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Welcome to Byzantium!

When people talk about too much complicated bureaucracy, they call it "byzantine." I always thought it referred to a period in history and the realm of Byzantium, or the area of the Roman empire during the Middle Ages, centred around Constantinople (modern Istanbul). But I now know it was invented to describe the complicated process for a foreigner to buy land in Greece.

I am a devout hellenophile so the nobler part of me is glad that the Greek government keeps such tight control on foreign ownership. But the larger more selfish part of me that longs to have roots in Greece wants to scream - HEY - Papandreou! It's ME! Nancy! Lighten up on the paperwork, will ya!"

For those of you interested (for reasons that escape me) on the convolutions of a non-EU citzen buying Greek property - here we go:

My first step was to get a Greek lawyer who will act as my power of attorney.

Next, everything in Greece apparently has to be notarized. Several times, several ways, in several versions, often. Get used to it. There is a lot of pomp and circumstance and the occupation of notary is pretty lucrative and pretty busy. It involves a LOT of documents, official looking rubber stamps, waiting in hot sweaty lobbies and dealing with earnest clerks.

Then - I had to open a Greek bank account. Easy peasy - got the lawyer to do that. OH! But first, I need a Greek tax number. Lawyer again. Notarized the passport, times six. I am not making that up. Six copies.

Now then.... let's buy some land.

BUT FIRST.... I need my national police (in my case the Mounties and Dudley Doright) to provide a criminal record check to the Greek Ministry of Defence. Since I boringly have a pristine criminal record, this takes about four months. And money - I had to get finger and palm printed (fee) and then send the mess off to Ottawa (another fee).

Then - because apparently the RCMP's word is not good enough, I have to write a statement that says, like Nixon, "I YAM NOT A CROOK." And, naturally get it notarized (fee) and translated (fee) by a translator approved by the Greek Embassy or Ministry.

I need an original copy of my birth certificate (fee) translated (fee), and then .... hey wake up! We've only just started!!! Stay with me.... I also include my personal biography and information on my parents and where they were born, information on my finances, and a brief essay on why I want to buy property in Greece. I have resisted the urge to write on the form - "why to have frequent licentious bacchanals of course!"

I then send the whole works off the Greek Embassy in Canada. It has to be translated you see. And then notarized. And THEN, I can send it to my Greek lawyer and HE sends it on to the Minister of Defense, who apparently has nothing better to do. Oh, and the lawyer has to get the land surveyed, get the specifics on the parcel of land, a topography map all of that certified, notarized and god knows what else. They also need to prove I am not near either a sensitive military zone or a protected natural area.

Still with me? Good.

Now, the hard part begins. I am told that the Minister keeps the application in his IN basket for about 8 months before stamping it approved.

So - minimum of 12 months. I could, I suppose speed the process up with a few bribes - but I'd rather not. So much for impulse shopping.

I am now on the second month of waiting for the RCMP to give me a clean criminal check. It's a little unsettling waiting for it.... trying to recall if I ever got busted for shoplifting a chocolate bar as s 10 year old or have an unpaid parking ticket. Or worse - identity theft - maybe somebody masquerading as me has been pulling off bank heists and jacking deer! Egad!

In the meantime, I can dreamily look at my Greek home decorating mags, moon over architects plans and figure out what I need to sell to afford this folly.

Stay tuned. More paperwork to follow.

Number one on the bucket list

Like a dog looking for a place to pee, I’ve circled and circled to find just the exact right spot to buy my little slice of Greek island paradise. I’ve been looking for over a decade. And this year, I think I might have finally found the right place.

Why Greece, you might say. And – good god with their economy in shambles – why now?

Can you see me shrug? Can you see my goofy smile? Can you see the stars in my eyes? My only answer is why not? The time has never been better. Here’s a tip – Greece’s economy is always a basket case, they have perpetual labour unrest and the Canadian dollar goes up and down like a whore’s drawers. So, what the hell – if you read any of my first 30 or so posts you’ll know my mantra – you’re a long time dead. Act, because inaction is decay. And I have no intention of rotting on the vine, my friends.

Over the next year, I’ll be blogging about just what one poor (and I mean POOR) foreigner has to go through to acquire property in Greece. The bureaucracy is byzantine and I will need your moral support in navigating it. Fortunately I have the quick witted and unflappable Andreas to help me find my bearings and Marios to help me deal with their legal quagmire.


I may chicken out before I plant my first olive tree. But I am indeed going to try this adventure. If I didn’t, I would hate myself for not at least trying.

So, stick around as I chart my course to become landed gentry in my version of paradise.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig

Well, my middle-age-crazy winter in Greece has come to an end. I am back in Canada now. Back to the sanctuary of my beloved house and gardens, back to the slobbery kisses and bum waggles of my unfaithful dog Daisy and back in the loving embrace of my dearest friends. Oh yeah, and back to work on Monday.

It truly was 90 days of sunshine for me this winter, both meteorologically and spiritually.

This winter odyssey had two goals: one was to see if I could do my job off-site, using technology; the other goal was to see if I could do some mending inside and out. Work went really well – I was able to deliver my projects well before deadline and there wasn’t one hitch with the technology. Not one. (thank you Mac gods!) I’m not sure how my boss feels about this – he likes being able to wander down the hall put his feet up on my desk and brainstorm about the next project - however, we Skyped, iChatted and emailed and, as I said, work got done, projects got completed and stuff filed and applied for on time.

As for the personal mending part, well, there was some progress there too. I resolved a lot of goals and directions for the next 50 years of my life, put away some past hurts, grieved for my recently deceased older brother, ancient old auntie and of course my beloved dad – gone too soon and so hugely missed. My health still is annoyingly out of whack. But it was important for my soul to get away from the poking and prodding of doctors for a little while. I was able to forget all that for three blessed months. And that, my friends, was worth the trip.

Best part of being home? In order of importance:
1. Snuggling with my dog Daisy and looking into her soulful eyes and hearing her laugh (yes, Labs laugh! I am not making this up).
2. Lunch and gossipy gabs with my friends.
3. Cold skim milk.
4. No constant threat of yet another 24-hour labour strike of some sort.
5. North American plumbing (if you’ve been to Greece, I don’t need to explain this).
6. Australian wines (can’t get ‘em in Greece).
7. The smell of the woods around my house.
8. The pleasure of feeling fresh grass under my bare feet.
9. Coffee on my back patio watching the fawns eat my flowers.
10. Walking along my beach playing Frisbee with my Daisy dawg.

Things I already desperately miss from Greece? In order of importance:
1. The absolutely wonderful friends I made while in Crete. I can’t believe I won’t see you for a year! Thank god for Skype.
2. Retsina and barrel wines from the villages
3. Greek cheeses and 10%m.f yogurt
4. The smell of mama’s cooking and being able to pick a fat juicy orange off the tree
5. The joyous exuberance of daily Greek life
6. Knowing that I walk in the footsteps of the gods and on the very same stones that Plato and Aristotle's sandals trod
7. My perfect beach at Agios Prokopias


8. The astonishing variety and lushness of Greek spring flowers
9. The bustle of Athens and shopping on Kokolotroni and Ermou Streets
10. Owning a seat in a café for the entire day for the price on one measly coffee.

So, thanks faithful readers, for coming along for the ride with me this winter. I won’t close the blog down just yet, but won’t be posting as often.

I am working on a new project that, as it develops, I will probably blog about. Stay tuned.

Thanks for keeping me company this winter.

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.