The full moon. The Venetian Fort. Souda Bay. Crete |
When I was nineteen I was persuaded by my boyfriend at the time that I was too middle class and that I should 'be' with the people. So with the money I had saved up from working weekends at a pub in Henley called " the Angel". we set off with a Euro Rail pass for a month. Destination Greece.
On the Orient Express. when it was just a train going very slowly towards the Orient. There was a dining carriage, for the toffs, but not for us in cattle class. No cafe, no toilets that were not workable after the first hundred miles. If a priest came into the carriage you had to give up your seat. If you put your head out the window to find out why you had stopped for the sixtieth time, you would get a face full of dust. The many border patrols were bullies in uniforms who took people off the the trains they didn't like. We ran out of the almond slices I had brought from Sainsburys. That was what I brought. Cheese sandwiches and almond slices. I had miscalculated the journey and had only brought enough brown bread and cheddar to get us to the middle of Yugoslavia.
We stopped at stations like Sofia, where men walked along the platform with cheese and meat pies on trays. But I only had pounds and drachmas in my wallet, so I had to smell them go by.
By the time we got to Athens I could have eaten my flip-flops..I seem to remember that we slept on the docks at Piraeus , and I literally mean "on" the docks. And met some nice australians who were sleeping there too and we got on a boat to Sifnos, I recall.
I know there were boat trips to Santorini and Ios and probably Mykonos.
I know that on Ios, my boyfriend, infuriated with me and my Marks and Spencers pink frilly nightie and the way I went down to the sea with my toothbrush and toothpaste to clean my teeth every night before slipping into my sleeping bag which lay next to his on some oasis of sand in the rocks above a beach; he put the uncooked eggs into my sleeping bag and jumped on them.
That was the end of our relationship. He jumped on the eggs and he dumped me and my pink nightie. On Ios, the largest island of The Cyclades chain.
As for being middle class. He ended up becoming a stockbroker in the city and I travelled the country performing Joe Orton and Sandy Wilson to the masses.
Apart from the eggs , what I remember most are loons, figs, black sand, the smell of hashish, olives, retsina, and donkeys and mules.
after the storm. |
I am in Crete again. The largest of all the islands. Looking at a landscape that was shocked by a massive thunderstorm this morning that took away all the heaviness of summer and tumbled it into autumn.
Most of the mosquitos have flown further south for new skin.
The sky is pale grey and pink as the sun has set. But now there are clouds settling into the gaps between the mountains. My sister, who lived here for many years, tells me that there is a day recognized by all the locals when the snow appears on the top of the mountains and the air immediately turns itself down by two degrees and everyone knows to put summer things away and get on with their winter tasks. Many Tavernas close down. But for the Cretans, eating out with your family on a saints day or a Sunday, is what they do. The outside tables are moved indoors and the wood stoves are lit.
our beautiful land and it's view. |
I am here to meet with the lawyers about this poor piece of land that has been carved into pieces by our greek neighbors. We had a meeting on the land. My lawyer turned up in his black BMW with a iced coffee in his smart clothes after his morning session in court. At 9.30pm that night, we met with him in his office. the smart clothes had gone. He brought out the Raki and the almonds. For an hour and a half I understood very little. But it seems we are going to serve papers on the two neighbours on the same day. Our lawyer, a bit of an attack dog himself, thinks these two men are worthless bullies and wants to cut them off at the knees. ( Not my words.)
I don't like fighting. I came here with lavender thoughts of mediation and resolution. But it seems that these two neighbours had carefully planned this strategy of hi-jacking our land some twenty years ago. We saw the site plans that were made for the contracts when the plots were sold and clear as day are drawn these large roads across our pretty headland as if, for all the world, it was a public piece of dirt.
So I shook the hand of the lawyer and said " go ahead."
Here's to the battle ahead. May the fireworks be colorful.
our lawyer. On the road of the bully. |
And as I get ready for my last swim and my last breakfast of yoghurt and thyme honey.
I will remember swimming in the freshwater Lake Kournas. Where the light and dark blue waters denote the sandy shelf and a blue hole so deep that no diver has yet found the bottom.
yoghurt from Vrises. |
Lake Kournas |
pomegranates |
olives |
I will remember the impatience of Greek drivers. The sound of goat bells. The smell of red dust. The feel of water around my legs as I wade into the sea.
The unfinished houses, where steel rods stick up for the not-yet-built second floor. left like that for decades because until recently it meant they didn't have to pay tax.
The old stone houses with just the walls left standing.
The hillsides and hillsides of olive trees. Holding the history in their sturdy trunks.
gigantes, tzatziki, fennel pie and salad.....yes |
The avocado village. way up in the mountains. |
I will remember the little churches, wherever there is water. Built over centuries by different occupiers.
11th century church by the river. |
The monastery on the south Coast at Preveli. The abandoned one down the hill that they have now made safe for people like to me to wander the stone streets. And the one on the cliff edge, that is still home to orthodox priests. where in 1941, during the battle for Crete, the priests and the local villagers sheltered the allied troops from the Nazi's and eventually got them out through hidden tunnels to a waiting submarine.
Monastery at Preveli |
And paid for their actions.
monastery at Preveli. |
Old Cretan woman |
I will remember the tomatoes, Red. The olives, Black. The yoghurt, white.
The paper tablecloths. The bread, the olive oil.
The fennel pies, the smoked aubergines, the sweet onions, the courgettes, the wine served in metal jugs.
Dill, mint and oregano.
Oranges, pomegranates, and crisp apples.
Honey and soft sweet goats cheese.
fennel pie, courgette burgers in Theriso |
Theriso |
the village of Megala Chorafia on Saturday night. dancing in the streets till morning. |
sunday lunch at Taverna Loutro. |
end of Sunday lunch at Taverna Loutro. |
grocery store in Chania |
filo pie with data and olives.....and tomatoes |
preparing Horta for that days lunch |
I will remember the white mountains. The blue sea. The large sky.
That has been there for thousands of years.
To be dipped into and left.