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November 14
We land at the ferry port of Igornenitza. We are in Greece! We
have come through many of the fabled Greek Islands to a gorgeous place. A big
bay with islands all around us. It feels somewhat familiar, like our North
American coasts of islands and conifers. A constant pretty parade of ferry
boats comes and goes. So many places to connect to.
We treat ourselves to a restaurant lunch. In asking a woman on the
street for a suggestion...who looks like she may know a good place, and also
speak English, we learn a new word. “No, I speak Greeklish”. We follow
her directions down the main street and have Greek salads, good bread with the
local olive oil and a litre of red wine then find our home spot on the beach.
Water laps gently on the sand, like the sound of a placid lake. A man walks by,
big smile, thumbs up! It's our license plates again.
November 15 & 16
I get up early to write. What a day! I could live here! How many times
have I said that? This town has nice shopping streets, free parking, a variety
of reasonably priced restaurants, an almost incomparable view...It is just that
the Greek alphabet is so strange to my eyes! I cannot sound things out...but
the script is pretty to look at. After several tries this morning David gets a
month of WIFI for 15 euros. We take note of the store. WYND.
Warm autumn sun. Pesky flies. We head east to Meteora on a
freeway that cuts through mountains similar to the look of Colorado. Lovely low
bushes of autumn colors; red, orange, burgundy, yellow, mixed in with the dark
conifer green. A land and people of classic beauty. And drivers are sane! We
stop for the night in a wide spot at the side of the road.
We wake up batting flies. A quote from David: “They don't even know how
miserable they are making us – they live such a miserable life themselves!”
Today is cold with a cloud cover. We put jackets on, socks and boots. The real
autumn is here! Of course we are no longer at mild sea level. Pretty colored
leaves get tracked into our 'living room'. On the road again, we turn a corner
and WOW...steep craggy rocks, some with chiseled tall sides, others
conglomerate. Which is Meteora? We have no guidebook for Greece, but we are to
find out that Meteora is an area where many monasteries were constructed. Not
just the one that is always pictured with a basket hanging down into the depths
from the far-reaching top (though we do find baskets waiting to be filled with
supplies and pulled to the top. Do they use a winch or do they press a button
now?) Meteora is under the protection of UNESCO...'a sanctioned cultural and
natural property deserving protection for the benefit of all humanity'
We choose one to explore. The Greek Orthodox monk at the ticket door
tells me that because I am a woman I must wear a skirt inside the monastery. As
a modern contemporary woman I have the same rights as men...or if I don't, I do
not take part. So I send David on alone. The beauty for me is the wide view
anyway, a very special place in its natural state that does not look or feel
like the rest of the world. It does invoke the presence of something bigger
than ourselves, a sacred place. No wonder monasticism has been practiced here
since the Byzantine times. Once there were 24 monasteries perched high and alone
on the apex of a rock, now there are six still inhabited, one of them being a
nunnery.
David is back. His report: Monks wear long black skirts with vests / 2
Greek Orthodox domes / Gold leafed and paint-decorated church interior / A few fancy chairs against the side walls
just before the most holy room / Illuminated 16th century manuscripts / Wine
barrel which filled the whole 12 x 15 foot room, no longer in use / Basket room
with choice of old hand winch or new press button / fat cute cats everywhere.
Geologically the whole area seems sandstone. The old jagged places
stand in a mysterious mist. Green moss, scrub color, red soil in which a dirt
trail meanders between the monasteries. We move on with a lingering sense of
awe.
Hunting season must be in full swing. Doggies in portable kennels,
noses peaking out. Trailers everywhere. White billygoats on the road. Wonderful
long beards and twisted horns. Oh my! We are lost in the mountain hills. I
mean, really lost! An old man stands in the road, his thumb out, asking for a
ride home. It seems he is in the middle of nowhere... where is home? He crosses
himself twice and climbs into the van. His cell phone goes off with a musical
refrain! Another situation where we do not have a common language, but somehow
we understand that it is his wife, wondering where he is. He points to where he
wants to go and when we get to his village home he shakes our hand and babbles
a Greek thank you.
We continue on down into his village, hoping it will lead us out of
the maze we are in. We pass by an old fashioned black clad Greek woman with
umbrella overhead, stepping carefully over an uneven downhill road. At the
church bell tower square a man waits at a door, looking anxiously up the hill.
The square is a dead end so we turn around. The black clad woman comes straight
for us to tell us something but we never figure it out. She talks on and on,
hands swaying, pointing, always a smile. Lovely face and white hair pulled
straight back off her face. She digs into her bag and offers us homemade flat
fried sugary cakes. We immediately take bites and nod our heads in pleasure.
Then the whole bag is thrust through the window. So much for her awaiting
anxious husband and his treat! We gladly say thank you! We are pretty sure we
should turn around but beyond that, our way is still a mystery. We shake hands,
hold hands, throw kisses and we are off!
We blindly follow a road, which finally takes us into a fair-sized
town, Karditsa. It has a 'big town feel' with clean good stores. Here we
stay the night on a residential apartment street. We close all the curtains and
blinds, light a candle and drink a glass of red wine, me reading, David on the
computer.
November 17
We find that someone has used our card number to buy a book or two on line.
$50. Darn, that complicates things. It probably means new cards mailed to
us...but mailed to where?.. and it could take weeks. (The card does not get
used again so VISA decides that we can keep our current cards)
Leaving town on a long wide flat valley road with cotton fields at our
sides, we watch cotton picking machinery at work, sucking the cotton balls off
the vine into a cage-like container where it is then taken to be processed. A
large roadside mural prompts me to call out 'stop!' I must have pictures of the
primitive illustrations of wheat harvest...horses, carts, basic wood tools,
women in long skirts in the field...raking, carrying. I spend time with this
folk mural. It is a good one.
Up in a higher valley we come across a gypsy village built with the
barest of shelters but always with places to sit outside and socialize, feeling
more at home in the fields and under trees. Shelters are for emergencies. Back
down 45 minutes to another valley floor and the town of Lamia, not a
place one sees in photos of beautiful Greece. Again uphill to more mountains.
Along the way there are bumpy green hills planted with tall sharp cypress
trees. We can see the Agean sea to our left though we are being been led
inland. Many small Orthodox temple shrines are along the road; they look much
like the big churches. I think they commemorate (and remind us of) victims of
car accidents. And another flat valley. What a wonderful ride this morning!
Finally we reach the tiny town of Delphi, just three main
streets parallel to one another. We drive through to the entrance of the
Sanctuary of Apollo. There are good remnants of this sanctuary, enough to get
your imagination going... ancient carvings of Greek words into the stone,
fluted columns at the actual temple site where there is still a large long
frieze in good condition, an Athenian treasury building still standing, much of
the theater seats and stage that face the best view, a long oval track that
seems to have once been the place for horse and chariot racing. At this point
in time, it is the setting that is stunning...wide open and facing a gorgeous
valley...on a hill but easily walkable. Tomorrow we will see the museum.
A treat for us. Dinner out in the town of Arachove. It is a ski
town, a tourist town, but not slick. Folks fill the sidewalks and the inviting
shops. Cars are parked a long way down the hill. This must be a popular
destination. We have Greek salads with a 'rooster leg' and wide noodle entree.
Our waiter is a nice young man who tells us that because he speaks English, he
has been offered jobs that deal with people/customers. In the winter he is
here, in the summer he works in a hotel in another town. He has an aunt in New
York which he plans to visit soon but he has no desire to live in the United States.
He loves it in Greece, right here, in the area he grew up in. He also plays the
Mazerka, a long necked guitar, in various bars.
Our experience at this cafe is really pleasant. We sit by the window
in a small side room, overlooking a shiny church dome and long valley, and
slowly sip on our wine. Excellent local wine, no label, never bottled and
served to us in a karaf. A good choice and much cheaper. Halva for dessert.
We sleep on the main street. This van is remarkable for not attracting
attention.
November 18
This morning we spend hours in a very good museum. Having been to the
site first, everything here now makes sense. All our questions from yesterday
get answered today.
This Sanctuary flourished in the 6th to 4th
centuries. It stands in the foothills of Mount Parnassos, between two enormous
rocks called the Phaidriades. Worshippers came from all over the ancient world
to seek the advice of the god Apollo and listen to the advice of an oracle
whenever they were about to make a serious decision. The people first purified
themselves in the Kastalia spring, paid a set tribute and sacrificed an animal
on the alter of Apollo. The god's oracle, in answer of a question, was uttered
by a priestess or Pythia. These words were then taken to the priests of Apollo
to interpret. In ancient times, visitors would follow the Sacred Way to the
temple of Apollo, which stands at the center of the sanctuary. Pilgrims of
today still walk the Sacred Way, more to become in touch with the ancient
tradition than to worship Greek gods.
In the museum are all the sanctuary antiquities that have been dug up,
removed and are now protected and available to see in their best possible
light. Beautiful faces on statues of young men are notable. One is the face and
upper torso of Antinoos, a youth of extraordinary beauty, friend and companion
of Hadrian. When he was just reaching adulthood he drowned in the Nile. The
death of a youth always seems to make them immortal.
An amazing, almost complete bigger-than-life bronze statue called the
Charioteer was buried in the debris of the 373 BC earthquake. Because of that
it was saved from being looted or destroyed, only loosing its left arm. He
still holds reins in his right hand. I walked around the sculpted man, looking
at him from every angle. I wandered into every corner of the remaining rooms,
finding tools, amlets, war parafenalia, friezes, statues and pieces of statues,
(like a perfect tiny foot). Lots of animal portrayals; dogs, pigs, sheep, cows,
bulls.
We may have come a long ways with our technology but the ancient
artists with a pen, a brush, a knife...are equal in skill to any artist today,
maybe more skilled as there was more opportunity to practice, more need to
beautify, to decorate. More employed artists. I watched a video that
illustrated how a bronze form is made from the original pieced-together stone
statue. We are still using the same procedures. I loved this place called
Delphi, once considered the center of the earth.
Before we leave we go to another site, the sanctuary of Athena
Pronaia. The most important buildings here are the goddess's two temples,
dating from the 5th and 4th century and the Tholos, built
about 380 BC. Vitruvius, in his book on architecture, says that the Tholos 'is
the finest example of architecture, pure in all its forms, proportions, style,
lines and weights'. It is truly a beauty, even now that all its circular form
is not complete. Three elegant tall columns still stand.
This afternoon we head to the Mani Peninsula, the Peloponnese. We pass
dark red soil that is quarried and shipped out. Everything near this rock
pigment turns red as the color seeps away in water. We drive along an inlet of
the Ionian Sea. This would make a good kayaking spot, but alas, our kayaks are
stored away so far from here. There are three small islands in the inlet, one
with a temple. We cross a wonderful white suspension bridge to Patra,
stunning, as bridges have the potential to be. (toll 13.20 euro) In the evening
we stop at the AB supermarket and decide to stay the night in the lot. We are
close to Olympia and there is a bit of pressure to go there but we are so well
drenched in the essence of Delphi, almost to exhaustion. Seeing both these
places at once would only confuse the images. We decide to forego it. Nearly
ready to close up our home for the night we are craving some nice bakery
tidbit...so David goes on a hunt in the store. Nothing! No bakery! Only
packaged food and we are bakery snobs!
November 19
We wake and look around. Garbage piles. Gypsies. A young woman with a
baby comes to our window, the sad look of a mother without food. The baby is
not quite right. She is chubby as a healthy baby might be but she is comatose,
arms and legs hanging. When we give the woman nothing she spits at us...the spit
landing on her baby. Her son of about six is running from the store manager.
“You people get out of here!” That baby is a fake. What kind of life is this
for anyone? And the children know nothing else but cheating, lying and
stealing. They have no chance to grow into fine contributing young people...and
it is not their fault.
We leave the lot and soon stop for breakfast. A man walks around our
car, looking in. Two gypsy horses are tethered in the field. He says something
quietly through the window screen. Hmmmm. He is slim with wild black hair and a
wild swarthy face. His clothes are gypsy colorful...a bright yellow t-shirt,
green loose flowing shirt jacket, black pants rolled up to mid calf. There is a
woman close-by. Long black skirt, no shoes, pretty black and white shirt...and
a boy who looks as though he just rolled out of bed, all tussled clothes and
hair. They puzzle me. Such a hard life. There is a tinge of fear in us. We saw
nobody when we stopped but it seems that a gypsy camp is behind an abandoned
building where there is pasture for the horses. Of course our car doors are
locked. We put our breakfast things away and start the engine. Time to leave.
We leave Zacharo driving to Kalamata. Palm trees line
both sides of the road, long orange berry clumps hang off the lower branches.
Olive harvest time. Town after town, always the same...men gathered with
coffees, woman visiting on the streets as they meet doing their daily shopping.
Nice looking faces, kind faces. We like to wave to the shepherds. Always they
return the greeting with a big smile. White geese in the garden. Vespas with
drivers holding on to long bamboo poles. Are they going fishing? Quiet hills
and valleys. Olive tree trunks are old and fat and twisted, full of earned
beauty. We are once again nearing the Mediterranean. Do we take this rusty
narrow bridge that we find before us? We do, and lunch a bit further along by a
deserted olive orchard. A low fighter plane shoots by.
We are through the large town of Kalamata and our GPS Gypsy takes us
on a short cut. We pass by huts made with anything that will build a wall or
roof, but these dwellings have small neatly fenced enclosures. At the end of
his rope, a young dog is eagerly waiting for his humans to come home. Wood is
stacked carefully. These huts are a tidy 'Slum Dog' style.
Up we go into mountains and canyons and roads curving around a variety
of land forms. Lovely trees, red earth on top of rock and patches of olive
trees. Animal voices call, their bells tinkle up to us from a steep valley.
Small roadside chapels for quick prayers. In the village of Kambos women
in black carry full weighted buckets and bags. On their legs are woolen
stockings or rolled to the knee nylon stockings. New fenced soccer and
basketball courts. We pass goats, and a horse and cart filled with olive
branches led by a jaunty lady in a brown sweater and skirt, straw hat. Her
husband brings up the rear, walking stick... huffing and puffing. We turn a
corner and they are gone. That is often what this journey is about. Now you see
them, now you don't.... forever those seconds are remembered.
Ahead is a vast gleaming late-afternoon sea and a long switch-back
road down to the village of Kardamyli. This would be a lovely small
community to spend time in. Vacation or resident. A town for writers and
artists to concentrate, to get to know the locals in the cafe-bars, the
pharmacy, the news stand, bakery and butcher. There are only 200 permanent
residents.
It is 4:45. It will be dark in half an hour. We park along by the
pebble beach a bit away from the main town, hoping we are not imposing on
anybody. A woman is in swimming, her dog racing along the beach. He is so happy
when she comes out of the water. She puts on her white terrycloth robe and they
cross the street to her humble home.
We walk to the main square and have a beer at an outside table where
we converse with a German couple who live here 6 months of the year. Then we
are homeward bound, feeling our way in the dark.
November 20 & 21
Stormy night. Big waves crash this morning. I ride them in my
mind...how and where would I make the best landing in my boat. There is not a
good landing in sight. We hike to the upper older village of Kardamyli.
Dimitris, at the site, greets us and tells us that the restoration should be
complete in a few months. The small museum is very good. He comes from a
mountain town not far away. Exoxori. When he lived there the population was
3,000. Now there are 14 residents. World War II emptied all the villages.
Dimitris went off to film school and became a director. Fifteen years ago he
came back and it seems he is in charge of restoring the old fort. He is still
dressed like a film director; long hair, dress sport jacket, jeans and running
shoes...about 65 years of age.
“We like to explore. Can you tell us where your village is?” Dimitris
draws us a good map. We shake hands and walk back to our camper to follow his
loop route up into the mountains. Wild white crocus, cyclemen, heather and sage
cover the hillsides. Houses have terraced property, at one time making room for
gardens to feed their families, but now these spaces are mostly olive groves.
The sea below is a glassy shine on one side and a dark mist on the other. We
see the curve of the horizon. Men are in their groves putting olives in bags
ready for transport. Others are pruning back unwanted branches. A church bell
chimes slowly and beautifully, one high note, one low note, back and forth. Is
this a death knoll? Cows are bawling...maybe at the sad bells? We eat lunch on
what feels like 'the edge of the earth”...finishing with perfect juicy pears.
We pass through/by several villages and then creep into a canyon
crack, up a road we should not be on, almost a river bed...but there is a
school bus that makes this trek regularly. It has just dropped children off.
The sight of a church steeple in repair calls us to try to go a little further
but it is impossible. We turn around and barrel down the hill to the finish of
the loop at Stoupa.
We continue south toward the less populated area, following Rick
Steve's guide book. He points us to Platsa, where there is a church
unusually decorated...Jesus is painted on the ceiling, surrounded by the
zodiak. This is Aga Ioannis. Another church to see close by in Logada is
a terra cotta decorated Byzantine church. It is so lovely. Beauty can be
created with the most common of elements. This is a winner of a stop, called
the 'Church of Metamorphosis'.
Tonight we are in a larger town of Areopoli, in the gated and
locked school parking lot.
As we move further south in the morning it is evident that the local
people have built their homes with what is at hand, carefully and beautifully,
resulting in a calm integrity. There is an excitement in the loneliness, of the
change from luscious green to the brown of this arid land.
In Gerolimenas, the buildings match the stone cliffs at its
side. This is a sweet little village on the water, empty at this time of year
except for a few folks who live here. A good spot for a fresh fish meal, but we
have just eaten so we walk the village with our cameras. Old buildings, old
boats. Back at the van we run into Brian and Anna, from California and Germany
respectively. They are on an extended honeymoon...packs on their backs, riding
buses or taking lifts in cars. Tent camping anywhere, or here they have stayed
in a lovely small hotel, talking the owner down in price for a room. Now, they
are stranded with no money! No bank or ATMs here! We drive them back to
Areopoli for cash, then the four of us keep heading south among blooming purple
heather on the hillsides, to the landsend of Greece. Porta Kagio. The
road is the beach. Oops, watch out for the cows and piggies. There are a
few buildings with rooms for rent and a restaurant.
Today is rainy and windy and the land that pokes out into the sea is
very remote. Brian and Anna say they must get to the very tip, Cape Tenaro,
'the Sanctuary of the Dead', where the souls of the dead enter into the
underground. We watch them walk away.
There are pigs everywhere here! Running loose. Tiny adorable spotted
ones and pink piglets. And above on steep terraces we see bigger pigs. We drive
high into the mountains that offer a 'bird's eye' view of bays and inlets and
sea, towers, villages, tankers, winding roads, terraces, patterns of rock walls
and land fingers. We pass through more quiet hill villages, cemeteries and
churches, all stark and grey. The surrounding terraces look like steps for
giants, or curved benches in a Roman theater. And more roadside memorial
temples. The terrain is of clumps of growth, yellow green to dark Cypress.
Powerful beauty, like the Scottish Hebrides. The almost-ghost town of Lagia holds
just a few lucky and intrepid residences.
A dim lacy coastline below us, scalloped edges outlined in white. Land
and sea. The Mani Peninsula. It is a wonderful place of soul. Turkish people
were forced out of their homes here...as the Greeks were forced out of their
Turkish homes. A trade, to get people back where they 'belonged'. It does
remind us of Northern Cyprus. There is a feeling of sorrow gone quiet, history
built on history, asking us to tread lightly and with respect. A dear little
stone chapel holds many stories I am sure. There are small strong communities
here, held together by family members. But there are empty places, too.
Dimaristika, Kokkala, Kotronas, Loukadika. The dead are in their little white
rock houses, looking out to sea.
On we go. Olive press wheels decorate a wall. We slow for goats on the
road. Sheep are eating olive leaves off the back of a parked truck. Dear small
donkeys, always pulls at my heartstrings. Dogs, happy free dogs. A man on the
road with a gun. Supper?
Knock, knock knock again...that mysterious noise in the car, the noise
we thought we had fixed. In the dark we carefully make our way to the next
town, Gytheio. We already replaced the U-joint. Transmission?
We arrive in Gytheio. The weather is stormy, rainy and bleak. People
scurry in the early dark evening, under umbrellas and dim street lights. I
imagine the cozy hearths that are waiting for them. Warm meals. We are worried
about Brian
and Anna. The rain has been so heavy. Maybe they put their tent up
inside the ruined temple on that deserted bay.
November 22
We awake to a sunny day! Fresh snow on the mountains. We find a
mechanic, George, to look at our car. Of course the knocking does not happen
when he test drives it...up hills around curves. His theory: “It may be the
transition but only when it gets very hot.” It is nice in this seaside town,
situated on a large bay, mountains behind. The commercial district is strong.
Farmers' market this morning. Picturesque. A long breakwater with church and
lighthouse. The Mani museum. In the bay, boats are bobbing, tethered to yellow
buoys, all is fresh and sparkly. Fishing boats and sailboats. The Orthodox
church is so pleasant with its fully packed and stacked dome look, sort of like
a welcoming grandmother. Tables line the sea wall. Dredges at work.
To the market. Big beautiful tomatoes, small green peppers, cucumber,
cabbage, broccoli, walnuts, red onions, bananas all go into our bags. A fresh
Greek salad for lunch that could have been a disaster. We very nearly bought
white soap thinking it was fetta.
On the road again. The day remains sunny. We stop to take a photo of a
rusted tanker on a sandy beach, interesting patina. And a bit further a
restaurant flies three flags... Greek, Italian and Canadian. Curious. We are on
our way to Monemvassia, 45 minutes along the sea edge. Sand beaches and orange
trees laden with fruit. A lone fisherman at a creek, his bicycle beside him.
What a way to spend a few happy hours. Now we swing inland. A cool sunny ride,
our windows open. A bakery! Let's stop! Yum...an amazing thick layer of apple-
almond paste inside crispy filo dough. Another scary skinny metal bridge,
rusty, one lane...but the traffic insists on making it two lanes. Instead of
backpacks, here the students pull small suitcases, in kid colors. A sheep
standing in the middle of the road is wondering how to get back through the fence
to the rest of his fellows...they are all calling her. A farmer, bag on his
shoulder, is throwing out seed on to his plowed field.
Monemvassia. This is a definite site to visit. First we stroll through the walled
lower town. It is built on a small portion of a large rock that sticks out into
the sea. Perhaps it was once an island but now a causeway joins it to the
mainland. (We learn later that the causeway replaced a drawbridge.) It has
always been a most protected hold, under the Ottomans, Venetians and the
Byzantines...and all styles show in its makeup. Narrow restored passageways
lead past restaurants and a variety of shops to a main square. We find that we
pass these by most often, having seen so much of this type of tourist draw,
though it is still very old and interesting.
We can see the upper town, ruins on a flat plateau, but we do not know
how to get there so we follow our noses. We pass by homes and churches that are
set every which way to oblige the rock. Up through cobbled paths with low
sloping steps on which donkeys must have carried supplies. Into castle ruins
and quickly out the other side. We are here! Our wanderings now take us through
still standing dome topped round buildings, cisterns, and the most beautiful 14th
century Church of Aghia Sophia. It sits high on a cliff edge. Its bricked red and white striped dome still tops
the structure, cross on the very top. The community below is restoring this
amazing place, more proof that many still care about the past, what it offered
and continues to offer.
The gentle plateau hills grow wild crocus, peppery ferns, and wild
jack-in-the-pulpit. There are rocky paths in the overgrowth, maybe sheep and
goats once kept it mowed but now it is wild with the remnants of civilization
poking through. It was energizing to walk through it all. The walled citadel
sits above all else. It was impossible to penetrate in its time. But there was
one thing that was not taken care of. The citizens inside these walls had no
way of getting food. They were starved out of their protected perch.
We walk further along the wall above the old town. The wall is built
at the very edge of straight sided cliffs that one could not climb in those
days, nor could a person survive the long fall to the bottom. Parts of the wall
are missing. I step back at these places. An abyss always pulls me in. We
notice two men below, just above the lower town, climbing up to a cave in the
cliff. They stop and chat at a stair ladder that ascends to the cave mouth. I
zoom in with my camera lens. The men are older, grey haired, the red color is a
quilted vest. He also has pants tucked into high rubber boots. The red vested
one climbs up the stairs alone. Were does this cave go? Is it a tunnel to the
castle above? He enters and disappears. His friend retreats down the precarious
path and waits patiently, glancing up to the cave mouth often. I think I can
see a curtain or something else inside but it is so far away, maybe ½ mile.
While we wait...and wait, I take more photos. Yes! There is a high white mound
with a cross on top of it. An alter. It is an intriguing situation. I wonder
why this man would go to all this trouble to make a special prayer. Has he done
something wrong? Is he giving thanks for something gone well? (RS guide book
calls it... 'a shallow chapel cave'.)
November 23
It is raining this morning, but with a rainbow overhead...so I wash a
few clothes in the sea and hang them up in the van where they hang to dry as we
travel. We drive to the tiny old village
of Nomia where there is a sweet old Orthodox church. An interesting
architectural feature is an unusual frill of the roof edge, made by the repetition of filling in the ends of the
roof tiles with white plaster. On our way again we stop at a bakery and tear
off pieces... crusty crunches into soft warm bread. Now we drive through Sparta!
Can you imagine? Its great history is hidden now, in a hillside horseshoe of
mountains, overlooking a flat valley of olive trees leading to the sea.
We keep going. In another small town, Greek life goes on; four groups
of men are socializing at their usual daily tables, an old woman with the
puckered mouth of missing teeth, and a pack on her back, talks with others in
the main square. Another woman in an apron, glances around as she closes her
garden gate. When we come to a stall, not knowing which direction to take, one
of the coffee drinking men's group gets up to point the way. Serious
helpers...must happen at this spot often, maybe that is why they choose to sit
here.
Following in the direction pointed out to us we find we are in
paradise. I ride in my passenger seat, usually with a smile on my face, so
content. Little Disney birdies flip across the road in chattering conversation.
A stronger, larger bird flies up into an olive tree where he is completely
hidden from view. Woodpecker family? Flicker? A gentle inland road. So
pleasant. David puts his arm out the window to copy a habit of mine, sweeping
his hand across the landscape, caressing it. He is teasing me, but the terrain
deserves the caress.
We are driving a long grey road through red soil and green
plants. Friendly dogs, free-running but
well taken care of. Little chapels stand in the fields. Prayers for successful
crops? A tower sits atop a misty hill. Potholes are announced with something
colorful, like a blue plastic box or white plastic chair, put there by a
concerned citizen, not the official road crew. I accuse David of using the car
as an extension of his body and mind...I just start and stop and bump along
with his driving choices, lightly thrown in all directions. He accuses me of
overdoing the reactions with a phoney head wobble!
A herd of goats stop us in our tracks. Horned goats with little
scruffy beards and big square eyes. One fellow scratches his horns on a roadside
tree. Their shaggy coats are spotted variations of white, brown and black. We
are in a quieter, less affluent farm area, in my opinion, a good and real place
to live. The cars are less flashy, they are working vehicles.
We receive more directions from a leathered sunglassed biker. And
around the corner, sheep on the road! They frighten so easily and never want to
be left alone. The leader dives into the closest thicket. He is caught, can't
get through. It befuddles the rest. They run ahead of us in panic until finally
a reasonably safe place offers some respite. One animal turns to look at us,
still with fear in her eyes, but her lips are outlined in a black permanent
smile.
Parts of the road have slipped away with torrential rain run-off.
Bushy weeds grow into the cracked road edges. The walled tower on the hill
keeps showing up as we twist and turn on the 'rotting' road. The tall structure
is perfectly placed so that it can be seen from all angles, a refuge from
attackers for the surrounding residences.
Fire has raged through here in the recent past. We make our way over
mountains on a little used road. We get what we asked for. Gypsy is following
her orders to keep us off the toll roads. Pines and firs tightly fitted like
our conifer stands at home. Rock faces. Hiking signs. In the middle of all this
remote beauty, a living village nestled in a bowl. High above, seemingly on an
inaccessible rock face, stands a white fort-retreat. And then we head down, out
of the mountains.
Maple trees and bracken. Signs of logging and homesteads of the past.
Marble quarries chipped out of the rock hillsides. Scotch broom of long spikes,
no flowers. Brilliant autumn color presents itself in an instant WHAP! as we
come down a hill. Bright colors mixed with a bit of conifer green and scrub.
Water hoses alongside the road bring water to the communities below. A soft
wind causes quaking leaves, giving them the chance to leave their homes and
flutter to the the ground. A small town on this hillside, another across the canyon.
A monastery around a turn, all with red roofs. The speed sign says 90 K. That
is a speed we could not manage on this snaking road. The speed limit seems to
be set at the very fastest a small car could go, no erring on the side of
caution. An Orthodox church pokes into the sky from its backdrop of solid
green. Civilization is upon us.
We are stopped in a line-up amongst construction. In front of us is a
trailer loaded with something that is covered in dusty tarps. The driver has a
face mask and a hat low on his brow. He looks intimidating. Yikes, he comes to
our car. Mask off, he speaks Greek and smiles a lot. Finally we understand that
we can continue on through.
The climate has become more arid and we have glimpses of the ocean. A
flock of sheep are herded off the road by its shepherd. What would this job be
like? I am interested. It seems ideal for someone who likes the outdoors,
animals, tranquility, walking. Community water fountains are placed along the
way, for those who do not have incoming water in their homes. Often we see
families filling buckets. We stop for the night outside Nafplio.
November 24 (Caley's birthday)
We spend the day in Argos, a seaside town. The knocking in our
car is now persistent. Being Sunday, everything is closed, so the day is ours
to wander on foot. Leaving the camper at the VW dealer and service center, and
being out of good reading material, we head out to find a book store. Sunday is
for family, nothing open but restaurants, so we walk the streets and main square
assessing the restaurants. Let's have lunch of authentic Greek food. We make a
choice and walk in. A greeter has a table ready for us...on the left side of
the room. On the right is a very large group of the local church 'Sunday
lunchers' all dressed in Greek black, talking, eating and visiting around the
room. Behind us, on a small table, are a priest's folded shawl and tall hat. We
try to pick him out from the crowd. Only one man has a long beard, must be him.
David orders cod and potatoes in tomatoes sauce, all baked in an oven. We have
a dish of eggplant (aubergine) between us and I order 'Small Fry'... a fresh
caught mound of 4 inch fish fried to perfection, just pop a whole slightly
crispy one in your mouth. And fat slices of olive bread to sop up the tomato
and eggplant sauces. The priest we had chosen from the crowd picks up his hat
and cloak and with a nod to us, goes out the door.
Oh my gosh, it is teaming with hard rain when we decide to leave. We
look our situation over and decide to hop from sun umbrellas to awnings down
the streets to our camper. Home. I knit a little cozy for my REI metal coffee
cup. David always sits it on top of the espresso maker to heat the milk as the
steam comes out. The cute finished cozy hugs the cup and keeps its contents
hot.
In the darkness of evening we are disturbed by car doors banging and a
face at our window. Police again. We have been reported as suspicious. It is
our headlights bobbing in the dark, a sure sign of 'gold diggers'. “What are
you Canadians doing here?”, they ask. They have noted the red and white flag
decal on our back bumper. They open the back sliding door where they find a
granny with a headlamp focused on her knitting. As usual, the situation turns
into laughter!
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> In the small communities many people live in very ugly run-down
places but they drive nice cars and dress well. From our outside view into
their villages, walls are often ruined with graffiti, streaks of rain dirt,
rust...and garbage strewn about. Maybe you don't see it if you grow up in it.
> We see a sign that says GORGOPOTAMUS. ???
> The Greek flag, so fresh like their fishing boats. Blue and white
stripes with a white square cross in the middle.
> We find it best to set the GPS for 'fastest' but also 'keep
off toll roads'.
> Often when traveling at night we see lighted candles in roadside
shrines.
> A paper bag collection would be good. Small European bags from
bakeries, other shops. David starts one.
> In the Peloponnese we see a vat for stomping on olives, ouch! Don't
those pits hurt? I suppose you wear boots. Beside it is a perfect 10 foot
mountain of dry olive meats. The Sicilians would press these into logs for
fuel. I wonder what is done with these dry olives? A father and son are walking
one 30 gallon container of oil between them, home to use for the year.
> The relaxed atmosphere and attitudes of Greece: overweight olive
harvest trucks, police that we never see, the middle of the road seems to be
the place to walk, park anywhere as long as you are mindful of leaving space
for others to get out.
> In the fields there are solar panels that move with the sun, like
sunflowers.
> We have not aged on this journey! The thought never enters our minds.
Time does not pass in the usual way. We are 'young and carefree'!
> From Andy's hotsheet:
Love all Creation. The whole
of it and every grain of sand.
Love every leaf, every ray
of God's light.
Love the animals. Love the
plants. Love everything.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky
...and my comments;
I would add 'love each other' and don't follow, or fall for, the
desires and opinions of anyone else. Be true to yourself and your own path.
Listen to your inner knowings to give you help in decisions. Somewhere inside
there is a God part of you who speaks.
November 25
Flessas, the VW office opens at nine. We go for a test drive and now
the camper is hoisted up for the mechanic to have a look underneath. It needs a
part which will take some time to find, so we drive to Nafplion. This is
a very interesting sea town with three castle-fortresses. We climb to the
highest castle (220 meters), Palamidi. A lovely large area to explore, walls to
climb and walk on, cistern stairs disappearing into darkness, cobbled streets
and buildings in different states of decay. The fort was built 1711-15. Built
with 'all the virtues and experience acquired in the field up to the 18th
C'...it houses water reservoirs, munitions depots, food storage areas and many
prisons.
Spyros is the ticket taker. He is adorable, full of laughter and
warmth. He has had an American girlfriend for five years. At this time she is
in America and he will be joining her and her family in Virginia for Christmas,
his first flight...and it is over a large ocean which he is a bit worried
about. But that is not his biggest worry. Will her parents like him? (...and he
still does not want to leave his beloved Greece.)
Back in the midst of town we visit the National Gallery and its
permanent collection about the War of Greek Independance. Nice clearly painted
styles. I enjoyed it. And a bakery stop. We sit on a park bench eating our
tasty
Greek pastries while two boys entertain us by whizzing around with
bike pulling scooter. The boy on the scooter is seated. He screams and laughs
as the scooter overturns. Then off they go again!
Now what? We choose to see Akronafplia, Nafplio's ancient acropolis on
a lower hill. We park and hike up to the site, which first began in the 3rd
C. BC and was updated by the Venetians in the 15th C. There is not a
great deal to see here at this second fortress. The third, Bourtzi, can be seen
out on an island which we will not visit. We find stairs that take us down into
the old town...always a pleasure stepping down steep narrow cobbled streets and
stairs running between hotels, B&Bs, bars, cafes and restaurants, nice
clothing shops and jewelry shops feature 'Worry Beads' which we often notice in
the hands of the men, moving the beads along on its circle cord. It is getting
dark. From our camper midway on a hill, we watch the town lights come on...on
the castles, too. We stay the night.
November 26
The Service Center has been unable to find a part so they are going to
try to fix it themselves. We find the library and stay for a few hours. The
room is very small. David and I sit at a sturdy big table and the librarian at
another very near to us. She has taken art books out of a glass case for David
to look at. He says that there is mold on some of the pages. I am busy with our
laptop. We are told that the library closes at 1:00 but when noon comes, she
begins to pack up. We take the hint. We are hungry anyway and we find a
favorite of David's...a little Gyros (Heros) cafe. Fresh pork and chicken are
cooking on spits. Wow, this is really excellent, absolutely delicious. The
Greeks, like the Turks, drink coffee with a half inch of sludge on the bottom.
It's good. We ask Maria, the waitress, if she could recommend a barber.
“Come with me”, she says, and leads us to Magda's HAIR EXPERT. Her
shop looks too fancy for the price we are willing to pay, but this is Greece in
tough times. The prices are lower. Magda and her mother Voula are in. Magda
knows how to cut hair! She is the 32 year old owner. Her mother hangs out and
helps where she can. Cheap labor they say. Such a dear mother and daughter. We
talk and talk and talk...well into their time of closure. They will come back
to work at 5:00 until 9:00.
Magda says that she practices English by watching movies and TV
series. Yes, she saw 'Sleepless in Seattle' and she named a favorite
American series which we never heard of. It seems it started after we left the
North American continent.
Voula does not know English well but she tries to explain to us just
why there is still a rub with the Turks. The Greeks were ruled by the Turks for
400 years until they rebelled. The rebellion was under the guidance and urging
of an orthodox priest. David bought a Greek flag today and found out that the
cross on the flag is to honor the priest and also the sign of the cross made by
the hand. This sign is different than the Catholic tradition in that they touch
their outer shoulders which makes the cross pattern square. Sometimes it is
hard to forgive and forget. Magda (Short for Mary Magdalene) says, with quiet
anger in her voice, “The Turks took away our Holy City, Constantinople. And
today the politicians of Greece have sold their country to the EU, lying to the
people that their finances were in good shape. There is no money to pay the
debt.”
Magda also tells us that her town, Argos, is the most ancient city in
Europe, built upon the old...seven times. She says that it is very difficult
for the Greek people to move away as they love their country and its history so
much.
We exchange email addresses, hug and set out for the garage. The car
is ready. 45Euro. They took the CV joint apart and found it had been leaking
oil so there was no lubrication. (Everyone has a different opinion.) We shall
see. At least for the time-being there is no noise. Greece. I cut and paste
relevant pieces into my writing book. One of these is a picture of some rough
large and deep red berry bushes. We have seen these along the Turkish west
coast and also in Cyprus. Ah, we find out that they are leechee nuts!
November 27
A young dog has been our guard dog all night. He just cannot wait for
us to open the door and play! One ear up, one down, lovely colors of fawn and
white. Hey, dogs were such a great idea in this world of ours. Goats teeter on
steep cliff sides. They are also amazing creatures.
We are in a parking lot and from here the site does not look very
interesting so we check out the details... This is Mycenae, 16th C.
circle burial graves and royal tomb cemeteries, Granary, artists workshops, the
Lion Gate, the North Gate, the Cistern with stairs leading down into blackness,
a palace, two intact corbelled tombs the shape of beehives covered in a mound
of grass. This place is remarkable. We wander its every corner. It is 1,000
years older than Athens. No one knows who these people really were, or why they
disappeared suddenly off the face of the earth...the most powerful of people.
Its story seems to match Homer's Iliad and Odyssey.
The architecture is so interesting and very different, for example,
they solved the doorway openings by using a triangle where the top stones lean
against each other. They had not yet experimented with the rounded archway. The
insides of the chambers were remarkable in how the walls leaned in to form a
tiny circle top. (Cyclopean walls) Huge
lintels were above doorways, putting the weight on the door side-stands below.
The triangle above that. The beehive walls remind us of the inside of the
Celtic mounds in Ireland, topped with the grassy hills, but their does not seem
to be any use of direction to catch the light of the seasons to formulate the
calendar year.
The Lion Gate was most impressive, a monumental entrance to the
fortified citadel. Its name derives from the relief group of two confronting
lions covering the triangle above lintel. The walls are almost 8 meters thick
and go to a height of 12 meters, amazing feats for the period, 1200 BC, and
have been attributed with some justification to the mythical Cyclopes.
The museum held the simple beauty of daily implements. Tools, weapons
and jewelry (a pair of hooped earrings with some colored beads strung on the
rings...just as we make today). Patterns on the pottery went from simple
geometrics to intricate floral designs. Pieces of frescoes had been found in
the rubble. The walls of conglomerate rock had by now lost much of the small
rock that gave it its beauty but there were still some smooth cut walls,
displaying all the flat-cut stone in all its beauty of color and shapes. Cut
and polished is the look.
This was an excellent site providing a very enjoyable hike through an
extremely old civilization.
Magda had also sent us to the SILO ART FACTORY, owned by her friend.
As we drove up the main feature was a sculpture of a larger than life Trojan
horse, built with smallish pieces of wood on one side and metal on the other.
It really was magnificent. And two contemporary silos, painted white and used
for various reasons, also marked this spot.
We were shown through the store and then invited into the studio and
storage area which had been chicken coops. Stacks of 'junk' that could be used
to make great things; chairs, doors, a variety of wood or metal pieces, wheels,
geers, old tools, metal door panels-old with patina. And pieces of antiquity,
whole and broken. The artist and owner: Stelios Maragos. Www.hellasart.gr Worth a look. A most
creative fellow.
A good day of riches. In the evening we are in Thiva, in the center of
much nighttime action.
November 28
We are heading north on our way to Istanbul where we must pick up our
friend Susan on December first. The mysterious car knocking is back. Let's play
this by ear...keep going, maybe it will go away. The sea is to our right, many
islands, channels and peninsulas. The water is turquoise. Mountains are white
with fresh snow. We have noticed the snow line becoming lower.
Where there is more population there are fresh fish trucks with loud
speakers to let neighborhoods know they are coming to their street. Trucks with
bread and household items also make their way down the village streets, the
truckbeds open to display the wares, also moving from street to street.
Miniature Orthodox Churches in yards and fields. A collection of hillside
shrines look like birdhouses and pinwheels, very fun and colorful to us. Our
car is behaving! We overnight in Komotini, in front of a brightly painted and
lighted restaurant called PLAYLAND. Colored balloons on every table, this must
be a kids' place to celebrate birthdays. The town is nice. Alive. But we soon
are asleep.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> I am on my third and last pair of glasses. The first pair I fell on
when I tripped on uneven stairs while walking up an unmoving escalator. The
second pair I dropped outside our van and then we drove over them.
> A remark from a Greek man. “At one time the 'Greek' islands belonged
to no one. Anyone lived there together without the thought of Greece or Turkey
or Christianity or Islam.”
November 29
38o, getting colder. Sunny blue skies and a great road as we head for
the Turkish border. I urge you to come to Greece. The rest of Greece, not just
the islands and Athens. Three Apache helicopters fly overhead. Four tanks with
big guns speed along a side road. Where are we? What's going on? Manoeuvres?
Border patrol? Now, on the highway, military camouflage trucks. But, we cross
the border easily and find our way to Turkey's Selimpasa Harbor.
