Above: The winter arrangement. All beach furniture now removed until next spring, but the sea’s still perfect for swimming.

Having finished reading Kathryn Gauci’s wonderfully evocative ‘Aegean Odyssey,” I’ve been immersed in some nostalgic thoughts of late about moments over the past 48 years of my Greek experience. Some brief instances in time are still so vivid in my memory that I can, not only see them in my mind’s eye, but smell the smells, feel the breeze, hear the sounds. Kathryn talks about various small accommodations that she stayed in during her journey of self re-discovery among a selection of Greek islands where the real Greece was still to be found back in 2005.

I’ve been to some of those places that she describes, although not all. Sadly, there have been changes since she re-visited those locations. After all, two decades have passed now and ‘development’ is no respecter of either place or memory. She mentions, for instance, the very pretty coastal village of Mochlos, on the north coast of Lasithi, just off the road from Agios Nikolaos to Sitia. Mochlos is still just as pretty as it was in 2005, but alas, now extremely busy with foreign tourists during the summer months. It’s not more than 30 minutes drive from our home, so a couple of years ago we decided to go and check it out, mainly because we’d had a chat with an English woman (a rare occurrence still on the local town beach here in Ierapetra) who’d raved about the place and said it was her favourite location for a waterside meal.

We set off full of anticipation and were soon winding our way down the snaky lane that drops down from the main Sitia road. Just behind the mountain from Mochlos is a massive quarry, where half a mountainside has been gouged out in order to provide sandstone for building works on the island and doubtless other locations as well. You can’t help but notice it as you negotiate the tight twists and turns of the steeply descending road on the way down to Mochlos. In fact, you drive right past the works entrance, where all the surrounding vegetation is coated with a thick layer of dust from the cutting of the stone. Although it’s now an eyesore, it does, oddly enough have a very ancient beginning and is thus an integral part of area’s history. It was extensively used during the Minoan New Palace period (around 1700-1450 B.C.) to produce large ashlar blocks for constructing important buildings, most notably the nearby Minoan palace at Gournia.  Sandstone was valued at the time for its colour, texture, and the ease with which it could be cut.

Anyway, once you get well past it, the mountain cuts it off from view and you soon catch sight of the tiny island that’s only metres from the Mochlos quay, and this island too boasts a Minoan ruin dating back many thousands of years. The Mochlos sea front is quite compact, and consists mainly of a footpath which winds in and out of a couple of tiny bays and offers a varied choice of tavernas and bars. Picturesque it most certainly still is, but quiet? Afraid not. We walked the entire sea front and also the few back streets, and were quite dismayed at the fact that we hardly saw a Greek person eating at any of the tavernas. We had so expected to be charmed by the place, but found ourselves musing that, had we decided to sit down at one of the restaurants, our fluency in Greek aside, the staff would be certain to talk to us in English. Despite its visual appeal, we couldn’t wait to get out of there and back to Ierapetra. The whole place seemed to be packed with tall, blonde people. In fact, nearby Pachi Amos is nowhere near as pretty, but it’s much more authentic, and many locals can be seen in the few bars and restaurants there at any time of the year. We’ve eaten there a few times and always felt at home, and unhurried.

Meditating on Kathryn’s words, as she expressed her feelings when sitting in some tiny taverna, sampling the fish that’d been caught only hours earlier, one of my most vivid and cherished memories came flooding back over me. Four times in five years from 1977 through 1982, we’d stayed for three weeks at a time on the tiny island of Poros in the Saronic Gulf. Every time we’d gone there we’d stayed in village rooms run by Mrs Georgia Mellou, whose rooms were up a steeply stepped backstreet from the quayside where the boats plying the route from Piraeus to Hydra and Spetses tied up. We’d telephone Kyria Georgia a few days before flying (Dan Air, of course) and she’d be sure and keep us the same room each time. We had a tiny balcony, just large enough for a couple of chairs and one of those little round tables that we often think of as French to nestle on. After an afternoon sleep, we’d rise and make a cup of tea before Yvonne would begin her unhurried ritual of getting herself ready for our evening adventure, beginning with a stroll off down the narrow street called Mitropoleos to the sea front.

I’d say it would have been around the hours of 7.00pm to 8.30pm when I’d sit out on that balcony, book in hand, with other houses nestled right beneath where I sat, so close that I could see into their courtyards if I wanted to. There was a jumble of terracotta tiled roofs between me and the waterfront, just maybe fifty metres away, and I could catch through the gaps between the houses glimpses of some of the small shops on the steep Mitropoleos, which connected the street where we were staying with the harbour front below. Bougainvillea and jasmine scented the air and, as the evening slowly enveloped us and the stars began to emerge in the darkening sky, the smell of charcoal being prepared to cook was everywhere. The heartbeat of that small harbour town pulsed strong and true and I loved it. The smell of the charcoal would get my tastebuds excited as I sipped at my aperitif, usually ouzo, or maybe a vermouth, or perhaps Campari. I’d even imbibe a chilled beer that we kept in the shared fridge along the landing now and then too.

Those brief interludes were a life changing and enhancing experience for me, a young English kid, not long married and with a Greek mother-in-law. They made such an impact on me that here I am now, all those years later living the experience again when I close my eyes.

I could go on and on, but that’s enough for now. You want to see some photos, yeah? Here’s a gallery of recent shots taken in Ierapetra…

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… And be sure to read An Aegean Odyssey, by Kathryn Gauci. 

Here’s my personal review:

I’ve just finished Kathryn Gauci’s very personal memoir, and I’m slightly annoyed with her because it’s not longer. I’ve been so immersed in her self-awakening solo trip back to Greece after many years away that I didn’t want it to end so soon. I suppose that you’ll probably get more out of this book if, like me, you’re a hopeless Grecophile, but if you like travel writing in general, you’d better not pass this one up anyway.

Kathryn wasn’t sure she wanted to make this trip alone, since she had a perfectly good marriage, but, owing to circumstances, she went ahead anyway. Right at the very end of the book she makes a really valid point about travelling solo that I’ve often thought too, although never been able to put it into words. When you experience something on your own, it’s an entirely different thing from how it would be if accompanied by someone else, in this case, her husband. You meet people, experience feelings and emotions, see places in ways that wouldn’t be the same with someone beside you. It’s not better, it’s not worse, it’s simply different, but in such a way that you realise how much it enriches your life. If you can do it, then it’s 100% worthwhile.

Kathryn goes to places (islands, mainly) many of which I know well myself, so maybe that too made her writings resonate more deeply with me. But if you’ve any experience at all of Greek people and culture, then surely you’ll also find this work totally absorbing. She has a wonderful gift for evoking in you mental pictures of the places she’s describing, the people she’s interacting with.

Kathryn Gauci is a living treasure that all avid book readers would do well to appreciate. I’ve already gushed about this book on previous posts, but, now I’ve finished it, here are a few more quotes that especially resonated with me:

“Tactility, expressions of love and friendship that are not all sexual.” Here she talks about the tendency of the Greeks, especially of close friends, even of the same sex, to walk along the street with arms around each other. It’s affection, pure and simple, and it’s indicative of a warmth that we Brits as a rule do not possess and has nothing to do with their sexual orientation.

“‘Unfortunately,’ Sotiris said, ‘many of the package tourists are not encouraged to come to the theatre. There is now a growing number of hotels who try to keep their guests entertained at the hotel in order to make them spend their money there. All-you-can-eat buffets, happy hours, and live entertainment by mediocre pop musicians have all added to the decline in audiences experiencing the real Greece.” This comment by Sotiris, a struggling Greek businessman, well expresses the locals’ view of the awful and meteoric increase in ‘all inclusive’ resorts these past few years. And this is from twenty years ago too, when ‘all Inclusive’ was still in its infancy. If you want to experience the ‘Real Greece,’ then you’re never going to find it in these altars to mass tourism that only benefit rich tour operators, hotel chains and owners.

“The moonlight has soothed my soul and energised my body. It is a moment when I truly understand that there is so much more to life than material gain. Nature in all its glory will always be with us, everywhere and for everyone, and we can all have a ringside seat if only we bother to look.” Kathryn’s on the tiny island of Karpathos when she writes this. How we humans so often fail to understand what truly brings contentment and peace of mind. If you’re in a small village on a hillside in Greece, and you actually take a moment to pause and imbibe the environment around you, then you may just crack it.

“The sea is already a deep blue-green, the surrounding mountains are bathed in a soft haze, and the air is humid. The perspiration is already dripping from my body. This is not typical Greek weather, which is normally a dry heat.” I so identified with this. Although the moment she describes took place twenty years ago, it’s indicative of a change in climate that’s affecting Greece, just like everywhere else, more and more with the passing years. I’ve been coming to this country since 1977, and most of my visits before we moved here in 2005 were made in either June or September/October. The depth of blue in the sky at that time of the year (and she writes this comment about the month of October) is impossibly vivid. You’d see a blue that we never ever saw in the UK. The reason for this has been the dry atmosphere, pure and simple. You could be very, very hot here, yet not perspire too much. In actuality, heat makes us perspire commensurately, but a dry heat means that our sweat evaporates and thus we don’t feel sticky. If the atmosphere’s humid then the sweat remains on our skin and doesn’t evaporate so easily, thus making us feel uncomfortably ‘damp.’ A humid atmosphere also makes the sky’s blue more milky. This past two decades there has been much more weather like this. So-called experts have been warning us for a long time about the possibility of rising sea levels owing to melting polar ice caps. We haven’t seen the sea level rise anything like to the extent that some had predicted, so where has all the extra water gone? In my humble opinion, it’s all around us, it’s in the atmosphere, making it more humid more often.

“The mental paralysis that creeps upon us in the modern industrial world is like a cancer. Achievement is measured by material possessions and commercial success. Like the tide that slowly ebbs away, a more spiritual and meaningful life has taken its place during these last weeks.”  Here Kathryn expresses a view about the healing nature of her Aegean Odyssey. If you immerse yourself in the ‘Real Greece,’ that is to say the little out-of-the-way tavernas and kafeneia that are frequented more by locals than by the tourist hordes, if you go up into the mountains and forests and allow the environment to seep into your psyche, if you engage in conversation with a little old lady all dressed in black, who’ll proffer you a sprig of basil, or maybe a Greek coffee if you’ll sit with her awhile, then your appreciation for what truly matters gradually and imperceptibly changes for the better. 

If you take the time to read Kathryn’s deeply personal solo odyssey, then even through its pages you’ll probably become more mellow, more able to appreciate what’s truly important in this life. So much has been said and written about why Greece is unique. If you want to understand why, reading this wonderful book will go a long way towards helping you find the answer.

Now for a few of my own photos…

Above: My late and much missed mother-in-law, Lela, on an Athens doorstep not long after the Second World War.

Above: A moody shot in the village of Meseleri, the next one about 5km up the road from us.

Above gallery: ‘Filling the hole in the bole’ of one of two ancient olive trees in the lower garden. That tree’s trunk is split so completely that it almost looks like two trees beside each other, although it is one rootstock. The gap between the two trunks has long looked a bit bereft to us, so when we split the canas in one of our pots beside the house recently, we first filled the ‘hole in the bole’ with a large sack of compost, then replanted the cana that we’d taken out of the overcrowded pot there. It’s already settled in well and is producing new flowers. A result!

Above gallery: After a wonderful couple of hours on the town beach on Sunday, we repaired to the Konaki taverna for lunch. It has to be said that at this time of the year the climate difference between Crete and the UK is especially noticeable!

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Philotimo is a cornerstone of Greek culture that embodies a complex set of virtues that are almost impossible to translate with a single word. While literally meaning “love of honor,” its true significance extends far beyond that phrase to encompass a deep sense of dignity, integrity, and selflessness. For Greeks, it is a way of life that emphasizes treating others with kindness and respect. The thing is, there’s no direct way of translating what that word means into English. What are its core values though?

Honor and integrity: At its heart, it’s about acting with a strong moral compass and doing the right thing, simply because it is the right thing to do. It’s a matter of personal and family pride, where one’s actions reflect not just on themselves but also on their community.

Generosity and selflessness: Demonstrating philotimo often involves acts of sincere, selfless kindness, such as helping others without expecting anything in return. This can be seen in everyday gestures, like a host’s warm hospitality, or in more profound examples, like citizens rescuing refugees.

Empathy and respect: The concept is deeply rooted in empathy—the ability to understand and consider the well-being of others. This drives the behavior of treating others, including strangers, with warmth, courtesy, and respect.

Humility and duty: Despite its connection to honour, philotimo is expressed with humility, and it entails an awareness that one’s behavior reflects on their family and country. It is a conscious effort to perform one’s duty and live responsibly.

I’ve known the word for many years, of course, but it sprang to mind recently as I was reading the magical and totally engaging memoir by Kathryn Gauci, ‘An Aegean Odyssey.’ Here are a few quotes from that part of the book that I’ve most recently been absorbed in:
“I pass an old woman standing outside her kafeneion, crocheting. ‘Kalimera sas,’ I say to her, bidding her good day. ‘Kalimera,’ she replies. We start a conversation. She is curious, not only that I understand her, but about my life. Am I married? Where is my husband? Do I have any children? All the usual questions that I answer time and time again in Greece. It’s always the women who ask; no Greek man has ever asked me these questions. She gives me a sprig of basil – a Greek welcome.“

It was that sprig of basil that set me off on yet another reverie. A local Greek will always want to give you something, and if they have nothing else, it’ll be a sprig of basil, a flower, a koulouraki, but always it’ll be something. I think that philotimo goes a long way towards explaining too why the crime rates are so low in local village communities. There is such a deep sense of family pride and reputation at stake. OK, so it’s a fine line between aloofness and a healthy dose of pride. I say ‘pride’ in this context to refer mainly, not to an air of superiority, but to a desire to maintain the family’s reputation. It works on everyone in the ‘tribe,’ so to speak. No one wants to bring shame on their relatives, and it’s a really healthy deterrent to wrong conduct. I so identify with her words about women asking quite personal questions about one’s life too. It takes some getting used to if you’re new to Greece, but they mean no harm and wouldn’t understand our British reserve, as it were.

Another brief but telling quote from Kathryn’s travelogue, as she investigates different islands and the more remote villages on them, “Everywhere, people want to give me gifts – small gestures of remembrance – Philotimo.” She’s right, of course, no matter where you go in either rural or island Greece, this principle applies. Kathryn goes into one aging kafeneio, primarily because she wants to find a toilet, but she ends up having a rewarding conversation with the female host, not to mention three swarthy Greeks sitting at a table, whose appearance puts her on edge to begin with. Of course, within minutes they’ve called to her and asked her to join them, which in this instance she politely declines, but carries on her conversation with the café owner. When she gets up to leave and asks how much is the coffee, the reply is, “Nothing, you are my guest. I hope that you will have good memories of Crete.”

This has been our experience so many times as well. I remember one particular instance on the island of Patmos, when we’d made the walk all the way from Skala, the main village and port on the island (where we were staying) all the way up to Kampos, which is quite a trek. When you reach Kampos, you arrive first at a modest little square with a picturesque little church to your right, and adjacent to that is the road leading down to Kampos beach, a further fifteen minutes away on foot. On the left is the truly delightful little cafe bar called the ‘Aroma,’ which has a very appealing shady terrace, filled with traditional-looking tables and chairs. After a fairly strenuous walk, we were only too pleased to rest our pins at a table and order a couple of iced coffees. We were also a bit peckish, so once our coffees had arrived I went inside to ask the host what she had that we could eat along with a cold coffee. She didn’t have much, but showed me a cake that she’d made that morning, one of those that’s quite common here in Greece. It’s round, with a hole in the middle (like an inner tube) and is two different colours, one rather chocolaty-looking and the other yellow, like a heavy sponge cake. It’s actually quite to our liking as it’s in no way too sweet. In fact many Greeks eat this cake at breakfast time, along with some olives, a slice or two of ham and some cheese and paximadia.

She offered to cut us a couple of chunks of cake, and I accepted gratefully.

Also seated on the terrace were an elderly couple, the wife of whom had her arm bandaged and in a sling, plus a couple of local working men taking a short break from their toil. The landlady too eventually sat down and there followed a lovely conversation, much of which involved us answering the kinds of questions that Kathryn refers to above. When we decided it was time to move on, since we wanted to make it down to the beach where we planned to have lunch beside the sea, I asked the café owner for the bill. She replied, “Oh, forget it. You’ve were my guests. Hope to see you again some day.”

And, as it happens, she eventually did. We went back to Patmos the following year for a further three weeks during springtime, and we made the same walk and sat once again in the Aroma, where this time I made sure that we paid for our drinks, since the poor woman has to make a living.

I’ve got a further 30% or so of Kathryn’s book to read before I finish it, but I’m already having withdrawal symptoms. I shall miss it when I reach the end. If you’ve done what we did and moved out here to live permanently, then you’ll easily identify with many of Kathryn Gauci’s experiences. If you simply come here for your holidays and have made sure to get away from the hordes and experience the ‘Real Greece,’ then you’ll also I’m sure find many of her experiences resonate with your own. If you’ve yet to find out what it is about this amazing country that seeps into one’s soul and never lets it escape again, then I’d advise you to start planning for a visit now, and do so without resorting to tour operators’ big hotels or All Inclusive packages, and you’ll soon be smitten, I guarantee it.

Photo time again…

Above: Our sun terrace after dark. I rather like the mood of this one.

Above: Our beloved town beach a few days ago. You can see the newly opened renovated Venetian Fortress at the far end of the bay, and to the left the harbour wall.

Above: The back of the same beach, showing why we so love eating and drinking here. The one below was taken during an evening meal right there, in fact:

As was this one too…

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I’m getting a bit behind with all the photos I’ve been snapping lately, so this post will be mainly photos and a brief description/explanation where necessary. Hope you like them. Firstly, the one above was taken on Sunday October 12th in the area known as Mavros Kolymvos, just west of Makry Gialos at around 11.30am.

Gallery above: The new Mayor of the village (although I suppose he’s been ‘in office’ for a while now) Manolis, has been busy upgrading the traditional-looking lampposts in the village to LED type. Just a few nights ago, after a week or so of darkness while the new lamps were being fitted, they were switched on. I reckon they look pretty good. What do you think? These were taken at around 3.30am. Here are just a few more of the village in daylight too…

We did our first real walk of the winter on Friday October 3rd, since the temperatures have been somewhat low for the time of year since the beginning of the month (although they’re cranking up again now. It’s 25ºC outside as I type this post). With it having been slightly cooler we made the walk to the tiny church on the hillside across the valley from the village. Here are two views looking back on the village, one from around halfway to the church, and the other taken from outside the churchyard wall…

The first of those two above shows well how the olive farmers rotavate their olive groves at the end of the summer, in the hope that there will be autumn rains that will soak into the soil and fatten up their olives for the harvest that begins in earnest during November. Apart from one big short-lived storm though, they’re still waiting.

Above: I know, I’m showing off again, but since the hibiscus in their pots and the trailing plant that I put into the raised beds that I’d built have brought us so much joy this summer, I couldn’t help but take photos of them.

Above: A tiny cairn that someone had built on the beach. It’s only about 9 inches tall, and I couldn’t believe that it had stayed erect for as long as it had. Plus a delicious milopita (apple pastry) that comes a very close second to bougatsa as a small indulgence to accompany our iced coffees on the beach now and then.

Above: When we walk the lane up the mountain from our village towards Meseleri there are a couple of almond trees right beside the road, and they’re sadly not harvested any more. So, without much encouragement needed, we stuffed our pockets with the ones we could reach. I shelled them after drying them for a couple of days and added them to our almond jar. When you consider that they are grown everywhere here, it’s a bit eye-watering to see how much you have to spend to buy them in the shops.

And, finally…

Above: In a small café in Makry Gialos on Sunday, I couldn’t help noticing this sign. Good eh?

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I’m currently reading Kathryn Gauci’s enchanting book about her odyssey in the Aegean around twenty years ago. She travelled alone around much of the Aegean in 2005, the very year, by sheer coincidence, that my wife and I moved from the UK to live permanently in Greece. I’m currently around 40% of the way through this arresting account and I have to say that so far it’s grabbed hold of my soul and sent me down all kinds of memory lanes. Kathryn’s prose is erudite, without being pretentious. She enfolds the reader in her own experience effortlessly and the wonder of what she sees and hears during her travels and how these things affect her seeps into your head and plucks at your heart strings.

Maybe it’s affecting me this way because so much of what she writes about echoes my own experience both with Greek people and with the country itself, I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s essential reading for any grecophile, that’s for sure. Kathryn’s Greek experience has given her an ‘honorary Greekness’ in much the same way as I feel mine has done for me. She writes, for example, “Here in Greece it is possible to sit for ages with only one drink. The café and bar owners will never make you feel uncomfortable. They appreciate the true meaning of a leisurely drink.” You have to truly know how to simply sit and enjoy the moment, much in the same way as the locals do and have done since they were born, to grasp what this means, and how good it is for the soul.

Another quote from her that I really like is: “Somehow I feel different. I can sense a peacefulness I don’t think I’ve had for years. I have begun to let go and really relax, and I wasn’t even aware of it happening.” This happens when you interact with the locals, when you stop looking at your watch, when you simply savour the moment. If you’ve spent any time at all in Greece then you’ll certainly have seen the old guys simply sitting. Sometimes they’re on a rickety old chair under a tree beside the road. Sometimes they’re at their ropey old table on their terrace, under the shade of a bougainvillea, but you’ll have seen them. They know how to simply sit and watch, observe, allow the experience to calm them for the day or week ahead. 

Kathryn also knows how most Greeks view their homes. Maybe things are changing in the cities these days, but in rural areas and villages, locals hardly ever buy or sell property. It’s simply not done. Kathryn writes, “There are hardly any estate agents. Greeks very rarely buy and sell from a real estate agent unless they are in the market for exclusive properties. Estate agents, by and large cater to the foreign tourists looking for holiday homes.”

Kathryn, when growing up in the UK, had a friend whose mother was Greek. Her introduction to things such as Greek cuisine came through this channel, much the same way as mine did owing to the fact that my girlfriend (eventually my fiancee and then wife) also had a mother who was Greek, and the aromas from her kitchen were something I’d never experienced before I began frequenting her house in Ringswell Gardens, Bath, UK. The exotic smell of fish soup done with olive oil and lemon juice, for example captured my imagination in just the same way as it did hers. Maybe this is why this book is enchanting me so. I have to say that this past few days I’ve been reading it on the Kindle app on my phone while laying on a lounger on the local town beach, and it’s caused me to take stock of my life, of ours, Yvonne’s and mine, I should say.

I began this very morning (as I’m writing this part of the post late at night on Monday October 6th) by looking up from the device and taking in my surroundings with a fresh perspective for what’s probably the umpteenth time. People back in the UK often talk about either buying a property in Greece, or maybe moving out here permanently, as ‘living the dream.’ What precisely is that ‘dream’ I don’t really think we actually know. Spending a couple of weeks here during your summer holiday gives you an entirely different experience from that which you have once you’ve burned your bridges and taken the plunge, which we did back in August 2005. Yet, if you can hack it, as in navigate your way through the complex bureaucracy that’s involved, and adjusting to the mindset of the local people, you may stand a chance. Over our twenty years now of living here we’ve seen many, many folk pack it all in and go back. There have been all kinds of reasons for this, but often it’s that they simply weren’t prepared for the difference in living here during July and August and spending an entire winter here. Maybe they had grandchildren and realised that living a couple of thousand miles away meant that they were missing their children’s children’s formative years. Some have gone back owing to major health problems. There’s quite a daunting list, I can tell you. 

Yet as I sat on that beach this morning, I became acutely aware that I’ve never been so happy, truly. My wife was laying there, her phone playing Dalkas, a Greek Laika radio station, while she dozed, mouthing the words to most of the songs, many of which she’s known since she was a child, when her mother used to play them on her stereogram while Yvonne was growing up. Behind us there were people stretched lazily in the canvas backed director’s chairs of the beach bar, their toes wiggling into the sand while enjoying long languid conversations without the slightest time pressure. I look at this delightful little seaside town, the southernmost town not only in Greece, but in the whole of Europe, and I realise that it has just about everything that we ever sought for when looking for places to go for a summer holiday. Its tourism is very low-key. Ierapetra subsists much more on agriculture than it does on tourism. Most of the voices you hear around you while dining out, or spending an hour or two over your Freddo espresso on the beach, are Greek. After six years now of living here we know so many people, all of whom greet each other with a warm smile and exchange a few words of chit-chat before settling down to the serious business of spending time with their coffee. No one stays on the beach all day, no. Most people arrive, order their coffee, stretch out under a straw umbrella, take a dip or two, then, after a maximum of around two hours, pack up and move on to the next stage of their day. But no one does any of this in a hurry. There’s always time for a chat when you make eye contact with someone you see regularly. 

There are restaurants to cater for all budget levels, and enough coffee bars to keep one going for a lifetime. The climate is the best in all of Greece, as the photos below can testify, as they were all taken in the last week or so, some this very morning. So, I’ll close out this one with those photos. It’s now October, and the temperatures are in the mid twenties, the skies still primarily blue (although we have had a welcome rainstorm about a week ago, plus a few showers during the night, which is good) and – I guess I just have to resort here to a trite expression but, well – all’s right with the world.

The third photo in that gallery above is of a group of ladies (of a certain age) as they go about their daily ritual of treading water while exchanging local gossip. Beats the local old folks’ coffee morning at the day centre doesn’t it.

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Here’s another post of images spanning our two decades of life here in Greece. The one above was taken on board the Triton, during one of my excursions while I was working as an escort on Rhodes from 2007/8 until 2018. This shot was taken in July 2016. There is another, much more modern vessel with the same name operating out of Mandraki Harbour, on which I also served now and then, but this one was a beautiful traditional caique, originally built to carry cargo, although people visiting Greece on their holidays would be forgiven for assuming that all vessels of this type were first built as fishing boats. Here’s another shot, showing her under way in all her glory…

A true highlight of our earlier visits to Crete was when our good friends Timotheo and Sylvia (originally from Rhodes, but now living in Crete) surprised us by taking us to see the amazing Palace of Knossos. We went in November, so the place was virtually deserted, whereas if you go during the tourist season, be prepared to be among the hordes…

While we were living on Southern Rhodes, we ran a small charity event for a couple of years aimed at raising money for the local doctor’s surgery in the village of Gennadi. It was a great experience and to receive the gratitude of Doctor Niko and his team at an unexpected re-opening ceremony attended by some local dignitaries was truly humbling. The cash we were able to raise gave the surgery the opportunity to purchase much needed medical supplies and even one special piece of machinery for carrying out specific examinations (can’t remember now what it was though!)…

Finally, we’ve been to Vai quite a few times now, as it’s in our ‘county’ of Lasithi here on Crete, but I still well remember our memorable first ever visit, which was once again during November, when the beach was clear of umbrellas and the only people around were locals…

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Click HERE to go to my Amazon Author Page, where you can browse and purchase all of my seventeen written works.

A good friend and fellow admin of mine on our Facebook reading Group ‘A Good Greek Read,’ Kathryn Gauci is also an accomplished author, whose books have never failed to delight and impress me. If you’ve never read any of her work, then best get started. She doesn’t always write about Greece, but when she does her passion for the country shines through every line. It may be good, if you’re not familiar with her work, to head over in the first instance to her website, which you can find by clicking HERE. Plus, I’d recommend starting your own Kathryn Gauci odyssey by reading the epic (and I use that word advisedly, because why it’s not already a major blockbuster movie is a mystery to me) ‘The Embroiderer.’

The main reason, however, for this post is twofold (OK, so maybe that should read, ‘the main reasons..?’); firstly she has a new book out, whose cover is shown at the top of this post. It’s called (as you’ll no doubt have keenly observed) An Aegean Odyssey, and it’s a must read, and I say that even though I’ve yet to read it myself. In my defence, I’m currently reading a book written by an old school friend of mine who lives in the USA, as I’d promised him that I would some time ago. But, as soon as I finish that one I’ll be starting on An Aegean Odyssey. As soon as I’ve read it I’ll be posting my review, both here and on its Amazon page, you can be sure of that. I always try to be objective, so my review will in no way be sycophantic, but I’d be very surprised if I weren’t blown away by this book, which I can’t wait to get stuck into. Anyway, watch this space.

Secondly, off the back of this new release by Kathryn, she graciously agreed to be interviewed about it, and I’m extremely proud to present that interview for you right here. So, let’s get started.

When you decided to become a writer, what made you return to Greece? What is your personal connection with the country?

I worked in Athens as a carpet designer from 1972-78 before moving to New Zealand, and finally Melbourne, Australia. Since then, I’ve been back several times. When I first worked in Athens, Greece was still under the military dictatorship and I witnessed it move from those dark days to democracy. It was a wonderful period of optimism. The carpet factory – Anatolia Carpets – was situated in Kalogreza/Nea Ionia, and I was also fortunate to work with the Asia Minor refugees who told me their family stories of life in Asia Minor and of The Great Catastrophe and the burning of Smyrna. I also learned about Greece in WWII too, as that period was still fresh in the minds of the Greek people. My apartment was in the suburb of Kypseli, where Lela Karagiannis lived. Lela was one of the most famous resistance leaders of WWII. There was also much evidence of the Civil War that took place after WWII, too. Many old walls were pot-marked with bullet holes. After the dictatorship fell, families of those who had been sent to Communist countries started to return. It was quite an emotional time. These were formative years for me and the Greek people welcomed me wholeheartedly. I can honestly say that those years helped shape my personality.

Did you know exactly what you were looking for when you returned to write the book?

No. All I knew was that I wanted to write and I wanted to find the old Greece that I’d experienced when I was there. Between the period when I left and when I returned to write, Greece, like everywhere, was changing, mainly through mass tourism and modernisation. Where we once used to bake our food at the bakery, people now had all the latest kitchen appliances. The suburbs that had once maintained a village atmosphere had moved on. The suburbs of Athens were also spreading out at an alarming rate, and places like leafy, aristocratic Kifissia were almost unrecognisable.   

Which were the key locations you focused on?

Along with a few main areas in Athens, I wanted to explore islands I hadn’t previously visited. After much deliberation, I decided on Chios, Lesvos, Rhodes, Karpathos, and Crete, as I felt they would offer a greater diversity for me.

Were you planning to highlight specific cultural aspects such as art, literature and Greek culture, or did you focus on a certain period such as Ancient Greece, Byzantium, Ottoman Greece, or modern Greece?

I was open to exploring everything. As I have an art and design background, I am naturally drawn to all periods in history. I think it was a case of whatever that island had to offer as they are all different. With Chios, I was certainly immersed in the struggles with the Ottomans during the Greek War of Independence. The events that took place at the Byzantine Monastery of Nea Moni were a strong draw card for me. Lesvos was a mixture of the classical period, particularly with the writers of the time, and also the wonderful Roman mosaics, and its links with the Ottoman world, both during and after the Greek War of Independence and Asia Minor Catastrophe. In Rhodes, one cannot escape the Knights of Saint John although at the time I wanted to explore the smaller villages. Karpathos is unique because that not only has a different history, but wonderful beaches. And then there is Crete. I left Crete until the end because I wanted to explore everything from its Minoan past, its relationship with the Ottoman Empire, and WWII. In all of these places, I drew upon literature to help evoke the past and the Hellenic personality. I would also like to add that I have a love of Greek folk art, particularly Greek shop signs which are quite unique and unfortunately a dying art. I looked for these everywhere on my travels and quite a few led to some amusing episodes.

Did you explore Greece’s influence on the wider world, intellectually and artistically?

Yes, particularly when it came to the writers and artists who had influenced Western thinking, such as Eugene Delacroix, Lord Byron, Henry Miller, and of course, the classical writers. I also drew upon travellers’ tales when passing through Greece while it was under the Ottoman Empire.

How much emphasis did you place on the daily life of Greek people, past and present?

This is an important part of the book. While still being able to get off the beaten track, I interacted with the Greek people themselves who shared thoughts of their life and traditions. Some of these characters ended up in my earlier historical fiction books set in Greece.

Greek cuisine is a constant feature in your book. What are the regional dishes that you remember the most?

This is such a difficult question that I added a chapter specifically on recipes, including some of my favourites, and some that are unique to a certain place. It is not just the food that is important, but the importance attached to it: a sense that every meal will be a banquet no matter how big or small. Good food is very important to Greeks and they are extremely proud of their family and regional heritage. They place a great emphasis on food served in the time-honoured tradition, a special occasion, or simply for a friend. Spoon sweets are a great example of this hospitality.

Music also plays an important role in this journey. Can you explain why?

Music evokes a mood: a time and place that is special and will live in our memory. On this journey, I wanted to include some old favorites and a few new ones. The songs of Marinella, Vicky Moscholiou, and Haris Alexiou always remind me of my days in the carpet studio; Rebetika and the songs of Asia Minor too. In Lesbos I played Leonard Cohen as his songs recalled my days on Hydra, particularly So Long, Marianne. Then there was Rod Stewart’s Maggie May that reminded me of our carefree hippie parties. In Crete I played Glen Miller hoping that at times, the resistance and those soldiers left behind in WWII would have occasionally heard his music on clandestine BBC radio programmes. Elsewhere, I played classical music, particularly in spectacular or emotional settings when I was alone, surrounded by history or spectacular landscapes. 

What can readers expect from your book?

I changed careers later in life. I loved my design years, but wanted a change and wasn’t afraid to take that leap of faith.  If anything, I would like readers to realise that anything is possible if you truly set your mind to it. It may seem daunting to go out alone and explore pastures new, but at the same time it is liberating. You never know where it will lead and that is the exciting part. Finally, I would like to add that much of the time, I found myself alone in isolated places: by a beach, at the top of a mountain, overlooking vast areas of olive groves, and that sense of being alone with nature was like a rebirth. As I say in my book – “Greece in all its glory will always be with us, everywhere and for everyone, and we can all have a ringside seat.” 

Amen to that, I say. Hope you found that enjoyable and enlightening. Here are a few photos from Kathryns’s own archive to inspire you…

I particularly like that taverna sign, which translates as ‘Forty Eggs.’ There’s got to be quite a story behind that one! So, I do hope you’ll give Kathryn’s new memoir a try, and if you haven’t read any other books by her, I can only say that you’re missing out big time. On her website you can explore all of her works here.

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Click HERE to go to my Amazon Author Page, where you can browse and purchase all of my seventeen written works.

Well, my sister’s visit is drawing to a close, but I didn’t want her to go home without first seeing the beautiful job that had been done to renovate the fortress overlooking the harbour, so last Friday morning we eventually got there and took a few photos to prove it. It truly amazes me that the admission is still free. I can’t imagine such an historical monument in the UK being open to the public without there being an entrance fee and, to be honest, as long as it’s not extortionate, it makes a bit of sense. If they were to ask a mere one or two Euros I think that most people would be happy to fork out, if we want such structures to be preserved for posterity that is.

Here’s a potted history of the Fortress…

The harbour fortress at Ierapetra is called Kales/Fort Kalés. This modestly sized rectangular fortress sits on the harbour entrance and is the best-preserved fortification in an urban centre on Crete’s southern coast. Its construction dates to the Venetian period (broadly 13th–15th centuries) and was built to protect the port and town. Traditional Venetian fort-building shaped its rectangular layout. The fort suffered serious damage during the 1508 earthquake and also from Ottoman raids, and was altered during the Ottoman period (1645–1898) when repairs and modifications changed parts of its exterior and interior fabric. Its purpose was defensive control of the entrance to the harbour (preventing enemy ships from invading and protecting local trade) and nowadays, because it survives near the town centre, it’s a local historic monument illustrating Venetian/Ottoman military presence in eastern Crete. Today the fortress is an archaeological site that’s viewed as an important part of the town’s cultural heritage. Here are a few more of the photos we took last Friday. The place is very photogenic, I must say…

Anyway, I called this post ‘a quick swish a day keeps the scale away’ because I have a tip for anyone who’s resident in Greece and is fed up with how quickly their chrome bathroom fittings lose their lustre due to the build-up of limescale owing to the hardness of the water. Now, before I share this little piece of wisdom, apologies to anyone who already knows this OK? But we lived on Rhodes for a few years before we learned it from some fellow Brits who’d lived there a little longer than we had. Using strong chemical cleaners to restore the shine to your bathroom taps may be the easy option, but believe me it’s tragic for the environment, as it all goes down the plug-hole and eventually, one way or another, either ends up coming out of someone else’s tap, or in the sea, where there is already enough environmental damage done by us stupid humans to fill an encyclopaedia with depressing evidence. Yvonne and I are proud of the fact that the only cleaners we use in our bathroom are citric acid crystals, lemon juice or white vinegar.

But that wasn’t the case a few years ago when, owing to complete desperation, we resorted to buying that awful Cillit Bang stuff or something very similar, in order to get the limescale off our bathroom and kitchen chrome. One day we were discussing this with some neighbours on Rhodes when I asked to use their bathroom. I was amazed at how shiny their taps were, in view of the fact that their house was a couple of years older than ours. So I asked them how they managed to keep them so clean and shiny. You know what their answer was? And I still kick myself that it’s really so simple (but then, everything always is when you already know the answer), “Every time we use the lavatory, or the shower, or the sink, we simply wipe the fittings over with a dry towel before leaving the room. The limescale builds up when the water droplets that you leave all over the surface of the chrome evaporate in the heat, leaving the salts behind to make the surface become dull. Wipe the surface immediately and the problem disappears, et voila.”

I know, I know, some of you out there in internet land will be tut, tutting about how stupid we’d been. Yet equally, I bet there will be some out there who’ll be saying, “Well blow me down with a wet fart, but I didn’t know that!”

Above: No chemicals, no expense either, just a swish with a towel and, hey presto, no limescale.

No, it’s OK, no need to thank me. Here are some more photos, some of which are old, and some brand, spanking new:

Above: taken from the mountain road from Kritsa over to Prina, passing through the village of Kroustas along the way.

Above gallery: A few photos taken in Kritsa village, which is maybe a little too touristy for my liking, but is nevertheless worth a visit for all that, as it is a beautiful village. In fact this is a good time of the year to go, because it’s far less crowded than it would be during July and August. Just in case there is anyone out there looking at that photo of the statue of the young village girl and wondering who she is, she’s Kristotopoula, which is actually her nickname. If you want to know more about her, then the book Kritsotopoula: Girl Of Kritsa is a must. Written as a novel, but telling the true story of that brave young girl, it’s a great and also instructive Greek read.

Above: Couldn’t resist chucking this one in again. It was taken many years back at our home on Rhodes. A tiny Sardinian Warbler flew into the glass of our French windows and stunned itself. He’s a male, as they’re the ones with the black heads. Females have brown heads and slightly duller plumage. We picked him up senseless from the path, smoothed his little head and body until he recovered his senses, then watched as he began to realise where he was sitting, whereupon he soon took off, none the worse for his ordeal.

Above: A few more from around the village and town. The harbour and concert ones were taken early evening, which is why they’re not so ‘brilliant’ colour-wise.

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Click HERE to go to my Amazon Author Page, where you can browse and purchase all of my seventeen written works.

I know, I try to be too clever for my own good sometimes. I called this post ‘Not the Dave Clark Five’ because it’s full of bits and pieces. Only those of my age group (I believe we’re supposed to be called ‘boomers’ these days. It’s so hard to keep up) will stand any chance of understanding that. I’ll leave it with you. There’s always ChatGPT after all.

My dear sister’s over from the UK at the moment, and it’s her first major excursion since losing her hubby, so she’s trying to get some serious quiet reflection time as well as de-stressing to the extent possible. On Sunday evening we went down to the sea front for a delicious meal at L’Angolo. Can’t be bad can it? I mean we ordered two ‘small’ vegetarian pizzas (evidently a new usage of the word ‘small’ that I wasn’t previously aware of, since they’re still quite big as it happens), one of their legendary lettuce salads (which consists of both red and green shredded lettuce, spring onion, as well as flaked Graviera, croutons and a dressing of balsamic sauce. In fact it could easily be a meal itself for one, possibly two) and a bottle of Malamatina Retsina and a large bottle of water and the bill for three of us was around €25. A result in anyone’s book, I’d say.

What we hadn’t realised until it began happening, was that it was not only a full moon that evening, but a lunar eclipse too. What a spectacle it was. In case your grandmother isn’t sure how to go about sucking eggs, a lunar eclipse is when the earth passes between the sun and the moon, and thus the shadow of our planet passes in front of the moon, obscuring it from sight for a while. I thought that it might last a few minutes, but it actually took what seemed like hours. In fact, the first slither of the earth’s shadow began to encroach upon the moon’s disc at around 7.20pm, and the whole moon wasn’t visible again until about 10.00pm. In fact the moon was totally in darkness for what seemed like an age. I presume it’s something to do with the fact that the earth’s a lot bigger than the moon, because when we have a solar eclipse (that’s when the moon gets between the sun and the earth, of course, the mischievous little devil) it usually only lasts a few minutes.

Anyway, the fact was that it made for an amazing evening, during which we could witness the whole spectacle as we stuffed our faces at our spot near the water’s edge, magic. I hear that large parts of the UK were unable to see it owing to cloud cover, sorry about that peeps. We only had mobile phones with which to photograph it, and they have the tendency to adjust the light levels so that what you see in the photo isn’t actually what you witness as you snap it, but nevertheless here are the snaps we took, and the one at the top of this post was one of the batch too (although taken as we strolled the waterfront before sitting at the restaurant)…

I know it can be annoying when people show you their family snaps, but here’s one anyway of the three of us at our table at the L’Angolo…

Jane, my sister that is, wanted a stroll around the village, so we took one yesterday evening at around 6.00pm. It’s a good time to go, since any earlier and it’s simply too flippin’ hot, especially as from our house, to start the circuit we have to walk up a steep lane for around 50 metres or more. That section of the walk is seriously cardiovascular, believe me. Add to that temperatures in the lower thirties and the possibility of the sun being on your back for part of the time, and you have the premise for the song ‘Mad dogs and Englishmen…’ (you finish it).

So, we set out at around six to circumnavigate the village, during which we also took a detour into the heart of it too, because I wanted Jane to see the remains of the old flour mill that still sit silently testifying to a bygone age when the villagers were self sufficient in bread and olive oil. It’s amazing to think that we’re still self-sufficient today when it comes to water, since ours (as I’m sure I’ve banged on about before) comes from a freshwater spring way up near the crag that sits above the village, protecting much of it from the north winds during the winter months.

When we reached the furthest extremity of the village, where the road goes around another crag, creating a blind bend on the way up to Meseleri, a small white car came around the bend, and slowed to a stop beside us, passenger window going down all the time. It was Angla’i’a, former village mayor and still – in our eyes – the village ‘mama.’ I introduced her to Jane, at which she leaned across from her driving seat and warmly shook my sister’s hand, and welcomed her to the village. Jane didn’t understand a word of what she said, of course, but then, she didn’t need to, she understood from the way it was said exactly what Angla’i’a meant, I’m sure.

We walked back toward home following the main road through the village, passing the kafeneio and then the raised section where Manoli’s house is, then a little later on Angla’i’a and Georgo’s. Manolis was sitting on his beaten up old chair right outside his house, his walking frame almost touching his left shoulder. We took a detour to go over and talk to him, since Yvonne and I hadn’t seen him for several weeks. I’d explained to Jane about his mischievous ‘eye’ and told her about the time when the mobile breast-screening unit had set up camp in the village hall, and Manolis had offered to help out and was quite disappointed when the staff told him that his assistance wouldn’t be necessary. I shook his hand and he extended it too to my sister.

‘I’ve told Jane that you’re a nonegarian, Manoli, but how old are you now? I can’t remember exactly.”

“Ninety three,” he replied with a degree of pride, and rightly so.

“And how’s your health holding out?”

“Eh! six herniated discs, my legs are liable to give way now and then, I can’t see so well, but hey! I’m OK. I can still get over to the kafeneio, so what do I have to complain about?” He replied. I decided not to mention his teeth, which were few and far between and bore evidence of the fact that ne never darkened the door of a dentist, especially to get them whitened, as seems to be the big fad these days. “And I always have my newest best friend to keep me company,” he continued. Seeing my expression, giving away the fact that I didn’t know what or who he was referring to, he simply tapped the walking frame, that familiar little twinkle in his eye again. “Never more than half a metre away these days!” he said, and chuckled.

Just before striking up the steep hill to our house from the road, I took Jane down the single-track lane to the village church and graveyard. On our way down and back up, we had to pass Angla’i’a’s hubby Georgo’s allotment. Sure enough, as we came back up to the road, right opposite their house, as it happens, there they both were, Georgos busy tending to the irrigation system in his olive grove. He too is the wrong side of ninety, but he still gets over the road every day to tend to his chickens, his vegetables and his olive trees. More power to him.

“So, when’s it going to rain then?” I asked Angla’i’a.

Throwing her head back, she replied with a very Greek “Ach!” which, in English, meant “Only the gods know that one!” I remarked on how this time of the day the temperature is just perfect for a stroll, since it was hovering around the 22-25 mark. “Ach,” came the reply again, but this time meaning something completely different, “Krio’no!” She replied, which means, “I’m cold.” And to emphasis the fact, she rubbed each upper arm with the opposite hand.

A few more recent photos for you…

In that first gallery, does anyone know what butterfly that is sitting in one of our plant pots? I’m inclined to think it may be a Wood Nymph, but there are so many different types that I’m really not sure. And in that second batch, see the little green cricket/grasshopper, does anyone know if they’re a danger to our foliage? The hibiscus in which it’s sitting doesn’t seem to have been eaten, so I was loathe to disturb or do any harm to the little chap. He is rather handsome, I thought. The bench under the tree shot was taken at the village of Kalamafka, and the beach shots at Gra Ligia, where the beach is so gloriously under-crowded. I’d so rather be in Torremolinos …not.

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Click HERE to go to my Amazon Author Page, where you can browse and purchase all of my seventeen written works.

The above shot is of the main beach at Lindos, Rhodes during the winter of 2017-18, when there’s not an umbrella or sunbed to be seen. When you see it looking like this, you truly appreciate how beautiful that beach is. It’s a shame how different it looks during the tourist season really. This whole thing about getting the balance right between tourism and over-tourism is such a hot potato these days. I’ve talked about this before, but although getting older’s not a lot of fun, I’m so glad that we were able to experience Greece during the golden era from the 1970’s through 90’s, when most people still stayed in village rooms, or pensions, and if there were any hotels, they were of a modest size and family-run. That was when if you came to Greece for a summer holiday, you knew you were in Greece and could hardly fail to interact with local people, and thus to experience their hospitality and open heartedness.

The photo below is from the early 1990’s, taken on Symi. We’d spent a couple of weeks staying in an old village house at the back of the town, and one evening we’d heard the sound of a local shindig as we walked back to our room, and made a slight detour to a nearby schoolyard. There, in full swing, was a local celebration going on. Our landlady, the owner of our accommodation, was seated at one of the tables with her friends, family and neighbours, and there wasn’t a foreign tourist to be seen. Of course, we hadn’t been seated for long (whilst also being plied with free wine and food by some of the locals), when Yvonne was up and away. She’s always been the same ever since we first met, the sound of laika music never fails to get her feet twitching. I could probably write a book simply about all the times when she’s got up and danced in tiny tavernas, sometimes saying that she was never going home, but was going to get a job dancing for the taverna owners and bringing the clientele in. She’d have been a success at it, trust me.

Actually (never miss an opportunity for a plug, that’s me), in the Ramblings from Rhodes books there are several tales of Yvonne’s dancing escapades, at least one of which, up a mountain on Samos some years ago, went a long way towards cementing better relations between Greece and Turkiye! [Yes, folks, that’s how we’re supposed to spell it now]

Here’s a gallery of more photos from Naxos and Patmos [and yes, I do mean Patmos, not Paros in this instance]…

I still have half a dozen or so CDs with photos backed up on them to sift through, so don’t think you’ve escaped my nostalgia trip just yet.

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Click HERE to go to my Amazon Author Page, where you can browse and purchase all of my seventeen written works.