Life lessons

This is supposed to be a voyage of self discovery and, although as I write this, I am presently stuck in Zurich airport, I have the time to reflect on what I've learned so far. The shiraz in the airport bar helps enormously :)

I am a gregarious introvert I suppose. People are always stunned when I tell them how shy and reclusive I really am. I carry this larger than life personality around, but I am a devout hermit at heart. Didn't know that, didja?

One of the lovely lessons I have learned in preparing for this adventure is how many true friends I really have. In the past few weeks, days and hours, I have been moved and overwhelmed by so many offers of support and help with my house and dog while I am away. So many dear friends have wanted to share coffee, breakfast, lunch - whatever - before I go. So many, that I got totally overwhelmed and had to retreat to a quiet place to catch my breath. The demons of PTSD of the past decade hover on the edges and I now have learned to pace myself... the black dogs, Winston Churchill called these feelings.

I am not religious... but I am feeling so blessed by the lovely wondrous people in my life. Carol and Terry who will be there for me in any jam; Duncan and Arthur who will aid and abet me in any wacky travel scheme; Bill for loving me from away over there; Richard for offering to mind the house minder, Myrna, Virginia, Dianne, Allison and Beth for giving me the much needed you-go-girl pep talks when I need it; Gary and brother Dave for giving me the guy version of you-go-girl; and dear Judy for watching over the most precious gift in my life - Daisy. God.... so many lovely people in my life and all this time I was so sure I was all alone. Thank you all for helping me live my life large.

I have so many toasts to drink to you all! It will take .... well, at least 3 months!

YASOU!!!!

My travel Muse has gone on ahead. . . .

With class and grace and in supreme comfort and peace, my Aunt Pauline caught a flight for her next journey on Tuesday morning. She would have been 100 on Feb 24.

She was the inspiration for my life-long travel addiction. For the last 7 years of her life, I was her guardian and caregiver. I will miss her.

Her timing was impeccable; just 48 hours before I leave for Athens. I guess she wanted to beat me there. SUCH a competitor, my aunt Pauline Elizabeth Reid Maxwell. I know she's laughing at my hysterical efforts to tend to her last affairs in this tiny window of mere hours and pack bags and briefcase for my 3-month sojourn.

I am so very happy for her, for she has been anxious to catch this next flight for years.

Tomorrow, as I am high over the Atlantic ocean, I will drink a toast in her honour and thank her for her inspiring life.

Greek Lesson # 1

Need something? Anything? Anything at all? Then get familiar with the Greek periptero. These tiny little kiosks are on every street in Greece. The word "periptero" translates to something like "walk around" (I think - been a while since I studied my Greek) although it also refers to a style of temple architecture. In any event, they are manned pretty much round the clock and they have EVERYTHING you would ever need - from cigs to condoms, orange juice to gum, newspapers, pens, chips, phone cards, chocolate, belts and sunglasses - even Pampers and Advil!

The periptero is precisely as wide as a Greek grandfather's shoulders and about as tall. For that is usually who staffs these wonders of convenience - a great mustachioed grandfather or his equally grandly mustachioed wife - Yia-Yia - or sometimes by a 9 year old kid on school break who speaks better English than I and is clearly headed for a career in entrepreneurship.

Which brings me, dear readers, to our first Greek lesson... I was swanning through the island of Paros with my dear buddy, sidekick and duenna Carol and I had run out of those little packets of tissues that one needs when traveling to deal with the dreadful cold that you will inevitably catch from rotten airline air. A visit to the periptero was in order to re-stock.

We were in the absolutely visually luscious village of Naoussa and I found a periptero - and yes, the ancient craggy faced grandpa was squished inside the booth. Now, for reasons that escape me, I actually DID study Greek for about 6 years. But Homer, Xenophon and Thucydides never actually covered the word for paper tissue.

I approached the booth tentatively, smiled gamely at grandpa and made great gestures about sneezing and honking into an imaginary hanky. He looked puzzled. I flapped my arms some more, mimed bigger sneezes, pointed to my red nose and smiled winningly. Nope.... hmmmmmm. Aha, sez I - digging out my old tattered packet from my purse like a miner finding a nugget of gold! He grinned, flashing a pretty impressive gold tooth, and handed me a packet of tissues with a flourish. YESSSSSS! or rather, Neh, NEH (Greek for "yup - you betcha!")

Flushed with success, I then attempted to expand our dialogue. "What, said I, "do you call these in Greek?"

He beckoned me closer, pursed his lips and said slowly, as if to a backward and somewhat dim child.... "KLEEEEEE-NEX." And then the old bugger laughed so hard he almost knocked his kiosk over.

Carol wandered over from the nearby postcard rack.... "Get your Kleenex?" "Oh sure... nothing to it... my Greek is all coming back to me."

By special request. . . .

Ok - this is for Terry - my own adaptation of a souvlaki marinade recipe - suitable for chicken, pork, lamb..... whatever. And I mean - WHATEVER - it's also pretty much a great recipe for Greek salad dressing.

* 1kg cubed meat lamb, beef, chicken or pork
* ½ cup olive oil
* 2 lemons - about 4 tablespoons juice
* ¼ cup wine
* 2 tsps dried oregano - RUBBED to release the oil
* 1 tsps dried thyme (maybe rosemary instead for chicken)
* 3 -4 garlic cloves, crushed although I prefer slices
* Salt and pepper

If you don't want to use red wine, use red vinegar.... I also throw in a splash of balsamic vinegar.

Use a glass bowl. Eassssse the oil into the lemon juice, beat until it is canary yellow... add other ingredients... politely introduce the meat to the oil.... marinate at least two hours. Grill or broil. Discard oil mixture( of course!). Serve with generous dollops of tzatziki! Forget about a date for the evening.

Now... you can use this recipe pretty much for salad too.... I use more vinegar than oil - 2 to 1. And add a pinch of sugar. And great lashings of fresh feta.

KALI OREXI (bon apetit!)

Balmy breezes

The deep freeze that has been paralyzing western Europe apparently has not hit Crete (yet). Daytime highs in Chania are around 17, but I see tonight it got down to 9 - brrr. Heh, heh, heh it is MINUS 20 here in Fredericton tonight... I imagine I'll adjust.

Here's a nice webcam of Chania harbour.... if you can pick out the minaret in the middle - that's my new 'hood.

www.cretadeluxe.com/webcam/webcam_chania_en.html

Technology in a 15th Century villa

The first glitch - well, OK the second - I'll tell you about the Schengen visa another time - has reared its ugly head. I've spent the last two months looking for just the 'right' apartment to lease for my stay in Greece this winter. Main criteria - had to have high speed internet so I could do my work. Heat would be nice too. Other than that, I wasn't too picky. So I found my little apartment in Chania - in a building dating from the 15th century - renovated, with all the mod cons. Sorta.

Tassos, my genial landlord, swore I would have internet installed and waiting for my arrival. He should have known better - Hell, I should have known better. It takes at least a month to get a telephone hook up in Greece - officially. Then there are the holy days, name days, feasts, sheep festivals and god knows what else that delays the process.

I am putting my faith in Tassos, OTE, the Greek telephone company and the god Hermes to get me my connection. Fall back, I can work off line and upload my work at a dreaded internet cafe.... or Tasso's office - I'll sweet talk him. The Greeks aren't the only race with silver tongues.

Fun fact about my apartment - it's in the old Turkish quarter, overlooking a mosque and minaret built during the time of the invasion..... and apparently conveniently located next door to the red light district.

Well, I HAD hoped to get a part time job.... wondering if I can summon up my limited modern Greek to say "'Ello, 'ello 'ello, fancy a shag!"

Gridlock in Naxos

OOooooo! Octopus! Nummmies!

21 More Sleeps

The process of arranging one's life to disappear for 3 months is daunting. How the heck did D. B. Cooper manage it? Wish he would contact me and give me some tips..... and a few thousand bucks. I now am down to counting 'sleeps' before I leave - that means insuring the house arrangements are in place, the sitter and dog nanny is comfortable and knows where the dog food is stored, and getting my desk cleared and technology ready to transport.

Ahhhhh technology. This is what is allowing me to mount this grand adventure. The ability to interface (sweet Jesus but I hate that word!) with my work mates is totally dependent on a good computer (Yayyyyy MAC!), a solid dependable internet connection, and gadgets and gizmos like Skype, iChat, Messenger, smoke signals and god knows what else.

Not only is it crucial to do my job every day, my financial life depends on it too. Important tip for all you future Greek travelers: do NOT take American Express travellers cheques - Greek banks hate em and charge an exorbitant fee for cashing them. Try a $60 fee on a $100 cheque. No, I am not kidding. So use your bank cards and have spare back ups. I've used ATMs in even the remotest mountain villages.

21 more sleeps. That's a laugh. I haven't slept since Christmas - too much to worry and fret about! Maybe going to that sheep festival isn't such a bad idea after all?

The Sheep Festival - yayyyy!

So, I'm roaming around the net looking for cool things to do while I'm in Crete. Imagine my excitement when I found this post on the Sheep Festival!

On April 23 each year, there is a festival that is focused on sheep. Thousands of them are brought to the Village of Assi Gonia and they are honored as well as milked. The people attending the festival can all taste the milk and also partake in the rest of the activities – eating, dancing, and socializing.

Now - my dilemma - what DOES one wear to a sheep festival? Will I be required to milk anything? I'm assuming my Jimmy Choos are not appropriate footgear?

Follow the kid on the bike

Well, a wee change of plans. I've decide to spend the first month or two in Chania, Crete. With a population of 80,000, it isn't egg-ZACK-ly the "village" experience I was planning. However, it is warmer in February and a good jumping off place for other weekend adventures. Libya anyone? Hmmmm... maybe not.

I found a great little apartment in the old Turkish /Venetian quarter. And I mean LITTLE. It is essentially one room on each of 3 floors, with a lovely rooftop terrace. Comes with a bicycle. Stop laughing. I mean it.

If you're really interested in seeing the neighbourhood, check out this YouTube video - follow the kid on the bike.... he rides all through my new 'hood.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=dPk3nHexuHM

Let me tell ya how I got into this mess

Or.... The Adventure begins!


For personal and health reasons, I retired at the age of 43. Prior to that I had a career and life experiences that read like a novel: archaeologist, art conservator, communications consultant, environmental activist, jeweler, political back room boy, CEO of a non profit organization, musician. Believe me, I more than fulfilled any career aspirations I ever had. So, when I returned to work after 5 numbing years of boredom and healing, I had the luxury of looking for a job that would allow me to travel and still feed my need to do something useful and use they myriad talents my colourful resume gave me. Of all my jobs, it was the nonprofit sector I loved most and that best used my odd collection of skills.

There was a non-profit arts organization in Fredericton that was looking for a coordinator to manage a music festival and a small chamber ensemble for about 30 hours a week. I accepted the job only after first advising them of my travel addiction and my intention to try and work part of the year from Greece. Fortunately, my boss is hip to the technology and up on the latest developments and seemed open to the idea of trying to make this work. When not actually taking tickets at the door for a concert or wrangling sopranos' egos, most of my work involves writing grant proposals, reports, creating project concepts, and doing PR and communications tasks. I don’t run a store-front operation – this is work I can do in my jammies from home by the fire. Or hopefully from a seaside taverna on a wind swept Aegean island.

I think.

I’ll never know unless I try.

And god bless my employers, for I am dragging them along too on this experiment. So on January 28, 2010 - the adventure begins.

I hope you'll tag along for the ride!

Just GO - dammit!

Leaving friends and familiar ways of life takes the courage of a lion. Navigating Greek bureaucracy takes the zen-like patience of my Labrador waiting for me to drop a cookie crumb. Finding the money to do something like this has been a challenge – since I’m not independently wealthy, I’ve been wracking my brain to see if I can I combine working with travel.

This winter, I am going to try the first baby steps toward seeing if I can do this. I’m 51 now, survived some crummy health scares last year, I’m single and the only dependent I have is my unfaithful dog Daisy – I’ll never be younger or healthier and the time is now. I will move to my island during the winter months, to truly experience island life once the tourists have moved on. I will try to do my regular job from there, using the latest in technology and McGuiver like ingenuity, with the blessing of a VERY tolerant and understanding boss.

We are such a long time dead - so I've decided to live NOW!

I’ve always had an addiction to travel, inspired from childhood by my dad and my very own Auntie Mame type character in my life. To see the world, to immerse myself in how other people live, to drink a glass of wine in the country the grape was grown in - what started as an interest turned into a hobby and then an addiction.

For over 30 years I’ve been traveling to the Mediterranean – mostly to Italy and Greece – first for university study and work as an archaeologist and then later as a long-stay tourist. I’ve generally traveled alone, meeting fascinating people along the way, picking up languages, local culture, finding friends, lovers, heartbreak, unbounded joy and spiritual contentment along the way. I’ve laughed and cried and fought with Byzantine bureaucracy, ate too much, drank too much, danced til dawn, got drawn into village life and attended weddings, baptisms and funerals, and watched the children grow. But mostly I’ve laughed and learned and lived life large pursuing this dream, this addiction.

About 25 years ago, I discovered a Greek island that became my spiritual home. Naxos, in the Cyclades – I’ve been going there almost every year for one or two months at a time ever since. The way I discovered the island is a story in itself – the way I was adopted by the Naxians is a gift I cherish. They are honoured and touched that I keep coming back from so far away to see them and that I so obviously love their home. Secretly, I believe I’m becoming a bit of a “character” or a coot in the village - that wacky Canadian lady who travels alone (a horrible state to the people-loving Greeks). Yes, yes, Fredericton’s own Shirley Valentine – yes, I’ve heard that before.

Oh, I’ve seen a lot of the rest of the world too – most of Europe, northern Africa, the Middle East, a bit of Asia, Russia and Latin America – but Greece keeps luring me back. I became seduced by the country and absorbed into village life. I finally figured out I had a unique life experience when my own travel agent repeatedly called to ask me to plan a trip to Greece for her son or to plot routes for her other clients. In the words of Robert De Niro, “You’re asking ME???”

I’ve long dreamed of making my home there – either as a full time resident or for part of the year – keeping one foot in my equally beloved New Brunswick. I’ve never wanted to wait until I was retired to try. My mother died at 34, you see, and from childhood I resolved to live life NOW, for we are such a long time dead.

It’s complicated to uproot your life completely to move to another land. Especially doing it alone. It takes courage, patience and, of course, money. Courage I have; I’m working on the other two.

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