Attitude of gratitude

 

An attitude of gratitude

 

As my time winds down here in Messenia, the sadness surrounding departure is replaced by feelings of profound gratitude—for this beautiful place, for our special friends, for a simple but lovely and traditional home (forever in progress), and most of all for the kindness of strangers.

 

Not a day (nor perhaps a waking hour) passes when I fail to meet someone new—Greeks and Albanians, foreigners, first-time visitors who are in thrall by this place.

 

Yesterday I had a reflexology appointment with a village friend, Katerina, who imparted incredible energy in a 90-minute session. While she couldn’t “fix” my dislocated pinky finger—now all the talk of the cafeneion, with bagged ice melting down my sleeve—the therapy session did wonders for my back, neck, and general disposition.

 

In the evening, I sat with a large group of mostly Australian Greeks—laughing and exchanging stories until 2 a.m. The feeling of paraea (company) can be all-consuming on a veltvety summer evening by the oceanside. I met several more people (German, Austrian, English, Greek) who live within shouting distance of our little house, nestled in an olive grove, or atop a promontory with a long view of the Mediterranean. I have a dozen invitations that I cannot possibly act on. Not this year, at least.

 

I was up and running by 8 a.m., before the heat really intensified. Parking at Anemomilos beach (to avoid climbing back up the mountain) I ran deep into the Mangiotiko Valley, which has the EU’s “Natura 2000” designation. Passing the last of the cultivated olive groves and then heading into the wilderness of this pristine place, I encountered an array of wildlife in just 12 kilometers of running: a family of wild boar (including one angry 200-pound-plus papa with fearsome tusks), two jackals, a pine marten, a Peloponnesian golden eagle, and my greatest nemesis: a huge tree snake. They are said to be “harmless.” Tell that to the Marines.

 

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Gimme shelter

 

Small is beautiful

New window grates to keep the riff-raff in

I find that I don’t need much here: a roof over my head, a loaf of fresh bread, with a basket of tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers; a kilo of local village wine; a towel but not necessarily a bathing suit. Life is good, indeed.

 

Life is good in Maine, too. I can’t help but say that, fortunate soul that I am. And my family there, whom I miss very much.

 

 

 

The scourge of the West

 

As I lay on Katerina’s massage table, our conversation turned to what’s “wrong” with Greece. The thing that’s wrong is the scourge of the West, the evil triumvirate that has crept into and sullied traditional Greece and is slowing consuming it.

 

Fear. Anger. Loneliness.

 

I suppose it’s easy to get philosophical while you are horizontal on a padded massage table.

Central casting

Olive trees, the great central characters of this region, are individual personalities. Many of them are hundreds of years old--graceful like dancers frozen in time.

Olives trees that are older than all of us combined

Road become path becomes thicket