End of the Beginning

Human, All Too Human

Reality takes many forms—it can be the small and sublime, a ochre-colored house in an olive grove, perched above the aquamarine Mediterranean, or, more alarmingly, a set of US Stealth Bombers at the nearby NATO base, poised for one mischief or other. Jonathan and Lucia have been blessed with the former pleasure, while avoiding the later emblems of power politics...the latest international crisis.

Soon enough their time in Greece will have passed. They are ever so grateful for the time in Messinia and especially for their time together, co-travelers—a bit of oil, a bit of water--on the broad Hellenic highway.

Final Touches

While his dear daughter enjoys late nights (never retiring much before 2:30 a.m.) followed by the pleasures of seemingly infinite sleep, Jonathan plugs away at the house: overseeing an unbelievable transformation in a mere seven weeks. With the painting just completed yesterday morning, a house party was the first order of business, and to that end father/daughter hosted about forty “friends”—a word that they do not use lightly—including local villagers and foreign residents (German, Dutch, English) alike.

 Everyone here is so welcoming, the aura of ancient hospitality alive and well in the modern era. Their friend Dimitri the butcher worked his magic cleaver over a full roasted pig. The party lasted until 2 a.m., and then everyone headed down to the village for an evening out…an evening that ended at 4 a.m., followed by a morning that began at 7 a.m.—for Jonathan, at least.

The House: Before and After

Lucia and Jonathan now count the days until their departure from Greece—seven weeks have passed in a blink of the eye, and yet their time here has been fulfilling and enlightening. Work on the house continues on a daily basis, cutting into precious “beach time”—but the results have been well worth the effort. The little house and property have been transformed into a very special home. “Sanctuary” is not too large a word.

Manna from heaven, melons from the gypsies

The house is located on a sharp bend in the road from Koroni. Each day, the gypsies pass by in their trucks piled with watermelons and cantaloupe, and invariably a few melons are lost on the sharp curve. This morning, while Jonathan and Paul were painting the front exterior wall, a truck rounded the corner and a large melon rolled off the pile landed on the road, rolled on the property, and came to a stop at the front door. “I guess that’s your melon now,” said Paul from the scaffolding. The melon was promptly added to the ice chest.

Planning the first party

On Sunday, while enjoying a day at Tsapi beach, sitting with a large group of English friends, Jonathan mentioned his wish to have a house-warming party. Their friends jumped at the opportunity to plan a party, which is scheduled for Friday. A dozen or so guests, a whole roasted pig (a Messinian favorite), and variety of food, music, and entertainment were planned in a matter of minutes.

By early today, the number of guests had risen to over twenty—local Greek friends, foreign residents (British, Dutch, and others), and long-term visitors from Europe and beyond.

The koumbaroi head for Athens

The one-week visit from Athens friends (koumbaroi—Jonathan and Ann’s best man, his wife, and their daughter) ended on Monday. The three of them headed home via Mistra, the ancient Orthodox center near Sparta, and Monemvasia—the medieval Byzantine city perched on a rock in the eastern Peloponnese.

The house—before and after

In a matter of one year—but mostly in the past seven weeks—an old and delapidated agricultural house in a weedy field has been transformed into a real home. Jonathan has spent countless hours, with the help of both friends and hired workers, to turn an impossibility into a probability…and then finally into a magical retreat in southern Greece.

With a fondness for the “before and after” effect, these few photos are offered.

Seven days and a long list

The next week promises to be a busy one—there is painting and stuccoing; cleaning and organizing; planting, trimming, and watering. And then there is the aquamarine ocean beneath a cobalt sky, the ultimate daily draw. Now, in late July, working much before noon is an excruciatiing task. A morning of housework easily yields to an early afternoon of swimming, then eating. And of course napping. How else could Jonathan and Lucia survive their late nights in the village?

Spare Us the Politics!

Jonathan and Lucia are keeping up a busy and tiresome schedule, with late nights getting progressively later (both) and early mornings getting earlier (Jonathan). Four hours of sleep is feasible when the afternoon siesta—lasting anywhere from a half hour to a two solid, blissful hours—is factored in. For Jonathan the post-siesta routine is familiar: Wake, hydrate, drink a frappe, run down the mountain to Loutsa beach for a swim in his birthday suit, run back up the mountain to the house. The post-siesta routine is invigorating and life-giving. It sets the foundation for a night that lasts until 3or 4 a.m.

Greece for the Greeks—and for those with money

The old saw that money is power and influence is best manifested in post-crisis Greece. Gradually, the Greece of old is vanishing. Yes, the beaches are still indescribably beautiful, the food delectible, the people (in places not too jaded by tourism or wracked by poverty) welcoming, friendly, and gushing with a uniquely Hellenic hospitality. There is the richness of culture (dance, music, traditional arts and crafts), the world of the spirit (Orthodox Christianity, particularly here in rural Peloponnese), and so on.

And yet a new phenenomen, one that is regrettably unstoppable, emerges. Greece itself, owing to the severe financial crisis and the influence of the IMF, European Central Bank, and “banksters” such as Goldman Sacks—i.e., “the troika,” those criminal sorts who have engineered the worst of the misery for ordinary people—has been given over, piece by piece, to foreign entities: banks, institutional lenders, and the wealthy and powerful. It is a terrible price to pay for the misdeeds of a generation of corrupt Greek politicians and uniquely Balkan-style thievery.

Greece for Sale

A debate has raged in the Greek parliament. For five thousand-plus years Greece’s panoramic ocean front has been accessible to all Greeks. It is so much part of Greece’s shared cultural heritage. Soon this will all change, despite a rising chorus of protests domestically and abroad. Legislation is solidifying that will privatize all of Greece’s many thousands of kilometers of waterfront. International outcry (a petition signed by a half million people) temporarily stalled the enactment of this legislation—a bump in the road for the shameless politicians who have destroyed this once-great land—but the vote is being held again, and the writing is on the wall, as they say. Ninety percent of Greece’s parliamentarians on someone else’s payroll.

How will these changes be manifested? One prime example is the 15,000 stremata (four strema=one acre) of prime ocean frontage on the Ionian island of Zakynthos, purchased by a Saudi Arabian sheik whose influence on Greek parliamentarians is abundantly clear. Some of that island’s best known beaches will be forever closed to the public. In fact, much of Greece is being sold to stupendously wealthy Arabs (from Saudi and the Emirates). The irony is that after 400 years of occupation by Muslim overlords—and long history of bloody resistance, including that of Jonathan’s own ancestors—Greece’s feckless and Mafia-inspired politicians are selling out their country to those who will ultimatly impose their Paleolithic mentality on ordinary Greeks. Greek culture, under the weight of money and influence, will wane. This is not a worrisome conjecture but a living, breathing reality. An assertion to the country is naïve at best—or exceedingly ignorant. The gradual erosion of the culture and values of Northern Europe—respect for women, tolerance of other religions, and the like—may be coming to Greece sooner rather than later.

Other examples of Greece’s powerless in the wake of the financial crisis—the phrase is an understatement: America’s Great Depression, with its marque breadlines and severe unemployment and misery, pales in comparison—are easily found and abundant.

For example, Syria’s “de-natured” chemical weapons are presently being dumped in the Aegean. Both German and France refused to deal with them, hence hapless Greece has been chosen as the dumping ground.

Israel’s influence on Greek politics is another abomination. Corrupt politicians, from all sides, which comprise the lion’s share of the Greek Parliament, have given the green light to Israeli oil and gas exploration, south of Crete and southwest of Cyprus. The consequences could be devastating. There is talk of oil refineries, shipping terminals, strip mining (a Canadian mining company ravishes northern Greece’s gold deposits, polluting large tracks of wetlands and ocean with a nasty slurry of chemical runoff), and much, much worse.

A common complaint is that Greece will no longer be for the Greeks, but instead a playground for wealthy northern Europeans, Chinese (who now own 75 percent of the port of Pireaus), Russian oligarchs (who are buying enormous tracks of land in Halkidiki), and, of course, Arabs. Arab Stone Age “culture,” for what it’s worth, would have once been considered utterly anathema to Greece’s open-minded, vibrant society. Of course, while generous Greece allows the construction of mosques, the ancient Christian churches of the Arab world are beleaguered, their adherents slaughtered like sheep. The EU and the corrupt and entrenched Greek political class are the primary culprits, and all blame must lie with them. A single generation of greed can wipe out five thousand years of Europe’s legacy.

Your author begs you to please excuse the political diversion, but it must be part of the “official” record. If you love Greece, keep signing those international petitions: Keep Greece for the Greeks and for its beloved foreign visitors!

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Invasion of the creepy crawlies

If snakes were the only objectionable creatures present during the Greek summer, Jonathan and Lucia could contend. However, there are a wide variety of creepy-crawling insects and other undesirable creatures in God’s mighty kingdom. They have found there way into the house, two by two, Biblical representatives of Creation finding their way into the four walls of their spitaki.

This week brought bats and sarantapoderouses (forty-legged worms with the pinching power of a Maine lobster) into the house. The latter creature, most disgusting and alarming, found its way into Jonathan’s bed two nights ago. He woke with a start, followed by a scream, somehow managing to shake himself free at the eleventh hour—said creature being halfway between his knee and his….belt.

In the same evening, a flittering bat found its way into the house. It was especially drawn to the loft, site of the princess. Several hours and much frenzy later, the catch and (not) release policy was exercised.

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Reconstruction, Deconstruction

While their Athenian friends (koumbaroi) Thanasi, Koula, and Dionysia visit, Jonathan is engaged in the twin prospect of hosting and constructing—or in some cases, deconstructing. Exacting violence on the spitaki, and then reconstructing with tender, loving care.

In just three days time, the master mason and his Albanian compatriots tore down the four exterior walls—the outer layer of troubled masonry and stucco—and replaced them entirely with the standard slurry of marble dust, lime and concrete. The finished product was well worth the effort. In a few short days, the house will have a brand new covered veranda, complete with ceramic tiles and lovely vertical beams. It will be ready to paint in five days.

The ktima (property) is also being transformed and has been the source of many compliments from neighbors and passers-by. This week’s plantings included pomegranate, Kalamata olive trees and other species of olives, and a much desired avocado tree. Still to come: bouganvillia (to crawl up the new pergola), more cypress, and oleander (red, rose, white, and yellow). With arrangements made for watering in their absence until the fall rains begin, the result—in the years to come—will be delight for the senses: the smells of citrus and lavender, the tastes of fresh Mediterranean fruits, and a vision of natural beauty.

The perivoli (orchard) is a part life in Messinia and all of rural Greece—and extension of their “green” life in Downeast Maine.

Reconstruction, part 2

The walls on the house have been repaired! Here are a few recent photos. More to come...

The Clock Is Ticking

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Tearing Down the House

Realizing that there was a flaw in the sofa (plastering) of the house, with obvious voids and cracks, Jonathan inquired with several people how this could be: with the mason himself, with the “clerk of the works,” another master mason, the building yard owner, and a few nosey neighbors. Some suggested that insufficient asvesti (a goopy lime/gypsum mixture that is added to the slurry) was the problem; others suggested that sofa was applied over a painted surface, or that sea-sand rather than builders sand caused a problem of adhesion; or that it was too hot when it was applied; or that the sub-surface was not kept moist during the drying/curing. There is no clear answer and no offer of responsibility.

 

Whatever the case, something needed to be fixed but there was a bad case of “passing the euro.” In the end Jonathan made an executive decision, in consultation with the Albanian mason: tear down all four exterior walls and start over. It was a drastic decision, one that resulted in a cacophony of hissing and the clicking of tongues by a small circle of observers—but the decision was final.

This morning the master and his two Albanian laborers attacked the four walls with sledgehammers--which was far more effective than an alarm clock in stirring a slumbering daughter. By noon the old walls were gone and a new concrete sub-surface was applied. Tomorrow the final plastering will occur. And then a few days later the painting can commence...and, finally, the veranda roof can be built by Dimitri the carpenter.

The Village Panagiri

Today—12 July—was Finikounda’s panagiri, the village’s primary social-religious celebration. The main village church houses a special icon that hailed from the ancient monastic center of Mount Athos (Αγιον Ωρον or the Holy Mountain) in northern Greece. The icon of the Virgin and Christ Child is said to be miracle-working, and so the panagiri draws clergy, hierarchs, and pilgrims from throughout Greece. Also included are the Pylos town band, the Greek Special Forces (festooned in fatigues and toting assault rifles), the regional police, the local village dance troupe, a sprinkling of firefighters, and a curious throng of foreigners.

Following the Divine Liturgy, the bishop of Kalamata spoke on the church steps, followed by the bishop of Komotini, and then a procession circled the entire village, with many hundreds following the clergy—the icon is carried on a bier by smartly dressed town fathers and sundry dignitaries.

As with most panagiris the procession ends where it started, on the church steps, and a pickup truck appears with (not one but two!) whole roasted pigs, with heads on, a cleaver-wielding butcher surfaces, and kindly old ladies with large vats of wine offer their fare as sun is just rising. Everyone is in good spirits at 10 a.m., wishing one another Χρόνια Πολλα (Chronia Polla, “Many happy returns!”). It is a beautiful event that joins the village and its many visitors and foreign residents.

Jonathan and Lucia gather themselves at their spitaki before heading down the mountain for an evening in Finikounda. A few nights earlier they joined a mixed group of Greeks and foreigners watching the quarterfinals of the FIFA football championship. Germany annihilated hometown favorite Brazil in short order. After the fourth goal was scored in just six minutes, the bar owner proceded to place a black X through Brazil’s scoreboard—with 75 minutes of play still on the clock.

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They have just passed the halfway point of their time in Greece and a quiet dread—the thought of leaving their Mediterranean home at the height of summer—lurks on the periphery. One month passed too quickly and they fear that the next three weeks may well pass in a blink of the eye. There are a multitude of house tasks to complete, friends to visit, and a rich world of Messinia to explore.For Jonathan, there is a house to finish. And so they live in the today, or at least that is the aspiration.

A few mornings ago, while Lucia slept in the “princess loft,” Jonathan traveled to nearby Methoni (medieval Methon, site of an enormous castle—and a rather decent super market) for sundry supplies: construction materials, hardware, foodstuffs, etc. Stopping back at the Finikounda building supply yard, he encountered another bit of the standard Messinian hospitality: “Would you have a glass of wine with me? the yard owner asked, at 9:45 a.m., as his Pakistani worker left a pan of frying potatoes to load bags of cement into Jonathan’s beleaguered and diminuitive Fiat Panda, which sank to new lows under the weight. A similar showing of local hospitality happened just a half hour earlier in the village proper, when a group of fisherman called him over to examine their morning catch—including a monstrous fish of about 25 kilos that was hanging on a hook, flapping helplessly over the cafeneion table, blood and scales falling on those below. They inquired about daughter/father, the work on the house, their plans for the future. Coffee and cookies were a nice preface to a glass of wine (respectfully deferred) and a helping of fried potatoes. All before 10 a.m.

Jonathan mentioned the recent hurricane that clipped eastern Maine, causing much havoc and destruction to trees and garden. One of the fisherman asked quissically: “Why do you Americans insist on building houses of wood? Haven’t you learned enough lessons from all those storms and floods and fires? Don’t they have cement in your country?” A fair answer, for sure, and there was no reasonable or ready answer.

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The heats builds as mid-July approaches. Any physical activity (on the order of mixing cement or digging holes for tree plantings) must, by necessity, occur well before noon lest heat stroke strike one down. Staying hydrated—preferably with water rather than morning beer, wine, or the industrial-strength floor cleaner called tsipoura—is essential.

A swim in the ocean provides an instant, glorious antidote for the heat. After 2 p.m. it is impossible to walk more than a few steps on the beach sand without sandals. Forays away from the surf while barefoot can be dangerous affairs.

With the rising heat, the cacophony of cicadas becomes almost deafening. With all of this summer heat, the afternoon siesta is an essential part of life, the only way to survive well into the evening. An hour or two in the afternoon supplements the two or three hours at night.

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The medieval name for the village of Akritohori is Grizi, a name given by the Venetians who occupied this peninsula. During the Middle Ages, nearby Methoni was a stopover point for the Crusaders heading east toward the Holy Lands. It survived in Venetian (and then Turkish, and then Venetian, and then Greek) hands until its final, catastrophic sacking in the late Middle Ages. The men were executed, the women and children sold into slavery. The usual routine, with not much room for pleasantries.

A man from Grizi is known as a Grizaios, a woman is a Grizaia.

Jonathan and Lucia are—in the first-person plural sense—Grizaia. And proud of it!

Walk Softly, Carry a Big Stick

As Lucia and Jonathan enjoyed some beverages on the waterfront, an “emergency” call was received by a friend of a friend of a cousin—who then called Jonathan at the sweet shop on the waterfront. The warning: There are four gypsies in a pickup truck parked behind your little house, stealthy folk who accessed a hidden spot through a nieghbors olive orchard. With about 1,000 euros worth of recently delivered lumber stacked behind the house, the object of this visit seemed fairly clear. People are people everywhere—good and bad, honest and dishonest. The gypsies in Greece, particularly those in the vicinity of Kalamata, have a reputation for being seasoned opportunists—often absconding with building materials, particularly steel of any kind that might be left unattended. Thievery is a way of life, a cultural institution for many--but certainly, not all--Roma. There a the local equivalent in Downeast Maine.

Jonathan turned down the kind offers of help from an entire table of friends—Greek, Dutch, and British—choosing to fight his own battles. Perhaps the inspiration was borne of a re-reading of Homer’s Odyssey, truly the “greatest story ever told,” which seemed to have lodged into his subconscious these last few weeks. As he raced up the mountain in his rented Fiat, he uttered the great hero Odysseus’s clever words as he faced down the Cyclops in the monster’s cave: “My name is Nobody.” The reference provided just that modicum of reckless courage. Conveniently, an olive wood pick ax handle was lying in the back seat--but not sharpened to a point, as was the Homeric hero's weapon.

His sudden presence, with a plume of dust and exiting the car with the heavy wooden club in hand, had the desired effect. “Is there something you need here?” he asked rhetorically in Greek. The visitors shook their heads in unison and beat a hasty retreat.

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Rave on the Beach

Last night there was a “rave” on the isolated beach called Marathi. Is is accessible only by boat or by four-wheel-drive vehicle. Jonathan and Lucia considered attending but chose instead to stay in the village, which was just as well. Their friends said the event drew over two thousand party-goers and it lasted until dawn’s first light.

The Koumbaroi Are Coming!

A koumbaros (pl. koumbaroi) is the man or woman (or both) who either marries a couple or baptizes their child. Jonathan and Ann have very special and dear friends who are their koumbaroi, having married them on the island of Spetses in 1992. One’s koumbaroi are spiritual brethren in Greek culture, linked by such religious ceremonies.

Their koumbaroi, who will join them for a week in Messinia, have a daughter who is Lucia’s age. Jonathan explained that in Greek culture there is a spiritual linkage—she and her friend are spiritual “sisters” owing to this special connection among the parents.

They are excited to share their special life with them during their visit.

Village Gossip

A rural Greek village would not be truly authentic without a hefty supply of gossip (κοτσομπολιά / kotsombolia) permeating every nook and cranny, every little steno (alleyway), and every taverna and cafeneion. With no shortage of back-stabbing, off-color comments, petty rivalries, and outright envy, Finikounda is not much different that your average village in eastern Maine.

Following their afternoon siesta, Jonathan and Lucia usually make their way down the mountain to Finikounda by 9 p.m., ponder where and what to eat until 10 a.m., and then find an eating spot by 11 p.m. Sometimes the fare is simple—a pork gyro or chicken souvlaki with grilled bread—or more complete. Among their favorites is the very simple, relatively inexpensive, and traditionally Greek “To Steki” (literally “the haunt”), where Lucia has singled out the mousaka as especially delectable.

A few nights ago our friend Taki phoned J. and L.

from the sweet shop. “You must meet me here, as soon as you can, you will not be disappointed.” The first reaction to his enthusiasm was utter glee at the possibility that the police had apprehended the thieves who had stolen Lucia’s camera and i-Pod. Alas, it was not to be. On the other hand, it was worth the immediate diversion, for Jonathan met a women (Taki’s father’s cousin’s wife) who shared his same Cretan name. Her family hailed from the port city of Iraklion, Jonathan’s from the port city of Hania—cities separated by more than one hundred kilometers, so a direct family connect (or at least a recent one) seemed unlikely.

The Boys in the Hood

Lucia has meet a veritable crop of boy-admirers, most of whom J and L remember from the family’s winter/spring residence back in 2009, when she and they were pre-teens and students at the local village school. They are nice boys from nice families, yet they are all vying for the attention of a pretty and gracious Greek-American girl. Then there are the foreign boys, a bit more urbane and bilingual and equally eager for summer romance. It has become a tug of war between the northern European “gods” and the local mortals. Father and daughter, with their heads screwed on tight, walk a careful line—with father keeping his distance…but not so great a distance.

Work on the House and Property

Jonathan continues to make small home improvements in advance of the coming week’s plan to install a kitchen and paint the exterior of the house. He and Lucia choose two colors, a light yellowish ocre for the bottom two-thirds, a darker brownish-ocre for the top third. First the mason needs to return to repair a section of exterior wall where the plaster did not adhere properly. Some negotiation will be involved. Additionally, Jonathan is working with a local carpenter to construct a veranda roof that will protect the front door from the winter rains and provide much-needed shade in the summer.

Yesterday Jonathan killed five scorpions (a large “mother” (?) and four babies) while consolidating yet more rocks with the pickax and shovel. Thank goodness for leather gloves and borrowed boots!

Village Dance Company

Traditional dance is a vital part of life throughout Greece, even more so in the rural Peloponnesian villages that dot the landscape. Dance is a part of life, along with religion, the perivoli (garden/orchard), and endless socializing. Last night the annual summer dance festival occurred in Finikounda and was attended by many hundreds of people from the nearby local villages. Many of Lucia’s friends, dressed in traditional regional clothing, performed in the village’s outdoor theater by the waterfront. The performance is open to all, free of charge, and it followed by a long table of free wine and sweets.

A group of resident foreigners also performed traditional dances. Afterwards the larger audience joined with the dancers. See the video clips below. Can you find the Greek-American girl with the long brown hair?

Live Now, Sleep Later

Jonathan and Lucia left Spetses with Dyan and Zoe in the morning, traveling on a rusty ferryboat that plys the narrow stretch of the Saronic Gulf that separates Spetses from the Peloponnese, arriving at the small port of Kosta. 

They said their goodbyes to sister and niece and then drove south through the Peloponnese, arriving in Akritohori, in southernwestern Messinia, by 4 p.m. They managed to stop briefly at the DIY store in Kalamata, where they chose paint for the house, and then at Carrafour, the French grocery chain, where the security guards had their hands full keeping tabs on the Roma who walked the aisles filling their pockets with groceries. They would get caught red-handed and tossed out of the store, only to be replaced by the next wave. The grocery store security guards, who wear bullet proof vests, follow each group from aisle to aisle in what appears to be a cat-and-mouse game of shoplifting.

The two arrived with ample time for a  long, late afternoon swim at the big beach in Finikounda.

The night before, while eating dinner at a cousin’s restaurant in Spetses, the plateia was abuzz with fact that Kobe Bryant was eating dinner at the table beside them, for which father and daughter were utterly oblivious. Their neighbor was tall, athletic, and apparently not Greek—that was all they noticed. Later they were told that Michael Jordan had been on the island the summer before. Apparently Yiayia’s childhood home has become a hangout for NBA greats!

The two were welcomed back in “their” village on Thursday night. They continue to meet new people, both locals and resident foreigners, each day—and the vow to return home early from town was quickly broken. Dinner at their favorite taverna was by candlelight, because the power company had a one-hour “strike” in solidarity with coworkers who had lost their jobs.

Despite the fatigue of such a long drive, J and L blew out the kerosene lanterns at 2:30 a.m. On average, it was a relatively “early” night. Their friend Niko reminds them that they will have time to sleep after they die, a quintessentially Greek explanation for late nights.