Back in the Peloponnese

Drive through the Peloponnese

I left the island of Spetses on Monday morning, taking the old car ferry across the Saronic Gulf to the mainland, where I left my rental buggy in a secure parking lot.

A tempest was brewing and the entire drive southwest through the Peloponnese (about 4 hours) was punctuated with heavy downpours and lightning, making an otherwise dramatic drive—over mountain ranges, on switchback roads, crazed drivers—even more interesting.

The Dorian invasion of the Argolid (northeast Peloponnese) commenced around 1200 bce and brought a swift and catastrophic end to the Bronze Age citadels that had reigned supreme for over a thousand years. These citadels dot the landscape, relics of the Heroic Age that brought Western civilization the Trojan War and the literary underpinnings of Western literary history. I passed Argos, Tiryns, and was not too far from ancient Mycenae, which features prominently in Homer’s epic tales.

What remains of this catacylsmic era are the place names of a few modern villages, decidedly un-Greek names like Adama and Tracheia. A bit further south, in the mountains above the seaside village of Leonidio, a Doric dialect remains a source of fascination and curiosity for linguists—more than 3000 years after the invasion.

A woman's house is her castle

...but she needs a good man or woman to clean the moat (Venetian castle, Methoni)

After passing the dusty market city of Argos, astride huge plains of citrus groves and Frankish castles dating to the Middle Ages, you reach the entrance to the “new” highway (circa 2002), which was built for the 2004 Olympics. Designed and completed by German engineers, it is a crowning jewel of the Greek road network, putting to utter shame America’s third-world network of broken roads and bridges. There are a half dozen tunnels that extend thousands of meters under 2500-meter mountain ranges. A highly circuitious journey that once took all day by bus (dubbed the Vomit Comet), is now a four-hour ride. With 17 euros worth of tolls to pay for the pleasure of straight roads.

All roads lead to Kalamata, the capital of the prefecture of Messenia, where our little house is located—the southwestern-most tip of the Peloponnese.

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Get over it—you’re in Greece

I must admit to an inexplicable melancholy upon my arrival. Summer (it seemed) had passed and the entire county was plunged into the rainy season. Still lacking power in the house, upon arrival it seems dark, uninviting, and lonely by 4 p.m. The fact that I had not eaten all day, had barely slept in the preceding days, and was still slightly jet-lagged exacerbated the blues. But you got to pay your dues if you want to sing the blues (George Harrison, I think?).

The first night was spent in utter darkness and more gloom than was justified. And the next morning, my first in the village, was no better. But gradually, as it is wont to do in southern Greece, summer re-emerged in short order. Steaks of blue appeared by last night and this morning featured a classic Mediterranean blue, with soft warm breezes. Nothing to whine about.

In the end, I resorted to what works best: meditation and distance running, and felt restored by day’s end.

A run through the valley restored my humanity

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Back in the hood

The sole cafeneion in our village, with its broad and uninterrupted view of the Mediterranean, also warmed me. Everyone in this village, so it seems, knows my name and my back story. The unrestrained hospitality courses through this small space.

After darkness fell, rather than sitting at home and playing guitar by candlelight, I “snuck” into Finikounda (avoiding the gauntlet of bars) and slinked into my favorite taverna, To Steki, where I enjoyed an incredible vegetarian meal for about 10 euros: a big Greek (“village”) salad, stuffed baked eggplants, broad beans cooked in tomato sauce, hunks of dark barley bread. Yummm! Totally restored, I slept very well on night 2.

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Beat the system…if you can

Everyone in Greece struggles to beat the system in one way or another—after all, it is a national sport—and I have learned to follow suit. But my “illegal” (i.e., un-permitted) porch made my house illegal (again) and is an obstacle to getting electricity, until the government issues another amnesty So my next step is contrition: pay the fines, redo my paperwork, then apply for electricity. But it may take a few years, so the photovolaic option is back on the table.

Some say the fence, which I am presenting installing, needs to be permitted by the police. It is a simple permit, another way to fleece homeowners in order to pay back the Germans who loaned 200 billion to save Greece from default. Not even my lawyer could offer a definitive answer. His suggestion: build the fence, pay the fine later. I feel like I’ve been before!

This morning the fence man, Dimitri, arrived and we paced out the fence line, with my neighbor—a farmer who tends several dozen ancient olive trees—standing by in agreement. Then Dimitri took me for a ride, showing my his other work (which is very fine), a tour of his workshop, a coffee at his house, and then a handshake (in exchange for 1200 euros).

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Ah, the beach

After parting ways with Dimitri, I packed up the essentials and headed to the beach. Book, snack, writing pad/pen, sans bathing suit. Heaven on earth.

The big beach is 2 kilometers of white sand. Today I counted 12 souls, from one end to the other. There was a driving surf and stiff wind, so swimming was a bit perilous—but the ocean is warm and I swam parallel to the beach and survived. The water temperature in October is warmer than in June.

Tonight I’m heading to the nearby town of Methoni, with its medieval castle overlooking the modern village, to listen to a guitarist perform at a bar on the waterfront.

Methonia castle from afar--we are "registered" as Methoni-ites with an oglibation to defend the walls

The performer, one man with an acoustic guitar, is a guitar tech and stage manager for the likes of the Rolling Stones and Eric Clapton, among other big acts.

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Finally, a decent beach day. I parked at Mavrovouni--the end of the big beach--then ran eight miles...then went for a swim in a tepid ocean.