Weekending in Naxos or “how I accidently ran a 10k”

Rewind a month and we are sat in a sports bar in Athens watching the Everton game – I know, I can hear the judge-y tone now. In a city of such history and culture, how does one want to watch an English game? But well it was for work and pleasure, a project Graeme is working on and after all Everton are his favourite team. That is how we roll; the morning spent appreciating the foundations of democracy at the Agora in Monastiraki and now football on the telly, a nice contradiction of highbrow / low-brow and everything in between.  So Graeme had been eyeing up the Cyclades Trail Cup, a series of trail races planned on various islands over the summer. The first one was on Naxos, just a short hop from Syros and took place on May Bank Holiday, so we figured a few days escape to another island would fit in with working hours and a good excuse to do some sightseeing.

It was free to sign up, Graeme registered for the Dionisos distance which was 10.8k of gruelling hills, on cobbled paths and historic trails in the mountains of Naxos. I ‘ummed and ahh-ed’ for at least an hour – then signed up for it too, thinking I could try to do a bit of training, a few short runs here and there. Maybe my knee wouldn’t starting yelping in pain after 25 minutes running as it usually does in the gym back home. And anyway, the 30th April seemed a long way off when you are sat in a bar cradling a pint of Mythos on 4th April.

Then fast forward a few weeks, we are living in Kini, Graeme had been taking it all relatively seriously and doing a few 5-6k hill runs to nearby Delfini and around the tracks over the bay. All I had managed was 2 short 20 minute ‘jogs’ around the sea front.  So getting up early last Saturday to catch the 7am Aqua Spirit to Naxos was a breeze, a chilly but clear sunrise greeted us over Ermoupoli as the boat set sail.

The ferry firstly stopped at Paros then glided into Naxos Harbour. By the way, if anyone is as much of a ferry geek as me – the old Aqua Spirit, although built in Greece in the early 2000s as the Andreas II has the air of a much older boat thanks to the rusty exterior and 90s pleather seats. I did the quick background research while enjoying the journey and discovered it was briefly sold to Sweden and operated as a floating supermarket, aptly named Mr Shoppy One. It was then sold back to Greece in 2011 and operated by the old NEL line, and after they collapsed it was bought by Sea Jets GR as the only conventional ferry in their fleet. I swear this amused me so much thinking it has been a floating supermarket. I even bravely went to ask the ship’s purser about it under the guise of asking for a printed copy of the timetable (geek in action)– “he shook his head and said ”no you are mistaken this has always been a Greek ferry”. I’m not convinced. Google told me! Maybe it’s a cover up they get briefed on before each sailing “Don’t talk about Mr Shoppy” It’s probably a clause in their employment contract. Determined, I then spent the next 10 minutes before we embarked looking for evidence of its former life. Only a fading warning sign written in Swedish was hanging over the exit. It’s definitely one of the most significant mysteries in maritime history… one to follow up on, I won’t sleep until I know the TRUTH!

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Anyway, arriving in Naxos was a bit of sensory overload, as it felt very touristy, if a little jaded – signs everywhere in English and lots of hotels, tourist shops and car hire places. I had just gotten used to having most things written in Greek in Syros, instead Naxos seafront had a plethora of names like “Zorba’s Greek Tavern” or “Captains Cocktail Bar” ‘Happy Hour 6-8pm Screaming Orgasm 4 Euros! It wasn’t bad in any way – just different. Luckily, we didn’t have time to wander and get lost, as we were greeted at the port by the son of the apartment owner and he walked us 10 minutes towards St Georges beach area, where the Galazia Studios are located. A really lovely place, blue and white shutters, plants everywhere. As there are just 10 rooms,the owner kindly said that as we were early in the season he upgraded our basic studio on the ground floor to the top floor luxury room. Which was a nice surprise! – soft blue furnishings, flat screen TV, newly painted bathroom. Perfect. When we were checking in, his mum offered us fresh lemonade, and for breakfast left us fresh eggs from their chickens on the farm (which I spent ages asking her about), as well as giving us a jar of homemade orange marmalade when we departed. Great traditional hospitality.

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As the race wasn’t until Sunday, we had the whole afternoon to explore. After refueling on a tasty lunch of meatballs, rice and salad with Naxion cheese, we wandered up to the Chora. This is the town’s oldest part which has a fantastic labyrinthine streets snaking up to the Castle. We found time to explore and visit the fantastic collection in the Archaeological museum. I particularly enjoyed all the plants and flowers everywhere in charming little Cycladic streets – perfectly postcard pretty.

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After a low-key evening that consisted of dinner the Oasis Taverna (hearty giovetsi and moussaka) and refusing shots of tsipuro (previously unheard of!) and then falling asleep before 10pm. On Sunday we were up early to meet at the port for participants to be bussed up to the starting point of the race Ano Potamia. It was a hair-raising bus journey, I kept munching on chocolate croissants worrying about energy levels…

Once we arrived at the start, piling out the bus, I faffed, procrastinated, I kept going over everything “I have the wrong trainers, my Nike Zooms are not made for cobbled stones and vertical climbs” – I was wearing 2 pairs of Primark socks instead of my sweat resistant ‘proper’ running socks. Anyway I felt all unprepared and Graeme went into a little stressy pre-race mode where he paced around trying to block out my whiney conversations, which were rightly ignored. I figured it out – gave myself a good talking to and heeded the race organisers advice, “if you walk, do so on the right.” I just thought, I am doing this to finish it – not win, no PB, just finish without death or injury. Who cares if you come last – looking around at the lithe Hellenic bodies around us – I mean, the Olympics wasn’t invented here for no reason, the Greeks are athletic, straight up competitive types. Well, not everyone, there were plenty of us ‘normal’ folk there too’ a bit tubby, in badly fitted sportswear straight from the shop, oldies, youngies and I guess everyone in-between. The bus had taken us high into the hills, this was a rural Naxos at its most scenic and traditional – and you couldn’t beat the location of the start line at a beautiful tavern underneath the pine trees. Luckily the clouds were in our favour and the temp felt cool.

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Siga siga (slowly slowly) that was going to be my race motto. Graeme sped off after the starting countdown, it was just a throng of caps, neon vests, red and blue t-shirts and drum-banging enthusiasm! I kept to my own pace, convincing myself I couldn’t run very far. I started off with a trot, but as the course was narrow firstly weaving through the cobbled streets and then upwards towards the hills on old goat herders tracks. There wasn’t much room for over taking anyway, so I kept up a pace that felt comfortable and right for me. I think I exclusively looked down at my feet for the first 15 minutes, not even a solitary glance ahead or up at the views as we climbed, but eyes firmly on my feet to make sure I didn’t slip, or trop on the wildly uneven surfaces. The whole race was a feast of jagged rocks, undergrowth and wildflowers, dirt roads and lizards darting for cover. I just focussed on breathing. One foot in front of the other.  It was a rhythmic mediation, breathing and keeping my feet going. I often read about ‘mindfulness’; the concept of focussing on the present moment – this was it in action, like a revelation, all I could think (or perfectly not think) was breathe / move!  A combination of existing only in that moment, there was no time for thinking about the people I was surrounded by, or a spilt second to consider how everyone else was faring. That was the most pure form of presence, one that considered only survival and purpose.  A base instinct sure, but one I relished in through the course of 10.8 kilometres of pure exhilaration and exertion.  I kept going, uphill and downhill, sometimes overtaking others and sometimes I stepped back to catch my breath and let others pass. As the course weaved back into the villages and weaved through the terrain, locals and race supporters shouted encouragement, offered water the course certainly didn’t allow for a full pelt sprint anyway, unless you were half man half goat. Even Graeme who kept up with some of the winners, said most people trotted, walked and ran – a winning combination. He managed to finish in 1.20 coming 15th (impressive) and I was thrilled with finishing around the 1.50 mark. A finisher at least!

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All in all it was a brilliant race – I got to experience wild moments alone on the course at some points where I looked up and saw the bare rugged beauty of the landscape, unchanged in centuries, hills jutting precariously, then scrambling downhill past old aqueducts. Being neither overtaken nor having company was incredibly liberating out in the wild high up parts of the course, a reminder that you race this life only against yourself, you create competition to spur yourself forward. I need to step away from holding that life achievement barometer against certain milestones. The course is continuous – I need to be present…I also need to just dig in. I want to take that feeling of being in the race mode with me – treasure it and know that I can call on this hidden strength to compete and complete any challenge I choose. Stop panicking and just do. Perhaps in life the best things are just experienced in the moment, not over-analysed and overthought, they just are.

Changing gear and finding your pace

 

Like all aspects of our lives there is always a pulsating sense of time ticking away. I have been in Greece 5 weeks now and as a kind of everyday rhythm sets in I feel each day melt into the next. That’s why keeping a journal and writing a blog is helping. I want to remember not just what happened every day, but how it all felt and the thoughts this adventure has inspired.  We all have a creeping sense of our lives being crammed to the brim with tasks and responsibilities. Attention gets switched from screen to screen, and as an adult when was the last tie most of just sat there and did nothing. Not just tied to the bleeping devices, which rate and monitor and feedback our consumerist lives. Can you remember a time when you actually sat still, no device, no book, no newspaper – just being, staring into the distance and taking in your surroundings? At the same time there is pressure to do things, counting every sunset learn, explore use my time wisely, write, think, read be productive, be human, be responsible. I want to enjoy this aspect that having more time provides – the absolute luxury of being able to fill a day with everything and, if the mood strikes me, nothing at all.  Everything and nothing.

Or this can be what it is – a break from the everyday. Which quite frankly I think we all need. No it doesn’t have to be taking six months off, or even a week, and it isn’t about geography or location, or glitzy white sand beaches and frequently flier miles. This experiment is about how we live or don’t live, just existing in the margins between a serious of outlook appointments, screen blur and commuter rage. G and I had this joke when we sat in the kitchen eating beans on toast at 9pm (on a good night)– “our rubbish lives” we’d laugh, bleary eyes – answering work emails with one hand and forking in mouthfuls of luke-warm beans with the other. #livingthedream. But we’d let this happen. Like most yawn-some thirty-something professionals London called and we answered.  That old adage had come true, there IS a big difference between making a life and making a living.

I wrote the Annie Dillard quote “How we spend our days, is of course, how we spend our lives” in scrawly ballpoint ink on a yellow post-it note like a passing idea or a task to be ticked off on the never ending list. I stuck this quote to my desk monitor last February in 2016, a month into a new job – mainly just to remind me of the thoughts I had for some years now about the passing of time and fragility of life. Annie Dillard is a wonderful writer, in her book The Writing Life she talks about the trade-offs between presence and productivity, in dreamy life-affirming prose. Not in a big idealist dramatic “I’m gonna quit my job and travel the world” kind of way. My need to be reminded was more contemplative than that. It reminds me that every day is a vital part of that –no matter how mundane or banal it is, the culmination of these days are what makes up a life. That’s why I find it important to create a life that has time to explore how things make you feel, how you respond to challenges, to remind myself that there is only limited value in defining who you are with what you do.  That is something I have persistently struggled with. Holding up the career successes of friends and contemporaries as a mirror to my own life – the horror that ties itself up in knots when you meet someone at a work meeting that graduated about 5 minutes ago and already manages a team or heads up a department. I am such a late starter – I see the litmus test of career progression, having a fancy job title or six figure salary, which is apparently the real marker of ‘successes these days.  My negativity and cynical traits go into overdrive, comparing traits, education, status, all the things most people are too self-absorbed to even pay attention to.  I won’t resign myself to the scrap heap just yet. The truth is that everyone is different and maybe I need to release any self-inflicted pressure; because it isn’t a pace that feels comfortable.

Anyway, after a few months the note faded, and stopped sticking so it was taped to my monitor screen – taunting me. A colleague stood at my desk one day and after a discussion about one thing or another, she asked if I liked motivational quotes. I replied – well not really, I mean, I like things to remind myself how to live.

I’m glad it stuck around. You see it might be easier to just slide on through life. After all some of the the happiest people I know are the ones who seem to inhabit this fret-free existence, just take it as it comes, pay-rises, sweet promotions. “What’s the big deal” they say, exuding that confident ooze of an illusion of success.  The worriers among us don’t have this down, we are too busy looking around and frantically panting just to keep up.

But that is exactly what I am working on. Just being comfortable, even if that’s just where I am right now. And that is why this blog entry was meant to about finding your feet and being comfortable in your own pace, and I let it slip and slide into panic. Back in Easter week we borrowed the apartment’s mountain bikes (with our own helmets – yes, another wonderfully practical thing we packed!). As we set off, manoeuvring the busy streets of Hermoupolis, I realised I hadn’t ridden a bike for ages, probably close to 2 years. My own road bike has sat gathering dust in the attic. For someone who loved riding, even if it was a brief fascination that coincided with a slightly weird obsession with signing up for triathlons. I don’t know why all of a sudden I was ridiculously nervous on the Greek roads. I know this country is hardly renowned for road safety but I was all of a jitter. But slowly as we climbed past the harbour and up to Manna towards the airport the roads cleared out from cars and trucks and I felt more confident. Well until I heard the rabid dogs… as usual their job was guarding a factory and sounding vicious. But on the upside they encouraged me to find strength for hill sprints when I heard their barks! By the time we reached Azomlinos, the grey cloud was starting to lift and reveal a sunny Good Friday. People were walking around and some even swimming at the beach. We cycled through country lanes, past sheep dozing and chickens clucking merrily away. Many more barking dogs. But none chased us. On the bike you just slip into a gear that suit, nothing frantic, just one that pushes you and you control the speed. Maybe that’s what I have been missing, an ability to feel pace myself and enjoy the journey.

In a race you can only have one credible outcome – to win. Or maybe even have a new PB. But we are all racing ourselves against the clock, relentless peddling and the views going by so quickly we have no idea where we have been or what the destination should be.

Well our destination was just meant to be a nice amble to Azolimnos, which is one of the many little seaside villages and beaches that gently merge across the South East coast. We were enjoying the scenery so much we decided to keep going and see if we could make it to Vari, where there is a wide bay with a couple of tavernas. There were a few trying hills – one where I’ll admit we got off and walked to push the bikes. It was about midday by now, and felt much warmer in the sunshine when we finally arrived, flying downhill to the bay, the sea glittering turquoise. And in this moment, I remembered that post-it note saying ”how you spend your days is of course how you spend your lives” . Yet it was both the journey and the destination that proved equally rewarding.  Effort, beauty and serenity on the road. Each day is different, sometime pushing, sometimes finding your pace, looking forward and back.

The next few months will have days I remember and days that blur into the next, but the focus will be on changing gear, slowing down and switching off. Most of all, enjoying the freedom that life has offered.

Gardening in a new climate

With the six tomato plants from the landlord and a whole lot of seeds brought over in my bag (perfectly legal while we are in the EU, Officer) – I have started the real ‘Greek Garden’. This is actually really exiting – just to see how plants respond and thrive (I hope!) in a totally different climate. Now in our second week in the house, the first set of cosmos seeds I planted on day 1 have actually germinated which cheered me up no end while the weather took a grey dive and we shivered in bed! Now the weather seems to have decided it is summer so it’s a steady 21c in the day and 15c at night.

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In the past 10 days I have potted up: some Tomato Radana seeds, aubergine (from a Greek packet purchased in Patmos last year), courgette, cucumber and broad beans. Having seen some local gardens on my walks around, I know their broad beans and courgettes are weeks ahead, but I will persevere regardless. I think most of the veg will be done in containers – I’m keeping my eyes peeled for any discarded feta/ olive oil cans. This is in fact the most recycling/resourceful gardening attempt I’ve made. I am also researching into reusing grey water from washing up, to help ease our usage when the drier weather starts.

Yet, I only recently purchased an implement almost like a trowel for 2 euros after a comedic expressive conversation with a man in hardware shop in my limited Greek ‘kipourikí’ (gardening)  – fyto (plants) while miming the act of trowelling soil! That is likely to be my most technical purchase. I have a bag of compost (found at the Euroshop) and loads of old plant pots thanks to the landlord’s generosity. All the germination pods are made from either yogurt pots or plastic trays with cling film as a lid or smaller pots with a water bottle cut in half acting as mini greenhouses. Nothing goes to waste here!

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In terms of flowers I have the fore-mentioned cosmos which are collected from the white and pink ones from my uk garden last year, french marigolds, sunflowers of dwarf and tall variety. I also picked up packets of cottage garden mix and nasturtiums from a supermarket trip. All are potted and some are starting to pop up… I also threw a handful on the soil of the bed next to the steps – some have started to shoot. So perhaps the soil isn’t all bad.

Given that we are cooking at home most nights I wanted to make sure I had access to fresh herbs so am attempting to grow coriander, chives, parsley, dill and oregano, both staples of the Greek kitchen, from seed as well. I have cheated with the pot of mint given to us and the Greek basil plant bought in town. By the way the tiny fragrant basil leaves of the Greek variety are amazing, sprinkled on salads and in pasts – knocks the socks of the huge leafed monsters in pots you find back in the UK.  In an attempt to turn the gardening into an educational exercise I wrote my plant labels in Greek too – you know for chats with any local gardeners!

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When in the big town last week I couldn’t resist buying a couple of petunias as well. They are dazzling pinks and purple, alongside the existing red geranium, which I have taken cuttings from too. I am already envisioning a riot of colour! There is also a flowering aloe plant which looked hastily replanted and isn’t faring to well. I will need to keep an eye on that.

Graeme has pitched in as the architect and has built a veg bed, cordoned off with stones collected from the beach, which hopefully with some compost can be a good place for salad leaves and spinach too. This won’t be a Chelsea showgarden but it will be pots everywhere and clashing colour, with bits of flotsam and jetsom to decorate. Could this be next year’s big gardening trend?

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In terms of the old pests, I have noticed snails here and am prepared to do battle organically with beer traps. It hasn’t rained for over a week now and might only see a few minor showers now we are into May. Water will be the big challenge.

Noting the proliferation of cats in the neighbourhood, many people seem to put bamboo kebab sticks in their plant pots as a barrier to cats digging in them I imagine. As if I needed another reason to eat more souvlaki!

With big plans ahead and the weather warming up it all feels like this is the right place to spend the summer watching things grow and creating a garden.

Delphi (or Learning to love the Ktel bus)

This is a flashback to Delphi – a whole 3 weeks ago. Feel’s like a lifetime ago…

I love the bus, I genuinely do. In many islands and all across the mainland it is the only way of getting from A to B (usually via C, D and E!). In the first week we were in Athens a trip to Delphi was on the cards. Now Delphi has been a long running place of pilgrimage since the site was chosen to house temples in homage to Apollo. A town has been there plying its trade to the worshippers and fortune seekers, much as it does nowadays to tourists visiting its UNESCO Heritage status site.

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It is perched up near Mount Parnassus a three hour drive from Athens. We’ve been on some bone-shaking, high in the mountain rides across Andros and Tinos, so thought despite the distance it couldn’t be any worse. It is believed the site was chosen because of its mystic and spiritual properties and that’s believed to be one of the reason the Delphic Oracle offered up her mysterious advice. Within the Temple of Apollo is the place the Oracle would speak through a female Priestess and the babbled chants would be interpreted as a prophecy answering important questions such as waging wars or dividing up fortunes. According to legend the ground breath the site had hallucinogenic vapours seeping up from the rocks, which could explain the visions interpreted as the Oracle! Each nation state across Greece built temples as offerings to Apollo, depending on the value placed on the statues carved from marble and gold leaf decorated temples, it gave them more rights to consult the oracle more frequently. All fascinating stuff and it seemed a logical place to look for answers, after all isn’t that what this six months is about? Looking beyond the everyday to find meaning? Armed with our own questions for Apollo we set out for the Ktel Bus station in Athens  – luckily I’d figured out there is more than one bus station is Athens and yes this one was a bit of a trek, basically along a long road that has taxi garages as far as the eye can see.  We were travelling light for 3 days so not a baggage problem (:)). Buying the tickets and figuring out which bay the bus left from was a breeze, unlike the Larissa Train Station. There’s also a really nice café, ‘Anna’s’ just over the road where we ate lunch of cheese toasties. The bus journey was smooth and raced through the flat plains and small towns, the started the climb into the mountains, stopping for 15 minute break at ‘The Friendly Café’ after 2 hours was a leg-stretching relief.

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Once we pulled into the small town of Delphi you get a real sense of why such temples and ruins were built here – the scenery is just -dropping, the mountains in the background and views all the way down to coast at Itea. Our hotel was a really simple place called the Athina Hotel.  A very smiley friendly lady showed us to our room – amazing but vertigo inducing views from the balcony! After a decent dinner in one of the traditional taverna’s, it was an early night and up to explore the site. I’d totally recommend getting there early, as it is a place high on the list of school trips (yes, those bored-looking privileged kids from UK public schools were there in force along with a huge group from Italy and France, when we visited. Really taking in the culture by posing for selfies– all very Instagram-able moments! I guess that’s how we make memories, a virtual slideshow of life’s best moments, never fully honest and edited to reveal a half-truth public face, but still capturing a snapshot of time.  I won’t hate them for it, I would have done the same at that age!

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In Spring this is a truly beautiful place – all the wildflowers are out, blossom on the trees, fresh grass under blue skies. We just wandered round in its peaceful corners, up lots of steps to the monuments – it’s not a huge place but deserves a good couple of hours to explore and take in it’s mystery.

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What I found fascinating was this huge old dog which just paraded through the old arcades, it owned the place, paying no mind to any of the photo-snapping tourists. She looked around and just walked under the temple of Apollo – she was like the reincarnation of the Priestess Phythia herself. Free to roam where no human was allowed.

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We finished off the day by watching the sunset and eating at Vlakos Taverna; rooster in wine sauce and beef stifado. I didn’t find any answers from the Oracle but just asking questions to ask was certainly a good place to start.

Tο σπίτι μας – our house

I sit here and listen. Just sitting here and listening with my eyes closed and suddenly it’s like I have hearing for the first time – as if wax has been unblocked from my ears. I hear the birds chirping away merrily, a couple of dogs barking in the distance, their sound enlarged and amplified by the hills, and a few goat bells tinkle away. Then a wood pigeon coos – it’s a sound that takes me back to childhood. A late summer echo from years ago. The wind stirs the trees, rushing and whistling, if I strain I can hear the sea…

And so here we are renting a little house in a village by the sea. With all its unfamiliar new noises and eerie early season silence. It’s a simple little single storey whitewashed ‘spiti / house’ – I’m going to describe it as traditional, simple kitchen and a basic bathroom. It has blue shutters and a big terrace running the length of the front, overlooking a big open space. Two big pine trees shade the house, we think planted after it was built and now towering over the terrace, there’s an olive tree at the entrance and a fig tree at the back. Scrubby grass dominating with four hibiscus bushes and 2 oleander’s to the left of the house, there is also a very wild looking passionflower climber which I’d like to train around the terrace. It is mostly very sandy soil, dry and almost clay-like. I think growing in pots will be best – our landlord advises the same and as soon as he noted my interest in gardening offered to bring over pots and plants he had spare. I feel very welcomed and already at home. In fact it look less than an hour to unpack…making a list of things to pick up from the big shop in Ermoupol. Rugs, bottle opener, seat cushions. All we need to make a home.

The first few nights were cold, we shivered under 3 blankets, both with full sleeved clothing and the AC set to heat. That’s the thing with a lot of the old island houses, built to protect them from the ravages of summer heat, they don’t fare well in the winter with cold tile floors and high ceilings.  Even through it was Easter week and daytime temperatures were 19c…after we moved in last week they started to dip to 14c and then down to 9c on an evening, now that really did feel cold!

Now a week after moving in the sunshine is back and the Easter tourists have gone home.

The water pump is fixed – a little problem on the first day as a new pump had been installed to pump the water from the ‘sterna’ (basement water tank) under the house. This is an old traditional system of storing water that should last the whole summer – now the houses have heated water it needs to get pumped to the roof and then to the boiler. But the pump had a few teething problems, so the local plumber (also our neighbour) spent considerable time here figuring it out. So much so we escaped to the souvlaki café out of politeness…where we met some locals and were bought a round a drinks courtesy of the landlord.

The following day, the plumber left us a bag of lemons from his tree. Making good on his promise, the landlord brought round 6 tomato seedlings and a pepper, as well as pots and herbs. I went for an early run this morning. ‘Yassoo / Kalimera’ – friendly waves from the bar, the taverna, the workman sweeping the path, the sly cats still glare with suspicion and the dogs bark.

But still in a week we feel welcomed in the village. We now have a place for the summer, a million lemons and some baby plants to look after….oh and a friendly stray cat that meows outside on the terrace.

I think that makes it a home already.