Photo: Yanni's pomegranate harvest
Extravaganza interuptus.
We were to be in Paris chewing on baguettes, creamy cheese melting in
our mouths, un coup de champagne in hand. Instead, we are on Sifnos regrouping while finishing
the third wash load of salt water drenched clothing. It’s been an adventure.
I can personally confirm that this next wave of strikes in
Greece is generating the intended effect:
creating enough disruption to bring deep and painful personal attention to
the problems that Everyman is suffering at the hand of “those politicians and
financiers”.
Our well laid plans were disrupted when ferry operators
extended their strike. We were motivated
to find a way off the island when we learned that Easy Jet and the hotel in
Paris demanded payment in full, even if we did not use their services. Strikes are not force majeure. Reservations adjusted to take the first
re-scheduled ferry, we packed suitcases expectantly. Unfortunately, the strikes were extended yet
again, straining our resilience. Nevertheless, still expecting a week’s visit
to Paris, and with help from supporters, we arranged for a three hour private
boat ride in a 6-meter Zodiac to Lavrio, only a thirty minute bus ride from the
Athens airport. The weather looked
promising and the captain’s skill vouched for.
We were set to go….for the third time in so many days.
This Paris visit was to be the reciprocating end of a home
exchange agreement. An IBM colleague we
had befriended while living in Paris and his family had stayed in our Sifnos
house in August. During their 11 year
old twin daughters’ autumn school break, we were to enjoy their apartment in
the 7th arrondissement.
Photo: New vineyard in Kato Petali, Sifnos
We made the most of the delay in travels by joining a lovely
dinner hosted by Maria, our Greek teacher.
She is originally from Athens, and, like us, became soulfully attached
to the island when visiting with her two grown children. Here she met Kostas, the gent who did a bit
of the stonework on our house, fell in love, inadvertently became pregnant at
45, married, and has carved out a fine life.
Inspired by Karoline’s friendship with her twelve year old niece Smaragda, Maria
invited us to join an extended family gathering. Maria is hostess-with-the-mostest, Greek
style. The dozen or so of us filled her
great room, enjoying her fine cooking. In typical Greek style, every inch of the
table was laden with small plates of home cooked foods. Almost all of the food had been cultivated on
the family farm. Pork chops and minced
beef steak, (we would call hamburgers), came from their husbanded animals. We ate arugula and tomato salad, spinach pie,
roasted potatoes, lettuce, green onion and dill salad – all from the perivoli,
(kitchen garden). Five cheeses were
served, three of which Kateh, Kosta’s mother, had made. Kosta’s white wine was pretty darn good. Even our dessert contribution was from
locally grown produce. Based on Berkeley
T. B.’s simple and elegant dessert recipe, (thanks!), we flavored with rose
water the pomegranate gifted to us by Yannis the goat herder. Maria is one of those hostesses who, when she
sees an inch of spare plate in front of you, slips ‘something more you must
try’ onto the plate. I have not been so
over stuffed with yummy food since the V. family annual Thanksgiving feast. Clearly, I need an eating strategy for the
next encounter with the next Greek Mama.
The table of guests joined in our stories and lamentations about
plans waylaid by the strikes. I heard
about missed medical appointments, delayed deliveries of farm supplies, and empty
shelves in the local grocery stores. All
told, however, this family is doing fine living directly off the land, rather
well protected from the shenanigans going on in Athens. Georgios, Kosta’s brother who owns the local
boat and car repair shop, encouraged us with our plans for the private boat
ride, confirming what we’d already heard about Captain Niko’s boating skills
and the seaworthiness of his Zodiac.
We arose early the next morning, greeted by a gorgeous sun rising
over our veranda, and layered foul weather gear over our Paris street clothes. The harbor was a ghost town. Not a single soul did we see and only a
handful of boats moored at the docks. How
astoundingly unusual compared to the normal hustle and bustle. Given the few options, the Zodiac was easy to
find. The two outboard motors and low
sides of the boat prompted me to mentally prepare Karoline, “Expect a three to
four hour combination of roller coaster and water log ride.” We wrapped our small wheelie bags in heavy
duty plastic garbage bags, donned ski hats, and greeted the captain arriving
---vroom, vroom—on a very classy motorcycle.
From sailing experience, I know how this goes—keep an eye on the
captain. If he is confident and calm,
with a well provisioned boat, then we are likely off to a good start. Indeed, I was duly impressed. We waited an extra thirty minutes for a
doctor who was to join our crew. He was
called to duty for a patient on the next island who was unable to get to Athens
for treatment. No doctor, no
explanation, yet we departed.
As soon as we left the protection of the harbor, the roller
coaster ride began. Sailing friends had forewarned
us about the rough ride between Sifnos and Serifos. With expectations managed, we rode the top of
a wave, air dropped over the edge, and –bam!—hit the trough, climbed up a few
swells, then did the air drop –bam!—again, and again, and again. We slammed into a wave and sea spray showered
on us, slapping onto my sunglasses, sliding down my neck, trickling between
skin and outer layers of clothing, pooling underneath my toes inside my running
shoes. I spit out a mouthful of salt
water. Repeating this several times,
checking in to make sure my companions were still warm and enjoying the wet
ride, I wondered how to best endure the possibility of three hours of such. All hope was on rounding the tip of Serifos,
expecting calmer waters. Instead, we
confronted a churned up sea. The captain
cut the gas and circled back so that we could hear him speak. I fully expected him to declare that we would
return to Sifnos. Instead, “The weather
is very bad. I will slow down.” and away
he circled, accelerating into the weather, direction Lavrio. However, within a minute, he apologized, gave
up, and headed back to Sifnos. Right
decision.
Three hours after our hopeful departure, we were back on Sifnos,
dumping our drenched outer layer of clothing into a garbage bag. The captain surprised us with a refusal of any
compensation for his heroic efforts. “We
did not succeed,” he explained dejectedly.
The few, who bothered to be in the harbor, came alongside the boat for
our report on conditions. One need only
look at our drenched selves to have their answer. One man told us he had been trying to get off
the island for a week and missed his niece’s wedding the day before. A similar private boat had left two days
earlier transporting a stranded family of five.
That boat was too small to include our friend or the family’s
luggage. Nevertheless, the family had
agreed to take the sesame sweets, (a Sifnos specialty), that had been promised
for the niece’s wedding celebration.
Photo: Drenched to the bone
We declared final defeat in our attempts to leave the island. Back in the house, never has a long hot
shower felt better. The washing machine
worked non-stop cleaning the sea drenched clothes. Even though it was a gorgeous day—on land—beckoning
me outside, we wanted nothing more than to cocoon in bed or sofa, burrowed in
our warm dry comforters, resting still, reading, listening to classical music, recalling
the wet wild roller coaster ride, overcoming the disappointment of a missed
opportunity, and plotting how to enjoy the upcoming week on Sifnos.
P.S.
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