5.23.2014

GREECE November 14 through 30, 2014

PINO and GIOVANNA'S SICILY RENTALS OR SWAPS!
My good friends in Sicily have some wonderful properties to rent or swap with you in Sicily. One is on the sea shore in famous Taormina, the other is a country home with gardens and orchards and grape vines just outside the town of Caltanissetta. For viewing properties contact them at andolinagiovanna@yahoo.com Think about this opportunity. Sicily is a wonderful and exciting place to explore. 




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.



No comments:

Post a Comment