Subject: BS: Postcard from Dendros (Greece) 2012
From:
Roger the Skiffler
Date: 17 Sep 12 - 08:11 AM
OSTCARD FROM "DENDROS", GREECE 2012
Friends who had been earlier in the year assured us that this mythical island had indeed risen from the Aegean again. Actually, we knew that as The Owner of the apartment where we stay had 'phoned us in January to wish us a Happy New Year and enquire if we wanted the apartment again. It may be a sign of the economic times that he also insisted on meeting us off the ferry and driving us to the apartment and calling in at a supermarket en route to stock up with supplies. This didn't take long as we only needed pre-dinner drink & nibbles & the wherewithal for a continental breakfasts but the range available and prices were better than the tiny village shop. We didn't find euro prices had risen much, if at all. As usual he had cleaned the apartment between lets but after that we were on our own ("you are family").We got 2 bottles of wine as compensation and access to the store of towels & bedlinen and the key to his apartment in case any of the electrics tripped.
The other rental apartment was to be occupied by a young couple from Paris. He was German with a Polish surname, she was French of Berber extraction and they had a cute 3 year old boy. They were told I was "in charge" in case of emergency! (The owner had obviously not asked Herself about my lack of DIY skills!). They weren't too keen on doing their own cleaning despite the "special price" they'd been offered, and asked around the village until they found someone to come in and "do" for them. We were glad we didn't bother as we later heard the cleaner had taken her cousin in to their apartment to marvel at the amount and range of beauty products they had (both were in the perfume business).
We had had the usual warm welcome at the taverna on the main island where we lunch while waiting for the ferry (and where I mislaid my NZ Selke hat last year!) and from the Owner and this was repeated in the tavernas and village shop.
They say if you wait in Piccadilly Circus long enough you meet everyone you know. Well, just walking along the beach from our apartment the next morning we met a group of Austrians we've coincided with before and an English couple who have a house and boat on the island and spend much of the summer there. We also caught up with regulars The Magician and The Writer, relaxing after a trying year, finishing 2 books to deadline (and gaining a Sony Radio Award) , dealing with Magic Circle affairs and packing up a lifetime's collection of books and artefacts into storage while their flat was being refurbished after years of neglect by the landlord. As the Writer is a Disney Historian we had bought as a delayed birthday present an inflatable Bambi we saw in Karpathos for him to play with in the sea. Amazingly, we also met a couple who we coincided with four years ago- she had acted in one of the Writer's adaptations many years ago. Also there were a couple of NZ film workers who the Writer had interviewed for his Tolkien film book. They were having several months touring the islands after a hectic 7 months 24/7 filming schedule.
We always say nothing ever changes in the village but this is no longer true. The empty space next to the shop is now a smart beach bar. A new weekend/holiday house has been built on the headland. Some village houses were being extended, all the tavernas now had tables on the beach ( we availed ourselves of one to host our traditional pre-dinner soiree for the Magician and the Writer, whose knees didn't allow him to get up the steps to our apartment as hitherto) and the road to nowhere round the headland which stopped at a large rock ten years or so ago has been extended a further 100 metres, but still goes nowhere. We were relieved to see the frame of the hotel extension was the same as it has been for 17 years- a shelter for goats. The first thing I noticed in the taverna was a new Cort guitar. "New guitar?" I said to the Guitarist. "Two new guitars" he replied. The other was a Takamine. I also spotted an Alhambra classical I hadn't seen before next to his bouzouki. "How many is that now?" I asked. He became evasive and shrugged: "Some break, some I give away" was the only answer I got.
I thought the jetty had acquired a ramp, suitable for landing from yacht tenders, but on closer inspection it was just a collapsed section of wall.
The economic situation may have explained the extra service we got from The Owner. He had a month in hospital in Athens in the winter which was expensive, two of his sons were at college and the youngest just leaving school. He was a classmate of Younger Son at the taverna and both were looking for maritime placements, hoping to be Captains in the future. Certainly, the village shop had run down its stock more than usual and there were business closures we noticed on our travels. Peace had broken out between two rival business families in the village, now united against a third who compounded his many real or imaginary offences by flying the Turkish flag at his establishment (until a visiting off-duty military person informed the authorities!). It was difficult to assess the economics. Germans have been reported as staying away from Greece but this is a climbers island and still popular with our northern European cousins. We were told The Owner had been turning people away except the "13 special friends" (where are we on that list I wonder!), but was also open to last minute bookings like our Franco-German neighbours. There were fewer yachts in the first week and tavernas were closing early. It picked up in our second week when the wind dropped. We rarely stayed singing and chatting after midnight, no longer up for the 4am sessions of our youth, and no dancing, on tables or otherwise!
The Magician had been unable to play his piano for years as it had disappeared under a pile of books and Disney memorabilia and alwas enjoyed the chance to tickle the ivories on our pianola whenever he visits Ascot. The taverna apartment, as well as storing spare guitars, also stored a Yamaha keyboard a previous guest had donated. We encouraged him to explore the instrumental voices of this, albeit without a manual, and after some rehearsal it made its way down to the taverna for our final night. The rest of the time he amazed an international audience with his magic each evening. One American boat's crew tried to tip him (they must have been used to Las Vegas) and he had to explain that although he was used to performing for a fixed fee in the UK, in Greece he performs for pleasure and as a thank you to our Greek friends. I'm surprised he didn't suggest they should tip ME not to sing! Last year the Writer's rendition of the Hippopotamus Song of Flanders and Swann was a surprise hit. Over the winter we added some songs to our mutual Kindles and sent an international audience (Dutch, Danish, German, French, Italian, Greek, Austrian and Swedish) away singing "Mud, Mud, Glorious Mud". We also managed to insult them all with the Song of Patriotic Prejudice (The English are Best!) and I contributed Paddy Roberts' Ballad of Bethnal Green (one of the more modern songs in my repertoire). The Guitarist continues to insist we join in Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel songs (I can never get the high notes – some say I can never get most of the others either). Next year he wants us to send him the music the Boney M ouvre! He thinks the Writer sounds like Dean Martin, so that's another list of songs to try! I continue to hoe the lonely furrow of spreading the obscure 30s blues repertoire with Bessie Smith's Kitchen Man and Barrelhouse Annie's If it don't fit don't force it. A Dutch yachtsman/harmonica player we met last year returned and insisted (really!) I do Hootchie Cootchie Man and other requests I received were for the Elvis numbers: Trouble, All Shook Up and Blue Suede Shoes. We also had to do House of the Rising Sun nightly, though confused the guitarist one night by doing the parody version. We left each evening with Goodnight Irene of course. My "machine" (kazoo) continues to fascinate the Guitarist, who can't work out how I produce the sound (others ask merely "why?"). Younger Son usually joins in on dumbek drum or Cajon box as he gave up the guitar after a couple of years of proper lessons, to his father's disgust. "He could have been very good, he's missed 3 years, whatever troubles he has in life he could always have his music to fall back on". Towards the end of the fortnight Younger Son began to practice again and joined his father in a couple of duets. "I can't teach him myself, I haven't the patience". The Owner and his wife joined us one evening and he played one of the Gutarist's other guitars, in a more rudimentary style ( to the amusement of his wife, I know the feeling!).
One of our pleasures is to lie on the beach Kindling and watching yachtsmen, often inexperienced flotilla sailors, trying to pick up their moorings, sometimes going round several times. Often one or both the sons of the taverna have to go out in their small boat to help them. The NZ couple accepted an invitation to go out with a British pair who had made a particular dog's breakfast of coming in. Unable to say anything in their presence we watched their departure with trepidation. Before they'd even got back to the yacht the NZ man had to dive off the inflatable to rescue a hat that had blown off, then they cast off the wrong rope, leaving their mooring rope still attached to the buoy so he had to dive in again to retrieve it! Later that day we were all conscious of petrol fumes from their motor bike, a battered one he'd borrowed from a local. We had to move it away from the beach. Night fell and they hadn't returned. We heard later that after a hairy journey they had a long "session" in the port to recover and didn't get to pick the bike up (after an expensive taxi ride from the port) till the small hours and the evaporating fuel from the dodgy pipe meant he wasn't sure if he'd have enough fuel to get home. Arriving back he forgot to shut the gate to his accommodation & his owner woke up to find the goats had been at his flower garden! Another local boat left the jetty to howls from a local boy who was fishing there daily- they had fouled his line and were dragging his rod with them (luckily he let go!). They returned and gave it back!
We don't do much during the day, but when it was windy we did do a couple of walks in company with the Magician, taking in the chance to visit the Cretan's upper taverna for a drink or meal. For a couple of days we shared a car with the Magician and the Writer and visited a few of the other villages, had meals, and took photos. We also visited the Folk Museum below Ayios Savvas, the monastery above the main town. An enthusiastic curator practically dragged us from the car when we stopped to see if it was open, and as well as giving us the English language room guide, came round and expounded on everything. I noticed in the kitchen mock-up they had 2 washboards but they wouldn't lend me one! We're always struck by the amount of superstition that goes hand in hand with Orthodoxy. There was a model of a baby in a flour bin- this was to fool the Evil One before the baby was baptised when it could safely go into a cradle. We "did" the monastery thoroughly a couple of years ago so only went up to take photos of the town & port below. As we left the island we were told that Dodecanese TV (so it must be true!) had reported a miracle: a Turkish Muslim family with a dumb child had visited the monastery and the child had gone into the shrine, seen the "funny old man" (Saint Savvas' remains) and come out talking…
In the town, we were having coffee when the Guitarist passed by and came to join us for a chat. He was getting supplies for the taverna and paying bills. Visiting the hubbub of the town always stressed him out. Well, the population of the island is 20,000 most of whom live in the main town for at least the winter, and even to us it seems noisy and crowded after a week in the village. In another village, where a new road had opened a couple of years ago, two new beach tavernas had been built and the ex-teacher, former sponge diver, multilingual owner of the original taverna was clearly stressed by the loss of trade. We only stopped in for a coffee but got a free plate of fruit and he played his bouzouki and sang Varka Yialo to us, doing both female and male voices. (I think I got brownie points for knowing the chorus! I had the words to the verses on my Kindle but didn't have it with me). Other places pressed extra drinks, sweets and fruit on us. The Cretan gave us profiteroles with our coffee.
Our Owner told us his family were coming up for the weekend and wanted to cook a meal for us. We did a walk in the morning to work up an appetite and joined our next door tenants in the Owner's downstairs apartment. His wife (kindergarten teacher) and mother-in-law ("When I sell my wife, I throw her in for free, she's a very good cook") were stuffing peppers, aubergine, tomatoes and courgettes and a moussaka was in the oven. We had lamb keftedes, souvlaki, the yemistes, local sausages, fried peppers (VERY hot) and three sorts of bread, including garlic bread and ouzo bread, and salad and wine , of course and local cheese. The moussaka was the best and lightest I'd ever had. The Brother-in-Law and Youngest son turned up as the meal was underway and joined in. We were asked to suggest UK universities the boy could study Marine Science. Details sent since we got back. He got a chance to practice his French on our neighbour. This meal was ample compensation for the loss of hot water which happened the day before. I checked the fuses and the pump was working OK. The owner called his plumber "I can't come: I'm at the hospital, my wife is having a baby." "Never mind that, my tenants have no hot water." Eventually it turned out the solar panels had been damages (someone throwing a stone had been suggested). Fortunately, visiting 39 Greek islands has taught us some wrinkles. Empty drinking water bottles, filled with cold water and left out on the balcony all day get hot enough for hair washing etc. In the climate (around 30 degrees) cold showers are not a problem. The water in the beach "cold" water shower was hot anyway through travelling through hot sand and we could have accepted the various offers of bathroom facilities we were offered when the news got out. Mind you, the entire village was without electricity next morning for a couple of hours!
Finally, the limited survey material confirmed black as the narrow winner of the swimsuit colour of choice again this year, although a late showing by scarlet and also by turquoise narrowed the gap. I will continue to monitor the situation carefully next year in ?Dendros again?, Naxos? Who knows? Before then we'll have been to Suffolk and Budapest. Ain't retirement grand?
RtS
PS I'm still sorting the photos, I'll put a few up on my Photobox account for the faithful few soon.
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sj
