The Ionian April 2013

April 2013 www.theionian.com The Ionian 1

April 2013 Volume 4. Issue 1 www.theionian.com COMPLIMENTARY/∆ΩΡΕΑΝ Please recycle: give to a friend or neighbour when finished.

The Ionian

The Art of Surviving Winter

Page 4

The Necromanteion of Ephyra: the Oracle of the Dead

Page 6

A Lifelong Love of Corfu

Page 9

Kalamarises

Page 8

2 The Ionian www.theionian.com April 2013


Welcome back...

It was a long and difficult winter for many of us, with an un-usual amount of rain in the Ionian as well as the continuing eco-

nomic struggle. But spring is here once more and we all look forward to the rebirth of nature and a more prosperous summer. And so we begin the new season with the theme of death, rebirth, food and love.

Maddie Grigg shares with us her eerie visit to Mesopotamo on the mainland coast between Parga and Preveza. In her story, “The Necromanteion of Ephyra: the Ora-cle of the Dead” (page 6), she describes this historic site where once long ago Odys-seus, while homeward bound, is said to have spoken to his dead mother as well as the soul of the blind seer, Teresias,

Barbara de Machula, on the other hand, speaks of rebirth and how it is possible, regardless of the economic situation, to live well in winter in Greece, with some crea-tivity, a green thumb, a bit of elbow grease and a positive attitude in her humorous look at living off the land in “The Art of Surviving Winter” (page 4).

Odysseus, our returning hero, or rather his home, Ithaka, features once again in “Kalamarises,” (page 8) as G.W. describes his arrival to Vathi harbour by sailboat and shares with us his family’s favourite restaurant, the Tsiribis.

Then, in “Life Long Love of Corfu,” (page 9), Maddie Grigg interviews a Corfu born writer, Maria Strani-Potts who recounts her idyllic childhood and offers nuggets of wisdom regarding the island’s future.

Finally, a big thank you goes to David Evans for his beautiful cover image of the Wild Horses of Kefalonia.

Please download from our website (www.theionian.com) your 2013 Photo Calendar featuring the winners of our Photography Competition. We will be awarding prizes to the winners in April. And feel free to submit your best images of the Ionian for our next competition to [email protected].

Enjoy reading... ~~~_/) Barbara Molin

The Ionian

Cover Photo: Wild Horses of Kefalonia. Photo by David Evans. Having studied photography at Wiltshire College Salisbury, Dave worked as a studio-based commercial photographer in Eng-land. He now lives on Kefalonia and his main interest is landscape and location photography. www.kefalonia-captured.com. To purchase any of the photographs or to submit your own for a cover shot consideration please email us at: [email protected]

Contact us: Website: www.theionian.com Email: [email protected]

Founding Publisher: Justin Smith Publisher: Barbara Molin Managing Editor: Barbara Molin Advisory Board: Yannis Dimopoulos Ryan Smith Ian Molesworth Copy Editor: Lee Gillson, Layout: Barbara Molin Printing: Graphic Arts Advertising: Barbara Molin Subscriptions: Barbara Molin Distributors: You can download The Ionian free as a PDF document from our website. The Ionian is published monthly approximately on the first day of each month. Publication is for informational purposes only. Although The Ionian has made every effort to ensure the accuracy of the information contained in this publication, the publisher cannot be held responsible for any errors or omissions it may contain. The opinions expressed by the contributors are not necessarily held by the publisher. Published in Canada.


As I write this, winter is not giving up

easily. It has been a long, wet experience, and

some storms did not end without causing damage. But I am insanely happy with my new little greenhouse; it takes gardening to a new level. The seed beds are nicely arranged on trays, and some seeds show green promises of plants to be, and we dream of the abundant crops we will harvest in a few

months’ time from now, when it is truly summer.

We survived the winter in crisis, together with Greek and expat friends who stayed here in Greece. I connected with some new friends, who share my passion for several things such as growing tasty stuff, exploring Greek crafts like making yummee cheese, or sausages from bio meat or raising chicken that may lay eggs

if you sweet-talk to them. Let's start with my ladies. I have five of

them and it is a thoroughly feminist enterprise. No rooster, girls only. During the winter they stopped laying eggs, to my disappointment, because I got used to having a delicious present on my plate every morning. At least one!

But hey, after some reading I learned that

it is normal for the ladies to take a break in winter, change "clothes," and have a little rest, like we do. So I had to wait for a sign of spring, and an egg would be a true sign, wouldn't it?

I spoke to my dear friend, Bob, the English photographer with a Spanish heart, who shares my passion for a fresh egg in the morning. Maybe you remember him, I wrote about his pig eating his chicken through the fence, and later Bob eating his pig but not quite…

So anyway, from a street seller he bought a batch of fresh ladies, to be gently employed and encouraged to make nice perfect eggs. But the ladies were quite young and needed a few months to become productive. Bob knows how to treat his ladies, and they became a respectable size, mentally and physically. Yet, every morning the

beautiful chicken house was checked, no eggs yet… And again no eggs… At some point, the neighbours had eggs, the whole village was full of eggs, the whole area! People around offered Bob free eggs to soften his disappointment of having an egg-less chicken "menagerie." Then one morning, the sickening truth hit him as he listened to a raw and loud cockcrowing from the chicken coop. And then all ten started their masculine song at once!!! It was now obvious that the seller tricked poor Bob and sold him a male harem, suitable for spaghetti and so Bob, like a true Greek made sure the guys shortly ended up in the freezer. The household was quiet again, a bit too quiet! We found a nice stray dog somewhere, and Bob fell in love with him. After the chicken episode he needed a friend. But Bob's new friend was after revenge, and chased the

neighbours’ chicken, without remorse. Now the friendly neighbours started complaining, this is unheard of! Obviously he needed to thoroughly train his dog and teach him not to upset the chicken. But, all his chicken are gone! What to do now?

And that is where my ladies volunteered to help out graciously. Just one chicken would do the trick. So one day, one of my ladies went to visit Bob for a week or so.

To train the dog. My chicken were still egg-less, but not the one that stayed at Bob's! Immediately she produced two (!) eggs. I was shocked. I told the remaining four at my house, that

they might go in the soup if they would not make eggs immediately.

But I also noted, that the chicken house was somewhat poorly. So I urged my loved one to make a new chicken house, with a sleep, eat, rest and egg compartment, nice and roomy, with several doors and soft hay on the floor.

An incredibly beautiful residence appeared, one even I could easily live in, if I were a chicken of noblesse that is. After

The Art of Surviving Winter

Barbara de Machula

Then the sickening truth hit him one morning as he heard a raw and loud cockcrowing from the chicken coop.


several days of hard work, the castle was ready and the old chicken house could be removed… And there, behind the old house, we discovered a row of eggs ! How unfair!

I threatened my ladies with chicken soup, but they had been laying eggs for some time!!! They didn’t consider the old house as suitable for safe egg-laying and so they put their valuable treasures under the premises… shame on me!

I made up with them by giving out nice treats and a good supply of yummee worms and salad, wheat and corn. Now every day they all make a treasure for me, and I cherish each egg and cook them

together with the wild asparagus we pick from our land with thankful care and respect. It is spring! We have great plans for summer. My blue cheese making tests are in full swing, and we are going to plant tobacco because we want to take smoking to a higher level, maybe even try to make cigars. We want to have all fruits and veggies from

our greenhouse, and the garden, just because we like the idea of growing our own food.

Some friends will start to make true English sausages; they studied all winter in the UK with a master sausage maker, and they will use meat from happy animals. Some friends are keeping bees, some will dive for the caviar of the sea urchins.

My little goat will have a brief affair with a nice gentleman, so she can have a baby and milk. The chicken ladies will get some extra lady friends, now that the cage is big enough. We will have some guests in the guesthouse, with and without painting

lessons, and I will have a few more cello pupils and we will have the beautiful view every day. We are ready! Barbara de Machula is a long time resident of a house near a monastery on a mountain near Palairos. She is a writer and a painting teacher. www.paintingholidaygreece.com


‘…set up your mast, spread the white sail and sit

down in the ship. The North Wind will blow her on her way; and when she has brought you across the River of Ocean, you will come to a wild coast and Persephone’s Grove, where the tall poplars grow, and the willows that so quickly shed their seeds. Beach your boat there by Ocean’s swirling stream and go on into Hades’ Kingdom of Decay. There, at a rocky pinnacle, the River of Flaming Fire and the River of Lamentation, which is a branch of the waters of the Styx, meet and pour their thundering streams into Acheron.’

So speaks the goddess Circe to Odysseus as she directs him to the underworld and a consultation with the soul of the blind seer, Teresias, on the hero’s epic journey from Troy to his homeland of Ithaca.

Homer’s powerful and terrifying description of this god-forsaken place is a far cry from the peaceful setting of the Necromanteion of Ephyra today. The archaeological site, discovered in 1958, is just off the main road from Parga to Preveza at the village of Mesopotamo.

I had just read The Odyssey when I first

discovered the necromanteion, and Homer’s images were fresh in my mind. My husband and I stopped off for a look while on our own epic journey from the UK to Preveza, not on a ship but in a 1969 VW Beetle convertible. We parked in the village and walked up the hill and along the dusty path, the sun beating down hard on our backs. We could see the ruins, which date from around the 3rd or 4th century BC, and the 18th century monastery that dominates the site. But, strangely, the place was still and empty. When we reached

the entrance gates, we discovered why. They were locked. It was a Monday and the site was closed. So we did what any determined pilgrims of ancient sites would do and looked to see if there was another way in. We trudged around the perimeter until we found a hole in the

fence. It was just my size – but too small for my husband who bowed to my greater passion for antiquity. ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘You go in. I’ll wait here on guard.’ So I crawled through the hole, climbed over a few

boulders and I was in. I had the site all to myself. I wandered around in a bit of a daze, through entranceways and gazed at the signage explaining the purpose of this ancient place.

The Necromanteion of Ephyra: the Oracle of the Dead

Maddie Grigg

I put one foot on the steps and then stopped. I had seen too many films

where this sort of action always preceded disaster.


Pilgrims came here to learn the news of the living and the future by communicating with the souls of the dead. After several days of eating a strict diet (which more than likely contained hallucinogens to enhance their experience), the pilgrims were led into an underground chamber where the priest would do the business and put them in touch with their loved ones.

Afterwards, the pilgrims were sworn to secrecy about what had happened in the terrible subterranean chamber. They were threatened with the wrath of Hades, the god of the underworld, should they reveal what they witnessed.

I passed sign after sign before reaching a hole in the floor and a metal staircase going down into the darkness. I put one foot on the steps and then stopped. I had seen too many films where this sort of action always preceded disaster. So I pulled my foot back and returned to the fence where my husband was outside, sitting in the shade of a tree, looking at a tortoise patrolling the necromanteion’s perimeter.

Three years later we were back, this time having checked that the site would be open.

Before going in, however, we took a boat ride up the lazy River Acheron from Ormos Fanari. The bald and gap-toothed captain reminded me of Charon as he recounted the tale of Odysseus and then the myth of poor Persephone and her too-close encounter with the god of the underworld.

Up at the necromanteion, the gates were open and we were free to roam the site without fear of being bundled down an underground chamber by an angry archaeologist, because this time we paid to get in.

Down the metal stairs we descended, my husband naturally going first, and we were in an eerie chamber. I was so pleased I had not ventured in on my own three years before. It was surprisingly small. But the mustiness and damp was evocative of ancient rites.

Recent studies suggest the archaeological site was nothing but a fortified farmhouse, with the underground chambers used for storing grain.

Whatever the site’s true history (and who will ever really know?) it is hard not to feel some eerie connection with the ancient world and its magical beliefs when you are at this spot. You can imagine, at the top of this small hill, when you

look out on the plain around you, with the mountains behind and to the right of you and the sea to the west, that once upon a time it was indeed Homer’s rocky pinnacle, surrounded by the waters of the Styx. And if you screw your eyes up tight enough, you can just about make out Odysseus, his boat on the shore, as he heads towards the waiting figure of Charon the ferryman. Photos: Maddie Grigg, and B. Molin


Sailing into Vathi, the capital of Ithaca, is a little like

approaching Falmouth on a beautiful summer’s day, except that the mountains are higher, there are no buildings in sight except a tiny chapel on a headland, and no other boats either, except a couple of cruisers moored in a cove in the distance. This is the gulf of Aetou, and the pilot book speaks of strong gusts of wind, but we’ve never experienced them there. The approach takes about an hour from the time the engine is started as the mouth of the gulf is reached.

In the distance behind us in the heat haze there might be a ferry from Italy moving towards the mainland.

Coming from the north we skirt a headland and briefly hear the cicadas before moving out across the gulf: Odysseys’ capital lies beneath the mountain ahead, but it is invisible until the last moment, when it is possible to see the almost circular harbour through its narrow entrance.

We are heading for a small jetty immediately inside the harbour, opposite the small town, and right next to a taverna. Golden moments in the holiday include our first arrival here. (We shall be back next week, or the week after).

We glow with the comfortable feeling, which follows a properly judged mooring. The sails are stowed: they can be tidied later. Sweat-stained hats are thrown in the cockpit, and relatively clean tee-shirts found to add a degree of formality. The person who jumped ashore with the mooring lines probably stays there; the rest of us climb down and walk the twenty yards to where Dimitris is clearing the last of the lunch tables.

“Welcome home!” he says. There will be time later to hear about the rest of the family: meanwhile Dimitris brings us beers and lopes off for his afternoon sleep, leaving the door open so we can help ourselves during the afternoon. We shall swim, sit in the shade of the big olive tree, persuade ourselves we don’t need to walk into town until much later, open another cold Amstel beer, regret getting a soft drink because it attracts the wasps, dodge little boys on mopeds when going back to the boat for a book, decide to swim again instead of reading.

Later on, one of the waitresses will arrive and start to tidy the chairs ready for the evening. She will say “hello” shyly, and we

shall speak to her in English to emphasise how cosmopolitan she is becoming, and she will nod and smile politely and pretend to understand. Mrs. Molfesis will leave the kitchen to look after itself and come to sit in the window, looking out over the tables and the harbour. We shall reach up to shake her hand, and she will say “Kala” to indicate that her back is not too bad and she is pleased we are here, and we shall say “Kala” to mean the year has been OK and we are very happy to be back. Maybe we shall all wave our hands in front of our faces to agree how hot it is this year. Dimitris will eventually emerge again in a clean shirt and floppy trousers, and perfect his imitation of being busy: to bustle once round the taverna carrying an order-pad, loudly humming the Pink Panther tune, before gravitating to his own chair at the high end of the taverna where his cigarette is still alight and his

glass of Scottish Tea (whisky and a lot of water) is never empty. Towards the end of the evening, when we’ve resolved difficult

issues like how many portions of squid we should have, or which day we should be back because then Mrs. Molfesis will have prepared her butter beans dish (Gigantes : oven baked in tomato and herbs: available in many places but nowhere as good as here), Dimitris will send over a tray of Metaxa, which is the sign to join him at his table and meet his friends.

Ithaca is becoming more prosperous, not least because men who left in the fifties after the earthquake and to avoid the poverty

of isolation are returning to renovate their family homes following successful careers elsewhere in Europe. One year we met an Ithacan dentist from North London who discussed the

West End Theatre much more eruditely than we could manage, regretted the poor nutritional habits of his fellow-islanders’ children and feared future colonisation by junk-food chains. He insisted we visit his high-ceilinged and darkly furnished home, hung with photos and paintings of his parents and full of books.

Once we had a conversation with a man called Xenophon, who asked from under hooded eyes “Do you like Germans?” The next half-hour, which remained on a theoretical rather than personal level, acted as a reminder of Balkan tensions within the EEC.

The name of the restaurant (we should give it the preferred title having eaten there) is taken from Mr. Molfesis’ radio call sign when reporting ship-movements to the Royal Navy during the war. Most years we discuss the marina which is about to be built with a European grant. Luckily progress is slow: a dozen concrete blocks were placed in the harbour five years ago, which subsequently sank through the sand to just below water level, and the old men say they knew it would turn out like that.

Dimitris foresees a future lording it in a holiday hot-spot surrounded by beautiful young women spending Euros like water, but irony is his strong suit even when taking an order for fish soup. His usual greeting is “Kalamarises”, because he enjoys the idea that English people don’t know the difference between “Good morning!” and “Squid!”

Reprinted with permission from the book, “From the Deck of Your Own Yacht,” by Mike Jakeways.

Kalamarises

By G.W.

The Tsiribis Restaurant, Vathi. A busy day in the 1980s. Photo: Dimitris Molfesis

Dimitris foresees a future lording it in a holiday hot-spot surrounded by

beautiful young women...


Maria Strani-Potts is the Corfu-born

author of The Cat of Portovecchio: Corfu Tales and the Kindle e-book When The Sun Goes Down: Island Stories.

Cat is a fascinating, literary glimpse into how Greek village life used to be. Maria has real hopes and fears for her native land, which she continues to visit with her husband, Jim Potts, a former director of the British Council. The Pimping of Panorea, a shortened version of which appears in Island Stories, is a modern-day fable of what can happen to a beautiful place when development goes unchecked.

As a ‘trailing wife’, Maria has travelled the world with Jim and lived in Ethiopia, Kenya, England, Greece, Czechoslovakia, Sweden and Australia. Her home is now Dorset, England, but she visits the Ionian several times a year.

‘We usually go to the beautiful village of Vitsa, Zagori, near Ioannina,’ she says. ‘They have been so careful with the architecture up there.

She still loves remote, Greek beaches ‘which aren’t full of rubbish’ and she thinks Greek food is the best in the world. But she has mixed views about her homeland.

‘I feel like a political dissident and my feelings towards Greece are mixed and often angry.’

Maria was born in Corfu Town, not far from the Cavalieri Hotel, in 1946.

‘In Corfu, we swam every day for nearly six months of the year. All socialising took place beside the sea. In the winter, even during the cold spells, we enjoyed the warm sun and the blue skies known as halcyon days. I used to love (I still do) looking for limpets on the rocks, scraping them off and eating them. We used to search for sea urchins, pick them up and take them home to eat with fresh bread, olive oil and lemon.’

‘I remember summer nights playing with my friends in the Upper Square (Pano Platia) until late at night. The scent of jasmine, lemon, orange and lime blossom, as well as various sea smells are still with me.

‘My childhood was magical because of that sense of security and freedom. Nobody accompanied me to school, even when I was as young as six.

‘Corfu was such a safe place - not many cars, no crime, no nasty people around. We trusted everybody. We all knew each other’s business so it was obvious whom to avoid. Children could go anywhere without fear.’

Maria was the only child of well-educated parents with a love of literature. She was surrounded by books, with one or two volumes of an encyclopaedia always open on the table in

her father’s study. ‘The first book I ever read was a children’s

simplified version of Robinson Crusoe in Greek. I loved it. I was not into Greek mythology and ancient history all that much. I loved the Brothers Grimm, Hans Christian Andersen’s tales, Dickens and, of course, Penelope Delta, and the other Greek writers who wrote for children.

‘I think my biggest influences came from Papadiamantis, Theotokis and Laskaratos (my father was a huge fan) and many regional Greek writers. When I was about ten, I started reading foreign literature in translation.

‘Early on I came to develop a taste for 19th century novels from around the world, books which I read then and re-read today. For me this period contains some of the best literature ever written.

‘Apart from Greek literature, I also like Swedish, British, Czech, and American literature. My taste has expanded according to the countries where I have lived. ‘I hated feeling uninformed about the different countries my husband worked in and where I had to live for a number of years. From day one I tried to get to know the place through its literature and newspapers. ‘Now, I try to stick to the Classics. Life is too short. I want to leave this world having read the classics.’

Maria graduated from the School of Slavonic and East European Studies at the University of London.She met her British-born husband in Corfu in 1967. After they married, she became a “trailing spouse”, taking care of her two children and helping her husband promote and represent British culture and the “British way of life” overseas.

‘Jim has been the biggest influence in my life,’ Maria says. ‘He is an extraordinary man, a fantastic poet, writer, linguist, and for thirty five years a brilliant British Council official, who represented British culture and other interests in many countries overseas in the best and most acceptable way.

‘I felt all that was coming the first time I met him.’

Jim’s publications include The Ionian Islands and Epirus, A Cultural History and Corfu Blues, an anthology of forty years of writing about Greece, prose and poetry.

Their daughter, a television and radio broadcaster, lives in Washington with her husband, who writes the Lexington column for The Economist. Their son is a litigation expert and special counsel with a Bermuda law firm.

‘We all love Greece, and it hurts to see the way it is at the moment.’

So what does Maria think the people can do about the current crisis?

‘My view is that the Ionian Islands must start producing their own food again. They need to re-invent agriculture,’ she says.

‘We have the best climate in the world and yet we grow next-to-nothing. Our milk, meat, lemons - from Argentina and Turkey - oranges, all products that thrive in our climate, are

largely brought in from outside. We have destroyed most of our fish stock. We continue to destroy it through fish farming and chemical interventions. ‘Tourism is a good, clean, easy economy but unless, like everything else, it is planned responsibly and meticulously, it will continue to be a monster and a culturally destructive element in our lives.’ Maria continues to write and is currently pulling together diaries she wrote

before she had a laptop. ‘My writing is and will remain a needle in a

haystack, if I am lucky,’ she says. ‘I do not want to be a needle in a global haystack, so I write for my family and for myself. My grandchildren love my stories. My books are often the subject of their “show and tell” days at their schools. They are sincerely proud of me. I love that.’

Maria and Jim are now based at Poundbury, the Prince of Wales’s new town near Dorchester.

‘It takes me ten minutes to drive from my house in Dorset to Overcombe Beach, near Weymouth, to enjoy the water and the sea food. I am so lucky.

‘However, I do miss having the good weather all the year round and being able to open my windows every morning to gaze at the sea, the boats, the seagulls, and smell the seaweed.’ Maddie Grigg is a writer and an editor. She lives, with her husband in a small village on Corfu.

A Lifelong Love of Corfu

Maddie Grigg


FOSTER AND PERMANENT HOMES NEEDED URGENTLY FOR STRAY DOGS,

PLEASE CALL LEFKAS ANIMAL WELFARE SOCIETY (L.A.W.S.)

IF YOU CAN HELP: 0030 697 851 0671

TO ADVERTISE send your ad before the 10th of each

month to: [email protected]

More information:

www.theionian.com

Tell our advertisers where you found them.

The Ionian April 2013

Documents

Transcript of The Ionian April 2013