Temenos: A Tourquoise Tease

Writers since antiquity have commented on the curious quality of light in the eastern Mediterranean. The intensity of the sun and the clarity of the air yield a vibrancy to the ocean, the hillsides, even to the faces of people. I lack the writerly skills to describe this special quality. So, come see for yourself. Even the pictures in this blog do scant justice in conveying the clarity.

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Old friends, local Greeks and expats alike, keep appearing. It is a warm and friendly homecoming—one that resists the two-cheek kiss in the time of Covid. The fist bump is the newest form of greeting. But it works.

Yesterday we joined our English friends C. and P. on the beach at Tsapi. The turn is about 2 kilometers up the mountain and the road to Tsapi follows a series of dizzying hairpin turns down a mountain road, with sections collapsing down the cliffsides.

A bit of vigilance is required while driving, but the prize at the end is unparalled—a sandy beach nestled between to cliffs, with nothing other than two beachside tavernas: one run by Maria, the other run by…Maria. The English tend to lunch at Maria to the right; the Germans at Maria’s to the left. We find this state of affairs to be a bit amusing, but there is a historical/cultural separation dating back to the world wars that engulfed the 20th century. Of course, today everyone is (mostly) friendly in the neutral zone of Greece. The expats in this corner of Greece consist of—in order of population—Germans, then English, Dutch, French, and Italians. There is a sprinkling of Americans and Canadians, but they are few and far between.

Our English friend P., an avid recreational fisherman, tells of the changing species of fish in the Mediterranean. The widening of the Suez Canal has bought a variety of invasive species, and some are showing up in small but growing numbers. The so-called rabbit fish looks lovely but—even when cooked—can be deadly to consume. The marine biologists assured Europe that the difference in salinity, between Suez and the Med, would not allow for such an invasion. Apparently, they were very wrong.

The other “invasive” species has been nicknamed the Germanos. It is a tongue-in-cheek nomenclature, referencing the German invasion of Greece in 1941—a devastating and violent period in Greece’s modern history. (My Cretan family was largely executed in their village in 1943.) The “Germanos” has extremely toxic spines and fins. Even a glancing encounter results in terrible welts. One wonders if Afghanistan and Iraq have deadly creatures nicknamed “Americanos.” It would be fitting and equally humorless.

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Early on Monday, Nia and I dashed to nearby Pylos—Homer’s “sandy Pylos”—in order to queue at the National Bank of Greece. I was warned that the bank only allowed two customers in the building at a time (Covid precautions) and that we would be greeted by a long line snaking toward the plateia. A simple withdrawal might take upwards of an hour.

We arrived and there was no line whatsoever. Our transaction took all of five minutes.

Getting a bank ATM card, on the other hand, would prove more difficult.

The friendly bank manager asked if I could provide proof of my profession. (“Can’t you see the bags under my eyes? I’m a freelance book editor.”) Alas, we were unable to provide the necessary documentation at that moment, but this can be resolved online. Although we have no power or internet in our little house, we acquired a “hotspot” device that works like a charm, given that we live halfway up the mountain and have a line of sight to the antenna. Nia, in particular, is relieved. She can take her art classes, with the New Brunswick [Canada] College of Craft and Design, from the comfort of our porch. And I remain gainfully employed doing the same—working from a picnic table under the tile roof.

We bumped into other English friends, C. and T., in the Pylos town square. C. offered use of a silent generator (to charge our devices) and T., a recently retired art teacher in the UK, suggested some mentoring of Nia. A perfect match.

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At 2 p.m., when the heat began to relent slightly, we headed to the big beach or long beach, which goes by various names depending on where you sit—Mavrovouni (“black mountain”) on the west end; Anemomilos on the east end; and the forbidden beach in the middle, which Nia thinks rhymes with “rude.” It is my favorite place to camp out, along with most of my friends, but respect for my daughter demanded west or east.

Tonight we will dine with a third set of English friends, R. and A., whose traditional, restored village house sits high in a neighboring village with a panoramic view of the Ionian Sea. That hackneyed expression, “taking your breath away,” applies perfectly.

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Nia’s Food and Fashion Page

Our dear Evyenia has suggested a food and fashion subsection in Temenos--representing her favorite subjects. Take it away, Nia!

Grapes from our neighbor's vineyard

Beefeki and pork souvlaki

Gotta have car snacks...

In the evening we were invited to our friends' house in a village above Finikounda, with a long view of ocean.

Our friend R. grilled fresh sea bream and vegetables, taught me how to de-bone fish, and eat the best parts (including the cheeks!).

Finally, at around 11 p.m. my baba (dad) and I went for a full-moon swim. The endangered loggerhead turtles are hatching out, but we didn't see any tonight. Maybe tomorrow night. The bioluminesence was incredible, and the water was warm and silky. We were the only people on the entire beach. It was pretty special.