Archive for the ‘Places’ Category

Slow change

Wednesday, August 12th, 2009

One of the things that attracted us to this area of Greece was that it lacked significant tourist development. That’s not to say there was nothing, but it wasn’t unusual to drive through one coastal village that had shops selling essential beach kit and kitsch souvenirs then another, with equally good beach access, that had no such provisions or diversions. It was as if the second village had decided not to jump on the bandwagon, and to us it was really appealing that there didn’t seem to be this ‘me too’ attitude everywhere.

Ancient sites were usually under-promoted and often hard to find. A few explanatory notes if you were lucky, but at the smaller or more remote sites not even that. Maybe it’s a result of having so much ancient archaeology you’re falling over it, but again the feeling we got was that they weren’t making a big thing of it: come and look if you want, but don’t expect too much as we’ve seen it all before.

When we holidayed here it was always late season – usually mid-September – and we benefited from having good access to even the most popular tourist attractions. Ancient Olympia without crowds, for example, when it was possible to get pictures of the athletes’ tunnel without a tour guide’s umbrella emerging from it.

But the times they are a’ changin’

This last couple of weeks we’ve had family to visit and despite the August heat we wanted to show them some of the sights. Ancient Messini was a must. This fairly local site is a ‘work in progress’ and every time we visit there is more to see, but we’d never before encountered actual work taking place.  Since this was mid-August we can only guess it was academics working during their holidays. Or is it just that strange Greek quirkiness which means they work during the holiday season but not outside it I wonder?

There’s also evidence of EU money. On the positive side this means the site will continue to be excavated and developed. Eventually they’re likely to charge for entrance, although currently it’s still free. They may even put a toilet block at the entrance rather than back up on the main road by the museum. But on the negative side there is less access and more control than previously. Areas we’d been used to wandering over had been roped off and we were watched as we walked round.

Together with 3 children, aged 10, 9 and 4, I walked round the outside of a building in a wide channel that could have been a moat or water course. The little one was thirsty so I stopped and gave her a drink of water from my bag. I’d just packed the bottle away again when I heard a shrill whistle followed by a shout. Looking up I saw a woman beckoning us back onto the main path, where we were already headed.

As I got closer she shouted to me ‘You must not pick up anything from the ground’. I hadn’t, as I explained to her, but she just repeated her statement, seemingly not believing me. I wouldn’t mind, but the only thing ON the ground was dead grass. No artefacts, no ancient building blocks, nothing. And I wasn’t being furtive – I had taken the bottle out of my back and put it back in full view.

Having been ‘spotted’ as potential site robbers a discreet eye was kept on us for the rest of our visit. Not the most comfortable of situations.

Ancient Messini as we first saw it - without the crowds and security

Ancient Messini as we first saw it - without the crowds and security

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The Price of Progress

Monday, May 18th, 2009

When you don’t have a job to go to the days can blur into one another. Weekends no longer have the significance they once did. But the downside of that is you don’t always designate ‘me’ or ‘us’ time – well we don’t. We can find ourselves doing something related to our website and blogs every day, and while it’s not as if we spend 8 or 9 hours a day doing this, it can mean that 2 or 3 weeks can easily go by during which we’ve never had a day away from the computers.

Thinking back, it seemed that the last time we had a real day out was my birthday in mid-March, a full 2 months ago. So I declared yesterday was high time for a trip.

After breakfast we set to and made up a simple picnic, packed the car with cameras, maps, fold-up seats and table, and off we went. We had no specific goal in mind, just to drive along the coast from Pylos northwards and stop in places we’d not been to before. A chance to get a bit more familiar with the finger of the Peloponnese where we live.

The day started off warm but without direct sunlight. The sort of day that seems to give a threat of rain, although you know it’s not going to happen. The roads were quiet and we had a good drive over to Pylos, about 40km away. Skirting the town we headed towards the small coastal villages. Possibly the most spectacular beach in the Peloponnese is Voidakilia, just above Pylos. It’s a beautiful crescent of fine sand, almost completely enclosed by hills with a narrow entrance to the cove, which means the sea is beautifully calm. This was as far as we’d been on previous occasions, so we were heading into ‘new’ territory.

Our first stop was Rikia, which proved to be another long crescent-shaped beach, with soft golden sand and deserted apart from one single sun worshipper. This beach is more open than Voidakilia and more rocky. The rocks seem volcanic with weird shapes and deep holes scoured by the sea over millennia. Several different plant species were dotted along the beach and among the hills, giving an unexpected variety of colours and shapes.

The first cove led to another, smaller one with a few boats moored in a natural harbour, where the sandy beach was undisturbed by any human presence. But only the beach …

In the near distance we spotted something very unusual for this area of Greece – a large, partially completed complex of buildings. Normally the houses here are well spaced out and single- or at most double-storey. But this was a complex with buildings 3 or 4 floors high, and crowded together, more like things we’d seen in Spain than anything we’d ever encountered in Greece before. We went closer and soon found the answer:

Some years ago the Greeks decided that it would be beneficial to tourism to construct golf courses, and this area of the Peloponnese was chosen as an ideal site. We knew this was happening, but the most we’d seen before was the reservoir, designed to store our precious water to keep the greens in good shape. Suddenly we were right on the edge of a green with sprinklers working continuously, and the cranes of the building site in the background.  Just shifting our focus by a couple of degrees we could see a long beach adjacent to the complex, with a back-drop of distant hills, blue in the heat haze.

A very large tourist development for the Peloponnese

A very large tourist development for the Peloponnese

We drove around the edge of the site as we made our way further north. The entrance was down a narrow lane off the main road and ‘guarded’ by uniformed security staff, and there was definitely a lot of coming and going, even on a Sunday. We were impressed to find that the complex was  invisible from most points on the coast road.

A couple of kilometres further up the coast we stopped at our second beach – Miti – another long stretch of undisturbed sand. From here we could look back on the golf complex in the distance. Golf in the morning and beach in the afternoon will definitely be on offer. I’d imagine there will eventually be water sports, beach bars, and everything needed to entertain visitors on-site.

I have mixed feelings about this development:

Tourism in this area of Greece is understated. Apart from a couple of resorts listed in travel brochures, most people who come here find it themselves. But the economy is suffering from the falling price of olive oil, a staple crop, so anything that can give it a boost is to be welcomed. And the work on site must be bringing a welcome income to many local people, as could the job opportunities once it is open. But to what extent this new development will be a long-term answer remains to be seen. If the complex is self-sufficient then visitors may not venture too far away from it, and the financial benefits to local residents – as opposed to the owners – may be limited.

And part of the beauty of Greece is the uncrowded beaches, the small unspoilt coves. Some of the nicest beaches are within a few km of this new development. How will an influx of visitors affect them? Or again, will the intention be to provide every possible distraction within the complex itself? It would be a shame if visitors only experienced their immediate environment when this is an area rich with images of traditional Greek life and accessible ancient sites. And it would be a shame if they stayed on their local beach and missed out on visiting the beautiful bays that surround it.

It may be some time before we know the answers and learn how successful this venture has been. In typical Greek style it seems to be taking a long time to complete the work. And first someone has to do something about the local airport at Kalamata. In the past couple of years the number of airlines flying into Kalamata seems to have fallen, and even in high season the traffic through the airport isn’t heavy. But without it potential golfers face a 5 hours journey from Athens, and I can’t see this attracting them to sample the new delights of golfing in Greece.

Visitors will be able to walk off the golf course and straight onto this beach

Visitors will be able to walk off the golf course and straight onto this beach

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Spring is Knocking (and Hammering!)

Saturday, March 28th, 2009

I love this time of year in our part of Greece.

Technically it’s spring, but from the nature angle there’s never been a time when there haven’t been abundant flowers, either growing wild in the fields, in gardens, or filling all manner of containers.

This area of Greece is responding to the season in a different way: it’s the ‘waking up’ of human activity that, more than anything, signals that good weather is on its way and summer just around the corner.

Old houses are being re-roofed, new porches constructed, walls built or renovated. Old, seemingly abandoned building projects are suddenly springing to life, boarded up windows and doors removed to reveal fresh activity. All accompanied by sounds of industry: chainsaws, hammers, workmen shouting to one another.

In Koroni the businesses are shaking off the sleepiness of winter hibernation, poking a tentative nose out to sniff the air, to see whether it’s time to brush off the dust and leaves and get ready for action. Every day sees something new happening:

Cafes work hard at refurbishment to make sure they don't miss the tourists

Cafes work hard at refurbishment to make sure they don't miss the tourists

dining chairs lined up to get a fresh coat of Aegean blue paint

tattered awnings repaired or replaced

outdoor seating areas reclaimed from winter service as parking lots

tables and chairs reappearing under awnings abandoned since autumn

fishing boats sparkling in the sunlight under their shiny white paint, contrasted with vivid red and blue highlights

new menus aiming to attract early tourists and re-attract locals also throwing off their winter coverings

even the old wreck of a pick-up truck has been removed from the harbour.

It must be spring!

Today we’re taking part in a world blogging day, linking ex-pats who blog about their experiences in their new country. Martin is a Brit living in Bulgaria, keeping you up to date with what it’s really like to live there. At present he’s getting started growing organic vegetables on his own farm plot, being given helpful guidance in traditional farming methods by local people. We haven’t got that far yet, though we hope to do a small amount of vegetable growing this year. Like Martin we’ll be hoping to learn off the locals, to make sure we get the best out of the land and the climate.

Learn more about the realities of living in Bulgaria on his blog:   http://www.bulgarianslivatree.com/

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Getting Lost in Greece #2

Wednesday, March 4th, 2009

Out and About in the Greek Countryside

I’ve always enjoyed looking at maps and atlases. I don’t know why, but there’s something about a map that really appeals to me. Names of places, routes from one place to another, everything has a fascination. And I always enjoy navigating, especially in unfamiliar areas. Seeing how we’re moving across the map.

It’s something I find frustrating about Greece. It’s not that they don’t have maps, but they’re not really what I’m used to. Back in the UK I had a trusty road atlas that was part way to an ordnance survey map in its detail. The smallest of lanes was included, as were tiny hamlets. Greece just doesn’t seem to have an equivalent. Or if it does, it’s probably only available to military personnel.

Watch out for those giant houses! - our most detailed map of Messinia

Watch out for those giant houses! - our most detailed map of Messinia

The phrase ‘the map is not the territory’ was never more true than in Greece. You could be forgiven for expecting all roads in the same colour on a map to be of a similar quality. Maybe in other countries, but not in Greece. Here it’s quite common to find a road that’s designated as a rough track to be a better quality than one that’s designated as a secondary route. And a secondary route might be better than a primary route. And what a motorway will turn out to be like is anyone’s guess.

So that rough track up ahead, which is in the right place for the turning we’re looking for according to the map, but isn’t the primary road we’re expecting, could easily be what we want. Do we follow it in case, or do we keep driving, hoping there will be a more likely candidate up ahead? It gives every journey the potential for frustration, but also for adventure and discoveries.

I’ve seen British films of WW2 vintage where the signposts were turned round or removed, supposedly to fool the Germans if they ever landed. Maybe the Greeks think they’re still at war with someone, as they have their own version of this. They don’t seem eager to make it easy for people to find their way around. So when we decide to go on a drive off the main roads, we can almost guarantee we’re going to get lost.

Looking at my trusty road map I noticed some villages that apparently had a population of zero. There are a lot of single abandoned houses around here, but I’m fascinated by the idea of abandoned villages, so I suggested we go and check out a couple that were within about 20km of us. Both were clearly marked on 2 maps, so we could find them – right?

Our route to the first village started along roads we’d travelled before, but that didn’t make it any easier. Greek signposts tend to point you in a general direction then leaving you to find your own way (you’re on your own now, son). The map suggests we have to turn left in the village. We look out for the names of several places on our route which might be signposted. But of course there are no signs to guide us.

Driving out the other side of the village we can almost guarantee that the first sign we see will confirm we’re on the wrong road. Another U-turn, another try. And again. Who would have thought that tiny cobbled track would turn out to be the main road?

We risk a right turn onto a dirt road even though there are no signs, on the basis of it being in roughly the right place and going in the general direction. There are ordinary tyre tracks (as opposed to tractor ruts), so we’re not the only ones to come this way – always an encouraging sign. A kilometre or so along we come across a half dozen or so cars, just parked in what seems to be the middle of nowhere. No people around, just cars. Maybe hunters off to shoot some birds?

A little further: sliding through a muddy patch we become the day’s highlight for a group of children playing, a diversion from their normal games. I make a silent prayer that we won’t be driving back in the opposite direction in a few minutes, or I’ll ave to start waving like some celebrity.
Suddenly we’re up on a plateau of land with tracks criss-crossing it at all angles, but no buildings in sight and definitely no abandoned villages. There’s nothing to recommend one track above another so we set off down one until it becomes too rough for the car, then retrace our route and start off in another direction.

Eventually we find a track that seems to be heading in the general direction of a village glimpsed across the valley. Dodging deep ruts caused by recent rain, I walk in front of the car clearing away the larger stones. Another 500m and we’re heading back to civilisation at last. And here it is: a couple of tow trucks, some decidedly muddy cars, and several people looking at us in some surprise.

Oops – it looks like we’ve managed to join the latest stage of a car rally.

We didn’t wait to find out whether we’d won!

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Getting Lost in Greece #1

Wednesday, February 25th, 2009

A few months ago we met Robin who told us he lived up in the hills at Gallini. We’d seen signposts to the place on one of our walks, and also been told it could be reached from another road, so it seemed like a perfect circular route for us.

The first part of the walk was on a road we’d been down a couple of times before, snaking between olive groves, past the dessicated frog (black and shiny, but still clearly a frog skin), heading inland and upward. Then a left turn took us down a track into new territory.

There’s a small complex of buildings down this track that we’d seen before but never visited. From a distance it looks like something left behind from Venetian times. There are neat square towers and a wrought iron pergola, and as we got closer we saw an old stone aqueduct running along one side of it, supporting the impression of age.

We’d already speculated on what the building might be. I was in favour of an abandoned monastery, not unusual in this area (the only thing against my guess was the lack of any signs. Greeks still point you to their churches and monasteries, even if these haven’t been used for years). Ken thought it was more likely a single farm building that had been added to over time, and grown into a small complex. We were both wrong.

Following the road round and upwards we decided we were probably lost. We spotted someone pruning olive trees with a chainsaw in the next field and went to ask directions. Not surprisingly he knew Robin, and pointed us in the right direction for Gallini.

As he was so close to the intriguing building I asked if he lived there, and he told us that he didn’t but he did own the property. It turned out he had built it! It had taken 10 years or so, and was probably based around an original old building, but no way was it as old or grand as I had imagined. Still it’s a good job he’s done, especially in making it look authentically old and worn; he had me completely fooled.

Well, wouldn't you think it was more than a few years old?

Well, wouldn't you think it was more than a few years old?

We retraced our route a little way and crossed a river (probably a dry water course in summer, but flowing fast enough at this time of year to be described as a river in Greece) on an old stone footbridge. Another unexpected delight. The bridge spanned the valley and definitely looked old enough to support my Venetian monastery theory. It was about 1m wide at most, and overgrown with red anemones, purple iris and other wild flowers, with just a narrow path of clear earth to walk on.

The first trip across was a bit nerve racking. It wasn’t all that high or long, but there were no supports at all. I’ve always had an odd reaction to places I imagine I might fall from. Like ironwork staircases. I know the gaps in the ironwork are small, but I always imagine my foot’s going to slip through and I’ll get stuck. It was the same here: the path was clear but I still crossed extremely cautiously.

In all we crossed the bridge 3 times, and by the third I was happily oblivious to the drop.

Why the 3 trips? Not for the scenery – we got lost (again). Having directions doesn’t guarantee we can find a place. Especially not when there are so many different tracks, often heading in similar directions, and nothing in the way of landmarks or signs. It sometimes seems that if you don’t know exactly where you’re going, you’ve no right to be going there.

First we went up, but the track seemed too rough (even for Greece) to lead to a community, so we decided we must be wrong. Next we went down, which led us back to the river itself where it was too wide to cross. The track on the other side of the river looked more promising, so back we went, up and over the bridge. But after following this new route for a few hundred metres it seemed to be going in the wrong direction, so we retraced our steps yet again, over the bridge, and back up the first track. Maybe we had been right first time….

After a few minutes we realized we’d strayed onto someone’s land. Picking our way among olive trees, we headed for what seemed to be flat stretches that might hide a road, but each one turned out to be a new terrace of trees. Eventually we spotted a house, and reasoning that there must be a road leading to it we headed in that direction, expecting to be accosted by the owner at any minute for trespassing.

And then we realized our mistake: Gallini was the name of the house. We had automatically assumed it would be another of the tiny hamlets that are dotted over the landscape – 3 houses, a tiny chapel used once a year on a saint’s day, and a few barking dogs surrounded by olive groves counts as a village round here.

Robin’s probably still wondering about strange pair who almost came to visit.

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It’s Not All Sunshine Here in Greece

Sunday, January 18th, 2009

It’s almost a year since we arrived in Greece. We’d spent several days driving down through Europe, the weather getting better as we moved further south. The ferry docked in Patras, and we set off to drive south in bright sunlight, savouring the warmth after a cold English winter.

Some of our favourite early photos are of the beach that we walked along into the town. A long, gently shelving beach, mostly of golden sand with some more pebbly areas. There is virtually no tide so the sea was calm and peaceful every day. Even in February and March 2008 we were sometimes in t-shirts and shorts. A far cry from England just struggling towards a tentative spring.

Our local beach looked like this for most of the year...

Our local beach looked like this for most of the year...

Even in high summer the beach wasn’t crowded. It’s so long that people can spread out and have their own patch without feeling crowded by others. Some areas are more popular, but the density of bodies never gets that high anywhere. And the season is quite short, from mid June to mid September, peaking in August. Then the crowds go home and it’s back to being almost deserted.

But everything changed in the winter storms. Strong winds and heavy gusting rain lasting from one day to the next, then dying away, only to come back a few days later for another visit. Sound and light shows in the sky that went on for hours, without the usual accompanying rain. Watching the thunder and lightening was enjoyable, but seeing the effects of it all was much less so.

It’s amazing how much noise the sea can make when there’s some wind behind it. It sometimes feels like we’re living beside a busy main road, even though it’s few hundred yards away. And suddenly there are waves where there were none before.

That beautiful beach that we enjoy walking along all but disappeared under a thick blanket of seaweed. It’s hard to believe there could be so much of the stuff floating around in this small area: so much that it resembles an oil slick. Gently shelving golden sand has become a thick shelf of grey-black leaves that feel like a sponge as you walk across them. It’s a sad sight, but a vivid reminder of the power of wind and water.

...but after a heavy storm it had changed completely

...but after a heavy storm it had changed completely

At least the seaweed is natural. Even sadder is the other debris that the sea has given back. Plastic bottles, discarded bits of fishing net, single shoes and flippers, the foam innards of broken boats and surf boards. Their brightness relieves the dreary expanse of seaweed, but I’d as soon trade that colour for cleanliness.

Down at the harbour the damage was severe, with several boats sunk as the waves crashed over the substantial concrete and stone barricades. Most of the street lamps were blown over. Cafés closest to the water’s edge suffered damage from both wind and water, and grey streets became brown with sand and mud, and peppered with pebbles and even large stones.

The local football pitch lost some of it’s concrete foundations, and some of the remaining sections are looking quite precarious. Another strong wind and they could also be gone. That’s a few feet of concrete quickly undermined by wind erosion.

In human terms the damage will take some time to repair – dumping loads of stone in the harbour to shore up the walls, replacing fixtures and fitments, clearing up the debris. It’s a bit of a tug of war though, and the winner won’t be known until the stormy season is finally over.

Nature is already starting her repairs: beach plants are in flower and still battling against the regular rain and wind. And in the most recent storm some seaweed was either moved or covered with sand, so the beach is starting to look a little closer to what we remember. But whether it will be fully restored, either by nature or human intervention, remains to be seen.

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