Back in the hood---welcome to Messinia

Jonathan said farewell to family and departed Spetses on the morning car ferry, a lumbering vessel name “Katerina” that for many years—perhaps too many--has plied the crossing of the Saronic Gulf that separates the island from the eastern tip of the Peloponnese.

Before weighing anchor, the ferry waited for the daily water tanker to arrive from the mainland.

Spetses has always been a relatively dry island, the artisean wells no match for the water needs of tourism, agriculture, and the myriad ornamental plants that festoon the many villas and second homes.

The water is pumped up the mountain and stored in large tanks, which feed the main town via gravity.

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Jonathan followed the serpentine road that leads from Kosta (the small port on the mainland) toward Nauplion, Greece’s first capital. From there, the road bends west through the Argos plain, passing the turn for the Neolithic cave of Franchthi—one of the oldest sancturaries inhabited by humans in all of Europe, and a destination during his archaeology student days—then past the ancient Mycenean citadel of Tiryns. The Argos plain is the home to hundreds of thousands  (quite literally) of oranges trees, which stretch on both sides of the road as far as the eye can see. Riding with the air conditioning off and the windows open, the fragrant bouquet of citrus and wild thyme has a pleasantly narcotic effect—with nuances of sage, wild oats, and flowers of every kind.

Driving through rural Greece, one encounters surprises at every turn—like the party of firefighters, each on his own ATV (called 4-wheelers in the States, and aptly names gourounia, or “pigs,” in Greece), with red lights flashing and sirens. As a firefighter, Jonathan was bemused by the prospect of his own department arriving to a brush fire, a pack of whining ATVs, their lights flashing—but lacking that one critical component: water.

If one ever entertained exercising his or her competitive driving instincts in a rental car, a glorified riding mower (with a horn and radio) will help dispense such notions—Jonathan was practically run off the road by every BMW, Mercedes Benz, or other high-end car that approached from behind from posh Spetses. He counted his blessings when he arrived safely on the National Road, heading south through Tripoli, with a stop in Kalamata for groceries. The well-stocked super market is patrolled by security personnel donning bullet-proof vests, which puts the Greek “crisis” into a entirely new perspective.

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Heading south from Kalamata, through the maze of agricultural roads, past endless groves of olive trees, Jonathan felt like he was coming “home” in the best sense.

The little house was much as he left it with Lucia last July—thanks mostly to attentive friends, who check it weekly, water the trees, and keep the veritable jungle of undergrowth manageable. Much to his delight, Jonathan found olives, pomegranates, and figs on his trees, and the citrus (lemons and oranges) are in early blossom.

The murmur of cicadas, the distant call of goats and donkeys, the steady breeze through the olives groves in which this little house sits nestled, all provided the most wonderful backdrop for a well-deserved siesta.

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Jonathan spent his first evening with the Greek family from whom he purchased the old, delapidated agricultural building, which has now become a family home--and the consummation of a long-held dream.