Alan and Honey

Honey and Alan came to tea. Alan brought a sketch of how the door below our balcony might look. Leftheris - he a retired builder, my age within a month - discussed the design with Alan pondering stresses, the arrangement of iron bars inside the concrete support.

Leftheris and Alan discuss the balcony

We went upstairs where Lin had prepared smoked salmon to be sprinkled with fresh lemon from our tree, and pepper; crusty white and brown bread on which to spread cold butter; a salad of tomatoes, peppers, olives, spring onion into which were mixed small squares of crumbly fresh feta, to be dressed by choice with oil and vinegar or mayonnaise; brie, cream cheese, and edam and dried sausage to have as extras; tzatziki, crab sticks and taramsalata. To drink we had cold lemon tea, white and rosé, green tea and coffee. We talked of flowers and growing trees and shrubs – Honey had brought round an oleander and a jasmine for our garden and earlier Alan had dug up and brought us three small Judas trees; of insects – those we valued, those we killed; rescuing spiders; the art of joinery; architectural pleasures and monstrosities (like the Achilleon Palace), potholes and the positives of filling them in oneself;

the way planning worked in England and Greece; buildings that collapse and why; doors that won’t shut and why; the state of the world…in Greece, in the rest of Europe, in America.

****

Today I went into town to get some money from the bank, parking far out and cycling in past a street march on behalf of teachers and a demonstration in Sarocco Square by service workers; large banners; chanting and speeches. I spoke to two demonstrators and expressed sympathy for their fears of their future prospects. “Greece is only the start” said one. At the bank the familiar cashiers weren’t to be seen and their desks at the counter were empty. Someone came round to serve me. All efficient, but when I asked for the pink slips we need for our tax record, she said “there’s a strike so we don’t have them. Come again.”

***

Amy phoned. Did we know UK airspace was again closed. We were going to make it to her wedding on 17 May? We’ll keep our fingers crossed but I’m sure we’ll be there. I’ve to make a speech as father of the bride and give her away.

** ** **

Two friends doing maintenance on a house for sale in the village decided to give a bit of their time and energy to doing up the small playground between houses off Democracy Street

and in the meantime work was also being done on the property over the path from us, turning an apothiki (garden shed) into an extra room, and Leftheris has brokered a deal with the builders to share their cement mixer and labour with Alan, pouring concrete for our balcony and steps next Sunday.

*** ***
I wrote a note to a friend in England who, several years ago, was the appointed interpreter for an interview between police, customs and revenue officers of a man 'helping with enquiries'. She found herself being asked to play her part in an increasingly oppressive interrogation and eventually suggested terminating the interview until a solicitor was available. As a result she has been drummed out of her profession (elsewhere I've pointed out the ethical and practical dilemmas that might be presented to a conscientious interpreter seeking to observe the provision of 3.2 in the NRPSI Code of Conduct). I was her 'friend' at a travesty of a professional hearing on the incident and have written several letters direct to the Chair of her disciplinary panel and on her behalf as the matter has dragged on. Yesterday she included me in a general reply to friends in which she spoke of facing 'a life of retirement with no honour!'

Dear Zarina. Thank you very much for copying me into your recent reply to Yilmaz Duzen's letter to APCI members.

I deny that you face a "...a life of retirement with no honour!" Quite the reverse. When one of those moral tests came your way, and they come at times and in places not of our choosing, seldom when we're prepared, but more likely, when we least expect to have to take a stand, when we're in the middle of 'something else'; on those rare occasions when moral stature is tested, so many of us instinctively look the other way, or pass on the other side...!

In your case, when the moment came, despite the odds against you, you did the right thing. You refused 'to obey orders'. As in the notorious Milgram experiment (average blind obedience still being replicated I'm sorry to say), you were one of those rare subjects who did not think you should continue doing what the norms of the situation demanded. For what you did in those few seconds you can always look at yourself in the mirror knowing that though you paid a price for it, when push came to shove, you shoved.

In words the playwright Robert Bolt puts in the mouth of his 'Man for all Seasons' - Sir Thomas More - if we "come to such a case that there is no escaping, then we may stand to our tackle as best we can...(and) we may clamour like champions, if we have the spittle for it." You did. You do!

If we were always rewarded for acting honourably, honour would mean little. You, through an action that has led to the most damaging consequences for your career and standing, added value to the currency of human decency.

I'm forever proud of you for that intervention, for what you did when you saw the turn that was being taken in that interview, when you realised almost as a reflex that as well as being a talented interpreter, you were also a moral being.

It's rare to come through such tests with one's integrity not only intact, but stronger. That you may still harbour doubts on that score, only affirms my point. One day, Zarina, your example - especially as the incident is on tape - will be used to give guidance to others on the ethical duty of an interpreter. X and respect, Simon

The more public this travesty becomes the better:

My Dear Friend Simon, I am overwhelmed by your response and how you stood by me all the time even after I was 'suspended'. I am taking Ruth Daniel in her 80+ to vote, she is right by me watching things on a computer, we

had coffee together and saw your message right at the top! Bless you for such a moral and spirit boosting message to me and my friends in pain! They could explore your blog! Will speak to you soon if you are in Birmingham! Love, Zarina

* * *

Thanassis mentions 'citizen action' by 'our foreigners' - τους «ξένους» - on the Ano Korakiana blog on 7th May:

Πολίτες εν δράσει - 07.05.10 Έχουμε αναφέρει και σε παλαιότερο σημείωμα, ότι αρκετοί από τους «ξένους» που έχουν αποκτήσει περιουσιακά στοιχεία στο χωριό μας, κάποιο σπίτι μέσα στον οικισμό, έχουν επιδείξει αξιοσημείωτο σεβασμό στο αρχιτεκτονικό και φυσικό περιβάλλον. Επιπλέον, τη στιγμή που οι δικές μας επιλογές της τελευταίας ιδίως δεκαετίας, οδηγούν σε «εκτός οικισμού» εγκατάσταση, σε μια διασπορά που οδηγεί σε μαρασμό και εξασθένιση της «κοινότητας», εκείνοι επιλέγουν ακριβώς το αντίθετο και «γεμίζουν» τις γειτονιές μας. Δύο παραδείγματα που έπεσαν τυχαία στην αντίληψή μας τις μέρες αυτές, δείχνουν ότι το ενδιαφέρον αυτό επεκτείνεται και πέραν του αυστηρά ιδιωτικού χώρου. Το πρώτο αφορά στην επούλωση λακούβας στον επαρχιακό δρόμο και το δεύτερο στην ανακαίνιση της μικρής παιδικής χαράς στις Μουργάδες με πρωτοβουλία δύο ενοικιαστών παραπλήσιας οικίας και με τη συνδρομή των μικρών παιδιών της γειτονιάς (φωτογραφίες από την ιστοσελίδα του Simon Baddeley). Κάποτε, και το ενδιαφέρον το δικό μας για το χώρο που ζούμε, ήταν επίσης προσωπικό και άμεσο και δεν ήταν λίγες οι περιπτώσεις της εθελοντικής προσφοράς. Σιγά-σιγά όμως απαρνηθήκαμε εκείνη τη σύνθεση ατομικού-συλλογικού που αποτελεί τη βάση κάθε «κοινότητας» και κλειστήκαμε στο καβούκι μας, περιμένοντας…τους άλλους, τους αντι-προσώπους μας, την εξ-ουσία, για το παραμικρό…

The message is that 'slowly slowly' - Σιγά-σιγά - we are all beginning to pull together to sustain our village - our community «κοινότητας».

Leftheris and his grandson

Coming to Greece

Morning landfall on Albania and it's my birthday

We woke on an out-of-season ferry, mainly used by truck drivers heading for the new motorway cutting across central Greece to Thessaloniki and Istanbul that begins on the west coast of Greece - the Egnatia Highway, first built by the Romans. We slipped away from Italy and woke passing the rocky heights of the Karaburan Peninsular in Albania, snoozed, read and had a coffee when, with sun-up Corfu appears from the morning haze, slipping by as we head on to the mainland port of Igoumenitsa.

The nice thing about arriving by sea is the lack of bureaucracy. You walk out onto the jetty with your bags and you’re there, planted on the concrete apron as the super-trucks trundle out of the ferry’s vast hold, escalate through their gears and roar off on their errands, while we take a €5 taxi to the smaller ferry whose crew are impatient to leave for the 15 kilometres over to Corfu. We boarded with a minute to spare. Then the scale of things reduces. At smaller Corfu port our hire car awaits and after a stop at Lidl for provisions - shock at the prices of everything - we’re driving into Ano Korakiana’s narrow street and the alley by our home enjoying greetings from the neighbours, kisses, hugs, familiar children and cats.

Lin helps make Easter things

Βασιλόπιτα

Vassilopita in Ano Korakiana

Sunday evening marked Korakiana’s Vasilopita - a convivial tradition to mark the coming year and recall the last. It was at Luna D’Argento, a barn sized timber roofed building next to Sally’s stables belonging to Sally’s sister Rachel's brother-in-law and her parents-in-law. Lin and I checked with Leftheris that it would be appropriate for us to attend. After dark we walked from the main Ano-Kato road down a driveway decorated with many little white lights hung on surrounding trees. Outside it was chilly with just a few people behind us. Inside was bustle and glitter. A large square cake was on the centre table – the Vasilopita cake. Several generations were assembled to watch many performing in the celebration – the ambience of a family table multiplied. Free soft drinks were passed out from the bar. Starting with tribute speeches from the low stage led by Ano Korakiana's President referring to people and events, the music began; first a jaunty song, the singers strumming mandolins, then the Samaras Philharmonia spread across the centre of the hall struck up with tunes even I could hum – Get me to the church on time, the theme from Gladiator, Amazing Grace - followed, on a cleared stage, by the choir singing Greek songs, finishing with dances in traditional costume, the last of these special to Korakiana. Large pieces of cake were swiftly distributed. Any worry we might be intruding was dispersed by the kindness of our welcome, being beckoned to sit by the Leftheris, seeing parents and grandparents familiar to us carrying or leading small descendants, amid constant contented chat with pauses to applaud. The choirmaster asked very politely for more quiet at one point. I didn’t feel self-conscious about taking a few pictures, noting that Katya Spingos was, as she has at other events we’ve attended, acting as photo remembrancer while Thanassis, her husband, chronicles the life – past and present - of the village on its website.

*** ***

I would like to see inside the old Ionian Parliament building as I’m sure there’ll be busts, statues and plaques in memory of Ionian politicians to include in an account of the Protectorate, but it seems entry is only possible if some other event is going on there or a generous cleaner lets me in. I've also just read of a new book shortly out - The Ionian Islands and Epirus: A Cultural History (Landscapes of the Imagination) by Jim Potts which I'll order but it won't be with me before my chat on 3 February. Jim has agreed to see me for coffee. He says he's talking about his book at the Durrell School on March 3. (see also)

** ** **

Our week of blue skies is drawing to an end. It will be warmer but wet. I’ve bagged up sun dried driftwood on the balcony and put it under our plastic table now replaced by a cedar table, mildly dilapidated, found amid overgrown rotting wood, carried by us to the house and hauled up to the balcony by rope, after sanding and scraping off crispy remains of varnish. Its surface shows little sign of previous life, the small burns, grazes, scratches and stain that clue the use of some old tables. Between the three good cedar planks, nailed to the frame, that makes its top, there’s no cavity in which a delicately extracted core sample might afford evidence of previous owners. Was it normally covered by a table cloth; treated as a best table, not for any craft – beyond conversation? Each stout square leg is gently tapered with two fluted grooves on each side – 32 in all. The bottom of each leg had rotted from long standing in rain, but equally and the dead wood is all gone, dried away in summers, so the table stands firm. The bottom outside edge of each side panel, just above our knees, has been gently rounded below a discrete routed groove. There’s a drawer missing which we’ve measuring for a replacement, to hold cutlery.

Ano Korakiana

In the garden at 208 Democracy Street there were five marrows and several more to come.

You are not ignorant and you know it

Yesterday I had a tutorial on Greek culture while sitting in a virtual café with Leftheris. I recall from our conversation, though I have a headache this morning, that he apologised for not understanding the phrase "feel very dry"? I enjoyed going over the many uses of 'dry' in English. 'Dry wine' (oxymoron it seems but isn't), 'dry humour' (at which you don't laugh but you are amused), a 'dry book' (bit boring), "dry up" (another way to say "shut up", or to find oneself 'lost for words' in the middle of a speech). I'm sure there are more meanings. But most interesting he said "In school since I was a kid" that the "system divides people, it does not unite them. They learn us how to hate (Turkish, Skopian, Bulgarian, Italian, Arabs, Albanian etc.) The truth is that the Balkan people share common history beliefs and blood. That is a loooooooong story not discussed over the net as u say...." I will say no more here, except that we spoke into the night of many things about which my ignorance was wider than the whole Mediterranean and beyond the gates of Hercules (through which I sailed west many years ago - on my long voyage to Ithaka). And then Leftheris accuses me with a smile "You are not ignorant and you know it. You follow Socrates technique; 'one thing I know is that I know nothing.' I see what you are doing! You try to lead the chat in where you want without the other party notices it! That is not wrong! I try it some times! I am not offended, no!" At this I am almost in tears of pleasure and rather drunk. Then I said that he took the most beautiful pictures of women. That tourist standing in front of the Parthenon, in black and white. A pictures for which she has not posed but that does not invade but...but...create...erm...strong feelings of...erm...that photo will never dry! It is out of time." To ease my embarrassment because i thought may be it was a relative he gave me a large Kalamata olive, said it was just a lucky shot, and told me to 'dry up' and we switched to a discussion of agriculture in the Peloponnese. Later we depart to our separate homes 2000 miles apart, but he shouted as he strolled into the dark, "Kazantzakis is my favour author. I love him. such a great man. so modest! He fought against religion, slavery, inner fears, taboos...he was a truly free man! FREE!!!"

Meetings

The title of this blog is Democracy Street - our address in Ano Korakiana. Furthermore our neighbour is called Leftheris which means 'freeman'. On February 4 while travelling to Corfu by train and ship, John Richfield and I had alighted from the train that brought us from Paris, crossed a canal bridge to Piazzale Roma, and cycled, on a slightly confusing route towards our Adriatic ferry. Entering the maritime basin, we had woven among the parked supertrucks on the vast apron of the ferry terminal where we spied our ship rising above the waiting road traffic. There were very few independent travellers at that time of year. We got into conversation with one in the small cluster waiting to board. Travelling south on his motorbike, he was an academic, a philosopher - Alex Lloyd-Kapodistrias, descendant of the first Prime Minister of Greece, who's statue stands prominently in the city of Corfu where he was born on the 11 February 1776. Before the War of Independence, Kapodistrias, aged 25, had practised medicine in Corfu and was made a minister of the seven Ionian islands - the Septinsular Republic - the first self-governed territory of Greece.

Dear Alex. I hope you are prospering.I hope you don’t mind me sidling up to mentioning you in my diary. Connectionism and synchronicity. Herete. Simon

Not at all! Always a pleasure getting a message from you! In a few weeks I will be in Corfu for a month. What are your plans? If you are there, let’s meet! Cheers, Alex

I'm sad that we will not return to Corfu until September. Best wishes, Simon

* * * *
As well as being the birth island of Greece's first Prime Minister, Corfu can also claim Nicolaos Mantzaros, who composed the music for National Anthem of Greece, based on the 'Hymn to the Freedom' by the Ionian poet Dionysios Solomos, from Zakynthos.

Preparing to depart

Monday, April 30, 2007
0125. We packed up the boat, had a cheeseburger at CJs and drove up to Ano. The island dotted with lights and the sea sparkling below a waxing moon. We stepped over the threshold and made a cup of tea and coffee after unpacking and putting hotwater bottles in our bed. I had a shower and went upstairs. I can hear Lin tidying in the kitchen and far away muffled barking and what might be a nightjar. The roofers are back in the morning to finish up.
Sunday midday seeing our neighbour sat outside his front door doing a Sudoko puzzle I took him orange juice with ice. A friend said later “Next time try adding a little lemon to the orange. It adds something.” Our neighbours replied to the drink with a heaped plate of olives – small ones from Corfu for making oil and middle and large from a brother in Sparta for eating – as well as oil.
Discarded stones can be cast into the greenery edging our alley. He has a smallholding above the village growing oranges, lemons, garlic, onion, potatoes. Tracing the letters on his palm he said he was 65. “We are the same age. Which month?” “May” “Me March 29. I'm two months older”. This parity was enjoyed and shared with our closest, me to Lin and my neighbour to a daughter, mother, of the small siblings we’ve seen and heard playing in the garden.
* * *
I’ve had an uncomfortable exchange with the builder whose estimate for the roof work was too high. I phoned him because the bedroom sockets don’t work. He wouldn’t discuss it preferring to tell me that I’d made a bad mistake with my our chosen roofers. There was no gainsaying the man. Phones are bad for this kind of exchange. I suggested coming to see him directly but he was unenthusiastic. I found an extension cable so we could have bedside lights.


Saturday, April 28, 2007
Our first water bill was delivered by the shopkeeper yesterday. Work continues on the roof and we’ve accepted a tender to pave part of the garden and remove one of the upstairs walls. “It’ll be done when you’re back!” That seems ages away.
We’ll be going home Tuesday afternoon. Our roofer said “Your roof will done by then.” It was raining this morning, the work secured with a sheet of plastic. Extra tiles, mortar mix, insulation, wax paper were delivered and stacked this morning. We’re thinking we’ve now got a mix of people doing work we can afford and with whom we can keep in touch by e-mail, who trust us enough to cover cash flow delays, and who understand our wishes. After the electrics, the renewing of the kitchen, hall and downstairs bedroom ceilings and the roof comes making one space out of the two front upstairs bedrooms, with the wood stove and flue moved to its eastern wall, and the stairs widened. Then we could have the garden part tiled – over the flattened rubble.
Word of mouth led us to holiday flats in Pyrgi being refurnished. We salvaged a cane sitting room suite with cushions and a low table, drove it home, and lifted it upstairs with a rope over the balcony.