So, Anyway...

So, anyway, last Thursday we decided to drive up to Laerma, using the windy (that's windy as in "twisty-turny", not as in "blowing a gale"!) road that runs through Asklipio (see this post), since we hadn't done this drive for a while. The countryside, as ever, was resplendent in the clear, early evening light and, as we crossed one of the fords en-route, I snapped the shot above.

Having arrived, we parked at the top of the village and began a stroll down to the centre. Quite soon to our right we struck up a conversation with an elderly couple who were sitting near their front door. As always with such conversations, we're struck by the warmth of the people of their generation. Here's why.

We were attracted to their doorway by the sound of a TV. Not the usual sound of a clear TV channel, but rather that of an ancient "pregnant" type TV which had seen better days and was now propped up atop a wooden shelf unit on a lace doily pumping out the kind of static that would have the folks at SETI jumping up and down with excitement. Now and again a picture would appear through the "snow" just long enough to give away the fact that the programme they were attempting to watch was the News, but quite how much of it they were actually getting I'd guess was a tiny amount. They were probably glad of the distraction we provided if the truth be told. Mind you, we'd been conversing for a good five minutes before the husband, who was rather dapperly kitted out in threadbare trousers and a very ancient pyjama top (striped of course), decided that enough was enough and pointed an extremely old remote at the set and, at probably the third or fourth attempt, succeeded in muting the sound.

Further back in the room, beside a tiny table, sat his wife, a large woman of evidently great age, picking at a plate of chips and horta. Above her head and hanging at a seasick angle, was a clock in the shape of Australia. It wasn't showing the right time. She suggested we step inside the open doorway and sit a while, so we accepted the invitation. These kinds of conversations are not to be missed. 

"You'll have something to drink," suggested the husband, already rising from his cot and making for the finger-stained door of an old refrigerator. "What would you like, Elliniko? Himoh [fruit juice] perhaps? Chai [tea]?" To decline would have been quite futile and so we settled for some juice. No sooner had this been agreed than he presented us each with a small, chilled fruice carton, those ones with the little straw stuck to the side in a clear plastic sleeve. You pop the straw out and pierce the little silver foil-covered hole in the top, insert the straw and suck away. In between sucks we asked them about their family, a sure way to commence as long a conversation as one has time for.

"We have four children," the man told us, while his wife swiped some bread around the oil and lemon juice sauce from the horta on one of the plates before her, "three girls and a boy." Of course they went on to list all the grandchildren too.


"And they all still live here on Rhodes?" we asked. Indeed they did. A couple of them had businesses in the Old Town, one sells watches and another has a taverna. They gave us intricate directions as to how to find these establishments and recommended that we tell their progeny that we'd been sent by their parents. We'd be sure to get well treated. It became evident that the kids don't visit all that often. Simply too busy.

We asked our hosts how old they were and how they would describe the changes in their village since they were young. The man proudly declared that he was 88 and his wife that she was 83. We congratulated them and then asked after their health. Most Greeks of this age have "piesi", blood pressure, as in high blood pressure. Of course both of our hosts had to deal with such an issue. Many older Greeks have "zaharo" too [diabetes], from the word "zahari" - Greek for sugar. This isn't altogether surprising when you consider the custom of giving "Glika" [sweet cakes, usually huge] on every special occasion. Nevertheless, great age and various chronic health issues aside, he rose and pointed a leathery finger out through the side window and a respectably large area of newly dug earth, thrusting upward from the furrows of which were many fresh young aubergine plants and in the middle of which stood a lemon tree which was probably only a few years old. The soil up here is a truly beautiful dark colour, much more like that which we used to till back in the UK. In contrast, the soil down where we live is much yellower and turns to concrete and fine dust every summer. Our host, who tells us his name is Panos, laments the slow desertification of his village. It's a familiar story. "All the young folk want clever phones, cars and computers. they want 'parea', [literally "company"] so they move to the town, where they hope to acquire such things. You don't get such things by breaking your back on the land." In Laerma, as is the case with numerous other like villages, there is a growing number of deserted houses. The village population is aging fast. Mind you, the "austerity" has begun to produce a trickle of folk back to their villages all across Greece, where they're once again taking up growing vegetables, since it's the best way to deal with the huge cut in their incomes of late. Clouds and silver linings spring to mind.

We came around to the subject of the fires of 2008, when the village of Laerma was all but cut off by the flames. The village had come perilously close to being burned to the ground, but just managed to escape such a fate. We told the couple that these fires had even reached to within a kilometer of our home in Kiotari and we'd been wondering, as it rained down upon us burnt pine needles and ash, whether we'd be evacuating too. 

After what was probably a half-hour of conversation, we arose to take our leave. Kyrios Panos then apologised for the fact that they hadn't given us anything to eat, a shameful oversight. We assured them that this was not necessary anyway and that we'd been grateful for the chat and the fruit juice. It's always a privilege to meet such folk and experience the hospitality that's so much still the culture in such villages as this. Many years ago we'd visited County Cork in the South of Ireland and found that a similar culture of welcoming strangers and providing them with some sustenance had also prevailed there. Is this still the case today? I hope so.

The photo above is of the taverna/kafeneio just a little below the Igkos and on the opposite side of the road. This was taken at around 8.00pm, as the light was fading.

Nice bijou residence available at a "steal". Some renovation needed. Nice views though.

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The other day my wife was pulling weeds out from among some pebbles which adorn the floor between the car port and the path around the house when she emitted a howl of surprize. "What now?" I thought, from my location several metres away where I was deadheading furiously.

"You all right, sweetie?" I called, ever willing to demonstrate my perpetual unselfish interest in my better half's welfare.

"Never seen one like that before!" came the reply. Now, not even venturing down the road toward any reference to either a bishop or an actress, I arose and ambled over to see what she was referring to. Her voice had betrayed a soupçon of alarm, mingled with amazement, so I thought it best to investigate. When I got to her side she pointed down at the path, where I saw this little fellow...

He (or she) was probably about the size of a milk bottle top (if anyone can remember those!!) and entirely black. Not only was he/she entirely black, but he/she also seemed to be silky all over too. Venturing in close enough to snap the photos, I was rather fazed to see him [let's stick to the male gender for the sake of expediency] raise his front legs and sit back on his "haunches" as if poised for an attack. It was probably far more likely an expression of abject fear and anticipation of a pending attempt to swot him dead, but it made me retreat fairly sharpish all the same. Tell you what though, he was well aware with those beady little eyes of his of my exact position, because as I walked around him so he turned in order to keep those two raised front legs pointing squarely in my direction.

Swiftly retreating into the house to open Google, I thought I'd try and identify the silky little fellow, I suppose with a degree of success. My wife told me that she'd lifted a pebble and found a sticky mass of web all over her fingers, though she had been wearing her gardening gloves and so hadn't panicked entirely, out of which trotted the fiend you see above. She'd flicked it on to the path as a sort of instant reflex. It hadn't come to any harm though and we were soon able to brush him back to somewhere near his preferred place of dwelling. Minutes later we returned to see that he'd retreated to the shadowy home from which he'd been rudely extracted moments earlier.

 On the internet I discovered that there is indeed a genus of "Silk Spider" but it appears that it's a large family of disparate sizes and colours. They are apparently rather partial to weaving a mass of clingy web under a stone though, so that seemed to fit the bill. Most are of a retiring nature and this explained why we'd never seen one before in the almost eight years that we've lived out here.

Anyone out there know any more about him? 

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Yesterday I was anticipating my first Rhodes excursion, but it wasn't to be and so we set out from home to walk around the local area and pay a few visits to some friends. Fixing my trusty camera case to my belt was a good idea, since the light was wonderful. So there now follows a series of photos taken all in one session on Tuesday June 4th, just minutes from our home...

What's rather amusingly called "Kiotari Harbour".

Ruined by tourism? This beach is only 15 minutes walk away from the Rodos Princess hotel, but may as well be a world away.

Our friends have rather imaginatively hung a couple of dried gourds on their frangipani, neat eh?

Kiotari Harbour, different angle.

Go on, admit it, you'd rather like to be there now wouldn't you?

Flowering yucca plants frame this view rather nicely, eh?

La Strada taverna. So frenetic... I don't think!

The view from "To Steki", now re-named "Il Porto", right next door to George and his Pelican's Nest. Tassos and Anastacia run this place. A better location for a laid-back drink beside the sea would be hard to imagine.

And finally, a couple of new neigbours just down the valley from home. These guys have earned a quiet retirement and are now being allowed to enjoy it.