Category: Greece

I was rather taken aback when I read the news that a girl tumbled off a cliff in Zakynthos trying to take the perfect selfie shot with a shipwreck in the background – she was the second death in the same circumstances this year. This isn’t just tragic a waste of a life, its beyond sad as it is symptomatic of a wider malaise – everywhere you go selfie sticks are at sights, museums, planes, beaches….even churches. I wonder if people often know what they are taking a pic in front of. Its the opposite of why we travel isn’t it? We all want to remember things with a photo, but that needs to be complemented with experience and getting a feel for another place and ‘seeing’ the sights.  This selfie-culture isn’t bad in itself, but it feeds an absolute obsession with the self, controlling your image on social media, filtered perfection, a projection of the ideal (often female) form.  I watched one girl try on several hats and glasses to get the perfect shot in Mykonos Harbour last week, I did wonder what this performance achieved.  Is it that we can all be the star of our own media channel or just another way to nihilism creates and curates the perfect online version of yourself? But I concluded there is probably no-real self in most of these posed selfies, authenticity can only come from a whole lived experience.  I can’t say I’ve never ‘selfied’ up but there is a whole generation growing up with this scary scrutiny over their appearance – and it worries me.

We spent a few miserable hours in Mykonos last week, not miserable as we had fun, but just in the broadest sense it wasn’t a great place to hangout. We were there as G’s family had a flight back to the UK late that day so we decided to stay one night as a jumping off point for an island hop adventure. We arrived and took the boat bus to the old town, Mykonos Chora and it was just so busy on the tiny harbour. 4 gigantic cruise liners were docked in the bay…thousnads of people milling about taking selfies and shouting loudly. I didn’t hear any Greek being spoken at all.

Well here’s the deal – if you crave overcrowded streets, overpriced food and drink, fancy boutiques that will let you shop till your heart is content, please go, eat drink and be merry! I am totally sure the island is lovely – it gets millions of visitors so they can’t all be mad, maybe there are villages and goats and even smiley old ladies – but in my experience it was a strange Disney-esque version of a Cycladic town. Mykonos was once a hippie gay-friendly little place, and in the past 2 decades has embraced tourism and drank from the cup of exclusivity, letting such celebs Lindsey Lohan and the Kardashian clan be the island’s poster girls. It now has a rather wild party scene that means it attracts teenagers from around the world. Now it feels such a long way from Shirley Valentine sitting at that lonely taverna chair when it was filmed there in the late 80s. “The only thing I ever wanted to do was travel. I’d like to drink a glass of wine, sitting by the sea, watching the sun go down”.  My favourite line!

Anyway we said goodbye to the family waving them off into an airport bound taxi, and survived a night in Mykonos. Mostly watching UK election coverage on the apartment TV – but hey…

Next morning at 8am we walked from the town to the new port to catch our boat, a pleasant enough walk but without any pedestrian friendly pavements (Greek town planners please note, people like to walk places, please build pavements when you build new roads). Apart from when an intoxicated young man swerved over on a quad bike and asked us the way to “Super Paradise” I thought he said “Parasite” which would have made sense..It then started to rain with a massive downpour at the port. No umbrella! But once we reached Paros on the new refurbished Superunner which has just joined the Golden Star fleet, the rain had cleared and we felt like we have arrived in an altogether different atmosphere. Less crowds, more space and less hustle!

A quick hop on the Antiparos Star (5Euros) took us to the smaller island to the south. Antiparos really is a little gem, a small harbour with daytrip boats and regular connections to Parikia (Paros Town) and car ferries via Pounda. Its not a tiny island like say, Halki or Antipaxos, but it does feel immediately slower paced as you step off into the harbour lined with restaurants and shops. It’s fairly compact and has a wide main street where most other shops, taverna’s and bars are.

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The town and Castro (castle) area are beautiful and postcard perfect. Also, without the crowds when we were there – so if you seek those typical Greek scenes of taverna’s on squares and bourganvilla draped over doorways and tiny churches, Antiparos town fits the bill.

The island is mostly flat so perfect for cycling, we hired bikes on day and drove the 9k to the Caves. I admit I got off my bike and pushed at the steepest last slog of the climb (190meters!)

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The caves were worth the effort, discovered in the 1700s (with graffiti to prove it!) and having held significance for both geological wonder and a place of shelter during wars and invasion, they remain the greatest and oldest example of natural cave chambers in the whole of Greece.  Read more here: http://www.antiparos.info/En/Cave.htm

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We really just chilled out for 3 long balmy days and nights on the island. It has fantastic beaches and good priced taverna’s, with very traditional Greek fare. We ate heartily, and were shown around the kitchen at Pavlo’s Place and talked through the menu. I had delicious goat stew with orzo pasta. We devoured every moment, minimised the selfies and treated the time as a fantastic holiday.

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Staying in Astera’s Apartments was perfect, tucked away from the main street in the Chora, but close to the beaches and peacefully quiet on a night. Pretty and quiet beaches shaded by tamerisk trees and only a few beach bars in sight…what’s not to love about Antiparos.

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Just don’t let too many people know about it, that’s the tricky thing – Tom Hanks and his Greek-American wife have a house there…there’s a smattering too many ’boutiques’ in the town…please don’t ruin it!

Whilst I was lounging in the sun in the UK the weather back on Syros was just plain weird – the village experienced a deluge of a months’ worth of rain in a few hours which caused a mudslide down the main road onto the beach. Sounds worse than it turned out to be – but still the clean up took a while for the tavern and hotel owners, and there were a few grumbles about the drainage. Concrete roads and houses create run off problems in places like this when unseasonal rain falls, which is worsened by the heavy clay-like soil which isn’t be able to quickly absorb extra rainfall when it hits.

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But luckily the house and garden was intact upon our return. Bar a massive sweeping of pollen and pine needles fallen from the big trees that shade the terrace.  In fact, the garden had had a major growth spurt from the milder and wetter weather. Our landlord also popped by to water the seedlings, which I am forever grateful for. So the tomatoes, courgette and cucumber have spurted along in our absence. On our return, I made a bamboo climber support for the cucumber (which was indeed a cucumber, not a courgette – an easy mistake!) Luckily we have a limitless supply of bamboo from the canes growing in the garden which means everything will be supported nicely.

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We had a few ‘days of gloom’ as I describe it last week, where the sky stays a grey colour all day and the sea looks murky and un-enticing. I heard the announcers on the Radio describe the weather forecast as ‘winter’ – it’s not far wrong, most of the Cyclades have had much less rain and colder temperatures this Spring than usual. But the garden soil was wet and warm so I planted more calendula seeds, potted out some cosmos and marigolds.  Last Monday it was 20c and cloudy, yet now a week later it is 29c and wall to wall sunshine. The locals have assured me that summer has finally arrived!

I woke this morning with Namaste inspired intentions of a run and yoga session – but on wandering outside with my coffee I was immediately distracted by the garden. One of the most brilliant things about working UK time is that I start work at 11.30am Greek time, so I have these blissful long mornings to fill before work commences. Although usually filed with chores (Greek houses take a lot of sweeping and de-anting!) or exercise and writing, this time makes the day seem longer and quite frankly when I think of the daily 1 hour commute in London, these hours back are a gift to be used wisely.

So this morning I pottered and deadheaded some of the petunia and pansy flowers. Replanted radish seeds, as many either failed to germinate or washed away. I am persevering with lettuce and spinach although it is starting to get too warm for germination. I planted out the aubergine in the bed and another courgette. The first one bought as a plug plant is flowering, so I am hoping that I find some larger pots or oil cans for the remaining tomato and courgette seedlings, as it’s getting late now. I bought some unusual Trombocino seeds (trumpet shaped squash) at the RHS Chelsea Show so was really pleased that one germinated in a few days.

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The broadbeans look full of promise but local horticulture knowledge says it might be too war for them to fruit. While I was pottering and weeding, our feline friend nicknamed Bowie skipped over to purr round my ankles, then our landlord popped over and gave us some bulbs of garlic from his garden, enticingly fresh and with the cucumbers he shared last week, and the dill from the market – we will be surviving off homemade tzatziki for weeks.

Graeme’s family have been visiting this past week, so it was the best excuse to be tourists for a few days, eating out and cooking BBQ’s, enjoying sunbathing and snorkelling, wandering round Ano Syros and walking to Galissas.  This coincided with a Greek bank holiday for Orthodox Pentecost (Whit Monday) which marks the end of the Easter cycle of celebrations and the day of the Holy Spirit. Kini was incredibly busy with Athenians here on holiday and the weather heated up accordingly. All the Taverna’s were full on Saturday and Sunday night as suddenly everywhere we went felt like summer had arrived. The near empty beach we had known and loved, was brimming with families and sun seekers, enjoying their first taste of a glorious Greek summer. But this only lasts three days – and walking past today on my lunch break it was back to its more expected scattering of tourists and locals.

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While I’m glad the weather has turned in Syros, I’ll keep doing a sundance for my friends back in the UK who have been updating me with rain stories…

I arrived back from London on Sunday night. Shaken up on choppy waters from Piraeus and needing some well-deserved sleep. I had been back to London for a week to work and then spend time catching up with family and friends. A week flew by from the moment we landed back; filled with work, drinking tea (oh, tea I love you!), drinking in the sun, eating curry…
London was on top chaotic form. Sunny, buoyant and alive. Through the city streets, the pavements hummed with bustling bodies and warm concrete. The city magically turns itself inside out to enjoy what could just be a fleeting glimpse of heat from the sun and showering everyone with the frisky feel of summer. Windows open, laughter and music travelled through the dusk air. It was like a brief affair that could drive you back to a lover – London was flirting now I’d left and I had to resist.  I met friends, we jostled for seats in the sun and I enjoyed the frenetic pace. If only it was ever this nice to me when we were together.

I tried not to eat terribly, but failed on arrival (a pub burger and pint of English cider) and by Monday evening I got back to my hotel room with a Tesco sandwich meal deal. Sadly the first of 2 I ate that week and I’m not proud. I scoffed it down watching the TV news, something had happened in Manchester at a concert at the Arena, reporters were trying to piece it together but details were hazy. I switched off, my mind rendered blank from a busy day, opening events, answering questions and doing more talking in 12 hours than it felt I’d done in weeks. The next morning I had an early start for an event so my alarm pinged at 4am…switching on the news stopped me in my tracks of making coffee. I, like most of us on Tuesday morning woke to what was the reality of a tragic scene unfolding – dozens of teenagers and children injured, missing and dead.  I don’t wish to repeat what has already been reported – a home-grown terrorist, one of us radicalised by whatever force entices a once reasonable young man to walk into a public space with the sole aim of killing the maximum people possible and himself. I cannot even imagine what that takes. But more so, we are forced to live through what his actions have taken away. Young lives on the cusp of adulthood, children at their first concert, parents waiting patiently for their return. All their unwritten futures erased in seconds. The news cycle went over all the details and most people I met that week were experiencing a mix of shock, anger and crucially, resilience. As I was at work this meant I was forced to adapt and get on, minimise risks, that’s what we do – be aware. Although the country was in the midst of a glorious heat wave, a cloud of doom and fear hung close.

The events in Manchester made me consider how fear can permeate our lives. We are the lucky ones, when tragedy strikes and it wasn’t your loved ones, we get to live on. Each day is a gift and each could be the last. Yet this provides no comfort if we allow fear to inhabit this space.

Those teenagers getting ready to go to the concert didn’t even consider the possibility of fearing a terrorist act – why should they? No person should ever have to think of such danger – we can’t live like that. It’s impossible to predict. I recall the absolute life changing excitement of my first concert. The details are burned into my memories like scorch marks. December 8^th 1994, Blur Newcastle Metro Arena. I wore an orange shirt over a black shiney baby doll dress from Topshop and Chipie trainers that had stripes that glowed in the dark. I was 13 and my Dad drove me and my three best friends there. He waited outside in his van to pick us up. It was actually the literally most exciting night of my, up to then, life. We learned all the lyrics to every Blur song ever written in the weeks beforehand, talking of nothing else but what to wear, what to do, what to sing, who we loved best. Mine was always Graham Coxon, the weird outcast of the band. We chattered through classes at schools, “Blur, Blur, Blur” Gigs and music were the doorways to possibilities that existed outside the confines our little town, our childhoods, our desires. Once inside the Arena we bought everything pocket money could afford; souvenir programmes and scarves and t-shirts.

That night 23 years ago still speaks to me as a significant life event, it holds a precious feeling of freedom, singing along to every word in every song and seeing the world as a place of pure joy– believing in possibilities. Ideas are being formed, everything is new and breathless, scary and at high speed. Because that is what being a teenager should be; thrilling and fearless.

No-one can ever take that away.

I hope that every person affected by what happened last week doesn’t forget how precious a first concert is as a rites of passage. Music can be a great healer for us all.

 

 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.