We ferried from Sifnos to Syros by invitation from our friends from Berlin – Klaus Salge and his wife Brigit. There we spent four days participating in the Festival of the Aegean, (http://festivaloftheaegean.com/syros.html). Klaus produced two documentary films about Miki Theodorakis, (86 year old composer and radical activist, of Zorba fame). These films premiered for the Greek audience at this festival. Friend Ranyas, from Sifnos, calls Miki ‘young’ because of his characteristic energy level. Whether or not one agrees with his politics, it is admirable that, at his age, he was one of the first to renew demonstrations arguing to oust current politicians in favor of a fresh – more democratic – political establishment.
By serendipity, Kairos, the Berkeley-based youth choir in which Karoline used to be a member, also performed at the festival a week earlier. They performed at sunset in a magnificent Orthodox church, St. Nikolaus. The choir should be proud, as the festival’s organizers reported being duly impressed. They expressed keen admiration for Director Laura Serper’s skills and quest for global peace through song.
Given that Syros is a relatively thriving island of commerce and industry, it was with high hopes that we intended to acquire a digital piano keyboard – impossible to expect on Sifnos -- so that Karoline can continue her piano lessons. When school starts again mid-September, we are promised that a piano instructor ferries from Athens to Sifnos every 2 weeks to supply the with lessons.
Our hostess Niki offered concierge services as part of the lodging package we found through airbnb.com, (http://www.airbnb.com/rooms/139070). BTW: I am now officially a big fan of the airbnb model! In addition to pointing out the Top 10 attractions of island life, Niki helped with locating a musical instrument store. Through a lengthy negotiation process in a cluttered store, we also got an earful about the current economic catastrophe that is Greece. From the owner’s point of view, he had worked a lifetime…for nothing…and, now 67, he must continue to work to fund the remainder of his life. He explains that the politicians took his tax monies to line their own pockets, instead of supplying the public welfare systems. He is two months behind rent, and – a woman entered the store, apparently intending to collect money – he shows us 3 outstanding bills that she left behind. He looked deflated, distracted, on edge, sad. He loves his guitar and fellow musicians, explaining “I can’t sleep at night because I am so worried, so I make music and I am happy for the moment.”
To push past our indecision, the owner called one of his musician friends who arrived to demonstrate the synthesizer. This friend is a husky 50-something dressed in work overalls. He is a boat builder at the local shipyards. His fingers are as hammy as the rest of his physique. He, too, bemoaned the state of the economy and called the politicians crooks. Meanwhile, his foot tapped a beat and fingers flew over the keyboard. The grin was broad and, in no time, he had me belly dancing around the store floor, (well, the 1 square meter of it that was clear of clutter). His fingers danced the keyboard while we negotiated payment. No straight forward sale was this, yet lasting memories are tied to the acquisition.
We left Syros with fondness in our hearts – for Niki’s warm hospitality; the glamour of the arts scene; the whiffs of lit beeswax candles and sweaty apron-clad ladies polishing brass in the numerous ornate churches; the melodious clatter of church bells ringing to alarm us in the mornings and after siesta; the juxtaposition of stately renovated neo-classical pastel-colored homes set amongst oozing malodorous garbage bags stacked against decades-long decaying structures; the cat colonies thriving in neglected public parks; the ouzo drunk in smoke-filled cafes frequented by rebetika players; the hunger-inducing spiced oil aroma of grilling meat wafting from taverna kitchens; the perfumed and gel-coiffed young gods and godesses who swagger along the quays in their evening finery; the quench of micro-brewed Craft beer served in frosty mugs on deadbeat hot days; the constant ferry traffic blasting horns to announce departures, and – always – the constant view of Homer’s wine dark sea.
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