A dash of Shediac, a dollop of Caraquet

The job I do back home in Fredericton requires my attention for about 20 or 30 hours a week. How to fill in the other hours on my idyllic Greek island? Well, I can’t live on free olives and the view alone, so I’ve hung my shingle out here to teach English, French and Italian to the locals. I can handle school age kids who’s parents are keen on private lessons or local business people who want better language skills for their tourist based business.

Between you and me? I’m secretly keen to take on a few French students. I grew up in Moncton you see, and my French has that unique accent. Not the toff Parisian accent of the swanky language academies. I harbour a secret delight in educating a generation of Greek kids to speak chiac. It’s my revenge, you might say.

See, I learned to speak Greek from a Japanese professor. 30 years later, I apparently still have a damnable but very distinct oriental accent when I gamely and earnestly try and inflict my Greek on the polite but mystified villagers.

I never knew I had an accent of course. But too many times I’ve left a shop or restaurant to be followed out the door by gales of laughter – it finally dawned on me. Dear god, I sound like a bad Jackie Chan movie and should come with my own subtitles.

So, yes, I’m quite looking forward to teaching little Nikolai and Despina the finer workings of Chiac. Beh OUI for sure!

A thousand words,,,,

.......'nuff said?

Walter Mitty goes hi-tech

We all have those Walter Mitty kind of dreams. On days when our office workload seems to overwhelm us with tedium and eye-glazing boredom, we stare out the window at the February snows and imagine a virtual office on a sun-kissed island.

The difference with me is that I’m actually doing it. This winter, with the reluctant blessings of my boss, I’m actually working from home. The only difference is that my virtual office at home is on a lovely Greek island, halfway around the world.

Why Greece? Well, the addiction to Greece started about 25 years ago (see first blog posts). I don’t really need to explain the lure of gorgeous vistas, a joyous welcoming people, history, architecture, music and fabulous food do I? What you might not realize is that Greece is a pretty hip country when it comes to modern communications. A perfect set up for a virtual office for a snow-crazed Canadian.

Because it is essentially an island nation, Greece is way ahead of Canada when it comes to internet capability and cellphone technology. It is a way of life – a common utility that islanders take for granted. In fact, the island I normally visit – Naxos – is completely wi-fi enabled. I can sit in my little apartment there that clings to the seawall and get a decent and fast connection – or make my branch office the little seaside taverna where I have my lunch. It’s a bit of a culture shock to see the black garbed granny waddling down the country road on her donkey, cellphone clapped to her ear, like any North American teenager. Yes, the new age of communications has utterly captivated the always chatty Greek population.

So - for all you techno geeks, here are the bare bones details. I write for a living mostly. I sit on my fat bum in an office and crank out reports, grant applications, write public relations copy and news items. To do that, I need a reliable computer, a good internet connection and, er, focus. Ahem. Well. I've now had a month of doing my job from 'away,' as we say in New Brunswick. And so far so good.

My apartment here in Chania Crete (the one in the 600 year old Venetian manor house) has superb wi-fi highspeed internet. I have Skype, iChat, Messenger, Yahoo and all my work files here. I have a reliable person back at the office to print off what I write and to lick the envelope. The 6 hour time difference isn't a challenge - the boss likes to work late. When he arrives at the office, I'm just settling in to watch the Greek version of Desperate Housewives. That gives me my mornings to dwaddle in cafes, go to the market, walk along the beach or do laundry and enjoy being part of a bustling community.

Mobile phones are virtually disposable here - they come cheap, you can get temporary accounts and if your mobile doesn't work (or 'Handy,' as I have heard the Brits call them) then there are phone cards for the payphones. Easy peasy.

Sometimes I have to pinch myself. I live in a 600 year old building. I look out my window across the tiny harbour carved out by the Venetians at a church built in 1265, a mosque built in the 1600s and, just beyond, to a hill that was the original Minoan settlement dating back thousands of years. My computer beeps and it is the boss on video camera discussing the day's mail.

Technology makes this possible. Astonishing in the cradle of civilization.

Freedom fighters

No one knows for sure when it was founded, but it is believed that the Arkadi Monastery may date between 950 and 1200 AD. In Venetian times, the monastery housed as many as 300 monks in its precincts.

In 1866, when the Cretan revolt broke out, 1500 of the leaders gathered there to plot the rebellion. The Turkish pasha in Rethymno set out a force of 15,000 with 30 cannon to nip the rebellion in the bud. The local people and rebels barricaded themselves inside the monastery – some 260 men and over 700 women and children. The Turks encircled the monastery and the Cretan situation became hopeless. The abbot gathered the women and children inside the powder magazine where they chose to blow themselves up rather than surrender to the Turks.

The rebels fought bravely and held the Turks off another day. But eventually the walls were breached. Only three or four managed to escape the slaughter that followed. The pasha believed that this put an end to the rebellion and taught the Cretans a lesson, but it only served to inspire the freedom fighters to continue. Crete finally won its autonomy in 1898.

Crete – the crossroads of history

I’m not a professional writer, but I adore words and writing and I guess I DO actually make my living by stringing the right words together. I try to avoid clichés – it is a point of pride for me that I wrote press releases for four different elections, both federal and provincial, announcing each candidate’s bid for a seat and NEVER ONCE used the tired cliché – “tossed his hat into the ring.’ That’s – let me see … doing the math….. about 237 press releases for each candidate’s announcement sans cliché. Now THAT, my friends, is wordsmithing glory.


But Crete and Greece can’t help but inspire clichés… azure seas, sun-baked beaches, deep-fried tourists… you get the idea. I am trying to avoid most of them in this blog, but here is one I can’t seem to get around: Crete is indeed a crossroads of history, of continents and cultures.

Swaddled by the Libyan Sea, the Cretan Sea, the Mediterranean and - farther out - the Aegean, Crete was an inevitable magnet and staging ground for a millennia of conquerors – from the earliest times – the Minoans, Myceneans, the mysterious Dorian invaders, Romans, Turks, Saracens, Venetians, to the last century’s Russians and Germans. And they’ve all left their mark in architecture, in food, art, culture and a gut wrenching history of battles, inhuman slaughter and heartbreak. Today as I write this, American jets are blistering noisily across my “azure” sky, launched presumably from those big carriers off shore. This lovely island is an important piece of real estate in the machinations of world politics, past and present. Crete has been so brutalized by turbulent history that the Cretans can seem quite guarded and insular, understandably so. They view themselves as Cretans - not Greeks.

I live in the part of North America that is considered “historic.” We are smug about our “old” houses dating back to the late 1600’s and I’ve worked on archaeological sites dating back about 6,000 years. Pffffft…. here, in Crete, I am living in a 600 year old Venetian building and look out my window at a mosque built in 1645 and at the dome of a church begun in 1320. My laundry room entrance is through an exquisite Venetian arch and I hang my smalls to dry on a marble balcony used by Marco Polo’s contemporaries. The mind boggles.

This past weekend I hopped the local bus for a short trip along the coast to the town of Rethymno. It’s fun doing this – I throw my jammies, some clean undies and a toothbrush in a light shoulder bag and off I go. The local bus is a cheap and really comfortable way to explore the small villages. No luggage to drag around; makes me feel free and quite intrepid. They haven’t had significant earthquakes there so much of their stunning Venetian architecture is still intact, including the magnificent massive Fortezza guarding the town. East meets west here for sure, with lots of Turkish mosques and minarets intact and the lovely Venetian houses, fountains, and palazzos. My hotel was the exquisite Veneto Executive Suites (www.veneto.gr) – a 14th century manor house, replete with sweeping marble staircases, indoor tinkling fountains, a serious wine cellar, flower draped balconies, stone archways and modern plumbing.


In the Old Town, some of the narrow winding streets are reminiscent of the real Venice (without the stinking canals and rude tourists), with the enclosed wooden balconies (sachnisia) and stonework. Lots of cafes and restaurants, interesting shops, museums, the Fortezza, and a pretty harbour front walk make Rethymno a lovely spot to visit. It was fairly deserted of tourists in late February and it is quiet on the weekend, but I expect it rocks in high season. Which is why I am here now :)



I walked the hell out of that town during my weekend there. My arthritis was screeching, but it felt fantastic to just get out and roam on my own. When I had enough (and my knees protested loudly), I once again hopped the local bus and made the 45 minute coastal drive back to Chania. Next week: Heraklion and the archaeological sites.

Solo Travel – inside view

OK… I haven’t been totally honest. Truth be told, I ADORE my solitude. It’s my loneliness I hate. But I have been described as the most gregarious introverted hermit you will ever meet. I do well on my own and when people ask me for advice on traveling alone, I tell them I’ve learned that you damn well better like your traveling companion for you are stuck with yourself a long time.

I’ve been doing this for over 30 years now. And, apparently, I’ve become a bit of an authority on this type of travel as I get asked to speak on it often, to advise perfect strangers on their trips and even to teach a class on solo travel for the 50-something. It still utterly tickles me that my own travel agent calls ME to get advice for her clients on how to get around in Greece.

Here’s some of what I’ve learned so far…..
1. Walk like you know where you are going.
2. Be prepared to laugh at yourself – a lot. Often.
3. You meet way more people traveling alone than with a friend, lover or – god help us – one of those tours.
4. Ask for help, directions, advice, and see Number 2.
5. Speaking of Number 2, always use the bathroom whenever you can. Be prepared.
6. Screw the diet. In Greece, one MUST eat the 10% m.f. yogurt. You can diet when you get home or walk off the extra slab of cheese or baklava.
7. Revel in your aloneness – it throws them off: I swagger into a restaurant where everyone is in couples and loudly and laughingly demand the MOST romantic table for one – it cracks everyone up and gets me great service.
8. Don’t assume. Anything.
9. You ain’t in Kansas anymore Dorothy – be flexible and respectful. Mind your manners.
10. Forget your little maple leaf pin or patch on the backpack. You stick out like a beacon anyway unless, like me, you are a Greek goddess.
11. Always have small bills and change.
12. Learn about archaic plumbing and adapt (more on that later)
13. Lose the attitude. In Greece, at least, crime is low and no one is trying to steal your money/screw you/ kill you/mug you/ or otherwise take advantage of you. Of course they will try to get the best price for their product. Wouldn’t you? That’s just business. They ain’t running a charity.
14. Make friends with yourself, give yourself a break and learn to appreciate sitting still with your self. Talk to someone new every day.
15. See Number 2.

Solo Travel

Blame Auntie Pauline. I got this yen for traveling at her knee. All those damned slide shows from Uncle Warren - “ahhhh yes, and this is the ruins of Chalcis, note the happy beggars.”

When I was about 16, old enough that my Dad had some confidence in me, and I had some basic common sense, I started my solo travel. First to Europe, then the Middle East, Northern Africa and eventually to the Caribbean, Polynesia and Central America. In my second year of university, my fairy godmother/professor waved her magic wand and the next thing I knew, I was studying archaeology in Rome. In fact, I turned 18 in Rome. Now that I’m older and wiser, I am in awe of my father’s bravery in sending his little girl off to a foreign country to live. Such courage on his part; such blithe and blissful ignorance on mine.

Sure I’ve had great fun traveling with friends, but it seemed that whenever I had the money and the time, they didn’t. So, I had to choose between waiting around for them or just – go on my own.

As a young woman, it was an adventure. Being a “scholar” had a certain cachet and got me out of a few jams. Then came those years when I had to know when to convincingly deliver the I’m-so-sorry-I have-a headache line (and when NOT to) in any number of languages - to amorous lotharios. Later, I'll tell you about the Kamaki King contest in Skiathos.

The Greeks are always astonished that I travel alone, but terribly moved that I keep coming back to visit their country. When I was younger, I used to find myself inventing excuses why I was alone or – worse – inventing an imaginary husband and 3 strapping sons. Now that I am 50, I am not compelled to make the same excuses. Now, I have to polish the I-really-don’t-want-a younger-lover- story. Traveling alone means you have to figure stuff out on your own; you have no one to consult with on the road less traveled and no one to watch your oversized suitcase while you nip over to the kiosk to get some gum. (*TIP: traveling solo means you learn to travel light!)

Solo travel has its challenges and lonely moments, but it also has a lot of freedom. I sleep in if I want to and I often have an agenda of what I’m NOT going to do today. For example, today – I am not going to the museum. I am also not going to see the archaeological ruins of the temple and, if I can possibly squeeze it in, I am not going to the local art gallery. Today, I am going to sit in the café, eat fresh pistachios, drink a carafe of local barrel wine, read the Guardian and watch the world go by – and not answer to anyone or follow anyone else’s “if-it’s-Tuesday-it-must-be-Belgium” agenda.