Thursday 31 January 2013

Health Issues and Halcyon Days






Already the sands of time are running out for the first month of our new year and a new month fast approaches. For us January passed in a flash: getting back to normal after the festive season and dealing with medical issues.
For me that meant relatively minor surgery. For four years we have been following the ‘progress’ of minute particles in one breast. It was decided that though non-dynamic, the slow proliferation was enough to justify investigation. Similar action had been taken some years ago but this time high-tech equipment and techniques meant my experience was vastly different. 

Members of the radiology department inserted wires to locate these particles with precision. This was done under local anaesthetic, but with such shoving and squeezing, pushing and pummeling, I shall never again flinch when undergoing a mundane mammogram! That procedure, amounting to 80% of the operation per se, allowed the surgeon to extract these dubious deposits. I guess the instrument he used could be called a ‘boob tube’. The great thing was that the team, on stand-by to do analysis there and then while I was completely out, came up with negative results - which means a positive outcome for me. These were innocent little calcium clusters which meant the surgeon need probe or extract no further. For me this time the wonders of medical science generated minimal effects from the anaesthetic, (last time I had felt really doped) and with the surgery being minimally invasive, I have had the full use of my arm and negligible discomfort. So, …… all good.


In the meantime, H suffered a dental debacle with a molar imploding and a bridge and crown no longer offering the necessary support. Now that he is wearing temporary prosthetics, eating has lost its joy for him because of malfunctioning mastication and because of limited food range - soups, pasta, etc.. Currently our kitchen table looks like an apothecary’s dispensary but the good thing is we are both moving into a happier, healthier phase. H has already ear-marked the local restaurant where he wants to celebrate the end of dental deficiency!



 We have had a dip in the weather conditions : here is our local Chortiatis mountain with a seasonal icing-sugar dusting of snow some days ago, a view from our kitchen window. But, in fact, we are fortunate. While N Europeans struggle with heavy snowfalls, floods and sub-zero temperatures, here we are enjoying the Halkyonides meres, the Halcyon days. 

This phrase is one which fits the EFL ( English as a foreign language) category of ‘false friends’ : in this case, terms which derive from Greek  and look familiar to Greek learners of English but in actual fact have now come to mean something altogether different.   My Chambers dictionary entry defines the phrase as ‘a time of peace and happiness’, and we often use the term to refer with nostalgia to the golden days of our youth, the ‘best years of our lives’. And this is the irony related to the divergence of meanings, for originally in Greek these days fell in the depths of winter. 

Let’s look at how it was used by Shakespeare in 1592 in Henry VI , part 1,
…’Saint Martin’s summer, halcyon days’….
 Since the feast is celebrated on November 11th, this might suggest unseasonably warm weather, which is closer in sense to the Modern Greek usage.

In Greek literature Ovid probably gives us the fullest account of the mythological character, Alkyone, the daughter of Aeolus, god of the winds. She married Ceyx, King of Thessaly, and they lived happily together but somehow incurred the wrath of Zeus. The Bibliotheca, the 3-tome comprehensive summary of traditional Greek mythology written in the first century BC,  claims that they often called each other Zeus and Hera, thus showing disrespect to these particular gods. Whatever the reason, Zeus punished Ceyx by throwing a thunderbolt at his ship when, according to Ovid, he was on his way to consult an oracle. In her grief, on hearing of his death or on seeing his body washed ashore, depending on which source you read, Alkyone threw herself into the sea. Out of compassion, the gods changed the pair into birds- the kingfisher now bears her name. One further divine act of benevolence was to grant the kingfisher two weeks without storms (traditionally on either side of the winter solstice in mid-December) in which to build her nest.


 Nowadays in Greece, we use the term to refer to an actual meteorological phenomenon of mild days, mid-winter. We usually expect them to be at the end of January to early February, though there is no real consensus on that.  Certainly today we are expecting noon temperatures of around 15 o Celsius.

 I like to think that right now that pretty little bird, presented here courtesy of dreamstime, is constructing her nest on the shoreline.



  
           So let us look forward positively and ask February to protect us similarly   

                                                        ….. kalo mas mina !









Monday 7 January 2013

Highland Haj episode 1




Our festive season began with someone at the local radio station singing, instead of ‘Feliz Navidad’, ‘Theleis Danika?”  i.e. ‘Would you like a loan?’. A very apt question at a time when we are all tightening our belts - at least financially. The season ends on the twelfth day, January 6th, Epiphany, here known as ‘Ta Fota’ or ‘Theophania’. In Spain on this day they celebrate the coming of the Magi; here it is when Christ’s baptism is commemorated with the Blessing of the Waters as the priest throws a cross into the sea and stalwart divers brave the chilly main to retrieve it. I’m not greatly devout and wild horses would not get me in there but I would feel a great deal more well-disposed towards the ecclesiastical set if they paid tax on the vast swathes of property they own and if the Church rather than the state were to foot the salary bill for the clergy.


 2013 has arrived and, in the words of Billy Connolly, that great Scottish comic, actor and banjo-basher, ‘So here we are – where are we?’. Our politicians lurch from one crisis to another- the Lagarde list being the latest one – while we seemed to lurch from one groaning table to another. But I should draw the obvious contrasts: we are aware of the damage we have wreaked on our constitutions (don’t you just love that pun?!), take full responsibility for our actions and have made resolutions to take measures to improve things. To continue the gastronomic metaphor: our politicians really do take, apart from other things, the proverbial biscuit. Tomorrow will certainly see me back working out at the spa! 


If Billy’s question had been in the past tense, my response would be that we left off having a wee break at Glasgow Green. So now we begin the Highland Haj proper, episode 1. There were a few baited-breath moments when we heard that due to landslides after heavy rain the road was blocked at the Rest and Be Thankful stretch –the well-named steep climb out of Glen Croe. Sure enough, mounds of shale and scree were in evidence and single-lane traffic was in operation while clearing work continued. We reached there just as the south-bound convoy’s turn came so thankful, indeed, we were! It is impossible for our family to descend towards the banks of the beautiful Loch Fyne without bursting into Highland airs – Westering Home and The Hiking Song being firm favourites. Both of these, incidentally, can be heard on YouTube- and finer versions than we could ever muster! We cross Inverary Bridge and view the castle, seat of the Clan Campbell, with flag on staff indicating the family is in residence.
 
 
  Those of you who follow the magnificent ‘Downton Abbey’ will have seen the Christmas edition in the third series. Members of the Crawley family are seen to attend the Ghillies’ Ball at Duneagle Castle, but in reality they were filming at the Duke of Argyll’s seat, Inverary Castle! And isn’t Maggie Smith just superb? Nearing eighty, this grand dame of stage and screen seems able to express fifty shades of indignation with an arch of the eyebrow! I adore her and her magnificent put-down one-liners.  This year’s broadcasting of the series has proved very popular here in Greece.



But I digress! We reach Tarbert, Lochfyne- a place my heart can ache for and always leaps at the initial sighting of it every trip I make. We used to enjoy a panoramic view of this beautiful fishing village from the crest of the hill, but the area is now disappointingly overgrown and visually impenetrable. Our entire family descended here in August, renting accommodation which was not only splendidly equipped and very comfortable, but afforded a beautiful view of the church and bay. Tarbert was to be our base but the focus of our Haj, our Mac Mecca, was Kilberry, on the Knapdale peninsula, part of the ancient kingdom of Dalriada. 

 

 We head out along the single-track road and en route spy a grazing herd of roe deer- raising fond memories of Bambi, a baby buck we reared, feeding him initially from a fountain-pen ink tubing! 
 We pass Lergnahension, or Lergie, which used to belong to our grandfather, Hugh Scott. Our mum used to work there during the day as a farmhand tending their livestock and at night as a barmaid at their inn. She never forgot that experience – especially seeing someone so drunk he vomited while standing bolt upright – a 10-point erect eruption! I guess that was why she used to welcome Hogmanay ‘first-footers’ with the same wee sherry schooner and about two rounds of shortbread ‘to take the taste away’!
 We stop off at the Old Manse where we lived as kids while our father was alive and running the hiring and contracting business; we lived in the downstairs part of the manse while the deconsecrated church served as the garage for his vehicles. In the foreground you can still see the palm tree that was said to have been brought back years ago from the Holy Land by the then clerical incumbent. 

 
                
                                       

Another stop-over is Kilberry Castle, residence of the local Campbell family. I have memories of us as children walking  from the village school to sing Christmas carols  to Miss Marion Campbell ( full titles were always used !) and her companion, Miss Sandeman, of the family associated with port wine. Holiday accommodation is now available at the neighbouring cottage. I’d love to know whether such tenants have had sightings of the ghostly grey lady I once thought I saw in the area. This shot of the castle in the gloaming looks quite Gothic and spooky.



 Again I digress-back to ‘oor tale’ : we get to Kilberry, ‘my village’ as the Greeks would say. In fact, when I first took my husband there, he decided it would be grandiose to classify it thus, calling it instead an area with scattered houses- rather like the prevalent scattered rain-showers. Devoid of actual church building and square, this does not taxonomically fit the Greek bill - or perhaps that is an unfortunate phrase to employ! In the 1960’s, Mum renovated what was croft accommodation and outhouses which became our home with the adjoining post-office where she served as post-mistress until she sold the house to return to her home area of Tighnabruaich. This has now become the award-winning Kilberry Inn – and what better place for our family to converge on to celebrate my sister’s Big Birthday Bash. As you can see, my brother managed to squeeze in a wee birthday celebration as well!

      








 
 Here is the merry band of family and friends, flanking Iain Campbell, the doughty Pipe-Major who welcomed us on the Kilberry Inn forecourt- well, the main road, really!By the way, he was the piper who played in the Scottish episode of Downton Abbey. It’s the mark of his piping prowess and the wonderful champagne and canapés served outside (especially the savoury mini-scones!) that we noticed not the descending dampness, drizzle, smirr, smur, Scots mist, call it what you will, but it did keep the midges at bay! 



 
The Kilberry Inn is a well-known, award- winning restaurant – having earned the Michelin Bib Gourmand and nominated Scottish restaurant of the year in 2009. Suffice it to say that on our way round to Kilberry we passed a Rolls Royce and a Daimler, carrying  Kilberry Inn clientele.  The Greek Tourist Board needs to take a leaf from their menu-folder. Clare Johnson, the chef, using fresh local produce with expertise and imagination, has enticed high-end tourism from far and near. With equally good local produce just imagine what more remote Greek villages could achieve when you factor in their almost guaranteed sunshine!  

David Wilson and his staff offered excellent front-of-house service and helped us have a memorable evening. It’s not many people who can claim as I can, to have eaten gourmet food, prepared by an award-winning chef, in what used to be their bedroom!


It’s time to bring Highland Haj, episode 1 to a close and what better way than for us both to wish you all health and happiness throughout 2013?  




                                                          Slainte and Yia sas!