Greece became the prism through which we viewed our entire trip. It became our little jewel, reflecting the experiences we had gathered just till then. It was our stepping stone back into our life we left behind six months before. We sped through the border, no one bothering to even look at our passports; we were back amongst our own. We stopped off in a small super market in Alexandroupoli where we were once again faced with familiar products. And while we fumbled in our pockets for long disused euros, we knew our adventure was coming to an end. Greece was the perfect setting to look over our venture with nostalgia: secluded beaches and small mountain villages all to ourselves; fresh food with no fuss; historical sites next to unpretentious towns and friendly people laughing over frappés. We closed our eyes and let the warm sea breeze caress our memories. The tourist mass exodus left restaurants empty for us and waiters with the time to talk. Traveling out of season was a luxury we never took for granted. We were sipping the last of the summer wine and we knew it.
It was frightening too, because I knew JF spent much of the fortnight in Greece wondering how he managed to put up with me at all. On one of the many mornings, after having breakfast by the sea he threw away the end of my coffee and shook his head.
Qu’est-ce tu as? I asked uneasily, not wanting to know the answer.
Rien.
Quoi?
Pourquoi tu termines jamais ton café le matin? He was smiling but his head was still tilted in disbelief.
Je ne sais pas trop, c’est toujours trop froid à la fin. Pourquoi? Ça t’énerve? I wasn’t looking for a fight. I just wanted to know.
C’est incroyable qu’on est toujours ensemble quand même, après 6 mois.
Yeah, I suppose. But I didn’t want to know anymore.
I could see him surmising sometimes, as I slowly let the light of day brighten my dark mood. His slanted, ironic smile gave it all away. ‘Quoi là maintenant?’ I’d sigh, already knowing the answer. Yes, it is amazing we haven’t killed each other in the morning yet. We were parked in a maize field near Metéora and when I woke up I had a view of monasteries perched on top of pointed cliffs. It looked like I had been transported into a mystical world where people lived in the sky, I should have been content.
What’s wrong with you? I asked JF first thing after opening my eyes.
Nothing? Why? I could tell he instantly regretted asking two questions at once, he knew it was a risk.
Well, I was sound asleep and you woke me up with your big deep breath.
Sorry.
Why were you sighing?
Dunno, I’m happy.
Happy. I choked on the word as if I had swallowed a fly.
Look, are you going to get out of bed or what lá? I barked.
Yeah, ok.
You know we both can’t get up at the same time. So I’ll wait for my coffee.
Okaaaay. And he got up to make my coffee, like he did every morning.
On the coast beside Itea I drank my coffee, almost all of it, and watched as JF flapped and splashed in the sea. I followed his childish body with my eyes, as he scrambled over rocks into the water with his camera and then climbed a hill, giggling with delight. All the while, I dragged on my miserable cigarette, daring the day to begin.
Throughout our trip I’d turn into a moaning teenager if we visited more than one historical site a day. Greece had an abundance of places and although the history and mythology that coloured my view of the world was given context, I still complained. Will you die? I’d ask, if you don’t visit the tombs of the Macedonian Kings in Vergina? The Beast is like the donkey in The Quiet Man, I’d say, but unfortunately it stops at points of interest and not pubs.
Names of heroes and Gods that peopled my past were given a place of birth or a temple. Dion, at the foot of Mount Olympus was Zeus’s sanctuary, its impressive 200 AD mosaics almost in one piece.
In Delphi I was thankfully persuaded to see the stadium: stone seats and starting blocks from the 2nd century BC, not so different from today.
Tu vas ou là maintenant? I felt lazy and I wanted a sneaky cigarette.
Bah, je vais voir le stadium.
Mais pourquoi faire, c’est loin, j’ai la flemme. Allez-toi.
Ok, he said and turned to go. But he knew well I hate him seeing something I don’t, in case it’s the most amazing spectacle of our entire trip. It was only a matter of seconds.
Attends. Attends. J’arrive. Putain, ça sera nul, je sais en plus. Tu m’énerves. Pourquoi tu as besoin de tout voir et tout le temps. C’est trop chiant.
Like all the tourists in Olympia too, we got ready, set and went on the track, thinking about the burling men that ran there naked thousands of years before. If married women were caught trying to get in at the time, they’d be thrown off rocks into the deadly crashing waves of the Ionian Sea. Single women were invited, with pleasure, to watch strong male bodies shudder and thump the ancient world.
Even in antiquity, the unmarried woman benefited from certain advantages. If I were single, for example, I would never have visited the 2000BC site of Mycenae and the medieval city of Mystrás on the same rainy day. The deluge damped the cultural experience.
Some days, we happily concluded, had just been perfect during the six months. Driving around the Inner Mani was one such day. It started with a frappé by the blue and yellow harbour of Gytheio. JF steered the Beast through narrow streets and high mountain roads, while I looked at the omnipresent defensive towers in amazement, built by hot headed feuding families in the 15th century. Every now and then I’d slap him on the knee and tell him to brake, to indicate, or to turn, shouting in irritation at his bad driving. You can’t drive and look at the scenery JF. O my heart, be careful. I’ll do the looking; you do the driving. Just another day in paradise.
We walked for hours in the village of Monemvasía, known as the Greek Mont Saint Michel. And while that is slightly exaggerated, the village toppling into the sea is very seductive. What made the day special however, was watching Ireland beat France later in a restaurant by the sea. The owner kindly let us watch it on his computer. One section of his restaurant was packed by Albanians watching soccer and the Greeks were in another area shouting at some local team on a hanging screen.
History looked disapprovingly over our shoulders as we took a break in the graffiti-covered modern world of Athens.
Finding a place to wash after days of pulling the same underwear on, because there’s no point putting clean on dirty, is a true relief. I washed only my hair in the icy Lousios river as it was too cold, while JF literally got caught with his knickers down. He stripped off all his clothes and jumped in. He happened to look up while palmoliving his tender parts (probably singing) all over and saw a tourist covering his daughter’s eyes on the bridge.
We met many people in Greece too, which was our greatest pleasure in every country we travelled in. I insisted we drive (JF drive) for hours around the mountain villages of Dimitsana and Stemmitsa looking for a restaurant I had read was excellent in various guide books. We finally found Panaghia to find the restaurant was closed. It’s closed? Really? J’ai voulu rien dire mais, I can’t say I’m surprised. A village of seven inhabitants in the mountains in Greece, in October, having a restaurant that is open? At least he kept his rant till we got there. We had a beer in a small bar in the next village of Zatouna, a local bought us a few tsípouros and we had a fine meal in the local taverna. That night we slept in the village square, and although it was a little difficult for the morning toilet, it was very pleasant.
One afternoon we set up home outside a campsite, on the beach by Dion. When the owners pulled up on their scouter and asked if we’d like to pay and sleep in their place, we said no. I asked them if we could offer them a drink instead. We were sleeping in their front garden with a prime view of the sea, after all. The evening ended eating fish and pulled pork in their kitchen, while sharing many a tsípouros. The Russian lady was flamboyant and outrageous. Her Greek husband sat stoic beside my own and lamented the fatal female flaw: jealousy.
In Thessaloniki we watched the rugby in an Irish bar, which was a rare experience. Cavorting with non-locals is a serious faux-pas in JF’s world, especially in Greece’s second biggest city, as the Thessalonians were partying in every open space.
In the Beast, just like being on Hakuna, there’s always a hitch. Niouniou, who used to sail on Hakuna would say before every race: J’aime qu’un plan se déroule sans accroc. I like a plan without a hitch. Greece highlighted how we had learnt how to calmly follow whichever turn the road took. And although JF passed unfazed from one minute of the day to the next, like a cow chewing his cud, he did blame me for all the unpredicted twists in our Greek itinerary. It was late by the time we reached the island of Lefkáda and finding a romantic beach for our last night in Greece proved more difficult than expected. George (the GPS* see below) was hesitant in accepting Greece as part of Europe and didn’t show all the roads. The island rises steeply out of the sea and accesses to the beaches are by corkscrew roads that fall in steep curves to the bottom. JF had picked a beach from the map on our phone, a secluded cove that was at the other end of the island. I believed we should check all the beaches on the way, in case we drove by the best one. The sun sank lower in the sky. JF and the Beast heaved and turned up steep hills before descending into another bay, some were inaccessible and others were privately owned. I was finally taking us to JF’s golden beach, to his personal Tír na nÓg, when suddenly the road on my phone disappeared and I saw a little blue boat floating in space. Just then JF, or perhaps the Beast, ground to a halt. The road in reality had disappeared too. We were stuck between beautiful, high stone walls with no way forward and only one long reversable-way back. I took a deep breath and let the green pastures below us sooth my panic. The three churches that enveloped us did not help calm me, until I saw a pleasant little green garden by the humblest of the three.
Regarde-moi ça! I feigned cheerfulness.
C’est beau non? On a tous qu’il faut, une église, de pelouse. C’est tranquille. Je suis sûre que la plage ou tu voulais aller était privé ou nul ou quelque chose, c’est sûr.
Eating later, in the little local at the bottom of the hill, JF checked the internet and showed me pictures of the beach he had wanted to get to. It looked beautiful. We decided to go the next day, but when he was awoken by drops falling on his head that night we changed our plans again. Because of my incredible talent of organising the rain with pattering efficiency we left Lefkáda without seeing his paradise. JF attributes all rainfall in his life now to me, simply because I’m Irish. Thanks to the bad weather and my curse, we had the pleasure of walking around Ioánnina, visiting the island and talking to the locals in a lesbian bar.
Because we missed the return trip on the 19th century Kalávryta – Diakoftó train, we ended up in the holocaust museum of Kalávryta which commemorates the annihilation of the town by the Germans in WW2. Had everything ran according to schedule we would have missed an important lesson in history.
It was difficult to leave Greece, not just because we had such a wonderful time there, but because we knew Italy was the last country before France. We ate our last gyro in Igoumenitsa, letting the grease drip down our chins like already forgotten memories and took the ferry to Italy.
*George the right-wing and racist GPS, who JF spoke more to than me, by the time we were back in Europe. I’d hear him whisper sweet nothings in his ear: Ça va mon chéri, c’est pas ta faute. Tu ne peux pas avoir raison tout le temps. Or worse, I’d realise we were going backyards and ask the two, who were always in cahoots with each other, ‘Pourquoi on va en Turquie là et pas en Italie comme prévu? Tu sais on fait de l’est là depuis quelques heures et il faut qu’on va ouest mon chéri? And Jf would simply reply: C’est George. Ah il est quelque chose eh? And would sigh with affection.
The MacNouels Go east 