Wednesday, June 29, 2022

The Kids Are Alright


Koroni town from the nunnery

Voidokoilia, near Homer's "sandy Pylos"


Our big kids, Manny and Lucia, along with their partners--Hailey and Rusty--arrived on Sunday afternoon, after a long flight with a quick stop in Paris. Manny rolled up his sleeves and drove the four hours from Athens to southern Messenia, a bit sleep-deprived but no worse for the wear.


We "broke them in" with a swim at Loutsa beach, which is the nearest beach to our house, and an enormous plate of souvlakia and other goodies on the water's edge.


On Monday, we caravaned to Koroni, which has one of the three great Crusader castles in southern Messenia, all built in the early Middle Ages (circa 1200). In Koroni, we hiked up to the Old Calendarist ("heretic") nunnery. The small group of elderly nuns remember me from year to year. It is an incredibly beautiful and serene place. The sisters are so very kind to us.


On the way back to Akritohori--our village, where the big kids are splitting a fantastic Airbnb villa with a million-euro view of the Mediterranean (for $90 a night!)--we drove down the switchbacks, aka the James Bond road, to the small settlement at Tsapi, with its lovely little beach and a delightful taverna run by Maria. The other taverna is run by the other Maria. Maria 1 caters to the Germans; Maria 2 caters to the English.

The big kids were on their own on Tuesday, while Ann, Nia, and I drove the 50 km to Kalamata for our "rendezvous" at the central police station, in order to renew (me and Nia) our European passports for another five years--an epic bureaucratic hurdle that we have apparently vaulted successfully. Nia can study or work in Europe some day.


Delivery of stone, cement, and sand
At the local Ikea, Ann treated us to a new double bed, scheduled for delivery next week. In the meantime, our Albanian friend Leonida is laying beautiful stone work around the base of our little house. It will look tremendous--if it's ever finished!
Start of the stonework



Today (Wednesday) the seven of us caravaned to the Crusader castle in Pylos (aka the "new castle" circa 1500) then we drove toward Gialova, just 20 km to the east, where we hiked--in the full heat of midday up to the "old castle" (circa 1200, with a Neolithic settlement that is 35,000 years old), just above the emblematic Voikokoilia cove--which Homer describes in the Odyssey.


Here are photos of the last three days--all of them precious.




Jonathan's "secret beach" accessible only by foot or boat


Three pretty good kids


A swim at Voidokoilia

Avoiding snakes on the way to the old castle

My bride at the cave entrance

Her groom at the cave entrance

Cathedral in the "new" castle, c. 1500

Ann and Lucia

Guarding the castle walls

Main entrance to the "new" castle in Pylos

Lots of great village fare


Wednesday, June 22, 2022

Alone No More

 Although I've never really been "alone" during my first weeks in southern Greece--it not possible to be alone in a Greek village--now my family is arriving: first Ann and Nia, who came by bus from Athens, and in short order Manny and Lucia, Hailey and Rusty, who will drive themselves from the airport in Athens.


Soon the laptop goes away, the house projects cease, and something approaching "vacation" commences.


First village night with my bride!

The temperature is beginning to climb each day--today it will reach 96 Fahrenheit, but without a lick of humidity. Tomorrow it will be even warmer.


Thankfully we have the broad Mediterranean Sea at our bare feet, poised between the Ionian to the west, the Aegean to the east.

Tuesday, June 21, 2022

This Old Σπίτι

Before--somewhere in the thicket
Almost "after"--a work in progress

Owning a house in Greece—even a renovated half-liter-size old house like ours—requires enormous quantities of grit, perseverance, and fortitude. And, yes, money. Let it be known that all countries fleece their citizenry. How else do you keep the welfare state (Greece) and the military-industrial complex (United States) nominally solvent, the politicians (over)paid, and the debt burden managed? Living within our means as individuals and as national economies has devolved into the quaintest of notions.

In Greece, the target of the national robber barons are hapless homeowners, foreign and domestic, who are taxed, fined, and otherwise abused at heroic levels. Our 30-meter-square house is tiny even by the humblest of standards, especially compared to the mega-villas being constructed by Germans, Swiss, and the Dutch, but no one is immune to similar financial burdens, that keep popping up.

In just twenty days I have paid fines in order (re)legalize the house, paid a handful of day laborers, and purchased building supplies of every stripe. In doing so, I could say that I’ve been nickled-and-dimed to near extinction, but it’s the wrong currency for the right metaphor. But it has been worth every last euro—even though more lies ahead. 

Yesterday Fotis the electrican installed two very bright, solar-powered flood lights—one outside, for security and to keep the jackals away, the other inside to keep me from falling off the loft stairs or walking into a wall at night. The idea of a completely photovoltaic house, sufficient for a few lights, a few outlets, and running a small refrigerator, gets kicked a bit further down the road.

Instead I paid a 1,900 euro “fine” for the construction of an unpermitted porch roof—which cost, in fact, about 1,900 euros. But now I can rest assured that I have done my part to pay down Greece’s gargantuan debt with the European Central Bank (ECB) and the International Monetary Fund (IMF), which helped prevent the nation from enduring a catastrophic default in 2011 and all the nasty things that goes with it. Extreme poverty first among them. The debt was a result of profligate spending, which began when Greece joined the common European currency. Greece’s debt, owing to austerity (and fleecing homeowners) will be paid by the year 2060. While that end date sounds rather alarming, one needs to consider the end date for the United States paying down its $30 trillion in national debt—maybe in the year 2525, if the planet is still here?

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Fotis's son, an electrician in training, who is a quiet but well spoken lad, is the spitting image of Frank Zappa circa 1967, and for that fact alone he has won my affection. Father and son are working seven days a week, for very demanding and well-heeled Germans, who wanted their villas wired…yesterday. But a few kind words in Greek and a shared political orientation, on my part, kicked me to the front of the queue. Let there be light(s)!

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A sabbatical in southern Greece--2009. Navarino Bay, Pylos



 Una ratsa, una fatsa—We are family!

 In a few short days our entire family, with the big kids' partners, will be in residence in this village, as the five of us first were back in 2009. That was our sabbatical year, a chance for our children to learn some rudimentary Greek.

This time, we share the Mediterranean summer in celebration of our 30th wedding anniversary: first here, in Messenia, and then in early July on the Saronic island of Spetses, my other patrida (i.e., "homeland"—the other patrida is the island of Crete.). We were married there in 1992, in the same 400-year-old church in which my dear maternal grandmother was baptized in 1899. 



Dancing in our Maine pasture, after our retun in 1992

The lovliest of brides...in my humble opinion



Let the bells ring! Spetses island, July 5, 1992



 My Sicilian American bride, the love of my life and one of life’s greatest gifts—along with the children she bore—will soon endure the “hard sell” of my retirement dream. Painlessly, I think. 

Whenever local people inquire about her heritage—“Is she a nice Greek girl?” they ask, furtively—and I respond, “No, she’s Sicilian,” the answer is uniformly the same: Una ratsa, una fatsa! It is usually shouted and it means, roughly, “One race, one face.” It is an approving affirmation, as Greeks and southern Italians are, indeed, one race. Her patrida was colonized by Spartans, Corinthians, and Athenian (my patrida) beginning in about the 7th century BCE. In fact, to this day, a Greek dialect is still spoken in the more remote villages of eastern Sicily and in the “heel” of Italy itself.

We are family—in more ways than one.

Hold on tight!



Forever and a day...




Sunday, June 19, 2022

Father's Day--a tribute

 

My Cretan great-grandfather, some of his 16 kids, and their one-room house...Yiayia in back in white





Father’s Day is a uniquely American holiday, not one celebrated in Greece. But the truth be told, every day is “father’s day” in traditional, rural Greece—an intensely patriarchal society where male authority remains paramount. Naturally, there are always exceptions to the rule.







 

My father, the son of poor, illiterate Greek immigrants, was an overachiever who rose well beyond his humble origins. Dad was the first in his family to complete high school, college, and graduate school. The first to enlist into the wartime military. Not unlike the Spartans, about whom I've written, he was guided by duty, self-sacrifice, and honor.








Elevated to Major during the Korean War


 

He enlisted in the Marines as an officer-candidate, just after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, and went on to achieve the rank of colonel in the US Marine Corps, serving with distinction in combat theater during World War II—alongside his four USMC combat infantrymen brothers (an unparalleled Marine Corps distinction), while the sixth brother fought in General Patton’s army, helping liberate Europe from Nazi occupation.

 

Six brothers, five combat Marines and one Army infantryman--George on the right

Dad worked as an accountant after the war but was a member of the Marine Corps Officer Reserve until my high-school days. As a pillar of his local society, he served as a city finance commissioner, taught Sunday School, started a consulting business, and spent most of his life helping others—usually without compensation, to my mother’s horror. He was someone unafraid to speak his mind, but he was also the consummate listener. I will never forget one of his often-repeated lines: "I respect your opinion, but I disagree passionately." And passion was another guiding trait.

Six soldier-brothers with sisters, postwar



After WWII

 

He was a lifelong Republican, a proud American patriot, and a dedicated family man.

 

My father provided a model of “manhood” (the word makes me cringe) that is in stark contrast with today’s model. He taught me to shoot a gun but was never a “gun toter.” He never swore, he treated women with respect, and he was a perennial optimist even though he was raised during the Great Depression, when he saw his own family of ten evicted onto the meanest of New York City streets. Rather than whine, he found a third job--while attending New York University at night. He not only endured anti-immigrant racism but stuck his finger in its very face. Bless him!

 

And here's the rub for me--with profound apologies to friends to whom I promised "no politics in this blog!" He would be deeply saddened by today’s America, but more likely outraged, disgusted, and prepared to defend what once was a great and noble nation built on values.

His political party, having sold its very soul to the devil, would be unrecognizable to him. A man who risked his life for the US Constitution, he would have been among the first to defend the Second Amendment (the right to bear arms), but also the First Amendment (the right to free speech). As a sensible and practical man, he would never have tolerated anyone shouting “fire” in a crowded theater—this isn’t free speech, this is anarchy not liberty. He might have had an analogous opinion regarding the Second Amendment, which has been radicalized, distorted, and stripped of its historical basis by a one-time sportman's club (that I joined with him at age 12), and is now, for so many who have tossed their membership cards, little more than a nefarious organization masquerading as a defender of the Constitution and a mouthpiece for mega-corporations motivated my money and nothing else.

 

My father and I disagreed on most topics for forty-two years--he was a lifelong Republican, and I would be described in today's discourse as a dangerous "radical Socialist," i.e., a centrist Democrat--but we shared an unflagging mutual respect, a compassion for others, especially the values of tolerance and basic human decency. And most of all, a sense of the greater good, an ethic in short supply in today’s America.

 

And for that I am proud to be my father’s son.


My homily for Father's Day.

Friday, June 17, 2022

Just Don't Call Me "Late to Supper"

 

View down to Finikounda






Folks in the village call me by a variety of names: Tzon (John), Tzonathan (Jonathan), Yianni (my Greek name), Yano, or sometimes only by my last name, with an epithet attached for good measure. The latter, I’ve found, is usually shouted.

Our spitaki in the distance--'lil red roof


 

Most Greek men also acquire a paratsoukli (nickname), for example, Mitsos for Dimitri, or Taki for Panayioti, and so on. I have yet to be anointed with my own paratsoukli—but I fear it’s coming.

 

Whatever they call, I just hope they don’t call me late for dinner.

 

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Antiquity’s Agricultural Triad

The Hellenic world reached its apex on the shoulders of the all-important triad of antiquity: grain, olives, and grapes. The advance of Western civilization owes its might to the triad.



 

The olive tree, in particular, is the measure of wealth and status in Messenia. A farmer knows exactly the numbers of trees under his or her purview, anywhere from a few dozen (like us) to many thousands (most of my neighbors). Gathering the olives in the autumn is a heroic effort, with all hands on deck. The harvest consumes the region, the village cafeneions empty out, and the olive presses--every large town and even many small villages, like ours--run twenty-four hours a day for several months.

 

It is argued among agro-historians that either western Crete or southern Messenia was the birthplace of the cultivated olive. Regardless of which region stakes the claim, the explosive growth of population and power throughout the region, beginning around 2000 bce, is a direct result of the triad—but olives/olive oil, especially, became the currency of prestige.

 

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A day doesn’t go by without meeting an old face (or a new face for that matter) in the village--local Messenians and foreigners alike. My poet friend Niko refers to the village down the mountain as “the United Nations of Finikounda.”

 

After being here, on an off, for fifteen years—having first arrived in this place with a backpack and tent in 2007; then returning with a young family for six months in 2009; and then again in 2013 to begin renovating an old wreck of an agricultural building and clearing and planting the land around it—the cast of characters has only grown exponentially. During these fifteen years I have cultivated friendships and strong bonds with so many.

 

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Messenia, the name of this most southwest prefecture of the Peloponnese, has a storied history that dates back to the Middle Bronze Age (2000 bce to 1600 bce), a period also referred to as the Mycenaean Age. One can look even further back into prehistory, to the Neolithic period, where the massive ocean cave in neighboring Laconia, Spilio Dirou, was inhabited by early humans.


Cyclopean walls of ancient Messene



Invading foreigner

 

The colossal Bronze Age palaces, the stuff of the great poet Homer, author of the Iliad and Odyssey—Europe’s first works of epic literature—fell to the invading Dorians, who wrought destruction on an epic scale. The Dorians were the mysterious people of the North and are the ancient ancestors of the Spartans. Or, rather, the Spartans were the heirs to Dorian invaders. In parts of the eastern Peloponnese a Doric dialect is still spoken in remote villages, some of whose village names are clearly not Greek. Or not the Greek that we know from the Classical period.

 

There is no clear explanation for the destruction of the palace culture, the burning of the massive citadels with their Cyclopean walls. But evidence of that epic age of heroes can be found in nearby “sandy Pylos” (Homer’s description), most notably at Nestor’s Palace. Nestor, the wise king, figures prominently in the early books of the Iliad.

 

Following the fall of the Bronze Age kingdoms—in particular the citadels of Mycenae and Tiryns—a so-called Dark Age followed beginning in the 900s and lasted for several hundred years. Archaeologists point to the return of more rudimentary pottery and an absence of writing and literature as being indicative of this time of regression.

 

As heirs to the Dorians, the Spartans became ascendant in 735 bce, which is the date of the First Messenian War.

 

Sparta is located in the (modern) prefecture of Laconia, the peninsula that is east of Messenia, in the shadow of Mount Taygetos (elevation 8500 feet), whose highest peaks are covered in snow even in summer, while we swelter at sea level.

 

Gradually but methodically the Spartans overran Messenia, enslaving its people for about four hundred years.

 


Every olive tree has a story--and 1000 years of life or more


Lunch is cheap



Sparta existed by conquest, not through “culture”—properly understood as art, architecture, philosophy, and the like. Subjugation was the Spartan modus operandi and with it the Spartans prevailed in the world of ancient Greece.

 

The captive people of Messenia were known as Helots (“captives”) and those nearer to Sparta itself—though not citizens of the warrior-state, mostly free residents of the region—were called Perioeci (“outdwellers”). Together, both groups unwillingly fed and supplied the Spartan war machine, but the Helots suffered tremendously.

 

A young Spartan male earned his colors with annual forays into Messenia, periodic raids designed to murder and terrorize the people into constant, unremitting submission, making them totally subservient to their overlords.

Nearby Koroni
 
Heroic Evzones

A poor but hardly inappropriate analogy would be the US government’s treatment of Native Americans during the early Republic—but 2500 hundred years earlier, the Helots were the long suffering people of this region.

 

In fact, the Spartans became the military model par excellence for later aggressors in history: the Nazis, the US Marines (caveat: as the son of a coloner, USMC, I am referring more to honor and discipline than to wonton brutality), and in our time, Putin’s storm troopers in Ukraine. The template of merciless warriors was firmly established in the eighth century bce—and has been finely honed ever since.






The olive harvest begins

Capturing the olives

Tree planted in 2014 bears fruit


Sunsets--none of them too shabby


Athens and Sparta

There are countless works describing the fifth century’s Peloponnesian War, a thirty-year conflagration that weakened both city-states forever. In the end, Sparta was victorious—but it was a victory of the pyhrric variety, decimating the two most powerful poleis of the ancient world. Contemporary writers, most notably the Athenian general Thucydides, give readers the best firsthand accounts.

 

But the modern scholarship never ceases, recent studies progressing hand-in-hand with archaeological discoveries and new insights into this most terrible of conflicts.

 

The modern, armchair reader can’t help but see parallels with the United States, a superpower reduced to a shell of its former self through overreach, grandiosity, and hubris. “Hubris” is a Greek word that is fitting.

 

The Spartans, of course, referred to the Peloponnesian War as the “Athenian War,” in much the way that America’s Vietnam War is referred to by the Vietnamese as the American War. Perspective, as usual, is everything.

 

The Peloponnesian War was a seemingly unending war of epic proportions (so many things in Greek history are “epic”) and it sowed the seeds of the long decline for both warring parties: Athens reached its apex just as the war began, and Sparta’s once massive land-based army, despite being the ultimate victor, never regained its fearsome glory.

 

The Cambridge scholar Paul Cartledge is one of the leading authorities on Sparta. His book The Spartans (2001) is a work of great erudition, shedding insight on the sociocultural differences between Sparta and Athens, poleis that were at one time allied in the defense of Greece from the invading Persian Empire, the world’s greatest and more feared military force at the time. The Battle of Marathon (490 bce) and then the decisive Battle of Plateia in 479 bce when Cyrus’s forces were obliterated and sent packing, are legendary. These two great battles liberated the West and gave birth to the Classical Age.

 

But how different indeed were these two city-states!

 

Athens prided itself on bold individualism, democracy, the flourishing of the arts and sciences, architecture, and, perhaps above all, philosophy.

 

Sparta, the ultimate warrior-state, was built on personal sacrifice, duty, loyalty, and militarism.

 

Athens was the premier sea power of its time; Sparta built a rigid, land-based army that was feared and respected, often reviled, throughout the ancient world.

 Women and Girls--Athens vs. Sparta

Among Cartledge’s most fascinating observations is the different role of women in the two city-states.

 

Athenian women were neither seen nor heard; they were denied an education, had no role in public life—except the heteraia, Athens’ high-end prostitutes, who wielded some influence in civic life—and were raised to be wives, mothers, and then were largely home-bound.

 

Spartan women, whose men were often away for years at war, received the same education as men (but separately), could own property, and were engaged in the civic life of the polis.

 

Athens girls were sheltered under the watchful eyes of the menfolk, prohibited from owning property, leaving the home, or entering civil life in any meaningful way. Mere mention of the name of married woman was taboo. Married off by their fathers at an early age, theirs was a servile existence, in a deeply conservative society.

 

Spartan girls, particularly post-pubescent girls were independent, enjoying such liberties that were considered embarrassing and wholly inappropriate to the Athenian public. They were educated, promiscuous, knowledgeable in the martial arts, avid readers and writers. They were not shy—in fact, they were derided as “thigh-flashers” by the Athenians.

 

Adolescent girls, who were said to be the most beautiful females in the ancient world--Helen of Troy, it should recalled, was first Helen of Sparta, the world's most beautiful woman. Adolescent girls appeared naked in public, were oiled from head to toe, and attracted suitors by way of public demonstrations of their javelin-throwing prowess. With husbands away at war, promiscuity and same-sex relations were tolerated, all facts that the Athenians found both shocking and bizarre. They were also super-athletes, wrestling (naked) among themselves and even with the boys.

 

The subject of women goes further. Spartans believed that Athens waged war “like women” because they used “spindles” (bows and arrows) as an alternative to the usual hoplite (“manly”) hand-to-hand combat.

 

Meanwhile, a Spartan girl—naked, oiled, and toting a javelin—must have provided an incredible counterpoint to Athenian prudishness.

 

Spartan women, according to Cartledge’s account, occasionally competed with men in the Olympic Games, and were known to have “won gold” (i.e., the laurel wreath) as charioteers, in the most “manly” of events.