Category Archives: greece

meeting my cousin niko

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Today I met my cousin Niko for the first time. He’s actually my mother’s first cousin so I’m not sure what that makes him to me other than related… 
He’s an artist living on Paros. I’d not only never met him before but I’d never seen his work either. Mom said “you must meet him, he makes things with rocks”.
Niko is actually a sculptor who works with rocks he collects from beaches as well as marble. He told me he got into it gradually, starting off making jewelery out of stones in order to support himself when he lost his job many years ago, then moving on to other items and sort of landing where he is now.
Niko’s been making free flowing, organic shapes out of marble which he puts together using metal, timber and heavy duty fishing line in some instances, to create forms which move and change when you look at them from different angles.
Being a true creative, however, he doesn’t limit himself to his ‘serious’ work. He’s decorated his home with some of his own designs. Like this bookcase. Based on the old ‘student bricks and planks’ idea, Niko created a beautiful bookcase using square slabs of white marble.
Gorgeous, but I don’t think our floors would hold the weight!
He also makes fun stuff like these works of stone, metal, marble and other found objects.
And of course this one, something very close to my heart: a rusty old tin can made into a boat.
Anyway, his work is interesting, beautiful and sometimes quirky and humorous. Just as he is himself. I really enjoyed meeting him and his family and getting to know another creative soul in the family.
 z

loud and proud to be greek

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Have I ever mentioned how much I dislike greek television?
I mean american and australian soaps are bad enough, but the greek ones I’ve seen make me long for an episode of The Bold and The Beautiful (and that’s saying a lot!)
Maybe its the influence of the old greek tragedies, the epic dramas of mythology… but it seems that greeks have taken over-acting to a high art.
There’s nothing at all natural about acting in greek soaps or series I’ve caught bits of since being here. In fact, you really don’t need to understand the language to understand what’s going on. You can read it clearly in the huge gestures, exaggerated facial expressions and anything but subtle tones.
I know greeks are known for their hand gestures and heated conversations. At family get togethers  everyone will be yelling, waving and gesturing to eachother. That’s normal. Its just a friendly conversation. If you saw a group of greeks ordering food at a restaurant and didn’t understand the language, you’d be excused for thinking the knives will come out any minute.
You’ll know when its not just a friendly chat – it usually involves flying frying pans.

Years ago when I lived in Greece I had an opportunity to work in the theatre. A young actor found a play he liked written by an american playwrite, brought him out to direct the play and he produced it himself. (Or rather his parents did.) I got the job as director’s assistant and translator.
It was a great job!
However… the acting… ugh. It was all the playwrite/director could do to tone them down, to try to get them acting normally. You know – the way you talk at home, not on vaudeville. It was a serious play, not slapstick.

We worked together on sound effects, stage sets, and reining in the wild expressions and dramatic gestures. Once the play opened our job was done and we both left.
I bet it was less than a week before the acting reverted to Benny Hill acting standard.
To be honest I can’t remember if there are any greek movies I’ve seen where the acting is more plausible… Its almost like you go for an interview and the casting director asks, “Can you make a mountain out of a molehill? Good! You’re hired.”
When I was a kid I loved greek comedies cause they really were funny, but I hated that every greek film had to have some musical number in it. Or three. It was like the law.
Someone was happy so they’d break into song and the whole town would start dancing around them. 
Just like in real life.
Someone would have lost the love of his life so he’d go to a taverna to drown his sorrows and there’d always be a band with a singer singing the greek equivalent of the country song …my wife left me, my dog ran away, the truck broke… and greek men dancing ‘zeibekiko’*.
Not to mention the countless dream sequences – a woman in love dancing with her dream man among stars, or lying on a bed with willowy billowing curtains with cupids dancing around her…
Ugh.
Even watching the greek news is like watching a greek tragedy. I glimpsed one of those current affairs programs one night where they’d quartered the tv screen and had a panel of 4 discussing and issue. 
It was like a catfight.
Maybe its cause greeks are hot blooded and have loud opinions they’re more than willing to share. Just ask Wayne. I’m sure he’d agree with that.
z
*Zeibekiko – A traditional greek dance for men, danced to the rebetiko, the blues equivalent in greek. Although now women also dance it, in the past it was a dance only for men. There seem to be no set steps, it always looks like its a means of self expression – a way to express sadness, loss or drunkeness.

meet my friends

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Anyone that knows me knows I’m passionate about animals, dogs in particular.
Everywhere I go I see dogs that I just must say hello to. I’ll be walking along with one of my cousins, see  a dog and run off calling “Hello gorgeous!”, leaving them standing in confusion… thinking I’ve seen some long lost relative or an ex boyfriend… only to see me running towards a cute dog making kissing sounds.
Other people go goo-goo over babies. I go goo-goo over animals.
Almost every shop in the Agora (market street) seems to have its resident dog these days. That means I have to go into every shop to give them a pat.
And at the beach… we went to the open air cinema last night and there was a dog there too! 
Cats are everywhere of course. Some people feed the stray cats, other cats live around the smorgasbord of the garbage bins. Generally speaking, stray cats in Greece are fast and very wary. This old tom was sleeping on a fence near our house and went on full alert when I pulled out my camera.
 
Marouso’s kitten, the one briefly known as Roxy, has disappeared. She was a wild kitten we found at the beach and brought home. We fed her, loved her, Marouso had her future life planned out: luxury, pampering, sleeping on the bed, a big fat belly… I guess we needed to find a younger kitten who hadn’t yet learned to fend for itself. Either that or we needed to keep her locked up longer. This is where a dog crate would have come in handy.
Marouso is heartbroken. She’s been looking for Roxy for 24 hours now. I hope we find her or find another kitten for her. She plans to be a crazy cat lady when she grows up and needs to start training for it.
z

rusty barbed wire heart – creating on paros

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Seems my reputation has preceeded me…
I arrived on Paros and my Aunt Marisa was all over me. She’d seen the windchime I’d given little Zefi, but he’s already been subjected to months of “Mom, come see what big Zef did”, so she was prepped and ready.
“Come and see what I have for you to make”, she said, and proceeded to show me her collection of STUFF. The doilies she’s had for years that her mother made, the old curtains, the collection of ribbons and things that will come in handy one day….

I hear an echo in here…
Did I ever mention my nieces?
I’ve never had kids, right? But I have tons of nieces and nephews thanks to my brother and the fact that I have 23 first cousins. 
And somehow, even though I haven’t had children of my own, I have somehow managed to pass on my genes…
My brother’s daughter is Maria. Apparently he often calls her Zefi cause she’s got my temper and my good looks. She’ll say “Dad, I’m Maria, not Zefi.” (ie Are you senile already?) He’ll reply “I know what I’m talking about.”
My cousin PG’s daughter is Alex. Apparently a carbon copy of me. In all the good ways: moody, stubborn, my good looks…
Little Zefi’s daughter Marouso way more beautiful than me… except for the fact that she’s a mad animal lover. Yesterday at the beach she found a kitten and brought it home. Little Zefi gave me the filthiest look. Its all my fault. Those are my genes popping up in the next generation.
I feel quite pleased with myself. I’ve managed to create Zefi carbon copies without having to worry about pregnancies or changing nappies!
But I digress… I was talking about my Aunt Marisa and her plans to harness my creativity to her own ends.
She keeps dragging things out of cupboards, neighbour’s yards and roadside bins for me. She has visions… “Look what I found. You can make something with this right?” “Fuzz (my nickname), I found this. I think we can make … but I’m only giving my opinion… its up to you… I’m just suggesting… you’re the expert… you tell me…”
The other night my hands got bored. I’d already bought some basic tools – a small set of pliers, some fine wire, a hot glue gun. 
I already had a box of odd and ends, bits of lace, a million buttons from the 50s and 60s, some old dessert forks, some rusty stuff I’d scavenged.
And a piece of barbed wire I took off a fence on the way to town.
I even have Little Zef’s son working for me now. Every day I come back from the beach he has another treasure or three for me. A rusty grill, some rusty tools, a key…
This heart hangs outside Zefi’s bedroom door: barbed wire, some old lace and ribbon, an old key, a small fork, rusty washers and a rusty door strike plate. I added some dry wildflowers as well this afternoon.
Its a pity I don’t have this ‘team’ with me in Tasmania. I could have a ton of stuff to work with if I had Aunt Marisa and little George foraging for me.
Just in case you’re wondering, I’ve already put in my claim… Aunt Marisa is leaving me her collection of STUFF in her will.
I guess I better get to work on the other projects awaiting me. I have to pay for my room somehow, right?
z

windmills revisited

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This month on Paros there are a lot of events celebrating history and culture. Among the events was the opening of the newly restored windmills on the hill at the end of the ‘paralia’ in Parikia. That’s the esplanade – a road which runs along the sea front full of cafes and tavernas where everyone hangs out at night.

There used to be 4 windmills up there in my mother’s day. One was knocked down to build a house, another has been a bar for quite a few years now – a great place to have a drink and watch the sun set. The other two were falling down till a local council initiative had them restored to their original working order.

There was an ‘opening’ ceremony which included speeches and a blessing from the church. There was meant to be a demonstration of a working windmill where the windmills would work for the first time in 65 years or so.

As is often the case in Greece, plans and actuality didn’t quite come together…

Somebody forgot to tell someone something about it so nobody knew anything and nothing was done.

The entrance of the windmill, ground level is an open area where grain was stored.

A narrow winding staircase leads upwards to the upper levels.

The windmill upper level houses the mechanism which grinds the wheat into flour using the wind and sails.

This was all rebuilt to the original design using recycled timber as much as possible.

A cute little arrow moves with the wind, telling you which direction its blowing in.

The grindstone. Good to finally see what my nose is always pressed against.

Holes in the upper floors provided a way to raise and lower sacks from the top level.

They even stuffed some straw into the gaps in where the ceiling meets the walls to recreate the bird nests.

I adored seeing the restoration. They did a great job and I think its a definite improvement. There are so many abandoned houses here, left to rot and fall down cause the owners either can’t afford to fix them or they died and left them to children who live abroad… or (as is often the case) to siblings who argue and in the end no one gets to use the house.

My aunt Flora told me a new greek joke this morning. When someone disagrees with you or won’t do as you want them to, the new threat is “Do it or I’ll give you a house”…

The joke being that Greece has now introduced taxes and rates and everything so that owning a house isn’t the blessing it used to be.

I dunno. We have to pay rates and taxes and electricity bills inflated by the lovely carbon tax in Australia too… I wish someone would give me a house on Paros…

Maybe I just need to be more annoying?

z

it was a mudbath!

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There’s a beach on Paros where the rocks produce the perfect mudpack. People have been going there for years, happily assisting erosion of the hills as they chip, crush and plaster themselves in mud to achieve a youthful complexion.

Mom took us there yesterday and we smeared mud all over ourselves and each other. The clay mask really does work… This is what I looked like before:
This is what I look like now.
I wish.
This is what I actually looked like during.
That photo should have come with a warning. I do apologise.
Here are more scary photos – notice I’m sparing you the pics of me in a bathing suit.
Pretty girls who really don’t need the magical qualities of the mud…
Me and my mom, who do…
Inge and her daughters
Have I mentioned that my friend Inge is visiting from Holland? Inge and I met on Paros in… when I was 17 years old. Some numbers are best kept to myself. We’ve been friends ever since. I’d visit her in Holland, she’d visit me in Greece every year, then I left for Australia and she’s never forgiven me.
For some strange reason I’ve always loved Holland. Its almost like I belong there if that makes sense. I always felt at home and not like I was in a foreign country – if you ignore the fact that I can’t actually speak the language.
And that’s another thing. I’ve always loved the sound of dutch and the dutch accent in english. Almost like I lived in Holland in a previous life…
Maybe I was Rembrandt.
…Ever notice how everyone who claims to be reborn was always someone famous?
Yep. I was actually a rat, living under the mattress of the woman who cleaned Rembrandt’s studio and once gnawed on a canvas he threw away… That would explain why I love art but can’t actually speak dutch.
Whenever I come to Europe I catch up with Inge and her family. I’ve watched her kids grow up from cute babies to gorgeous adults. I learned to change nappies on her oldest daughter. That’s just the kind of thing to mention in front of her friends.
Its been great having Inge and 2 of her daughters here on Paros again after so many years. We tell them stories about our youth and they laugh and laugh. It fun introducing the girls to Paros for the first time.
Only thing is, having friends and visitors means entertaining. Not me entertaining them as such, but going out, eating, going places, eating, going swimming, eating.
I’m so over eating. I mean that both ways. Overeating and over eating.
I’m trying not to eat much but when you’re faced with greek salads, fried zucchini, tzatziki, greek bread and pan fried potatoes… well, what’s a person to do?
I’m not hungry! I don’t want to eat! I swear. They force me to!!!
I was hoping for my ideal holiday: hours on the beach, reading, swimming, reading, swimming, walking, shopping, reading, swimming, eating. Pretty much in that order.
I can’t complain though. I love seeing them. Inge is as much family to me as my brother. At least she and I never argued over onion breath in my bedroom and who could burp loudest. After they go I can (maybe) do the humbug thing a bit and blame old age and living in Australia too long for having to stay home and go to bed early now and then.
Its very un-greek… but I enjoy being here without having to go out every night. 

z

see naxos in a day

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Today we drove around to explore Naxos.
That means we got into a car and drove through towns at the speed of light. I tried to take some photos as we drove past things and got photos like this:
I mean, I’m hanging out the window and manage to snap the photo JUST as we pass a telephone pole. I couldn’t have done this if I tried!
The landscape in the interior of Naxos is quite beautiful if you like rocks and bare mountains. Very striking.
That tiny spec on top of that peak is a church. Its a church for the Prophet Elias. 
I’m guessing, but given that his churches are always in spots only eagles can get to, I’d say its a safe bet.
My mom told me the story was that Elias was a fisherman who was the sole survivor of a shipwreck. Apparently when Elias (not yet a prophet, obviously, or he’d have prophesied the wreck and his life would have gone down an entirely different track…) washed up on a beach he swore he would never look at the sea again. So he set off on foot carrying an oar with him. Every place he met another person he’d show them the oar and ask what it was. They would answer “Its an oar of course” so on he’d trudge.
Eventually he’d gone so far from the sea that when he asked a peasant what it was he was carrying the man said “Its a stick of course”. And that’s where the man-soon-to-become-prophet Elias built his church.
 
Anyway, our destination was the Temple of Za (another word for Zeus?) This is the information I found with a quick google search:
Naxos History Many myths in Greece involve Naxos as some point. Zeus, the highest god, was born on Crete, but grew up on Naxos. The people of Naxos used to worship him, and a temple was made to his honour at the mountain Za (Zeus).
When Zeus‘ mistress Semele died before giving birth to their child, Zeus took the embryo and put it in his thigh. When the baby, Dionysus, was born out of Zeus thigh on Naxos, the nymphs Philia, Coronida and Clidi brought him up on the island, which was to be Dionysus favourite island. The god made the island fertile and full of grapevines, forever blessing it.
Now, I don’t know about you, but that is a really wierd story if you ask me! Children born out of men’s thighs…?
The sign pointing the way to the cave in which Zeus was raised said 20 minutes. 
Up hill.
Maybe. If your name is Edmund Hillary.
But for us normal, not so fit and vertigo-suffering people… What clinched it for me is that about 1/4 of the way up the path disappeared and we had to climb over rocks like mountain goats.
I turned back. And I wasn’t alone in that decision.
We did stop in Apiranthos, the town on top of the highest mountain on Naxos I believe. I’d been there before when I was about 12 so I knew the town well. Not.
 
What struck me most is that its so different to Paros. Similar in that its an island of the Cyclades, but quite different in architecture and building materials.
I visied a small grocery which sold all kinds of things: herbs, soaps, baskets, antiques…
Found the finish on these ceramic pots interesting. They’ve managed to create a really gorgeous copper patina on them.
Of course they’re way too big to take home so I settled for a couple of bars of olive oil soap.
That’s the kind of soap my mom used to insist on buying when I was growing up, saying its all natural and good for me. I wanted nice smelling fancy soaps, none of that plain, hard, square mucky green soap.
Now I’ll pay top dollar for that same hard square mucky green soap.
Things do come full circle don’t they? I am turning into my mother.
z

the next best thing

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My grandfather used to say the best thing about Naxos is that you can see Paros from there.

If that’s so, then the second best thing has got to be the Mojito Boys!


These guys are pure eye candy. My cousin Zefi sure knows how to run a business. Mmmm-mmm! She hires these guys to work in her bar and they hang out on the beach serving drinks and giving us more mature ladies something to look at besides the endless sand and sea.

I mean, you could get bored of this view right?

Just miles and miles of sand and blue water.

Am I making you jealous yet?

Today some of us had a long day. We chose to go on a tour of Naxos. It was a comedy of errors. Seriously. We got 3 cars and piled in, only to get to the first destination and find the fan in one was broken, the car overheating and losing water.

And that was only the beginning of the adventure!

This may well be the last Campion reunion.  It was a bit like Lord of the Flies without the brains on rock bit.

Thankfully.

Anyway, we survived – only cause we split up, each group going to do what they wanted to do. I was among the ‘go back home’ group. I went straight to the beach where I found the ‘stay behind’ group.

A cool swim and some relaxing time enjoying the view of the boys beach and I feel like a new woman.

One thing I haven’t managed to do so far on Naxos is catch up with my cousin and godson Anargyros. Pronounced sort of like Anna and gyros as in souvlaki, with a rolling ‘r’ in the middle to confuse matters.

I got his number from Niko, the head Mojito Boy. Niko approached me on the beach where I was sitting with friends, a bit of paper in his hand, handed it to me and said “My wife will be out tonight. Here’s my number.”

It was the best! 

“Yeah look at me! I can still get the spunks!”

Yeah! That’s right! (And the crowd roars)

z

party till the norwegians drop

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I really don’t have time to blog today. I’m expected at the Prokopis Hotel where the Campionites are starting the party with some drinks, then on to a taverna for dinner.

Its like big long holiday here.

Wait. It is one big long holiday.

We partied till 3.30am last night. We outdanced a group of Norwegian teenagers. It was almost like a matter of pride, we just could not let them beat us. We danced and drank and partied till they went home and then we crawled off to our rooms to nurse our aching bones.

And that’s just a taste of the night. I have a ton more photos on FB in my albums.

z

mojitos, sunshine and high school friends

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Today I’m on Naxos with Peter. We took the short ride over from Paros this morning. Naxos is the island right behind Paros, half an hour from the town of Naoussa and 1 hour from the port of Parikia. Being a chicken with rough seas (and they were rough this morning) I always take the big ferries with their stabilizing ‘wings’. Seriously. They have wings. They’re built like sanitary napkins.
But I was talking about how close Naxos and Paros are. My grandfather used to say that the best thing about Naxos is that you can see Paros from here.
Ok, its not Paros, but Ag. Prokopis beach – where my cousin Zefi has her bar – is the best beach ever. 
That’s the Zefi on Naxos. Zefi Mojito as she’s known on FB. Not to be confused with Zefi Famelis, the OTHER Zefi Famelis. Not me.
I am the ORIGINAL Zefi. The others are just cheap immitations. No matter what they say, its not a case of “I’m the youngest Zefi, you’re just old”. We all know they built things to last in the old days.
Not that I’m old! I’m not admitting to anything.
As an aside, Zefi Mojito must have eyes in the back of her head. I went up to the bar to pay my bill after lunch earlier and she was busy. She still managed to notice me and warn her staff that “anyone who takes money from my cousin will be fired.”
We greek women have eyes in the back of our heads.
Anyway, this trip is amazing. I’m attending a high school reunion here for the first time ever. I think is reunion number 3 in Greece. Apparently a lot of people from Campion have stayed in touch and they have mini reunions in London and other places. The first reunion I heard about was the year after I was in Greece last and held on Paros. In Naoussa to be exact. I couldn’t attend… I just couldn’t afford to travel to Greece again.
I didn’t hear anyone offer to have a reunion in Tasmania…
Anyway… I haven’t seen most of these guys since I was in 12-13th grade. I refuse to disclose how long that is… I can’t count that high.
I don’t have any other photos of the Campion High School reunion yet cause so far all we’ve done is sit on the beach, swim and talk. And we all know cameras are forbidden on the beach.
The problem with the modern world is that there are cameras everywhere. Even if I make sure I never post unflattering photos of me on FB (ie no photos where I’m not totally covered) someone somewhere will take a photo and there it’ll be, forever, for the world to see. 
However if anyone from this group takes a photo of me with less than 3 articles of clothing on and publishes it, I’ll be hunting them down. 
You’ve been warned!
It really is amazing to be here again. Three years later. They do say people always return to the scene of the crime, don’t they…
Last time I came, I imported my own friend in the form of Merrill. And we had the best time. This time I’ve come to meet friends from my past. And it really is wonderful to reconnect with them and hear news of others who aren’t here.
This trip is really a trip down memory lane in more ways than one. Last trip was about having fun and getting a tan. This trip is about family first, and friends in an almost coincidental way.
Let me explain, thanks to Zina, Tom, Lisa and FB I’ve been able to connect with Helen in Athens. And when I return to Athens I’ll see Christine as well. Both friends from Campion School. An English school in Athens. You tend to bond in an environment like that, a fish out of water thing.
Today I saw Leslie, one of my closest friends in Campion. She’s the one who introduced me to hamsters. Last time I saw her her daughter was in nappies, now she’s in university. When I return to Paros I’ll see Valerie who I went to junior school with. That’s from 4th grade to 8th grade… She has a house on Paros now. Incredible.
See what I mean? I’m catching up with people I haven’t seen in years.
… I sure hope this doesn’t mean the end is near… you know how your life goes flashing before your eyes? A kind of “this is your life” thing before I meet my bitter end?
Nah. Only the good die young and I’ve been very, very bad. Just ask my mother. I was hell on wheels as a kid and worse as a teenager.
I remember when I was a kid and I’d be at some family do and I’d hear mom say “I haven’t seen him for 20 years!”. I’d fall about like “Twenty years! That’s so long!” Back then a 40 year old was decrepid.
Then one day I realised I’d known people for 20 years. Or 30. Or more. 
No need to go there.
I gotta go. I hear a mojito calling….
z