Hail, Victory Is Ours! (Χαιρετε Νικομεν)

With petrol at $12/gallon, this is the way to go

Armchair classicists the world over know the apocryphal story of Phidippedes, the hemerodrome (“day runner”) who was said to have run to Sparta from Athens (150 miles), then back (150 miles) to elicit the help of the Spartans in defending Greece from the attacking Persians in 490 BCE. Legend has it that after his run from the plains of Marathon to Athens, announcing the victory of the Greeks over the Persians (“Hail, we are victorious”), our hero promptly died. I can relate to this effort and the potential hazards associated with it. As a lifelong distance runner, the very notion of running 350 miles in two days, under the Greek sun, gives pause. Sudden death seems like the obvious consequence for one man’s noble efforts.

Each morning, before the midsummer sun renders most activity impossible, I run down the mountain—or up the mountain. Failing an early morning run, I attempt the same in the early evening, when the temperature and radiant heat from the asphalt is excruciating.

Heading back up the mountain

So far, I have managed some kind of run every today. Today it was an easy ten miles: down to Finikounda, along Anemomilos beach, then a side trip through the village before heading back up the mountain. I felt a special satisfaction with the ease of today’s run, owing to the cooler morning temperature (mid-80s).

Finikounda's one-room schoolhouse with a view

A minor victory of my own was accomplished yesterday at the office of the civil engineer in Pylos. For an ungodly sum of euros, I was able to finally (re)legalize our pint-sized cottage in the olive grove. I had made it “illegal” by building a porch with a tile roof.

The humble spitaki

The Greek government, like all governments the world over, locates its operating capital by fleecing its own people, one way or another. In Greece, this is accomplished by way of taxes, fines, and fees on home ownership. It is both exasperating and bewildering for the uninitiated. Now we are legal. Until we aren’t again.

Sun sinking into the western Mediterranean

Aqueduct my friend, c. 1200

As I lay on the beach yesterday, an enormous super-yacht crossed from Methoni to Finikounda. The Chakra, valued at $60 million, is owned by a Lebanese ga-zilloinaire. A Google images search will give you an idea of what this tub looks like.

 According to the online sources, this vessel, with its crew of forty-three sailors, costs $7 million per year just to operate. It is available for weekly charters at $500,000, but if you split the cost among many friends, it becomes slightly more affordable. Depending on your friends’ largesse. This is hardly the largest or most expensive vessel to ply these waters. In previous years (including last October), the largest sailing vessel in the world—a six-masted 420-foot behemoth, owned by a Russian oligarch—dropped anchor in Finikounda’s harbor, surrounded by support vessels with well-armed guards. It sports three helipads, a plexiglass bottom, staterooms with 24-carat-gold fixtures, and military grade deck that is apparently bomb-proof. Owned by Russia’s fertilizer magnate. This puts our little plastic canoe into some kind of perspective.

Copious fresh fruit and veggies