Celebrate Democracy...& Resist Tyranny

 

A pikelia--a bit of everything

Yet another unreal sunset

Mountain view from our porch

Finikounda in the morning, just down the mountain

Today is the 4th of July, which marks the 249th anniversary of Independence back in the United States. But what a difference in just six months of a new presidential administration. I have vowed both to myself and to a few others to steer clear of politics in this blog. Let others write volumes about the decay of democracy in America. Here, in the birthplace of democracy, we can only shake out heads in disbelief.

 

Where are all the peeps?

For the first week of July, this pristine sandy beach on the Ionian Sea—one of just a few designated “Blue Flag” beaches in the European Union—remains largely empty, which is just a bit mystifying.

Even the village at night, remains relatively quiet. In a place where a year’s income—for hotels, restaurants/tavernas, gift shops—is derived in just three months, this is a local cause for concern.

Finikounda's central church

"Bebis"--a friend's classic caique

This is both curious—for the casual observer, with memories of hectic nights in years gone by—and alarming for the merchants who rely on a steady flow of tourists, both Greek and foreign, through the end of August.

There are a few theories: the general retraction of the world economy; the effects of the devastating wars in Ukraine and Palestine (neither of which are particulary close by); the onerous regulations and countless laws imposed by the Greek government, in the name of “austerity.” The latter affects foreigners (expat residents and tourists—both Greek and European) and locals trying to make a living in a shrinking economy. With a local minimum wage of 900 euros a months--tolls and gas from Athens is about 60 euros, one way--the drop in Greek tourism is sad but understandable.

Perhaps the water crisis and the extreme fire danger, the extreme effects of climate change, are a cause for the diminished numbers—that is, for the 95 percent of humanity sufficiently intelligent to recognize the unequivocal and indisputable consequences of a warming planet.

If predictions hold true, partly or entirely, southern Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, and Greece will be nearly uninhabitable by 2050.

The upside, if you can call it that, is we have a largely unpopulated village and beach to ourselves.

Return of the Loggehead Turles (caretta caretta)

 

The sun is strong until it disappears

Signs of loggerhead turtle nest

We have sighted a few turtles swimming along the beach during the day, but it wasn’t until yesterday, when I ran to the “castaway beach”—called Kandouni—that  I saw the first signs of turtles having laid their eggs in the sand dunes.

Chilling out in the sweet shop

In a few months’ time, the baby turtles will emerge from the sand mounds built by their mothers and race to the sea. Some will survive the foxes, the sea birds, and the careless tourists to plunge into the surf, grow to be adults, and return one day to this same beach to lay their own eggs.

Some final images...

There is apparently a UFO in this video...or maybe the Turkish Air Force?

More to say

 

Hiding in the vineyard

 

Naturally there is more to say after fifty days spent in Greece—but the combination of late nights, early morning runs, and extreme heat have tempered my muse, and quieted my ramblings.

This morning I had coffee with my old friends Dimitri and Yioryia, whose daughter Vaso was my daughters’ first (and only) Greek teacher. Calling people the “salt of the earth” is another careless use of one of those flabby American idioms. But it applies to them especially, for they are kind, generous, stewards of the earth, and friends to all. Dimitri and I share a love of language, poetry, history, and lore. We first met in 2009 and have remained stalwart friends ever since.

Dimitri and I spoke about the magic of the evening sounds in rural Messinia: the cries of the jackals, the yaps of the fox, the mournful song of the evening owls.

One owl in particular captures my imagination. It’s song is not very owl-like, more of a long, high-pitched peep. I inquired with Dimitri about this bird.

“Yianni, it is the sound of the γώνη [yioni], our smallest owl.”

He then looked out over his pasture, with a broad view of the cobalt Mediterranean, still and peaceful in the early morning, and turned back to me.

“There were two twin brothers who were so deeply committed to one another. The first brother lost his horses and went out in search of them. Days passed and the brother never returned.”

“His twin, who was deeply saddened at his loss,  became transformed into the yioni, and at night he hides in the cover of the olive trees and calls mournfully for his lost sibling. He cries 'peeeep, peeep' but the brother never returns. And yet he keeps calling for him each night.”

Dimitri turned and our brown eyes met. And he added: “This is the story my grandmother told me long ago. It is one I will never forget.”

Nor will I.

 

The fruits of my labors--a concrete pad

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 Those of us privileged kin who claim the middle beach, festooned in our Maker's birthday suits, stroll a few hundred meters in each direction in search of signs of the protected loggerhead turtles, the caretta caretta, who lay their eggs at a point where the surf ends and the dunes begin, a place with an unusual range of flora and fauna: mounds of wild, purple oregano; flowering thistle; small snakes, beetles, and a multitude of wild bees. 

A home away from home

In a few days I will close the door of this little house and head north to Athens. I am holding out hope for signs of a turtle nest, easily found by following the flipper marks that run perpendicular from the surf to the dunes. The loggerhead lay upwards of one hundred eggs at a depth of 36 inches. A few survive the mad dash to the ocean's edge, escaping the foxes and the sea birds.

We circle the nest with bamboo to keep others from treading on them.

Full-on Summer

 

The daytime temperature rises steadily, from dawn to dusk—and also day by day—and the tepid stir of evening, the δροσιά/drosia (“coolness”) becomes more rare and insufficient. Two days ago, the temperature reached 43 C. (that’s 108 F.) in nearby Messini, while on the beach in Finikounda, cooled by a seabreeze, the temperature topped out at 97 F.

I have changed the drip irrigation on the fruit trees (lemon, orange, mandarin, pomegranate, fig, and avocado—the latter I will brazenly call a “fruit”): from a paltry 4 minutes of drip time at 8 a.m. and 9 p.m., to a more generous 10 minutes. Several years ago my neighbor-farmer Dimitri told me: “Na mean kseroune ta dentra ta potisma”/The trees should never really know watering.” Which I take to mean: don’t let them get used to irrigation.

The main coastal village, Finikounda, is filling up with more people at night as the first of July approaches. But most of the evening “strollers” are either locals or foreigners with houses on the hillsides. For some reason that no one can really explain, tourism is down for this time of year. Which suits me fine.

 

The fall harvest is looking good

We are all poised for tomorrow’s standard greeting, spoken on the first of the month: Kalo meana (“have a good month”).

Today the 1-kilometer-long strip of pristine white sand hosts no more than a few dozen people—with the Greeks clustered by the beach canteen, the area called Mavrovouni (“black mountain”) and the suit-less foreigners occupying the middle beach, which is called Anemomilos.

 

But the super yachts are rolling in on a daily basis, most of them anchored offshore during the day, then departing before sunset for sheltered coves. (They are here in stark contrast to the standard Greek minimum wage: 800 euros per month.) The Black Swan makes occasional appearances, as does Jeff Bezos’s yacht—which last summer hosted Amazon’s CEO with guest Beyonce. The yacht owned by the CEO of Tyson Foods is anchored in Marathi cove, where I kayaked in my first days here. All of these yachts are valued at a half billion dollars or more.

 

A social schedule

I find myself getting invited to dinners, parties, and other events in my final days here. A few nights ago I was in Lahanada for my English friend Ken’s birthday party, along with a dozen other resident foreigners—from Germany, Switzerland, France—and a few Greek locals. The amount and variety of food was unreal. I got home at 2:45 a.m.

A week earlier I played music at the Evangelismos taverna with a young Brazilian-Greek women, whose voice was part Billie Holiday, part Taylor Swift. I played guitar chords for “Girl from Ipanema” and she sang the tune in Portuguese. We had a small audience by the end of the evening. She asked me to join her own band—an unlikely combination of guitar, bouzouki, trumpet, and drum/vocals—at another taverna on Wednesday night in the village of Harokopeio. But I haven’t met her bandmates and may do the honorable thing—and pass on this.

 

Kalamata

Early this morning I drove to Kalamata with my friend Niko, with two large tins of extra virgin olive oil in the trunk of the Citroen, to the shipping agent who sends our oil to Boston. The old city is full of special charms, including a 10th-century Byzantine chapel and a multitude of shops—including a few fantastic, Old World spice and nut shops.

The beach

I am squeezing the most out of my final days here, spending a bit longer each day on the beach: swimming, reading, napping. Repeat.

Today we noticed our first loggerhead (careta careta) turtle, a gentle giant that was swimming parallel to the beach, about 10 meters offshore, its head appearing every so often like a periscope, spying out a spot to nest and lay its eggs, which will happen one evening soon.

Our little red tile roof in the olive grove

 

Sweet Sorrow

 

Morning run/swim/run

Sunset in Evangelismos

 

In about ten days I will lock the door to this little house in the southwestern Peloponnese and head north to Athens in the trusty Citroen. And then two days later I will fly to Boston via Zurich.

And so this summer in Greece will have ended. It has been such a gratifying visit—one full of both large and small accomplishments, such as completing house and garden projects, meeting up with old friends, meeting new friends, swimming/running every day (or twice, or three times), and playing music with others. And eating. Did I mention eating?

Last night I played with a lovely Brazilian-Greek vocalist at the taverna in Evangelismos, a village about 15 kilometers away, along a winding road surrounded by olive groves that stretch out as far as the eye can see.

 

The track to Grizokampos

Kandouni beach...by cliffside

Young and Old

Something I’ve always noticed in rural Greece: the young and the old commune in a natural, friendly, and spirited way. I have spent a lot of evenings with 20-something Greeks, both young men and women, who genuinely enjoy each other’s company…and that of their elders. It is not something I’ve experienced back in the States, where there is a rigid ageism (in addition to sexism, homophobia, the list goes on) that defines that squeamish culture. 

Methoni Castle at sunset

Dharma junkie

Fruits of our labors

At the “Rock on the Pier” in Finikounda, everyone—all ages—were dancing in the streets. Literally.

The Super Wealthy (and the rest of us)

Modern Greece has a long history of attracting the super wealthy from around the world.

Last year we gazed out to sea, from the comfort of our beach umbrellas, at Jeff Bezos’s $400 million yacht—and a massive security detail that consisted of a small fleet of support ships, several with helicopters—which was anchored in the outer harbor. Pop star Beyonce was his guest. But they didn’t step foot in the village.

A few days ago, the Yacht Tracker app identified another vessel anchored near Marathi beach, where I had kayaked just a few weeks earlier. It is owned by the emir of Qatar and was also worth around a half billion dollars.

Then there are the (merely) very rich, in lesser yachts that would rival (or likely exceed) anything you might ever see in Miami or Bar Harbor. 

Lahanada church

Our daughters’ friend, Christos, who is the son of a local fisherman, is now co-skippering a 40-foot support ship, with four 500-horsepower engines. It can cruise at 80 knots and is able to resupply these larger vessels that are plying the Ionian and Aegean Seas—so the locals don’t have to come to shore deal with the likes of us serfs.

 

A foot with seven toes?

Running to/from the unknown

Meanwhile, we are immensely proud of our little Styrofoam kickboard that is “docked” under our double bed.