Okay, I realize that posting those pix wasn't very nice of me... but folks, it was JUST ONE WEEKEND. My life in Greece does not look like that on a daily basis, much as I'd like it to.
Most of my time here thus far was spent in Cyprus, land of bananas and carob trees and pomegranates and olives and wild rosemary, and tens upon hundreds of cousins. I worked days on my computer in Soph's cousin's kitchen and spent nights at another cousin's house for dinner with everyone speaking rapid-fire Cypriot-- which is essentially Greek, but slangier. There, I'd either strain to glean some meaning from the conversations ("she 'went' somewhere! he 'wants' something!"), or just sit there with a pathetic smile, eating and nodding along to the rhythmic throb of my stress headache. We did go on two beautiful beach excursions (of the family variety rather than the romantic-getaway-type)... we also visited the Turkish section of Cyprus, which required a passport, a "car insurance" payment, and an inspection by several armed Turkish guards. That visit was strange and heartbreaking, and I'll talk more about it maybe at some point.
But afterwards... Santorini. Singular and brief, but viciously stunning. And oh, the views. I keep staring at those photos like someone else took them.
Those pix very nearly didn't back it back to the mainland, BTW... we dashed off to the port 1/2 hour before our boat left for Athens and discovered we had left the camera at the hotel. I bawled the entire cab ride back to the hotel, then bawled the entire ride back to the port (a 38 € crying jag, if you must know). We scrambled to the dock and the boat was NOT THERE... but soon found it had been delayed an hour. All those wasted tears.
Life back in the village here on the Peloponnese is considerably calmer-- less family, more English. We try to wake up early enough to miss some of the heat, breakfast on yogurt and fruit and cereal, hang some laundry on the roof, go about our day-- me writing or doing freelance design work, Soph practicing bass or transcribing interviews for his dissertation. Occasionally we'll head to a nearby beach before lunch for a quick swim... the closest beach is a little seaweedy and polluted, so we drive a bit to the cleaner beaches, where the outdoor bars play UB-40 and the Greeks play aggressive paddle ball and everyone smokes endlessly.
Then there's lunch at home, usually cheese and bakery bread and salad and fresh summer veggies cooked in oil from Soph's uncle's olive groves. Then, folks either nap through the midday heat or occupy themselves while all the shops close for a few hours. "Afternoon" lasts until 8pm, sunset is at 8:45, then we exercise in the cool night air and sit down to dinner no earlier than 10pm.
So, not much to complain about, but by no means a cool blue paradise. Here, the land is dry and cracked, spurting fig trees and wild tomatoes and brilliant fushia and white bouganvilla. And the world is noisy. From roughly 4am to 9am every day the air is full of roosters crowing and dogs barking. Unbroken sleep is difficult. Afternoon sounds are mostly revving motorbike engines and trucks straining to get up the tiny hilly roads. At night, the sounds of cicadas and bats and squealing feral cats saturate the air, along with the smell of jasmine and lately smoke from nearby forest fires.
Oh, there's been a bunch of those, sadly. The unusual wind has made the summer fires devastating this year, but the smoke-filled skies have served up some pretty glamorous sunsets. We watch from the balcony as propeller planes swoop down low and loud, dip into the Gulf of Patras, skim the surface to suck up a tankful of water, then fly back to the blazing trees to dump their load. Then we retire to the rooftop with our foamy frappes and wait for the bruised, bloody horizon to swell up around us.
Soph just asked, "are you writing the longest blog EVER?" I forgot for a second I was writing a blog. I thought I was writing you an email. I guess I miss you. I wish you could see all this. It's pretty cool.
