Temenos: Settling In

Another sunset

All the things that slither and crawl (part 2)

Keeping doors and windows shut (or screened) is imperative, lest the house become an extension of the wild kingdom that is our olive grove.

A day doesn’t go by without a firm stomping: flying creatures, terrestrial creatures, and the mass of unknow creeping things.

The plumbing shop

Nothing brings me more pleasure than entering a dark, cavernous shop for the first time, meeting the owner, and telling my story. It is the premiere way to hone Greek-speaking skills and further expand a growing vocabulary, which can be bizarrely arcane: the word for “plunger,” for example, is not used in normal, polite cafeneion conversation. But it has its moments.

The proprietor of the plumbing shop has said he has more than 20,000 individual things—that is a big vocabulary for one day.

I gathered all that I needed to install—with the help of dear Dimitri and his plumbing guidance—an automatic watering system: plastic hose, sending unit, an assortment of fittings.

Getting grid power

The subject of electricity is a sore point, largely because I have to explain again and again why I don’t have it after 12 years. Part obstinance, part frugality, part tax avoidance. The state fleeces homeowners through the electric: only a portion is for actual power, the rest covers municipal taxes and a host of incomprehensible add-ons.

Little fixer-upper

My local Mafia chief (name withheld for reasons of safety) has put in another application with the demos (municipality) so that they might pay for the five or six poles that would bring grid power closer and reduce our installation costs. This will benefit a few of us who live outside of the skethio (village plan) Although, the truth be told, photovoltaic (PV) is the solution, especially a system that can be packed up an stored in our absence. This serves to gypsy-proof the house, if only marginally.

I tell the story of my power woes to the old men in the cafeneion, where I love to sit and be engaged in lively conversation.

“Yianni,” one man opines, “the demos is a bordello—just forget it. Get some solar panels and avoid those thieves."

Up periscope

This revisits a previous post.

A few days ago, while lounging on the big beach, my friend T. and I noticed a large black object swimming a few meters off shore, parallel to the beach. Everyone pointed and shouted out χελώνα/helona (turtle), the famed Careta-Careta.

This section of beach is the nesting place for the very large (3-5 feet, head to tail) and highly endangered Loggerhead turtle, which lays its eggs at night in the sand dunes, usually in late July, just after the big moon. Like salmon Downeast, the babies find where they were born years later, in order to create the next generation.

Its grapefruit-size head popped out of the surface every minute or two. This lovely, gentle creature was doing a kind of reconnaissance for the evening “deposit.”

Low and behold, the next morning we found the nest and the paddle marks in the sand. As amateur conservationists, we did what we are told is right: we planted a ring of dried bamboo around the nest, in order to prevent it from getting trodden by oblivious tourists—of which there are, thankfully, so few these days. They should stay on Mykonos!

In about 90 days, more than 30 baby turtles will hatch, dig their way of the sand, and make the mad dash to the surf—half of them eaten by seagulls, if they haven’t already been dug up by foxes or jackals.

Drawn to the place

A visual feast in most directions

Our village on the mountainside

Olive trees on the horizon

Foreign residents are now returning in droves, although some vanish into their hillside villas. Some are recent arrivals (like us, 17 years ago), others are multigenerational families—German, Dutch, Austrian, French, English…and at least one American. It is interesting to see how many of these foreigners have “integrated,” in the sense that they speak credible Greek, eat and drink Olympic style, and can do the Messinian circle dances—these are the uncloistered ones. I fall into that category because it is the most gratifying thing to be a part of the community. Doing so earns respect and admiration.

Everyone in our mountain village knows me—and seems they genuinely like me—and the same is true in the “main” seaside village, Finikounda, down the mountain (682 feet of reverse elevation, to be precise).

I am treated with excessive kindness, traditional hospitality, and even a smattering of love. It is clearly a mutual affection, demonstrably the “old” Greece that I remember from the 1970s and 1980s.

Not a day passes without the sensation of being privileged—that is, the privilege of being part of a vibrant and welcoming community.

The famous visitors

This place draws some very wealthy and famous folks—British royalty, Beyonce in her yacht offshore, Tom Cruise with an entourage, musicians, artists, and the like.

A buzz in the village follows a sighting.

What is paradise without venomous snakes?

This place abounds with snakes, some very large (over 2 meters) and harmless. But there are two vipers that are especially venomous: the οχιά/ochia and the αστρίκη/astriki. They are both small, with black and white diamond patterns. The latter one with a white underbelly. Not that I've examined one too closely This is just around the time of year when they are found with some frequency: either crawling or squished on the asphalt.

A man and his tractor

It would be exaggeration to say that there are more tractors than cars—but not a big one. They buzz about at dizzying speeds, sometimes carrying whole families—mother, father, kids, yiayia (grandmother), and a goat or three in the bucket, their rear legs bound—on their way to their olive groves or foraging patures. After so many years of land division (for example, each son receiving a small plot as his inheritance; or each daughter her prika or dowry) the local farmers own multiple lots. Sometimes just a strema (quarter acre) with a dozen olives trees, occasionally a larger parcel with hundreds of trees.

Olive trees are the life-blood of this community. Wealth is measured not in acreage but in number of trees. Niko might have 120 trees, Dimitri 1,200, Panayioti several thousand.

The way to access your parcel is by tractor. It is also a way to go the cafeneion for a thick cup of coffee.