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On donkeys, books and pandemics

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IT’S been a while since I’ve written a blog piece. Like many of you, I suspect, the last 12 months has felt like being thrown a curved ball – or more of a demolition ball really. The pandemic experience has been troubling and strange, and downright frightening at times, locked in our domestic prisons, experiencing strictures none of us have ever come across before. I have heard my family talk about living through wartime Britain, and although the pandemic is not quite that bad, I could understand for the first time how terrifying and restricted their lives must have been.

Despite having plenty of time to write regular pieces, such as blog posts, I failed at the beginning of the lockdown last March to gather up the motivation when other issues seemed much more important. And the future looked uncertain.

I’m sure the past year has tested everyone’s resolve, our faith in government, in religion, our small place in this terrifying world. If anything good can possibly come of this pandemic, it must surely be to appreciate the simple, true things of life more. If we once complained about our lot: not having the perfect life; enough money; a big enough house; or any of the dozens of things we obsess over in the western world, perhaps we won’t – any more.

Beautiful Kynance Cove in Cornwall, on the far edge of care

Now we know how happy and well-off we really were, all this time, and just didn’t know it. Many of us have gone back to basics, spending more time being quiet, watching instead of talking, thinking instead of acting, appreciating nature, cherishing health and love above other things. I don’t know about you, but I have found how easy it is to live with less, as long as you have health and love. I’m sure we’ve all realised this now. And I do hope you have all survived the pandemic without too much loss or sadness.

For my part, I know that what made the past year easier to bear was the fact I now live in Cornwall, near the sea, a beautiful part of the world and a place where you can really feel the power of nature. With its wonderful coves and big skies, it has felt like the best possible place to be in lockdown.

And I have not been completely idle these past 12 months. After a bumpy start, I did start another book last summer and once it picked up speed, I found it was a superb way to shut out the world and its cares a while. That’s the beauty of writing. It’s your own world for as long as you’re doing it. Yours, and no-one else need see your efforts, or interfere, or take it away from you for that period of time. It’s between you and the page or computer screen. And that’s magical, to have some control after all, to have a refuge. There is nothing else like quite like it!

Foteini with her donkey Riko and a copy of Things Can Only Get Feta

Wallace looking cool in Greece

So, finally the book has just been published, on May 5. A Donkey On The Catwalk: Tales of life in Greece, is the 4th in the Peloponnese series. For those of you who have read my Greek memoirs, starting with the Amazon bestseller Things Can Only Get Feta, this book will seem a little different because it’s separate tales and travel narratives rather than one long narrative. However, the theme is still Greece and most of the tales are set in the wild Mani region of the Peloponnese again, with a return of some of the characters you have loved, like Foteini the inimitable goat farmer with her eccentric take on life. And Wallace, our Jack Russell companion, is still creating mayhem. How could he not? For those of you, however, who haven’t read my memoirs, you can read this one as a standalone, as with all the memoirs really.

As well as tales from the Peloponnese, there are stories from other Greek locations my husband Jim and I have visited, including Pelion and the islands of Santorini and Corfu. This book also offers tales from some of my own earlier trips to Greece, which I have not published before, including a year in Athens during a dangerous time of political upheaval, and a sabbatical in Crete, with a touch of romance in an idyllic setting.

To counteract the times in which I was writing this book, I’ve blended a lot of humour and lightness into these stories because, as psychotherapist Sigmund Freud once said, “Humour is a mature response to human suffering”, or words to that effect. Or rather, there’s nothing like having a laugh when life’s going pear-shaped.

Marjory outside the Ayia Playia taverna in Falanthi, near Koroni

There’s more fun and craziness with Foteini and a strange shoe creation; a comical interface with a religious relic in Corfu, a house minding stint in southern Greece above a taverna with escapades we didn’t expect. But there are other stories too that are thought-provoking and chip away a bit more at the Greek psyche and lifestyle.

I hope you enjoy this book and if you do, please let me know. I always love to hear from readers. And do post a review of the book on Amazon if you care to. It always helps to introduce an author’s work to new readers.

Thanks for dropping by. Stay safe. x

The Greek books

To buy the new ebook (paperback to follow soon) on all Amazon stores, click on this universal link: https://mybook.to/DonkeyOnCatwalk

Marjory’s other best-selling memoirs deal with her time in Greece with her husband Jim and Wallace the terrier, living in the wild southern Peloponnese. She has also written two novels set in southern Greece. You can find them on her Amazon page.

Or visit the Books page on her website www.bigfatgreekodyssey.com/greek-books

You can also follow her on FB www.facebook.com/marjory.mcginn

And Twitter:  www.twitter.com/@fatgreekodyssey

Thanks for dropping by. All comments are gratefully received. Just click on the ‘chat’ bubble at the top of this page.

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Secrets of life in a Greek village

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Part of the lovely plateia in Makrinitsa village, Pelion

NOT all Greek villages are created equally. Two villages can be several miles apart, with roughly the same background and geographical aspect, yet one will be thriving, with a plateia rimmed by busy cafes and tavernas, while the other is on the slide. Sometimes there’s no explanation apart from something that’s now lost in the natural twists of history.

When I was in the mainland region of Pelion last year I was strongly reminded of this fact and also how fiercely loyal and competitive Greeks are about their own village, no matter what shape it’s in. Jim and I had rented a villa in the south of the Pelion peninsula for a month. It was on the edge of a small village, which was quiet, with not many inhabitants apparently, but with gorgeous views down to the Pagasitikos gulf and well placed to access both this side of the peninsula and the other, on the Aegean. As people who don’t like touristy locations in Greece, we thought we’d done pretty well to find a comfortable house in this location.

View from the village of Metochi towards the gulf 

Yet, while browsing in an old-fashioned souvenir shop in the coastal village of Milina, the black-clad owner of a venerable age asked us where we were staying. I told her Metochi, in the foothills behind. She pulled a great lemony face. “Metochi! Why would you want to stay there? There’s nothing there. Nothing but old houses. Pah! Here is better,” she said, waving towards the vista of crowded tavernas and sun loungers along the beachfront.

I laughed at her put-down of Metochi for being the poor relation to the buzzy, thriving Milina. In her mind Metochi fell into the second category of villages dwindling into oblivion. There are a number of run-down and abandoned houses in the centre of Metochi, that’s true, and it wasn’t hoaching with people, in September anyway. On the surface it was just a village on the way to somewhere else as it’s on the ‘main’ road from the popular town of Argalasti to the bigger village of Lafkos and then to the south of the peninsula. Lafkos is elegant with a large church and wide plateia (square) with classical houses and busy tavernas and cafes.

The elegant plateia in Lafkos village

Makrinitsa in the Pelion mountains is one of the most picturesque in Greece

The plateia is usually the hub of a Greek village and always a good indication as to whether the place is thriving or not, and it’s worth flagging this up when you’re in the market to buy a house in Greece. Some of the more remarkable villages in the Pelion mountains further north have sumptuous plateias, like Makrinitsa, set under huge plane trees and with a view down to the city of Volos. But Makrinitsa is well established with a stronger foothold in the region’s history. It has old churches with frescos and an impressive museum. This village has been the haunt of artists, writers and revolutionaries. Milies and Tsagarada are smaller mountain villages yet they too have obvious treasures. Milies has a public library with one of the largest collections of Greek and foreign books in Greece, with some of them dating to the 14th century. Its church of the Taxiarchon is also world famous for its acoustics. Tsagarada has a 1,000 year old plane tree in its beautiful plateia.

The surviving kafeneio in Metochi has rustic charm and doubles as a shop 

A slightly forlorn sign on the plane tree in Metochi says: “Our village square.”

Metochi’s plateia was a ghost plateia during the day at least. It was large enough and well situated, high above the road under plane trees with incredible gulf views, and perfect to catch a cool afternoon breeze in summer. It must have been lovely once, with a traditional kafeneio on the far side, now closed, and a smaller one beside it, still operating for limited hours and serving also as a general store. The only time we saw people in the plateia was at night, men mostly, drinking beer and playing the board game, tavli.

At the top of the steps was a sign fixed to a plane tree saying: “Our village plateia”, which was a touching and yet forlorn message. Such as it was, many people obviously still took great pride in their plateia. But its semi-abandonment speaks of a village having lost its way somewhat, apart from some modern, yet discreet, holiday villas at its outskirts, surrounded by olive groves, where we were staying.

The deserted grill house in the village that is a quiet reminder of more convivial days in Metochi

The village had obviously had a different life once. At one end of it there’s a natural spring, spouting cool sweet water, where people still stop to fill up bottles. Across the road from the spring, there’s an abandoned psistaria (grill house) with its huge barbecue still visible at the front, for spit-roasting meat. The broad terrace here would once have been packed, especially on important feast days, but is now just an empty space where fallen leaves twirl in the wind and people park to fill up their bottles across the way.

This is a reflection of what’s happening everywhere in rural Greece, in hillside locations. In the Mani we found many villages that were beautifully sited with once-lovely stone houses that now seemed dead. In one village we found an abandoned kafeneio, its door hanging open and a collection of old junk and furniture piled up inside and old bottles and dusty glasses still on the wooden counter. It was as if the owners had hurriedly disappeared and left everything as it was. In another village we found a group of old people sitting around the front door of a crumbling stone house. There were five of them, most of the current full-time population, they told us rather mournfully.

The village of Metochi is not in such bad shape, not as long as an essential road cuts through it. It wasn’t vibrant and yet we liked its wound-down appeal, its solitude, the view, and no-one bothered us at all, apart from one village gossip. She regularly passed by on the road and one day stopped to ask a slew of personal questions, as Greeks often do, including how much we were renting the villa for because her daughter also had one to rent nearby if we were interested. Cheeky!

Greek rural villages at least are a world apart, whether they buzz or not. When you plan to live in one for any length of time you have to navigated them thoughtfully and choose wisely. Too quiet, too noisy, too parochial, or too steeped in difficult history, and you might be in peril.

A view of Megali Mantineia under the northern slopes of the Taygetos mountains in the Mani

The small sign on the main road to Megali Mantineia. It’s all you get. Blink and you’ll miss it! 

When we settled in the Mani, southern Peloponnese, in 2010, for our long Greek odyssey, we picked a hillside village that felt remote, with the Taygetos mountains as its backdrop, but in fact was only a 15-minute drive to the outskirts of Kalamata at the head of the Gulf of Messinia. As it turned out, Megali Mantineia was perfect for us and our crazy Jack Russell Wallace, a type of dog that none of the villagers had seen before and thought resembled a small goat – and he often acted like one!

Megali Mantineia is a successful working village where locals still cultivate their vast olive groves and herd goats. We decided the best way to live there was to befriend Greek villagers rather than cultivate the British expats because we didn’t want to live an expat life. Not that trying to fit into any village as a foreigner is easy. It’s not. Had I not spoken reasonable Greek from a long association with the country and endless Greek language classes, I would have found it more difficult, as few of the villagers spoke much English. I quickly learnt the secret of fitting in was simple: go well beyond your comfort zone and leave all your preconceptions about life, up to a point, behind you.

Foteini, thrilled to have a copy of my first memoir which features her, and donkey Riko, on the cover

Riko grazing outside Foteini’s farm compound 

When we first met the goat farmer Foteini – who features in my three Greek memoirs – she was riding into the village on her donkey. Conversing was a challenge as she spoke a heavy mountain dialect and things could easily have gone nowhere. But there was something so unique about her that Jim and I instantly took to her and when she invited us back to her farm compound (a place of rural junk and manic disorder) we never thought twice about it really. And so a strange and unusual friendship flourished, particularly between myself and Foteini. She certainly trounced all my personal preconceptions and, in her way, became a very unlikely muse. Our regular, generally very funny, interactions sparked my journalistic curiosity and inspired me to write the memoirs. How could I not? Fate had cast her on my path, on the very first day in the village.

Some of the villagers and priests from Megali Mantineia on a special feast day. Jim standing in back row, right 

Since my first memoir, Things Can Only Get Feta, was published in 2013, readers have contacted me to confess they want their own Greek odyssey, which is lovely, and have asked for advice. I don’t have much really except for this: learn some Greek, talk to everyone. Go beyond what’s comfortable and take part in all the village celebrations (there are many during the year), and church services too because this is the best way to see Greeks as they really are. It’s a window into their society and shows villagers that you respect this, and their culture, and you’re not in the village just to have a remote, parallel life to them.

Before we finally returned to Britain, for personal reasons, we invited many of the villagers from Megali Mantineia to a farewell meal at one of the local tavernas. It was a bitter/sweet night and very sad to say goodbye at last. Everyone lined up to kiss us farewell, some bringing small gifts. One of the women, Voula, whom I’d also become fond of, hugged me and announced: “You’re one of us now Margarita (the name Foteini had given me). You’re a Maniatissa.” Maniatissa is the Greek word for a woman of the Mani. It was humbling to get the title; far better than a Queen’s honour.

Navigating the cultural terrain of a Greek village isn’t easy. It requires more of you than you sometimes want to give. But in the end, it offers you life experiences and insights you will struggle to find elsewhere.

Greek book offer

If you want to read more about life, drama and romance in Greek villages, my first novel A Saint For The Summer is currently on an Amazon ebook promo, 99p/99c (UK/US) from August 16 to 23. It’s a tale or heroism, faith and love with a narrative thread back to WW2 and set in the wild Mani region of Greece. One reviewer described it as: “An excellent read. I was hooked from the first page.” Another said: “The story made me laugh, made me think and made me cry a little.”

Link: https://bookgoodies.com/a/B07B4K34TV

If you have read any of my books and liked them, please think of leaving a small review on Amazon. It will be gratefully received. Thanks.

For more information about all the books please visit the books page on our website www.bigfatgreekodyssey.com

Or visit Marjory’s books page on Facebook

Thanks for dropping by. All comments are gratefully received. Just click on the ‘chat’ bubble at the top of this page.

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Have the wheels come off Greece in crisis?

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The wreck with no wheels in the Monastiraki flea market is a poignant but spirited symbol of Greece in crisis

WE hadn’t been to Athens since 2012, at the worst point in the Greek crisis, when the city was teetering on the edge of disaster, with austerity, demonstrations and social unrest. I wondered how it would seem now and if the indelible Greek spirit would be trashed, as some reports have led us to believe. But in a narrow street in the Plaka, just under the Acropolis, we saw the kind of feisty, maverick attitude that we have come to expect of Greeks, and admire. It involved a woman driver.

Greek motorists seem to have lost none of their desire to park ‘creatively’, where they please, whether it’s over pedestrian crossings or on pavements, or up trees, if it were at all possible. Outside a popular taverna on an intersection, a policeman was writing a ticket for a car parked completely over the corner of the pavement, blocking the way for pedestrians. What followed was a spirited exchange after the woman driver rushed out of a nearby shop to fight with the young cop (not a traffic warden but a fully equipped cop with ‘astinomia’, police, written on his jacket). She had a stream of excuses for the perilous parking – but he wasn’t having any of it. The parking, he told her, was illegal, and that was it. She started yelling back at him. He told her not to shout. People began to mill about, watching. Outside diners also stopped eating to check out the dispute that went on long after the parking ticket was written and handed over with a flourish.

I marvelled that crazy parking was still a sight in Greek cities (it’s notorious in Kalamata in the southern Peloponnese), despite all the new restrictions and the soul-searching of the crisis. I was also impressed at the woman’s aggressive front with the cop. You don’t see it often in Britain, where you’d probably be arrested for causing an affray or some such thing.

View over the rooftops of the Plaka towards Lykavetos hill

 

Athens, and indeed much of Greece, is now showing signs of crisis fatigue, it’s true, and anger as well. The streets of downtown Athens have a skint, neglected aura about them. There’s still graffiti gashed over buildings and while it’s often an arty emblem of the recent troubles, in other cases it’s downright ugly, especially scrawled over some of the old classical houses, as we saw in the Plaka, that don’t deserve angry art. There are more migrants about, that’s true, and people are still begging, which is sad, though no different from any other major city. What made it exceptional here was the number of older women we saw begging and holding up cardboard signs. One said, “I am a Greek woman and I am living in poverty. Help me.”

Graffiti art or just vandalism on an arty scale?

We heard tales of stress and frustration from shopkeepers and from friends who live and work in Athens, that the crisis has hammered their businesses, with endless taxes and cuts to wages etc, despite what the international media might say. I told an Athenian friend, who has his own business, that we had read reports in British papers that the Greek economy was finally improving and Greece was “turning a corner”. “Yeah,” he said, “turning a corner into a gremos (ravine)!”

A restored iconostasis, church screen, in the Byzantine museum 

But the Greek establishment is still showing stoicism and a ‘business as usual’ attitude in the face of hardships, and has not stinted on cultural events/concerts/exhibitions in Athens. The museums are absurdly well managed and serene and among the best in the world, surely, which is an enormous feat in troubled times. The Acropolis Museum remains one of my favourites for its sheer beauty and serenity on the  elegant pedestrian walkway, Dionisou Areopagitou. The museum has a cathedral calm  inside. On one floor is a dazzling display of Athenian sculptures of young men and women like the almost perfect Peplophorus (530BC) with her braided hair and shoulder brooches.

The Parthenon Sculptures from the pediments of the building, and the Metope panels are arranged on the top floor, the few that were left after Lord Elgin’s infamous heist, and which are not now languishing in the British museum. The Byzantine Museum is often overlooked but is inspirational, with its early Christian artifacts and wealth of Byzantine icons. The only complaint was that there was just too much splendour for one visit and it will need another.

One of the narrow streets of the Plaka with the Acropolis above

I have always loved Athens from my first visit there in the 1970s on a working holiday. The city had a vastly different vibe then, of course, an exotic Greek and levantine mix which I wrote about in my second travel memoir, Homer’s Where The Heart Is. Syntagma Square was then a sociable meeting place in the city, a tree-lined space with outdoor cafes. Once the heart of this city, it has sadly become, because of the years of crisis and violent demonstrations, the focal point of discontent, understandably so, as it’s situated opposite the Parliament building. But the rage somehow lingers, or perhaps it’s just the maelstrom of humanity going in and out of the metro station, or just loitering about, that makes it feel edgy and it’s true to say it’s not everyone’s favourite haunt in the city.

Further down towards the ancient Agora lies Monastiraki. This also had a different vibe once; a colourful place full of traditional craftsmen and a far cry from the tourist hub it is today, with a slew of shops selling Greek goods, mostly made elsewhere. But it’s entertaining and there are still a few old shops left, like the wonderful old bouzouki shop on the main street.

 

Chairmen: Repairing rush-bottomed chairs in the flea market

The flea market here is worth a visit. Like a frenetic version of Steptoe and Son’s yard, without the knackered horse and cart, it teems with junk and the odd treasure, if you’ve time to sift through all the gaudy stuff first. More interestingly, amid all the tat, people are beavering away. We saw two guys with hands like grappling irons repairing rush-bottomed chairs with lengths of dried rushes, and it was no easy job, judging by the sweaty gleam of their foreheads, but it was fascinating to watch.

The ancient Tower of the Winds

Plaka is a place where the ancient rubs shoulders with the slightly more modern – the Byzantine

The streets of the Plaka are still worth a few hours of wandering about for their sheer eclectic mix of ancient sites (like the Tower of the Winds), Byzantine churches, classical houses and coffee shops. There are only a few traditional shops now selling more authentic local goods here but one small gallery at least sparkles with stylish Greek pieces, like small painted shutters with an olive motif, for wall mounting. The Tsolias Art Gallery is run by a genial, chatty guy called Michael Tsipa who, together with his wife Maria, design and make all the artworks.

Due to a slow morning, he was more than happy to talk about Athens and the crisis, and came out of the shop with us to bid us farewell, which was a refreshing change from my shopping encounter a half-hour earlier with the old crone of a proprietor outrside one of the gaudier knick-knack shops not far away. With the pretence of a welcoming handshake, she grabbed my hand with the speed of a black widow spider and tried to haul me into her cluttered lair, and I couldn’t shake her off and had to shout loudly like the woman receiving a parking ticket. What the shopkeeper had in mind for me is anyone’s guess, probably a blue and white cheesecloth shirt circa 1975 and a bust of Pericles in faux marble.

The view of the Parthenon from the roof garden of the Herodion hotel

But despite the pockets of stress and tat, Athens is still a fabulous city and still has a strong community heart. From the dining room of our comfortable hotel, the Herodion in the Plaka, where the breakfast banter was supplied mostly by loquacious Americans swapping notes on the day’s proposed itineraries (bless them!), or in the case of one guy, reading out unremarkable morning emails from his tablet for the benefit of everyone in the dining room, I caught a glimpse each day from our street-facing table of a small coffee shop, one of the many that have mushroomed no doubt during the crisis. It was nothing more than a wedge of paved land at the end of a row of apartment buildings with a small ground floor café and a couple of tables outside under the trees.

Every morning a small group of Greek residents of different ages would gather to shoot the breeze and a have a laugh over their tiny cups of Greek coffee. It was a nice little scene and I enjoyed the seeming conviviality of their lives despite the gloom of their economics. From all the years I have been visiting Athens, I have found this aspect of the Greek character comforting, that their joy of life is on the whole irrepressible. I hope that will continue to be the case. And that even though the wheels may be off their cart, they still have the front to park the wreck wherever they please!

  • The Herodion Hotel, Rovertou Galli Street is a friendly hotel near the Plaka with a great dinner menu if you can’t be bothered to trail out for a meal, and hearty breakfasts. There is a great rooftop restaurant/bar operating in the summer season with a view of the Acropolis. www.herodion.gr
  • Tsolia Art Gallery, Kyrristou 17, Plaka (2130 449337)
  • For more information about Athens do check out travel writer Matt Barrett’s city guide http://www.athensguide.com

On a sadder note

It is with great sadness that I have to tell you all that our dear Jack Russell terrier, Wallace, passed away in August, aged 16. He was such a huge presence in our lives and a dear companion, especially during our four years in Greece where he never ceased to entertain us with his crazy antics. He will be sorely missed by Jim and me  but I hope that his memory will live on in my books and continue to entertain readers.

In my next few blogs I will be writing about the rest of our recent trip to Greece: the island of Poros and the southern Peloponnese.

If you have liked any of the books please think of adding a small review on Amazon sites which is always very welcome. Thanks for calling by.

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Would the Durrells have picked Corfu today?

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Peaceful Kaminaki beach in the north-east of Corfu

THE Durrells, the popular TV drama based on the memoirs of naturalist Gerald Durrell, has just started its second series in Britain. Once again it promises light-hearted entertainment in the glorious surroundings of Corfu, and follows the adventures of the slightly skint Louisa Durrell and her four children as they move from Bournemouth in 1935, searching for a cheaper, more liberating life on a Greek island.

The Durrell family from the popular ITV series

When we were deciding on locations for our own Greek odyssey back in 2009, ironically, we first thought of Corfu, as it was an island we had visited many times, particularly the northern part, which has spectacular beaches and historic mountain villages, such as Old Perithia.

Jim and Marjory in a taverna on Corfu’s nearby island of Paxos 

We were quite in love with the beauty of the place for a while and its easy-going people, but in the end we decided against Corfu as, to us, it seemed the most ‘British’ of all the Greek islands because of its historic link with the UK and ironically probably because the Durrells’ association has lured more Brits there than anywhere else. Not that we had a problem with that, but for a Greek adventure we were seeking a totally unspoilt location, something rougher and wilder, and the Mani, in the middle peninsula of the southern Peloponnese, fitted our requirements perfectly. We were not disappointed.

Having watched all The Durrells’ episodes up to now, and read many of Gerald and Lawrence’s books, particularly Prospero’s Cell, a fascinating account of Lawrence’s time living at the White House in Kalami Bay, when life in Corfu was grittier and more authentic, I can’t help but wonder: if the Durrells were around now, planning a Grecian odyssey, would they really have picked Corfu? Or would they also have looked for a location with more edginess.

Chris Nye, writing for Greece Property Guides www.propertyguides.com/greece/news/ believes anyone wanting to ‘do a Durrell’ these days would be better off choosing Crete for its glorious landscape and affordable lifestyle, and he outlines a helpful comparison of current living expenses in Bournemouth and Crete and what kind of property you can find on this island. Incidentally, Chris is the brother of Simon Nye, who wrote and co-produced the ITV television series The Durrells.

The hillside village of Megali Mantineia, beneath the Taygetos mountains where we first lived in the Mani

Spectacular view from the north Taygetos looking down on Kalamata city, the olive oil capital of Greece 

I can imagine the Durrells in Crete, no problem, but for sheer rawness and rural eccentricity, which Gerald Durrell’s books have in spades, I feel sure they would have gone for the wilder shores of the Mani as well. As a slightly unorthodox family, led by feisty, sometimes bibulous Louisa, they would have been looking for the kind of rural adventure that we were searching for, and you don’t easily find that in Greece any more. You need to go off the beaten track to places such as the Mani and the nearby peninsulas (Messinia, Laconia) of the southern Peloponnese, or the far north and north-west of the Greek mainland.

Local farmer Foteini became a good friend and eased us into rural life

I think the Durrells would have enjoyed reckless encounters with some of the local farming community in the Mani, as we did when we first settled in the hillside village of Megali Mantineia, in the shade of the Taygetos mountains. They would certainly have enjoyed our eccentric, donkey-riding farming friend Foteini, and her ramshackle farm compound. And Gerald at least would have relished our stone house with its scorpions, hornets and the big prowling kounavi, pine marten, not to mention a few fuzzy expats in the undergrowth.

I did love the scene in Episode 2 of The Durrells, where Louisa is holding a food stall to raise some much-needed cash for the family, selling her home-made English ‘delicacies’ to Greeks, like trays of toad in the hole (for non-Brits, that’s sausages baked in a pillow of batter). A philandering British expat called Hugh tries to justify his chat-up lines, saying it’s nice to make contact with interesting fellow Brits, but the petulant Louisa bats him off nicely saying she prefers to mix with the locals and not feel that she’s back in Bournemouth. Good for her!

One of the coves close to where we lived for part of our odyssey, with Kalamata city in the background

The Durrells have many adventures of the rural kind, with animals, guns and dodgy neighbours. And they have house rental woes. In reality, the family moved a few times in Corfu but the house most remembered was the Daffodil House, near Gouvia, a large sprawling Venetian mansion, which is depicted fairly accurately in the TV series as having plenty of ambience, but was pretty shabby and chaotic inside. The best family home they could get for the price. Like the Durrells, we also had plenty of rental woes, many of which I outlined in my three travel memoirs. I only wish we’d had the gumption though to refuse paying rent at times, as Louisa did in Episode 2, when the coquettish landlady called round.

Wallace and his animal magnetism

We had trouble finding suitable houses because we had taken our lovable but bonkers Jack Russell terrier, Wallace, with us. The house we rented in Megali Mantineia had its drawbacks, but was owned by an Englishman who was sympathetic to a resident dog. Wallace rewarded him and the village with a slew of antics, the odd breakout, and some distinctive barking, which I hope they still think fondly of! Every house we rented had issues/difficulties: industrial garbage bins, critter infestations, crazy neighbours, sparse furniture, though the problems were mitigated by stunning views. I will write more about renting in Greece in a later blog post.

Wallace and ‘guard dog’ Zina

The second property we rented in the Mani, from an entertaining Greek family, was a wonderful rambling place, with an olive orchard. It also had animals: chickens, rampant roosters, a big chained-up dog called Zina, plenty of stray cats, but also water strikes, Arctic winds whistling through in winter, and Orestes, the eccentric neighbour with a hunting rifle, who used to drive us mad, firing off rounds regularly, mostly at song birds perched in his precious almond trees. When he took his sheep out to graze nearby, he often carried a long hunting knife, for a worrying reason, which I revealed in my second memoir Homer’s Where The Heart Is.

Marjory, Jim and Wallace spent the fourth year of their odyssey in the nearby Messinian peninsula in lovely Koroni

The southern Peloponnese is the perfect location for a glorious life on the edge, for Brits seeking more than just sandy beaches and an easy, ouzo-flavoured lifestyle. Unlike the smaller confines of most Greek islands, pretty though they are, places like the Mani are BIG and diverse, with plenty of room to spread out and even discover your inner rebel/cowboy. Here you can lead the kind of life that you could only have lived in Britain decades ago. Or okay, at a pinch, you might still discover in the highlands of Scotland, or the wilds of Ireland.

If it was madness and mayhem that the Durrells of today were searching for, trust me, it’s all there in southern Greece. We had adventures we only dreamt about before we left the UK. But there are limits. I would never have flogged a tray of toad in the hole at the laiki, farmer’s market. No way! I think if I’d tried that, Orestes would probably have swung by and shot it!

 

Illustration of Jim and I taken from Womankind magazine

Our big fat Greek odyssey has featured this month in the international magazine Womankind www.womankindmag.com and is available in the UK at WH Smith stores. It will be out in North America shortly (through Barnes and Noble), or via the magazine’s website. I love the small illustration of Jim and I on donkeys in the Mani.

Illustration: (c) Womankind Magazine

For more information about Marjory’s three travel memoirs about living in Greece during the crisis, go to the books page on the website www.bigfatgreekodyssey.com/greek-books www.bigfatgreekodyssey.com or her books page on Facebook www.facebook.com/ThingsCanOnlyGetFeta

New Book

Marjory has recently a new book, a novel, set in southern Greece, called A Saint For The Summer. This is a contemporary tale with a narrative thread back to the Second World War, a tale of heroism, faith and love, described by the Chicago magazine site, Windycity Greek, as a book “that will renew your faith in mankind”. For more information, see the books page link, above.

The book is available on all Amazon sites.

A Saint For The Summer 

If you have liked my books please think of adding a small review on Amazon sites which is always very welcome. Thanks for calling by. x

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Wild woman of the Mani . . .

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Readers have made a pilgrimage to a Mani village to see the unique farmer, Foteini

AFTER my three travel memoirs were published from 2013, readers have been in touch to say they visited the locations featured in the books. Many have made it up to the hillside village of Megali Mantineia, in the Mani, where the first book (Things Can Only Get Feta) was set, and mainly in search of the inimitable goat farmer Foteini.

This unassuming rural woman, whom I met at the very beginning of our odyssey on a village road, seems to have struck a chord with many readers, as she has with me. Perhaps it’s her struggle to survive a tough farming life on her own, made harsher still by the Greek economic crisis. It is also, I suspect, her endearing eccentricities, her tendency to wear mismatched layers of clothing and oversized hats, shoes that look like Cornish pasties, and her odd habits, like washing skinned bananas before she eats them.

I recently called one of my favourite friends from the village, the lovely Stavroula (Voula), who lives near Foteini but unlike her, usually answers her village phone. Voula and I hadn’t spoken for a while and at first she thought I must be in Greece. She got excited at the prospect of a visit. When I told her I was in England she shouted vibrantly down the phone: “Well, when are you coming back here? We’ve missed you!”

It’s the quality I most love about rural Greeks, the fact that when they warm to you they are inclusive and caring. Their interest in you is like a big, delicious hug, and is irresistible.

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Marjory riding Foteini’s beloved donkey Riko

I was told that all was well in the village and everyone was surviving the crisis, which was good news. The only recent news I could glean of Foteini, however, was that her beloved old donkey Riko, which I rode on my last odyssey in Greece (from 2014 to 2015), has been pensioned out to pastures sweeter and a new beast has taken his place, as Foteini uses her donkeys for her rural work. Riko was a gentle, stoical creature and he made an appearance in all my travel memoirs.

Foteini, however, continues to attract readers to the village. One American Facebook friend told me she went to the village just to find her and was ecstatic when she did, but was then very put out when Foteini rather stubbornly wouldn’t agree to a photo session beside the donkey.

Some readers have told me they have also gone in pursuit of Foteini, waving a copy of Things Can Only Get Feta, which features Foteini and Riko on the cover illustration, which must have amused her, or maybe terrified her perhaps, I can’t tell which. Some have bravely angled for a coffee in her ramshackle ktima, farm compound, which I wrote about at length, but no-one has pulled it off yet, I think. I am left amazed at so many sightings of Foteini when I had always thought of her as somewhat shy!

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The village of Megali Mantineia beside the Taygetos mountains where we spent the first year of our odyssey

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The church dedicated to the Virgin Mary, in the village

One reader called John recently sent me a long email telling me about his summer visit to Megali Mantineia. He was thrilled to drive along the main village road and find Foteini walking along it with Riko loaded up with wood. John told me that he stopped the car and jumped out, waving Feta, and shouting ‘Good morning’ in his best learner’s Greek.

“She came up to me and put her hand on my shoulder and spoke for about 20 seconds…,” he explained, “though I honestly couldn’t recognise one Greek word. Then she placed one of her big bronze-like hands on my hand. What an amazing experience. To most people this would probably not mean much, but to me it meant a lot. I asked Foteini if I could take her picture alongside Riko and she said ‘yes’. I was totally amazed. It was brilliant. My wife, who hadn’t read Feta at that point, said to me, ‘This has made your holiday, hasn’t it?’ And to be honest, it really had.”

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Foteini uses her donkey Riko to transport firewood. Stacking it on a donkey is something of a rural art 

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At Foteini’s farm there is ingenious  plumbing like this hosepipe and a soap holder fashioned from a sawn-off bottle

Recently in East Sussex I was invited to give some talks about my time in Greece at local book groups. I was not surprised to find that it was not Greece in crisis, or the recklessness of Jim and me – and crazy Wallace the dog – going on a mid-life odyssey that piqued their interest so much, but Foteini. They wanted to know all about her: how she lived, what her house was like, and about her outrageous horticultural couture. I passed around photos of her and the village and they were pored over. I imagine the women of peaceful, retiring Sussex have never come across anyone quite like her. Neither had I when we first started our Greek odyssey in 2010 in the remote southern Peloponnese.

Foteini became the most unlikely creative muse for me. From the moment I saw her riding Riko on that village road in 2010, wearing a massive straw hat, her donkey loaded up with ‘half a house’, she stirred my journalistic interest, initially, with her “promise of authenticity, tinged with craziness” as I wrote in Feta. It was Foteini who talked us into renting the small stone house we’d just viewed in the village. We dithered over it for many reasons. She merely said: “But why wouldn’t you take it?” Great journeys can start on such simple promptings as this. It was she who first christened me Margarita, a name that has stuck with me in Greece. But it was also her character that drew me to her, and against the odds, even with my rusty Greek language skills, she and I began the most unusual, and challenging, of friendships, which I described in the books.

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Sweet and lovely Voula from the village, giving Marjory a hug

Foteini was not the only villager, however, who we came to love during our time in the Mani, which stretched to three years. There were other Greeks who became an indelible part of our lives, especially dark-haired, gregarious Voula, whom I have already mentioned, and her lovely mother, Nikoletta. When the pair sat side by side, they were like “two voluptuous bookends”. I wrote about them both in my first two books, where I had called them Eftihia and Pelagia, though sadly, Nikoletta passed away in 2012, which was a great loss to the village. There were also many other characters: Voula’s brother Yiorgos, locals who ran the kafeneio and tavernas, the  farmer with the Paul Newman eyes, the ever gracious Leonidas. Yet still people contact me about Foteini (not her real name, by the way).

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Giving Foteini a copy of Feta

When I first gave her a copy of the book on a visit in 2014, she grabbed it in her big meaty hands, turning it this way and that, with a look of wonder. Having anything published is an incomparable experience, but watching Foteini gripping her copy of Feta, a book she inspired in so many ways, ranks as one of the most satisfying moments of my life.

*   *   *   *  *

Riding Riko

When I had the mad urge to ride Foteini’s donkey Riko along the village road from her ktima, it took a bit of persuasion. Jim also needed a bit of prompting too, as I described in this extract from my third memoir, A Scorpion In The Lemon Tree:

“Foteini stared at me hard. ‘You want to ride Riko, on the road? Out there?’

‘Yes, just for 10 minutes. You know I won’t let anything happen to him.’

She scratched at her face, worrying a curly grey hair hanging from her chin.

‘You’d be careful wouldn’t you, koritsara mou? (My girl).’

‘Yes, of course, I will,’ I said, wondering if she felt this nervous when she took him out on the road, or did I just seem like a total rookie.

Jim was watching me with narrowed eyes. ‘What’s going on? I’m having a Greek breakthrough moment. I’m making out words and I’m not well pleased.’

‘I’ve asked Foteini if I can take Riko along the road for a ride.’

‘Oh, no way! You know how people drive in the Mani. A car will hit you both.’

‘Shhh! Stop fussing. Can a woman not have a moment of madness in her life?’ I said, remembering Zorba the Greek’s famous appeal for getting in touch with your inner rebel.

Jim shook his head. ‘Margarita, you have not been a woman bereft of mad moments, I seem to recall.’

‘I won’t be long, I promise.’

‘Okay. Margarita mou,’ Foteini said at last as she led the donkey through the main gate. She handed me the lead rope, which was all I had for reins, and for a crop, she gave me a thin piece of whittled olive wood.

‘Take him,’ she said. ‘You’re always giving me things. This is my gift to you. Enjoy it. And don’t be long.’

I brushed my legs over Riko’s sides to move him quickly down the road. As I went I could hear Foteini and Jim grumbling together, and Wallace whining. It was like a Greek chorus.”

© Marjory McGinn

homer promo

January Promo

My second memoir, Amazon best-seller Homer’s Where The Heart Is, which continues the story of our three years in the Mani, is currently on an Amazon Kindle promo for the rest of January at 99p (UK only). To buy, click the link: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00WEC7YCY

For more information about this book and the two others in the series, including the latest, A Scorpion In The Lemon Tree, go to the books page on the website www.bigfatgreekodyssey.com or the books page on Facebook www.facebook.com/ThingsCanOnlyGetFeta

The latest is on all Amazon sites:

amazon.uk

amazon.com

I’m always happy to hear from readers. Please click the comment link on this page. Thanks for calling by.

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New travel memoir set in Greece

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Hello, blog readers. I am happy to announce that my third travel memoir, set in southern Greece, is now available for pre-order on Amazon.

Called A Scorpion In The Lemon Tree: Mad adventures on a Greek peninsula, the book charts my second long odyssey in the southern Peloponnese with my partner Jim and our crazy Jack Russell dog, Wallace.

While the first two books were set in the Mani, the central peninsula, this one takes place in and around Koroni at the tip of the Messinian Peninsula, where we stayed for 14 months from early 2014.

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Marjory, Jim and Wallace in Koroni. 

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At the window of Palio Spiti (the old house), described in the new book. 

Why we ended up in Koroni, when we had our heart set on living once more in the Mani, forms the basis of the book and reveals how you can plan your life down to the last detail but it will be derailed in the end, especially in the wonderfully spontaneous, and sometimes chaotic, place that Greece is. There are more perilous and funny adventures along the way as we try to find long-term rental accommodation and finally come to terms with living in a house that we didn’t expect we’d end up in. If you read the book, you’ll find out why.

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A lemon tree at Villa Anemos overlooking the Gulf of Messinia.

You might be wondering about the title, A Scorpion In The Lemon Tree. There are specific reasons why I chose this title and apart from being unlucky enough to have these pesky critters calling on us quite a bit, the title is a kind of metaphor as well, and you can make your own mind up about what the scorpion represents in the context of the narrative. And in case you’ve missed it, there is a scorpion in the lemon tree on the cover illustration. Can you spot it? Wallace the dog should give you a clue.

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View of Koroni from its old Venetian castle. 

The artwork was produced by the talented London artist Anthony Hannaford, www.anthonyhannaford.co.uk, who created the fabulous covers for my first two books. Once again, he has managed to capture all the colour and vibrancy of Greece. And cheeky Wallace got a front-row seat this time. I also have to thank Jim Bruce for his great editing and formatting of this edition www.ebooklover.co.uk

In this memoir we will make friends with a new cast of heart-warming characters, while connecting again with old friends in the Mani, including our dear friend, goat farmer Foteini, with whom we have several humorous encounters, as always.

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Long sandy beaches along the gulf side of Koroni. 

While we may have started our latest odyssey disappointed at not being able to live once more in the Mani, we fell in love with Koroni in the end. What’s not to love? It is in a remote part of the (left-hand) Messinian peninsula and I was surprised that there had been so little written about it in the past, so I am thrilled to be able to highlight this region and I hope I will entice more of you to visit. It is a haven of peace and quiet where you won’t see the outward signs of economic crisis, or the effects of recent migration to Greece.

Koroni is set beside a lovely old harbour, with a castle on a high acropolis above and narrow winding streets ascending to it. It is atmospheric and unspoilt, with the Messinian gulf on one side and the Ionian Sea on the other. On either side of the promontory are wide sandy beaches, old churches, and thriving villages within easy reach.

Over the coming months on the blog, I will focus on other aspects of Messinia, as mentioned in the book including some of the hidden corners of this area, and a few curious and unexplained phenomena, like The Hand of God Tree. Watch this space!

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I hope you enjoy this memoir, the third in my Peloponnese series. Like the other two books, the narrative is such that you can read it on its own and understand what our travels in Greece have been all about, but you will get a better understanding of how we connected with this region, and its people, if you read the other books as well, starting with Things Can Only Get Feta. The first two chart our adventures from 2010, when we first left our Scottish village to relocate to a remote hillside village for a year, despite the economic crisis. But the year became four in the end. Four of the most fascinating years of our lives.

Enjoy the new book, which is currently available as an ebook and a paperback on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other outlets. I thank you all for your ongoing support of my work. I always appreciated comments on the blog and if you have liked the books, a small review on Amazon will also be most welcome. It is the lifeblood of authors.

Marjory’s new book is on all Amazon sites:

amazon.uk

amazon.com

On the website  www.bigfatgreekodyssey.com you will also find a ‘books’ page with other information about the books. Or visit the Facebook page www.facebook.com/ThingsCanOnlyGetFeta

To buy either of my first two books please click on the Amazon links below:

Things Can Only Get Feta

Homer’s Where The Heart Is

Thanks for calling by. x

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T-shirts just got feta & olive envy begins in Greece …

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Christina Kakavas with her Greek-inspired T-shirts

Christina Kakavas with Greek-inspired T-shirts

A COUPLE of weeks ago I was delighted to receive an unusual present in the mail from across the pond – a ‘feta’ T-shirt made by Greek American businesswoman Christina Kakavas. Christina, from Chicago, started her company a few years ago, when she recognised a gap in the market for original T-shirts with a Greek theme and created her company Loukoumaki, which means sweet treat.

She now has a delightful range of T-shirts for kids and adults with Greek words and logos featuring feta (which I love, with its neat drawing of a feta slice) and other indelibly Greek symbols: the octopus, owl, and also the blue-eyed ‘mati’ (good luck) charm.

Marjory in Christina's feta T-shirt

Marjory in feta T-shirt

Christina is a warm, fun-loving Greek whose roots are in the southern Peloponnese. Her mother is from Kalamata, her father was from Messini, just north of the city. They migrated to Montreal, later moving to Chicago, but Christina says she has never forgotten her Greek heritage. She has had many summer holidays back in the Mani and also got married there, in the lofty village of Verga, overlooking Kalamata and the Messinian gulf.

The idea for the company came about after the birth of one of her nephews. “I looked for some cute Greek baby gifts after his birth but I couldn’t find any. When it was my turn to populate the earth with Greek babies (she now has two children, 8 & 5), the quest resumed. With some gentle pushing and prodding from friends and family, I decided to put my art degree to good use and started Loukoumaki,” she says.

Apart from wanting to have a business that would “proclaim my Greek heritage”, she also wanted to have some fun with the venture. “I wanted people to embrace their inner child and let it all out.”

To see Christina’s range of Ts and other accessories visit: www.loukoumaki.com

The good oil

 

Villager Foteini up her wobbly ladder harvesting olives

Villager Foteini climbs up her wobbly ladder to harvest her olives

IT’S tedious, back-breaking work but also fabulous when the sun’s shining and fat crimson olives are raining down on you. Olive harvest! Nothing like it! We well remember from our time in the Mani how the harvest dominates all of life from now until the beginning of February, especially in this region, which produces some of the best olive oil in Greece from the koroneiki variety of fruit, and of course the chunky Kalamata eating olives.

It’s also a time of olive angst and envy, with farmers arguing over sizes: “Mine are bigger than yours”, “His are as small as sultanas and wouldn’t even oil a bicycle wheel.” On and on it goes.

I can vouch for how hard the harvest is as we helped our farming friend Foteini, who does the work the traditional way with a katsoni stick, bashing the olives down from the branches on to ground sheets, bagging them and dragging the ground sheet from tree to tree. Foteini does more than 100 trees herself, unless she gets some help from rookies such as us.  Most people now use petrol-motored combs that whirr the olives from the branches and mechanical trays that shoogle olives from cut branches. You can cover more distance this way.

Harvesting olives the modern, mechanical way

Harvesting olives the modern way

Because of the economic crisis, olive production has come to mean more to rural Greeks, who can sell their surplus. Many Greeks we spoke to in Kalamata in 2011/2012, facing unemployment and wage cuts, told us they were thinking of moving back to their ancestral villages to work the land again and harvest their own olives.

The humble olive tree has always sustained Greeks in the past and nothing is ever wasted. The branches are gathered after the harvest, dried and used as fuel for heating in winter, more so now than ever before with the price of heating oil rising to around 1.30 euro a litre.

Wallace plays peek-a-boo in an old olive tree

Wallace peeps through an ancient, hollowed-out olive tree

There’s something about olive trees that makes them uniquely appealing. Perhaps it’s their almost human shape – the stocky trunk and branches like sticky-up hair. Some of the trees around the Mani are hundreds of years old. Some of the oldest trees in the Mediterranean region have been dated to the early 11th century. A recent report on some of the olive trees in the Garden of Gethsemane at the foot of the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem, where Christ prayed the night before his crucifixion, are said to be at least 1,000 years old and directly related to the original family of trees that grew there at the time of Christ, which is an awesome link with the past.

Greeks are passionate and fearless about their trees and the harvest.  Foteini, whose olive exploits were mentioned in my book, Things Can Only Get Feta, was expert at shimmying up through the branches wearing old welly boots, a hacksaw in her holster, singing folk songs and generally not giving a damn for health and safety, which is the endearing trait of most Greeks.

When we helped her, she was using an old patched-up ladder with thin metal strips bound around splintered rungs. When I asked her if she was worried about falling off her dilapidated ladder she simply slapped a big hand on her thigh and said: “Ach, I’ll worry about that when it happens.”

Sacks of olives and a katsoni stick used to beat them down from the tree

Sacks of olives and an old katsoni stick used to beat the fruit down from the trees

After the harvest, the olives have to be taken to an olive press pretty soon, before the fruit deteriorates, and tins of fresh, bright green oil can be back in the farmer’s hands in days.

I still remember the first time that Yioryia, the owner of the Iliovasilema (Sunset) taverna in our village of Megali Mantineia, gave us a bottle of oil straight from the press that day. When we took the top off it, the air zinged with a ripe, fruity aroma. It’s hard to describe just how delicious this fresh olive oil is drizzled on a simple plate of tomatoes and a slice of feta cheese.

Ripe Kalamata olives ready for harvesting

Juicy Kalamata olives in a Greek salad

Juicy Kalamata olives in a Greek salad

Fresh olive oil is a ‘super food’. And it was no surprise to us that many of the older folk in Megali Mantineia were very spry, even in their 90s, with some of them still doing olive harvests and climbing trees.

Olive oil from this southern region is considered to be one of the purest, and Kalamata eating olives among the best in the world. Read British nutritionist, Nina Geraghty’s recent blog (in Food News) about the quality of these olives:

www.goodfoodandnutrition.com

Having lived in Greece for a few years, I feel that the olive tree defines this land and is rooted deep in the Greek psyche. Beautiful, hardy, life-sustaining, the olive tree to most Greeks is a metaphor for their ability to survive and maintain their cultural identity whatever history throws at them. Never more so than now.

A book about living in Greece

For more details about my book, Things Can Only Get Feta based on three years living in the Mani, southern Greece during the crisis, visit my website www.bigfatgreekodyssey.com or visit Facebook www.facebook.com/ThingsCanOnlyGetFeta

Visit Amazon to buy the book (Kindle version – new edition). A new edition of the paperback will also be available shortly.

If you have already read the book and liked it please think about leaving a small review on Amazon. It will be very much appreciated. 

I always love to hear from blog readers. To leave a comment, please click on the ‘comment’ link at the end of this post, right under the ‘tags’ list. 

Thanks for calling by.

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Things can only get feta …

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CAN you have an adventure in crisis-torn Greece and not come unstuck? Can you take a mad Jack Russell dog to a rural region and not create havoc? Can you ever feel like more than an outsider in a mountain village that has changed little over the centuries?

You might find the answers to these questions, and hopefully have a giggle along the way,  in the book based on my first year in the Mani, in the southern Peloponnese, due to be published in July this year. It’s called Things Can Only Get Feta (Two journalists and their crazy dog living through the Greek crisis) by Marjory McGinn.

In the first year of the big fat Greek adventure, along with my partner Jim (which I started writing about in this blog in 2010), we had such an amazing time, having travelled extensively through this beautiful region, and having befriended some wonderful local characters, that I wanted to shape it into a book so that other adventurers/armchair travellers could get a feel for this unique rural way of life.

 

Chairman: Wallace soaking up the sun in the Mani

Chairman: Wallace sunbakes in the Mani

 

I was encouraged by many of the regular blog readers who wrote to the website saying how much they enjoyed our mad meanderings in Greece, especially with naughty Wallace the Jack Russell in tow. A big thanks for that and I hope you enjoy the book.

For an outline of the book and details of how to pre-order it, click on this link to take you to the home page of our website: http://www.bigfatgreekodyssey.com

Visit Amazon to buy the book (Kindle version – new edition). A new edition of the paperback will also be available shortly.

 

Land's end: Marjory and Wallace at the southernmost point of the Mani peninsula

Land’s end: Marjory and Wallace at the southernmost point of the Mani peninsula

 

Looking back

When we set off in early 2010, it was supposed to be for a year’s adventure only. We aimed to live in the Mani region (middle peninsula of the southern Peloponnese), but we had no idea of the exact location, or what our life would be like, or even if we would find a suitable place to live, especially in the midst of an economic crisis. But that’s the whole point of adventure – stepping right into the unknown and taking whatever comes your way.

The village we ended up in surpassed all our expectations, particularly with regard to the location and the wonderful local characters we met, some colourful British expats, and the mad escapades that would unfold. But other things were difficult, as we outlined in the blog: dealing with Greek bureaucracy, buying a Greek car, surviving the first scorching summer, dealing with alien wildlife (the critters, not the expats) – scorpions, polecats, snakes, hornets.

Then there was the problem of getting a tiny Greek village with typical zero-tolerance of ‘pet’ dogs to accept the crazy, barky, territorial Wallace. Many villagers had never seen a Jack Russell dog before and to their mind, he just looked like a small mutant sheep. To find out how Wallace’s immersion into Greek life panned out, you’ll have to read the book.

 

Branching out: Jim and Wallace enjoying the lush olive orchards in the spring

Branching out: Jim and Wallace enjoying the lush olive orchards in the spring

 

One year’s adventure turned into another and in the end we stayed almost three years in the southern Peloponnese, having loved every mad and magical moment. Then there was the Greek crisis, of course. I commented on this in the blog along the way and we did see some massive changes over the three years, particularly in the city of Kalamata where shop closures and business failures were a daily occurrence.

The austerity measures affected everyone in the region, sometimes tragically so, but one thing that never changed was the stoicism of Greek people and their enduring spirit particularly in the face of often spiteful criticism by the international media. Stories from outside the country that depicted Greeks as ‘lazy’ and ‘work-shy’ were not helpful, and yet anyone who has lived in the country will know just how hard most ordinary Greeks do work and strive for a better life, with no state handouts.

 

Water baby: Wallace swimming in a cove in the shadow of the Taygetos mountains

Water baby: Wallace swimming in a cove in the shadow of the Taygetos mountains

 

In our three years, we travelled the whole of the southern Peloponnese, through the Mani, Laconia and the Messinian peninsula, much of which we have already written about and many places we haven’t got round to writing about yet. I will post some short blogs on these, with photos, over the coming months, and general thoughts about Greek life, as we found it. So please keep reading, and your feedback, as always, is appreciated.

We are currently back in Britain for the time being but are keeping close ties with Greece and look forward to our next big fat adventure there.

Best wishes for a happy summer.

 

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Putting the boot in: Greece doesn’t deserve to be bullied by its euro neighbours

 

IN the lead-up to the recent Greek elections (one and two), much of the world’s media had a great old time knocking the Greek character, having a laugh about tax dodgers and work-shy citizens. But if the rest of the world thinks that level of criticism will pulverise the Greeks, they’re wrong. Greeks created the word stoical – and they are its best practitioners.

At Kalamata Airport recently, while waiting for two Aussie friends to arrive from Athens, we overheard a tourist (northern European) having a strop with a young Greek guy at a car hire counter. The tourist was late returning his car and was anxious that he’d be charged for an extra day. The Greek guy assured him it was okay, he’d make a note on his form and make sure the visitor wasn’t charged an extra fee. But the visitor still wasn’t happy. As the Greek guy was writing his note, Mr Stroppy started up again, demanding that the guy sign the note on the form and also demanded to see his identity card as well.

The Greek guy was surprised but gracious. He said he wasn’t obliged to show his ID to a customer but took it out anyway to calm the tourist down. But STILL it wasn’t enough. “Write down your card identity number as well,” said Mr Stroppy, jabbing his finger at the form.

The Greek guy finally had enough (as had the rest of us in the car hire queue) and refused, putting his card back firmly back in his pocket, leaving Mr Stroppy to steam away at the counter. I wanted to cheer, but thought better of it.

Yet Mr Stroppy had to have the last angry word. “You know what, you have a lovely country here but you are all totally disorganised. It’s a disgrace,” he said.

The Greek guy just looked at him, shrugged stoically and got on with his work. I’m sure he’s seen worse, heard worse and has more to worry about than a pompous foreigner trying to kick major ass over a hire car.

A Greek acquaintance here who owns holiday villas in the Mani told us that a group of Germans cancelled their holiday a couple of months back because they feared they would get beaten up by Greeks while here because of recent harsh measures demanded by the Troika, and particularly by Germany. When we heard this story we thought it was both sad and ludicrous, that tourists are so uninformed and paranoid about coming to Greece. Get real! From our recent experience at the airport it seems to me that Greeks are more in danger of being beaten up by the visitors.

Flying the flag: OK, Greece isn’t quite like northern Europe – but that’s why we love it

Greeks bearing laptops

THE fact that Greece might be disorganised is completely unfounded. Sure, the country’s politicians faff about a lot and keep doing policy U-turns, but other services here, both private and government, run remarkably smoothly. We took our newly arrived Aussie friends to the telecommunications firm Vodafone in Kalamata to sort out mobile internet connections for their laptops, since they like to keep in touch with the outside world while on holiday.

When the guys at the Vodafone office tried to fit the USB modems they found they weren’t compatible with the couple’s very new computers. The guys would have to talk to techie colleagues in Athens so they could download software to fix the problem. It was all handled calmly and graciously, without any of the frowning or moaning you might expect elsewhere.

While the Vodafone guys were working on the couple’s computers they told us all to go for a coffee nearby, which we did in a favourite venue (Le Garcon on Aristomenous St), which is an oasis of serenity and coolness on a hot day (the temperature was around 38 degrees) as the outside seating area has overhead sprinklers delivering a continuous fine mist of icy water.

Half-an-hour later, we were amazed to see the two Vodafone technicians sprinting around the corner to our table, each holding aloft an opened laptop, much to the amusement of the other café punters. The techie guys needed our friends’ passwords in order to proceed. That was sorted, and off they sprinted again.

Our friends were gobsmacked. “That would never happen in Oz,” they said.

“Not in the UK either,” we added.

We well remember it once took us a month to get a broadband connection in Scotland with a well-known internet provider when we moved house. The corporate bumbling was immense, and so was the aggravation of having to ring an Indian call centre every other night to listen to the same old comedy routine of excuses and then promises of broadband by morning, which never happened. And so it went on. In Greece they don’t outsource to overseas call centres.

Hummus and hospitality

IT’S always gratifying to see Greece through fresh eyes. Our Aussie friends have been overjoyed by their stay in this region of the Peloponnese and only dismayed at the level of misinformation filtering around the world about Greeks. They have found good service and efficiency everywhere they’ve been.

And they are delighted that the old standards of Greek hospitality and kindness have not diminished despite the economic crisis. The couple are staying in an apartment in the Mani and every day their Greek neighbours have brought produce from their garden – fat, juicy tomatoes and cucumbers – and home-baked bread, olives, oil and much more.

Attention all moaning minnies from overseas. If you can’t be open-minded and generous towards Greece during its crisis, go somewhere else. Simple. I hear the Norwegian fjords are pristine and cool this time of year. Canoes are plentiful…

Birds on a wire: Our garden owls snuggle up side by side …

 

… and have a hoot with some amorous activity

Well owl be damned …

WE have said a lot lately about our little brown owl visitor. Indulge us, we’re new to twitching. We have found out the Greek brown owl is partly diurnal, which is why it appears on our power lines night and day. We started out with one, but now we regularly see a couple sitting on the power lines, sometimes smooching. We’ve had trouble getting a good picture of them. But now we have several, which we wanted to share. We promise to only mention the owls again if they are joined by their extended family … or develop some interesting high-wire routines.

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