From travelogue to introspection

I never promised you a travelogue. Hell, if you need travel advice, just call me and I'll map out your next trip. Today the travelogue I've created here on this blog descends (or ascends) to introspection. I am mere days away from returning home. Indulge me.

If you haven't yet seen the stage play or movie 'Shirley Valentine,' it's high time you did. Don't expect a travelogue - it's more a journey of self discovery - much like this one. There is a point in the story, where Shirley questions the point of returning home to her usual life of nothingness. I'm having that experience today. When I told my boss I was going to do this - he asked me if I would ever come back. "You have my hostage," I said.... for I left behind my Daisy and my house and my lovely friends. Ransom, booty, my only treasures... but it was enough to mollify him into knowing I would return to my job. Today, as I sit in the moonlight of my terrace eating mama's roasted artichokes, drinking her inestimable barrel wine... I wonder if it is enough.

I am tempted, as Shirley was, to bolt when I get to the airport. To throw myself on my own Kostas, demand a job in the taverna and just...... not go home.

"Who would miss me?" wonders Shirley - "really, who would notice if I didn't come back." I ask myself those same questions tonight.

Oh, of course I'll go back. I am, even though a woman, a man of my word.... one of my quirks is that I uphold my own sense of Victorian principles of being a gentleman - I am an honourable (wo)man of my word. For without honour we really have nothing. I will deliver my promise and sort out my own life once my obligations are met.

But tonight.... tonight..... the moon lowers over the portara... the stars are a bowl of magic inside a sapphire sky... and early tomorrow morning... I will have my Shirley Valentine moment, when I kiss Naxos goodbye and board that plane to Athens.

Homeward Bound. . .

This rare odyssey is winding down in the next week. I am still in Naxos, my beloved spiritual home, but preparing to leave for Athens and thence home to Canada. Spring has fully arrived here, with warm days, lush wildflowers, and the first trickle of tourists. I’ve even been in swimming, for the beaches in Naxos are truly the best in Greece. To swim off Agios Prokopias is to float inside an aquamarine jewel.

I am sad and oddly tired. I am anxious to return home to my friends who supported me so much in this endeavor and to my darling unfaithful dog Daisy. But I am loath to leave the only place in the world where I feel whole, sound and right.

I’ve started the rounds of fare-thee-well visits to my friends and neighbours here. It mostly involves drinks, meals, lots of hugs and kisses and promises to return. I drink in the emotion like a parched vampire, but it exhausts me and leaves me fighting tears much of the time. Mama has ramped up her daily gifts of hot home cooked meals, cakes, cookies and produce from the farm. Today I gave her a gift of some lovely artwork done by one of my new friends from Crete. She cried. I cried. And I promised to be back.

So, now I need to get my brain and soul off island life and back to the insanity that is Athens. A few days there to do some last minute power shopping and then home and reality.

But, man, what a ride!



“One’s destination is never a place, but rather a new way of looking at things.”
Henry Miller

Apollonos bound

There is something slightly surreal about sitting at a seaside taverna on a small Greek island, watching the local fisherman bash a kalimari into mouth watering tenderness on a rock whilst listening to Aretha Franklin belt out R.E.S.P.E.C.T. on tinny speakers. I am in the tiny fishing village of Appolonas on the island of Naxos, approximately 100 miles from where you would be lost forever.

The road pretty much ends here. A bus of dubious mechanical health comes here once a day, after navigating hair raising switch back roads without benefit of guard rails but lavishly decorated with tiny heartbreaking roadside shrines to all who have failed to negotiate these twists and turns.

Appolonas’ main claim to fame is that this is where you can hike into the surrounding hillsides and see the giant sleeping kouros statues resting where they were abandoned by the carvers so many thousands of years ago – for reasons no one quite knows now.


But I’ve climbed the mountain paths and found the kouros many times in the past. Now I come just to drink in the mountains spilling down into the sea. And to drink a glass of wine in the country the grape was grown in while the kouros sleeps on.

Naxos sunsets

Volcano induced, ouzo enhanced

Today, the wine tasted like cherries

I’ve been in a bit of a funk this past week. Call it post-Pascha hangover, call it homesickness. Whatever. I haven’t really felt like doing much or socializing with my Naxian friends. The weather has been fine – gorgeous strong sunshine, but the winds on my north-facing aerie have been fierce and relentless the whole week. Perhaps their constant howl has added to my blue mood. I have less than three weeks before returning to Canada and about one more week here dedicated to work before I am officially in the “vacation” part of this odyssey.

So today to lift my spirits, I rented a car. A petite little orange thing that makes a Smart Car look like a bus. I suspect it is the only one on the island with an automatic transmission. There. Now you know. I can’t drive a stick – hanging my head in shame.

So once the rental formalities were observed - license, money, evidence of a heartbeat - I was good to go and I hit the open road. Map? Pfffft….. how can you get lost on an island? Just keep the sea out one window and keep turning in the same direction.

I visited my favourite parts of the island today – the golden beaches of Agios Prokopias, Agia Anna, Maragas and Plaka. Pretty much deserted of course this time of year … so I had miles of coast all to myself allowing me to commune with the sea, collect the obligatory handful of seashells, and ignore the two nutty Danes sunbathing in the nude behind an outcropping of rocks (it was 16C today, that’s why I say nutty). Drinking in the loveliness of this coast recalibrated my brain and settled my soul.

The tiny village of Agia Anna holds many tavernas, but one of my favourites is the huge Taverna Gorgona. The gorgon that owns it is genial with a dry sense of humour , bad knees, and a quirky but determined grasp of English. Her place commands the most important corner of the village, overlooking the crossroads, wharf and beach access. One can sit on her terrace, enjoy her excellent food and watch the boats bob in the marina. There are worse ways to spend an afternoon.

Today she brought me a generous slab of her moussaka, sizzling pommes frites (made the way god intended- in olive oil) and a special treat of her crispy spanakopites and tyropites as an appetizer. Since my intention was to dwaddle the afternoon away, I ordered wine. Wine can be a dodgy prospect in Greece – some of the local barrel wine can burn the hair out of the inside of your ears, and sometimes it is ambrosia and each mouthful is a gift from Dionysius. Today, I got lucky – for the gorgon’s wine was rich and fat and tasted of cherries. Bliss.

My mood lifted, my equilibrium was restored – not from the wine but from the total package of perfection of being in the right place at the right time, as the gods ordained. Endorphins cycling high from good food, sunshine, a friendly gorgon …. and a sea as blue as forever. And wine tasting of cherries.

Naxos Beaches

Strays adopting strays

I seem to have acquired a cat here in Naxos. I'm pretty sure I didn't adopt him, but he seems to have adopted me. He's relatively plump for a stray - which makes me question his fidelty (like most of the males in my life) and seems to be flea and mite free. He has tabby markings, angora like fur, and yowls with that unique Siamese type yowl - looks to me like a cross between a calico and a ..... well, a bison.

Like any good mannered Greek he is sensible enough to not show up too early in the morning. Rather, he comes to my terrace like clockwork in the late afternoon. Ouzo time.

I sit on my terrace every afternoon around 5-ish, with an icy ouzo at hand reading the day's newspapers while I watch the sun set He appears, yowls loudly until I give him a saucer of my fresh coffee cream and then we both sit in quiet reverence while the sun sinks into the sea from a sky painted in pinks and purples. I sense he is checking in on me each day to make sure I'm OK. A stray looking out for another stray.

I am a dog person. I speak dog. Fluently. I know not of cats. Never had one. I am not a cat person. Oh, I like them well enough, but I have dreadful allergies, cats being among the worst. Getting up close and personal with a cat can land me in hospital on a respirator. So, while appreciative of their charm, I am wary. Cats know this, of course, and tend to want to cuddle and nuzzle me. This one - who I have named Diogenes, is shameless. He weaves in and around my legs, nuzzles me and yowls until I have to scratch his head, whereupon he rolls on his back and shows me his tummy - wanton harlot (him not me)! I scratch, I pet, I nuzzle - then race inside for a full surgical scrub and a handful of allergy meds.

Once the sun sets and the purples and pinks have melted into the stunning royal navy blue of a Greek evening, he gives me a wise look, possibly a kitty wink, and tail held high - stalks off to his next rendezvous.

But he'll be back. Tomorrow, at ouzo time.

More Naxos pictures

Kalo Pascha! Chronia POLLA!

Midnight service last night was a feast for the senses - particularly the eyes and ears. About 11:30 at night, the town started to gather in the churchyards. Naturally, the priests had been at it much longer but the Greeks, being a practical bunch and trusting the priests to take care of business properly on their own, mostly show up at the high point of the mass at the tail end.

Everyone is holding their lambathes or Easter candle. Children are dressed in their best and are wildly excited. The priests' sonorous voices are broadcast over tinny speakers into the church yard. But the little boys (and not a few adults) can't contain themselves while the priests ramble on and start lighting their firecrackers. Of course the close quarters of the buildings and the marble architecture all make for an acoustically perfect cacophony to scare away the demons. Although, I think the boys' intentions were to drown out the old bishop and priests.

At one minute to midnight the lights in the church are doused and the bishop and priests, glittering in golden robes, emerge in the doorway bearing the Holy Flame, flown in by jet that day from the tomb of Christ in Jerusalem. One by one, the priests start lighting the candles of the faithful and they, in turn, light the candles of the person next to them. Within minutes the entire crowd is bathed in the gentle light of their candles. The church bells all over town start clanging joyfully - but the firecrackers and even larger fireworks compete with the bells. Everyone greets each other, kissing and shaking hands, wishing each other Kalo Pascha (Happy Easter) and Chronia Polla (many years) and Cristos anesti (Christ has risen). This goes one for quite some time, as the people then slowly disperse to make their way back home - carefully shielding their candle flame. If it goes out, a passing neighbour will re-light it for them with their candle. But the objective is to get the holy light back home to bless the house. You will see a smoke charred mark of the cross above every doorway. Now the feast begins as the Lenten fast is broken!

I tumble into bed at 3am - exhausted, sated and happy. The marathon of holidaying continues tomorrow, Easter Sunday - spit roasted lamb and all the other assorted goodies! Lots of wine, homemade white lightening and cooks outdoing each other with tasty dishes. This Easter business is hard work!

Have a look at this short video I recorded - the audio is wild!

Good Friday

A long church service tonight..... Orthodox services are different from western Christian ones, in that the priests conduct their business pretty much without the involvement on the congregation. Oh there are prayers, hymns and responses - but these will happen whether the church is full or not. People come and go, drift in and out - the men step out to have a smoke, the kids to check their cellphones and then pop back in. My memory of our Anglican services is that they started on the tick of the hour - BANG - the doors shut and no one got in or out until all the hocus pocus was finished. The ever-practical Greeks handle these long services much more sensibly it seems to me. The priests do their thing, but you and your god or personal saints commune alone and much more efficiently.

I sat well back on a marble wall and watched the Naxians gather for this most important service. I don't want to intrude, but I so much want to observe. After 25 years of coming here though, I see so many people I know, for everyone comes out to this service. So soon, I am pulled into the loving circle of a local family - for this is indeed a family occasion.

The centre piece of the church is the epitaphios - a richly decorated cloth placed on the symbolic bier of Christ. The women and girls have been up all night decorating the bier with fresh flowers gathered that day. The bier, or canopy for the epitaphios called the kouvouklion, looks like an elaborate wedding cake. Also in the church is the icon of Christ on the cross. After a selection of the Gospels are read, the icon is removed and taken into the sanctuary. The Gospel book is placed on the epitaphios. The faithful are at some point in the day and evening, expected to pay reverence with prostrations, a kiss or prayers or all of the above. The more nimble crawl under the kouvouklion symbolizing their entering into death with Christ.


After the lamentations are sung, candles are lit, the church bells toll solemnly and the kouvouklion is raised and carried in a procession through the community. Everyone joins in this long winding parade, singing the traditional funeral hymns.

In Naxos town, there are three main large churches - two Orthodox and one Roman Catholic - a throwback to early Venetian occupation of the island. All have their own processions, but all meet at a central point in the town and pause briefly for hymns before continuing on their way back to their own church. The crowd slowly disperses, most to family dinners or gatherings with friends.

Excitement builds on Saturday as last minute preparations for Easter dinner are made - midnight mass at the church to share the Holy light - brought in directly from Jerusalem, courtesy of Olympic Airways.

Watching sunsets

Kalo Pascha! Greek Orthodox Easter

Holy week and Easter (Pascha) offer an amazing experience – the most impressive and special of all the Greek holidays. The traditions have been handed down from generation to generation for nearly 2000 years. I feel very privileged to once again be invited into my Greek family to experience this special time. Each day I’ve tried to observe or participate in part of the experience – special thanks to my Greek “mother” here – Adriana, who has been spoiling me shamelessly with her fabulous cooking, gifts from her farm and lots of hugs and kisses.

I’ll try and give you a synopsis of the week, as I understand it with my western eyes. And yes, chocolate bunnies, easter eggs and chicks are all part of the popular symbolism here too!

I am writing this on Good Friday, sitting on my sea-view terrace, just a stone’s throw from the large Orthodox cathedral. The bells have started the death knell – one single solemn toll about every 15 minutes that will continue throughout the day.


The islands and small villages are the best place to immerse yourself in this beautiful time of year. The countryside is lush and green and the array of wildflowers is astonishing. Each day now, the ferries arriving in Naxos have been stuffed with citified Naxians returning home from Athens to mama for the holidays. You can feel the mental shift in town – clothes are a little trendier, heels are a little higher and smart leather bags, snazzy cars, big sparkly watches and jewelry are trotted out to dazzle the locals. It’s a festive time – the cafes are full, the streets bustle and the air is filled with triple-cheek euro kisses as people are reunited. The shops are filled with Easter candies, gifts and decorative candles to be used on Easter Eve. The kids have a two week school break, and sport new clothes and toys from indulgent parents, godparents and, uhmmm… me!

Holy Week – or Great Week - begins with Palm Sunday. The churches are decorated with palm, bay and myrtle. Strict fasting rules are relaxed and the menu today may include fish dishes – fish being the secret symbol of the early church.

Monday – this is the final week of fasting and observance of the events leading up to the Passion. Even the not so devout don’t eat meat, eggs and dairy. Even olive oil and wine is not on the menu in some households.

Tuesday – this is Mary Magdalene’s day – and the prostitutes make it a point to attend church. This is also the day that good housewives whitewash their houses, fences, edge their walks and trees.

Holy Wednesday – the service of the holy unction takes place in the afternoon – the anointment of the faithful with oil. The holy oil is also brought home to anoint the family icons using a sprig of oregano.. which is then placed near the icon for emergencies. If a new house is to built – the sprig is placed on the cornerstone of the foundation.

Holy Thursday – lots to be done this day, but it remains a sacred and austere occasion. In the morning the church is decorated in black, purple and white and the priests read the gospel passages referring to the last supper. Then after communion for all – everyone rushes home to start preparing the Easter feast. This is the day the scarlet easter eggs are dyed, holy breads, buns and cookies are baked. The sweet breads are called tsoureki and the cookies called koulourakia. Adriana’s are inspired and I shamelessly mooch a platter from her.

More church in the evening – a long service filled with sacred ritual. The women become the guardian of the flower and candle decorated crucifix, joining the holy mother in mourning and singing funeral hymns in an all-night vigil.

Good Friday – church in the morning, everything is closed, flags fly at half staff, and church bells ring a funeral knell all day long. Little food is eaten. Just before noon the symbolic bier called the epitaphios for the body of Christ is decorated with gold cloth and fresh flowers – the iconic body of Christ is laid on it and the faithful pass by to pay their homage.

Now this is where the holiday becomes the most interesting for me. On Good Friday eve – the epitaphios is carried out of the church in a funeral procession – often headed by a band playing funeral marches and followed by the local dignitaries and crowds of the faithful – each one carrying a candle. The church bells continue to toll mournfully. In some villages, effigies of Judas are burned – each island and region has its own customs. Here in Naxos, there will be three such processions - two from the major orthodox churches, and one from the Roman Catholic church (a throwback to Venetian times). All will convene in the Mitropolos' plateia in a show of brotherhood - and form the combined parade through town.

Holy Saturday – the gloom starts to lift. More church, with a noisy service to scare away the demons. Now on this day, the grande fromage of the Orthodox church – the Patriarch, breaks the seal of the door of the tomb of Christ in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jeruselem and emerges with the Holy Fire, which is then flown by Olympic Airways, accompanied by high-ranking priests and government officials to Athens. From there the flame is distributed to churches all over Greece. If it is a bad weather day, everyone in the country is on edge until the flame safely arrives.

The rest of Saturday is spent preparing the Easter feast. Lamb or kid is sacrificed and a special soup is prepared from the innards called called mageiritsa - supposedly very delicious, but I've always given it a pass. The soup with the eggs, bread and cheeses will be consumed immediately following midnight mass. The church is redecorated with fresh flowers and branches of bay, myrtle and rosemary. People dress in their best – children often sport a new red coat or sweater or red shoes.

In the evening people gather in the church yard with their unlit candles. Children are given elaborate specially decorated ones (lambathes) by their godparents. I love these candles - some are decorated with fancy ribbons and bows, but the ones especially for the kids are decorated with cartoon characters like Power Rangers or Hello Kitty. My favourite is the Pascha Barbie one.

The church service begins around 10 and, while the church is packed with the truly devout, most people hang around outside the church. Just before midnight the lights go out in the church. The priest appears at the door carrying a lighted candle to tell the people that Christ has arisen from the dead. The crowd then lights candles from the priest’s and each in turn lights their neighbour’s candles – and everyone joins in the hymns Christos anesti – “Christ has risen.” People kiss, church bells ring out, the ships in the port blow their sirens, elaborate fireworks are set off (the noisier the better) and everyone parades home to dinner – trying to keep their candle lit in order to bless their homes with a smoky cross over the doorway. Once home, the fast is broken with the mageiritsa and the feasting and party begins. For the next 24 hours, fireworks, firecrackers, gunshots, even dynamite is fired off to celebrate.

Easter Sunday – the outside spit and fire is prepared to roast the lamb – this is a job handled by the men of course – with much arguing ad friendly bickering about just how to do the charcoal right and when the lamb is cooked to perfection. Hmmm, much like our Sunday steak barbecues, no? So now those gorgeous bright red dyed eggs come into play. Before eating them, the Greeks engage in a ritual from Byzantine times – cracking their egg against each others and saying Christos anesti (Christ has risen) and chronia polla (many years). Competition is fierce for the person whose egg cracks all the others without breaking is said to have good luck in the coming year.

The festive atmosphere prevails all day long with lots of wine, ouzo, singing, dancing.. . sometimes lasting for 3 days. In the afternoon there is a special service of Agapi (love) symbolizing the brotherhood of all nations.

Chronia polla!



CHRONIA POLLA!