Reading through my pre-adventure blogs I see a concern was the Euro situation. I found, as always, the Greek way of life to be one of honesty and little crime. There was no fear of being robbed of my cash stash and the one accessible bank on the island, I was told, was functional for withdrawing via a bank card albeit on a hit and miss occasion.
The Island is a mountain in the middle of the Aegean sea. My apartment was a third of the way up this mountain and the beach was only accessible via a steep journey. Had I have been younger and fitter it would have been a pleasure to pound the steps up and down, and then another 20 or so steps up to my apartment. As it was, it exhausted me and prevented more visits to the wonderful beach area and magnificent sea. On the occasions I did the journey it was wonderful to sunbathe, swim, relax, read, drink coffee and eat ice cream. Ahhh, now there's a little story to make you smile.
"You want something?" the young waitress girl crouching under my sunshade straw umbrella said.
"Do you have ice cream?" I enquire. "Chocolate?"
"Yes, we have balls," came the reply.
I can't print what I thought here but the thought was quickly replaced with an image of vanilla ice cream with mini chocolate maltesers inside, so I said, "Yes please."
"You want 2 balls?"
"Thank you," says I trying not to laugh.
Language is funny isn't it? What one person thinks is perfectly normal another person thinks is strange. The 'balls' were, of course, 'scoops' and I enjoyed the chocolate treat most deliciously.
The town of Chora was transport free so having left the port the coach drove uphill and round bends for an hour and dropped us at the foot of the cobbled streets that were to be 'home' for the following two weeks. Our luggage had been dropped near to the Skyros Centre and we made our way uphill passing shops, tavernas, cafes etc. following our guide. Having collected my suitcase, which I now wished was smaller and lighter, I bumped it up over more cobbles and steps to Melagona 2 - my apartment with a heavy wooden door that had swollen in the heat and made a very loud noise every time I went in and out! However, the apartment was just fine and had a fantastic view of the valley and bay below.
The Island is home to the statue and burial grave of Rupert Brooke, Poet and his statue (a naked pose) graced a high point and was visited by most of our group. His grave, some distance away, was visited on an evening trip and situated in the shade of a forest. Members of our group read his poems and I felt very humble to be following in his footsteps (not to be a poet but to have been where he had been so inspired). I am not an avid poetry reader but will look him up, read some of his works and find other poets as one or two of our group recited poetry after our mornings together at breakfast. Although I have dabbled at writing poetry, and, though I say it myself, have produced a few goods ones, I have not shared these with others. I find a voice reading a poem to me is far more rewarding than reading them silently in my head. I admire people who can quote poetry and 'know their stuff' as it were.
In the pre-adventure blogs I also mentioned looking forwards to 'lazy slow living nights and restful afternoons'. It was not that sort of a holiday. It was a working holiday on many levels. It was personal development which meant delving into the past; it was a workshop of writing from personal experience; it was living very closely with 20-30 people each day and it was trying to fit in fun and relaxation too. I was, thankfully, not the eldest there as I had feared; we were a mixed age group and gender; there were two couples and people had travelled from all walks of life and countries of the world.
More Island tales to come ....... tbc
Wednesday 23 September 2015
Tuesday 22 September 2015
It's Greek to me ....
Since returning from my Big Adventure I have committed myself to write monthly for my local church magazine. Here is my first article :
It’s Greek to me….
The August sun glistened over the deep blue Aegean Sea , the sound of a clanging bell rose from the
valley calling me, calling me.
After the community breakfast in the retreat house, I and
two new friends disregarded our dishwashing duty and followed our hearts. The narrow cobbled side street, on the Island of Skyros
The priest, heavily robed and wearing a high hat, sported a
long grey beard and swung an incense thurible as he muttered in a language I
could not understand. Icons, gold
laminated, gave colour to the service and atmosphere; the sweet smell and smoke
rising to the blue sky coloured dome above, where our prayers were
heading. Candles flickered and the
congregation ‘crossed’ themselves before the communion was offered.
A baby, about 8 months old, was forcibly spoon fed wine – it
really did not want it and was obviously scared by the man with a big beard
holding his face towards him, crying and twisting his body over his father’s
shoulder. Bread, a whole cob, wrapped in
cellophane, was handed out to everyone from a basket. I took mine and tears filled my eyes feeling
unworthy but included. Later, I tasted it
and it was sweet like saffron cake.
As we filed out into the morning sun we were all handed a
plastic cup, filled with a wheat mixture, and a spoon. My new friends explained it was in honour of
the deceased – I had noticed a photograph of a man on a pedestal surrounded by
white flowers. We enjoyed fellowship
together in a street café. Sunday in Skyros was a special day – ritualistic, dutiful, ancient,
honouring.
Wednesday 16 September 2015
The Journeys - outward
The outward journey began early morning with a two hour drive to Heathrow airport. A smooth journey and a brief drop off farewell. Check-in is a whole new process since I last travelled abroad - it's all self service printing off your ticket, boarding pass and luggage labels.
This done one enters the departure lounge area to find numerous shops and eating places. I had planned on a vegetarian cooked breakfast but, after scanning all the different menus ended up with porridge and coffee.
Internet access was available whilst waiting to board so a quick farewell on Facebook and Twitter as so many others, with their heads down over mobile phones, iPads, etc, were probably doing.
A four hour uneventful flight and I landed safely in Athens. The yellow taxis lined up outside the airport taking holidaymakers to various hotels. Thankfully when it was my turn to jump in quickly, I found I had a lady driver. We chatted in broken English and I used what little Greek I knew and she was well impressed. I was dropped at the door of my first hotel.
A dire little accommodation, a budget overnight stop before I moved to a hotel where the Skyros group would gather. The lift to my 7th floor bedroom was old style - a cupboard door appearance and no inner door so you watched the wall as you ascended to your floor. The room was tiny, dark but clean and adequate. Having hardly eaten since the porridge breakfast, aeroplane food and I don't get on, I went out into the street in search of food. In the nearest cafe I had a hearty salad - one of many more to come.
The following morning I ate breakfast on the top floor which had a good view across the main road to the beach, sea and park. As soon as I was fed and watered I ventured out again for a walk along the parkway and said hello to the sea (and to a rock, see another blog later).
Then it was time to find the Dorian hotel in the centre of Athens. Another taxi, this time with a young male driver. I recognised buildings from many years ago, and more recently from the news on TV. Stepping into the Dorian hotel felt very luxurious compared to the previous night's accommodation. Shiny tiled floor, light and airy, a professional greeting. I was up on the 7th floor again but a proper lift took me there this time. As soon as I possibly could I was out of my travelling clothes and got my swimwear on. The pool was on the 14th floor, by the bar and open to a panoramic view of Athens including the nearby Acropolis. Wow.
The swim was sooooo refreshing and to feel the sun on my skin was heaven. I relaxed and read my book. I then dressed and went in search of lunch. The back streets of Athens were a labyrinth of shops and eating places and when I settled in a small taverna with an omelette, 2 young girls from the same hotel joined me and told me about their travels.
Later, whist having an evening meal I met a lovely lady who was to be one my companions for the following two weeks. We chatted easily and I went to bed happy. The next day a coach would take us to the port. My new friend and I got split up after breakfast and piling onto the coach, our cases in the luggage compartment, I settled down to the next part of the trip. We drove back to Athens airport to collect other passengers, then onwards to our first ferry, a journey of about 1.5 hours all told.
Two ferry's another long coach drive and a walk up a steep town to our apartments, collecting our luggage and bumping it over the cobbled streets and up about 30 steps and I arrived at my destination. I'd made it. I was here. Wow.
The Big Adventure - afterthoughts 2
Handwritten Blog from Wednesday of the Second Week:
The Writer's have gone to the beach. The Personal Development group and the Artists are at the Centre. I am on day 2 of looking after myself and taking time out. The pace, the heat, the energy has all taken me over and I need time alone, time to rest, read, write, sleep.
There is talk about the last night - Friday will be here soon. Some want to be on the beach, they want to choose their own ending to the experience they have had here, but there is an agenda and they are outvoted on their idea. I had promised in the whole group on Sunday night to look after my health and wellbeing and to have some fun. Fun was dancing on Monday night, dancing like I had not danced for many a year. It was so freeing, it shifted something in me and probably helped me to decide to opt out of the course for 3 days this week.
I bought crossants, peaches, bananas, yoghurt and bottled water so I could breakfast alone and at my own time and pace. I amble into town and sat in a taverna alone then ate an omelette for lunch. Another time I sit in the town square with a beer and nuts and just watch the world go by. This is my holiday time, I regain some strength and clarity of mind.
The wind finally drops and I sit on the balcony and write about the cats I just watched fighting and screaching on a branch at the top of a fig tree.
The Writer's have gone to the beach. The Personal Development group and the Artists are at the Centre. I am on day 2 of looking after myself and taking time out. The pace, the heat, the energy has all taken me over and I need time alone, time to rest, read, write, sleep.
There is talk about the last night - Friday will be here soon. Some want to be on the beach, they want to choose their own ending to the experience they have had here, but there is an agenda and they are outvoted on their idea. I had promised in the whole group on Sunday night to look after my health and wellbeing and to have some fun. Fun was dancing on Monday night, dancing like I had not danced for many a year. It was so freeing, it shifted something in me and probably helped me to decide to opt out of the course for 3 days this week.
I bought crossants, peaches, bananas, yoghurt and bottled water so I could breakfast alone and at my own time and pace. I amble into town and sat in a taverna alone then ate an omelette for lunch. Another time I sit in the town square with a beer and nuts and just watch the world go by. This is my holiday time, I regain some strength and clarity of mind.
The wind finally drops and I sit on the balcony and write about the cats I just watched fighting and screaching on a branch at the top of a fig tree.
The Big Adventure - after thoughts 1
I am back! I did it! How pleased am I? Wow and Wow again.
Before I reflect on the whole experience here are some Blogs written from the holiday -
Blog 1 one week into the adventure :
Wow. Well done Suzanna - you arrived. You met the group of people who were to be your family and friends for two whole weeks. You walked the streets alone and ate with strangers who were on the same journey of self discovery. Women, and a few men, seeking a new way forward in their lives. So precious, so very precious.
The Coptic Winds have blown for the whole week, as if blowing away our troubles that we packed up in our suitcases. The sea has bathed and cleansed our bodies and the place has fed our souls.
It's the half way point, tomorrow will be a turning towards an ending. It has been an uphill climb, not just the physical one returning from the beach, but mentally too. The personal development part of the course requires engaging with the past again - those in the counselling world will know the depths that this can reach and the energy it can spend in healing the wounds of life's knocks.
The Writer's Course has been amazing - just what I needed and I will be taking away exactly what I had hoped for. I am unblocked and have a plan.
Blog 2 - Sunday
The church bells of Skyros churches have been calling me. Little clanky sounds on the breeze rising from a village somewhere below me. I amble round to the Centre for breakfast and to say a fond farewell toa group member today. It will be hard for him to leave the feeling of acceptance, friendship and of course, the sunshine but 'all good things come to an end' and he is wished well on his journey.
My two new Greek speaking friends are heading to church and I skip washing up duty to accompany them. At the church I am handed a white candle to honour a dead person I did not know, and I take a thin brown candle and place it in the votive with my own personal prayer. The atmosphere and chanting cause a surge in my spirit - tears flow, sobs supressed but both my young companion and I need tissues. Our souls touched by the spirit of God. I put an arm around her and say "we're a right pair, aren't we?" and we quietly laugh but it is not long before we are both sniffling again.
A woman hands out bread rolls in sealed clear bags and I observe the priest giving wine on a spoon to even the smallest of children as well as men and women of age. A toddler cries and they try to force him to face the priest and take the wine but he is scared and keeps turning his head away with a fresh scream.
The man who handed out the candles comes and gathers a handful from the votive. He breaks them with a snap and discards them in a bin. It feels brutal - those are people's prayers. I felt indignant that he should treat them so unkindly but no doubt this is an act of ancient tradition - a practice merely to make room for other candles to be placed in the sand tray. What a waste, I think, but later learn that they are melted down and recycled.
Women are still visibly seperated from the men in the church. However, signs of change seems to be happening as two women enter the church without respect for the tradition of having appropriate coverage of clothing over knees and shoulders - they weren't rejected or offered a wrap or shawl.
After the service I sit with my two companions in a nearby taverna and discuss the service as I observed it. I am glad I went with them and look forward to returning to my own little church once I am back home.
Before I reflect on the whole experience here are some Blogs written from the holiday -
Blog 1 one week into the adventure :
Wow. Well done Suzanna - you arrived. You met the group of people who were to be your family and friends for two whole weeks. You walked the streets alone and ate with strangers who were on the same journey of self discovery. Women, and a few men, seeking a new way forward in their lives. So precious, so very precious.
The Coptic Winds have blown for the whole week, as if blowing away our troubles that we packed up in our suitcases. The sea has bathed and cleansed our bodies and the place has fed our souls.
It's the half way point, tomorrow will be a turning towards an ending. It has been an uphill climb, not just the physical one returning from the beach, but mentally too. The personal development part of the course requires engaging with the past again - those in the counselling world will know the depths that this can reach and the energy it can spend in healing the wounds of life's knocks.
The Writer's Course has been amazing - just what I needed and I will be taking away exactly what I had hoped for. I am unblocked and have a plan.
Blog 2 - Sunday
The church bells of Skyros churches have been calling me. Little clanky sounds on the breeze rising from a village somewhere below me. I amble round to the Centre for breakfast and to say a fond farewell toa group member today. It will be hard for him to leave the feeling of acceptance, friendship and of course, the sunshine but 'all good things come to an end' and he is wished well on his journey.
My two new Greek speaking friends are heading to church and I skip washing up duty to accompany them. At the church I am handed a white candle to honour a dead person I did not know, and I take a thin brown candle and place it in the votive with my own personal prayer. The atmosphere and chanting cause a surge in my spirit - tears flow, sobs supressed but both my young companion and I need tissues. Our souls touched by the spirit of God. I put an arm around her and say "we're a right pair, aren't we?" and we quietly laugh but it is not long before we are both sniffling again.
A woman hands out bread rolls in sealed clear bags and I observe the priest giving wine on a spoon to even the smallest of children as well as men and women of age. A toddler cries and they try to force him to face the priest and take the wine but he is scared and keeps turning his head away with a fresh scream.
The man who handed out the candles comes and gathers a handful from the votive. He breaks them with a snap and discards them in a bin. It feels brutal - those are people's prayers. I felt indignant that he should treat them so unkindly but no doubt this is an act of ancient tradition - a practice merely to make room for other candles to be placed in the sand tray. What a waste, I think, but later learn that they are melted down and recycled.
Women are still visibly seperated from the men in the church. However, signs of change seems to be happening as two women enter the church without respect for the tradition of having appropriate coverage of clothing over knees and shoulders - they weren't rejected or offered a wrap or shawl.
After the service I sit with my two companions in a nearby taverna and discuss the service as I observed it. I am glad I went with them and look forward to returning to my own little church once I am back home.
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