Messenia, pinching ourselves for our good fortune—335 days of sunshine, spring in February (and once again in November), a winter that can surely bring its own dread but is an afterthought. This place is a visual, cultural, and culinary feast. The contrast with our other home—lovely, pristine, alive with nature, for sure—but in so many ways an intractable “desert,” could not be more stark.

And yet I love—I cherish—our life in Downeast Maine. The true friends, the unsullied forest and sea, the stark beauty of the land of the pointed first.

But six months on, six months off—perhaps only an aspiration today, but one that is worth grasping, cultivating, and encouraging.

                                              The PG-13 Beach

Last night we joined our friends T and K, along with Kosta the Pirate, for a taverna night in Finikounda. Nia’s memory of this place, during an extended sabbatical with her siblings in 2009 and then a brief return in 2012, has slowly awakened. “Yes, I remember the church! Is that my friend from the village school? When I think of Greece, I think of gyro sandwiches!” Our taverna night last until 1:00 p.m., and by 2:00 p.m. we were home. An early night—ease them in!

Today we visited Pylos, in order to obtain photos for Evyenia’s tavtotita (identification card) and European passport, projects that will be consummated in a few days. Our dear friend, Niko, will serve as our martyros (witness) at the Koroni police station. With identification papers in hands, we can then apply for our passports in Kalamata, which will be next week’s assignment.

Niko the poet, the man of letters, the holder of this place’s cultural, historical linguistic, and artistic truths, offered the following sage advice to Evyenia, our eager fifteen year old:

“Evyenia, there are three ways to knowledge, and all three are vital. The first is reading. The second is travel. And the third is people. This three will combine to make you a complete person, one who is both wise and satisfied with life’s gifts.

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We arrived at the long beach, Anemomilos, just after noontime. We set up our cabana (shade tent) and the three of us swam. We walked past the beach frequented by locals, a few meters shy of  the clothes-optional beach—the transition zone that I have nicknamed the PG-13 beach (mostly clothed, but not entirely). We lasted about two hours, cognizant of the Greek midday sun, which can be paralyzingly powerful for the uninitiated.

Now it is Nia and Ann’s turn to weigh in on this family adventure—Temenos 2017.