There was rain in the night.
Strange, as the early evening was as good as the Aegean can offer; warm still air with a tiny breeze from the west, the torpid day settling into a gentler repose. At seven it was too luscious to go home, so we swung by the beach at Viclada and swam in the clear untroubled water. In the warm air I could hear the thrum of a tanker well offshore, grinding its passage through the Cavodora. How different from the turmoil of winter gales, when the treachery of this narrow passage, the main marine thoroughfare between Athens and Istanbul, is the stuff of Homer.
A few years back a freighter lost steerage in terrible weather on the rocks not a mile from the house. Dramatic footage of the helicopter rescue of the crew attracted an international audience on YouTube. And then in the spring a huge tug appeared with a floating crane and dismembered the vessel, such that by the autumn there was no trace of it save track marks on the beach where the workers had gained access. I was reminded of the fish carcasses from Andreas restaurant that we bring home for the cats. When they have had the best bits, the ants move in dismantle the remnants, until only a cartoon fish spine remains to be bleached by the sun.
The weather often worsens with a change of wind to the south, and late in the evening great bags of cumulus stacked silently over Evia, wonderfully three dimensional in the slanting light, the brooding grey of their bases forewarning of vengeful intent. These were solid mattresses, real enough to lean on, lumbering with eyes of malice towards Hydroussa.
The rain changes the landscape. The ground solidifies and darkens, and instantly the scrubby goat-proof thorn bushes upgrade their chlorophyll and produce a surge of green. The grubby ovines, normally so well blended with the rocks and sand, now stand out, they too refreshed by the rain. I don’t suppose that it is nearly enough to make a difference to the aquifers, but it gives the garden a drink and helps my new olive trees. Planting them is sobering because the earth is just dry sand and rocks; not a trace of humus or a living thing. How anything survives here remains a mystery. Of course, it is not the conventional time to plant, but the automatic irrigation system is tuned to water once a week throughout the summer, and that’s better than the winter (or spring) when there can be a month without rain and there is no one around to check the batteries on the timers.
Last week Joseph visited and planted tomatoes and peppers in the small wells he creates around the trees where the water pools. The feed from the irrigation is enough to produce a crop of vegetables in the summer, albeit that we are often not there to pick them. But now I leave them hoping that everything works as it should because I am heading for Mykonos and a flight home.
The day before the rain we had walked three hours from Exo Vourni, perched just beneath the 720 metres Geronkas Ridge, down to the sea at Ormos Korthi in the far south of the island. This is a much more verdant landscape than the arid schist in the North. There are a number of reasons, probably more rain, certainly less wind and crucially the goats are the right side of the boundary fences. The ancient path, assiduously maintained by the volunteers of Andros Routes, wriggles its way through fields and terraces, vales and ridges, villages and woods, sometimes bordered by high dry-stone walls, at other times the stone steps are set into the hard earth. As with all these walks I am struck by the impact of the hand of man. Mostly we are walking on man-made paths, the massive terracing, that enabled the generations of Andriots to cultivate these impossibly steep hillsides, covers most of the island; all built by the toil of man. The simple bridges and whitewashed chapels likewise.
We come to a collection of houses, a village if you like, but with no discernible centre or street – just a collection of simple houses separated by narrow paved paths. An old man is tending his vegetables in a small, enclosed garden. We wish him a Kalimera and wave. He responds cheerily, and then three steps further his wife, simply dressed in faded floral cotton is standing in a doorway and offering a broad smile and more greetings. Carolina starts a conversation and, in a moment, we are being ushered into the enclosed terrace and offered water and then tsipero. Giorgio, the husband joins us on shaky legs, with a pill-rolling right hand. He now greets us in surprisingly good English welcoming us to his house. I guess immediately the story and test it with a simple question:
‘Captain?’
He smiles. So many of the islanders of his generation went to sea, where they learnt seaman’s English in the ports of the world. He spoke affectionately of his time as master of various ships across the globe. His prominent memory of England was of South Shields – a joy I couldn’t share! Then Maria appeared with a tray of home made tsipero (the local raki) and saucers of a ‘spoon sweet’, basically jam, proffered on just such occasions, delicious but 99% sugar.
Here we are, ξένος, strangers being offered warmth and hospitality, charming but neither requested nor expected, but still so much a part of, at least rural, Greek life. This is what drew tourists to Greece in the 1960’s, the desire, imperative perhaps, to offer strangers extraordinary hospitality. The word in Greek is xenia, sometimes described as ‘guest friendship’, a concept so ancient that it may stem from a time when Gods could be amongst us, and better not to run the risk of upsetting one of them by not giving them a proper show.
Giorgio showed us with pride his lettuces and tomatoes and cherries and strawberries and peppers and pears and walnuts and pomegranates and figs, moving stutteringly up and down the steps of his carefully tended terraces, while Maria, with no English to speak of disappeared into the house.
This is their season. A simple earthbound existence of growing and harvesting the food they will eat now and later; picking, drying, bottling, fermenting, and distilling. A diet largely vegetarian, olive oil, homemade wine, and a glass of tsipero, with occasional trips to the shop in town. You cannot get a car to the house, but they probably have one parked adjacent to the unmade road that ends 50 metres from their house. No two houses in the hamlet are on the same level. If you live in Meso Vourni you have to climb steps. Sadly, more than half the houses in the village are now empty.
What will happen to this modest functional house built by Giorgio’s grandfather?
Their two sons live in Athens; will they return to this isolated hillside idyll when they retire?
I can’t see it. The reality is that this lifestyle and these communities are gravely threatened.
I worry about the future.
Giorgio’s Parkinsonism won’t be getting better. Maria’s slight distance suggests she might be losing it a little. What will become of these two delightful souls? The neigbouring house is empty and unloved. Will these simple, practical houses gradually fall derelict as the last nonagenarian shuffles off, in part due to an alien loneliness and isolation, so different from the sense of community that was crucial to village life? Of course, it is happening elsewhere, Italy for example, where many mountain villages in the Apennines are completely deserted. But I am left thinking that we should be able to come up with some innovative ideas that could make these special places compatible with twenty-first century lifestyles.
Like Mykonos – that’s properly twenty-first century.
I am there now awaiting a flight home.
Mykonos is the perfect holiday destination for many people:
1. Hay fever sufferers – there is no vegetation on this arid rock. Nothing green or verdant so no worry about pollen or sneezing.
2. Barbara Streisand fans – People who need People. There are lots of people on Mykonos. Although at 12000 the island has 25% larger resident population than Andros, it is only a quarter the size, but that’s not the problem. The island welcomes about 350,000 air passengers a year – then there are those who arrive by ferry and cruise ships. No risk of being lonely here, there are always nice people near you, on the beach, or in the shops, clubs, bars or tavernas.
3. Redheads and werewolves – no need to worry about getting burnt by the ferocious Aegean sun, much better to sleep in the day and go clubbing all night. Mykonos is a great party island. Trying to sleep at night is a silly idea – it is far too noisy.
4. Bunion sufferers – no need to walk anywhere in Mykonos. Despite being the same size as Milton Keynes the island boasts dozens of hire car companies offering thousands of vehicles be they car, jeep, scooter, or quad bike. Everyone who comes to the craggy refuge wants to get their own wheels, so that they can get around the crowded streets without walking or join a party of like-minded folk visiting isolated beaches.
5. Cruisers – every year about 2700 cruise ships visit Mykonos depositing over 3,500,000 tourists. This is wonderful as other visitors can marvel at the magnificence of these floating cities without having to bear the heavy costs of being on board.
6. Cruisers – the island has become a haven for the LGBT community. Sit in a café on the harbourside of Mykonos town and watch the beautiful people amble by. Or join in; pick up some outrageous gear and take a stroll yourself.
7. Petrolheads – city dwellers will feel at home with the tang of two-stroke in the air and the buzz of over-revved scooters. Those in need of a hydrocarbon fix can join one of the many traffic jams that clog the narrow roads to the crowded beaches.
8. Fussy eaters – the island is ideal for those untrustworthy of local cuisine. Nothing grows on Mykonos, so all the food is imported thus providing a guarantee of safety and quality. Delicacies such as souvlaki of Polish pork, Greek salad with feta from Denmark and grilled prawns from the North Sea are all very popular.
9. Climate change deniers – nothing on the island will give you the slightest concern that global warming is upon us. In spite of the sun and wind there is not a sign of green energy, nor that consumption is being moderated – turn your aircon up – you don’t come to Greece to be too hot!
10. Anglophones – no concerns about speaking Greek on Mykonos. You have only a one in ten chance of meeting a Greek.
Nobody can tell me how many tourists visit Andros. The ferry companies don’t keep records and don’t record nationality of travellers in any event. There is no airport and certainly no cruise ships. One estimate was that in summer the population doubles to about 20,000, but many of these are Greeks coming home. This is why ours are often the only footprints in the sand of a deserted beach even in the middle of summer.
But I am going to shut-up about it now lest anyone catches on.
Go to Mykonos!
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