Scenes from Smyrni

 A hundred years ago, when Eleftherios Venizelos, the Greek Prime Minister, and Kamal Ataturk, the Turkish statesman, pushed for their conflicting, expansionist dreams for their respective countries in what is now Western and Northern Turkey, the Greek residents of Smyrni/ Izmir paid a grim price. Many lost their lives, families, homes and businesses. Some managed to escape and came to Greece as refugees – they were the lucky ones.  Having heard so much about its sad history, I was delighted to undertake a consultancy visit to Smyrni. I was even more delighted when Z agreed that he drive us there and extend the trip for a little tourism on the side.

We arrived there at night and on the sea-front we spied our hotel – a welcome sight after our 12-hour drive. That’s a statue of Ataturk in the background as this square is dedicated to him.

Our hotel is very central in the 5-star category, a posh affair- the entrance is be-decked with beautiful orchids, the furniture upholstered in a rich burgundy velvet. Feel quite regal, really! 😊

The next day, since it is not far off, we decided to go for a sea-front stroll to see the Greek Consulate. It is housed in a beautiful old building which has been renovated, as has the building next door to it, the French Consulate.

 On our last full day, we explore further and come across the university here. In Greece many of the state university buildings are in a deplorable state and are covered in grimy graffiti. It was a pleasure to see this clean, well-maintained institution – an alma mater to be proud of.

This is the pier building: very dear to the Smyrnaians and particularly noteworthy for being designed in 1890 by the architect/construction engineer, Gustave Eiffel who is well-known for having designed the famous Parisian tower – imagine!

Without even feeling obliged to identify this construct, I snapped it and include it here because it was a pretty building and because it was pink!

All that tourist traipsing has been fascinating but just a wee bit fatiguing. Definitely time to rest up and sink into the luxury of the burgundy velvet throne. :) That’s the living.

 

 

 

Post Office Services

 

Pre-hi-tech times, the Post Office offered services that were essential to everyone.  The cheery cherry red of the post boxes and the post vans were a pleasure to encounter.

                                                                    

And the arrival of the postman usually heralded a nice surprise. In our small Highland village, Iain and Charlie – the post-boys, as they were called – provided value-added services. As well as delivering the mail, they passed on snippets of news from the area, bringing out medication for those in need, maybe some delicacies sent out from family in the town. They also kept the elderly residents company, having a wee chat sometimes over a welcome cuppa with freshly made scones or pancakes. They were an integral part of community cohesion.                                                                

                                                          

Now, at least here in Greece, things seem to be suffering a sea change. For many years I have subscribed to the Sunday Times newspaper and magazines and enjoyed a regular delivery until Covid struck. With no regular flights coming in there was a backlog of issues which at one point amounted to a 3-month delay. Then Brexit reared its ugly head and further complicated things. With Britain now deemed a third country, the packages are subject to customs checks for which I now have to pay handling fees and VAT! :o My subscription is not cheap, but adding on a payment of over 2.5 euros for each belated newspaper pack really is rubbing salt in the wound.

                                                            

Gifts are also included in the checking procedure, despite being labelled as such and with a declaration of their being of limited value. Customs officers decide themselves what the value of the contents is and levy tax accordingly. My sister was delighted to find swimming gear for me at very reduced prices and kindly sent them out as a gift.  By the time I paid the customs dues the bargain margin was no more!

But the 20^th July definitely was for us a red-letter day; it was then we received five Christmas cards: two from GB, one from Sweden and two from Greece – from Evros in the north and the Peloponnese in the south.

                                                       

    You will fully understand my decision to reconsider sending cards!

The Village Revisited.

 

After three long covid years

We travel to Evros.

Welcomes, hugs, ‘Allo?’ *

Continuing as if we’d never left.

 

 Family ranged round tables

Sharing everyday fare, new dishes,

News, plans, grief.

A close, caring community

 

At the graveyard we clean and weed,

Thinking of dear ones passed,

White river stones keep the sites

Pristine, dignified.

 

And glass doors of candle containers

Clank melodically yet eerily in the evening breeze.

 

We pay one last call to the old homestead

Its crannies and shadows whisper sweet memories.

 

We leave, laden with eggs, garlic, mikikia*, langites,*

Considering the challenges and adventures each one faces.

With batteries recharged, kinship rekindled,

From each other we derive strength, hope, joy.

 

*Allo – the English equivalent might be – ‘So what else is new?’

*Mikikia, langites – the local, traditional and delicious equivalents of doughnuts and pancakes, respectively.

Grateful for our Garden.

 It’s time to restore the balance of things and look at our garden from a different, more positive perspective than the ‘gruelling’ one. Certainly, we cannot absent ourselves from it for too long as regular watering is mandatory. But then neither would we want to stay away as it’s now, in summer both garden and efforts come into their own. 

Comparing them with how they were in the previous post, our tomato plants have climbed their frame and are producing ripened fruit. The taste, especially of the cherry tomatoes, is sweet/acidic like a flavour bomb. I may add a little oil and salt to them but you really need no dressing. Just have them, freshly picked and washed, as finger food in a bowl accompanying your main dish – perfect!

                                                  

The first time I saw this blue plant it was cascading from an Athenian balcony. Though its name, plumbago, resembles a painful back condition, the plant is really luxuriant and beautiful, its rich green leaves and pale blue flowers reminding me of misty scenes of the Highlands. It thrives in our sunshine but, despite being a member of the jasmine family, it has no aroma.

                                            

That cannot be said of our next flower in focus, the honeysuckle or holy vine, as it’s known in Greek. It can run riot in the garden and has done so on several of our walls, but my heart always gladdens to see its first blooms. Just a sprig or two with a rose bud is ideal: its tendrils form artistic shapes within a floral arrangement while the blossoms bring their delicate fragrance into the house.

                                             

The aroma award, however, has to go to what is called here the nightflower. These grow vigorously and need regular pruning or they really will take over the air and space of other plants so discipline is de rigeur. In the cool of the evening as the sun sets and the atmosphere cools, we see their red and yellow flowers open – sometimes they are red/yellow speckled. In parts of the garden where they have formed a bank of blooms their scent is truly intoxicating. I would love to have a distillation of that bottled – now that would be quite something. Nightflower Nostalgia could give Chanel Number Five a run for its money!                                        

 The rose is the queen of any garden. In our climate the flowers bloom and fade quickly and often don’t have the fragrance that roses back home do but what an elegant, dignified bloom!

                                            

And I have to say that we are not the only ones at work in the garden. Our clever Mr Mao, aka Mr Mouser, is a great wee hunter. He has a special call to announce his success in such sorties. His catch is duly deposited at the feet of his beloved master, then hastily reclaimed as his hot trophy supper.

                                        

                 

We really are the beneficiaries of nature’s bounty!

Gruelling Gardening

While most folks will take a break and go somewhere over the summer months, at this time of the year we are firmly ensconced in our garden – and not on our recliners! There are always day-to-day jobs like clipping, weeding, trimming edges and with the heat and constant watering, it’s sometimes hard to keep up with such chores.

                                         

Our gates – the outer one and the one leading to the field – had each been ‘fortified’ with a sheet of iron. This was mainly to block the vision of our dogs who, not actually seeing the sheep flock past, didn’t feel it such an intrusion and didn’t go quite so crazy. We dismantled those sheets and the gates are now much lighter to operate.

                                           

Some neighbourly help, such as arranging for the delivery of materials for cement laying, has its rewards. Once the cement-work is done, the left-overs can always be put to good use. Here  we refresh what was a crumbling ramp.

                                            

There is, of course, the seasonal task of cleaning the pool. This year that was delayed by regular rain squalls but, thankfully, we eventually completed that chore as well.

                                              

This entails not only power-hosing and brushing down all the tiles with chlorine and water, but cleaning some rather filthy filters and fixtures. ☹

                                                      

Things don’t end at the planting stage of tomatoes. They need weeding, shoots tweaked to encourage production, and support. We are prone to high winds here and, as the plants become weighted with fruit, they need more support. Z devises a tepee-type construction on which the plants readily scramble up. Then the piece de resistance, old CDs are suspended from the frame to deter marauding birds. They really glint in sunshine and moonlight and make dainty, delicate sounds as they touch the canes.  His very own son et lumiere creation.

                                                            

And it has to be said he is creative. There is always a new project being considered or actually in progress. It’s just that he seems to have misconstrued what it means ‘to have green fingers’! 😊

 

                                           

 

 

 

Being At Home In Belfast.

 When I was in Belfast, I sometimes had the strange sensation of being in a place for the first time, yet feeling at home in it. The weather, the people, the culture all seemed familiar. My home area – Argyll, land of the Gaels – was just across the water. So near yet so far and, interestingly, the term Gael can refer to both the Irish and the Scots.

I have to say that Z prefers Irish whiskey to its more robust cousin, Scotch whisky. So, on the advice of my brother, we went in search of his recommended Bushmill Black Bush whiskey which we tracked down in this well-stocked off-licence.                                           

    

I don’t think the years of maturity stated on the bottle have much meaning. Z can ‘keep them for good’ sometimes for years! I was interested to see later on that the Bushmill Distillery features on the twenty-pound note of the Bank of Ireland.                                                

We had excellent food: scampi, roast duck, lasagne and, of course, fish’n’chips – huge servings and impeccable, cheery service. A lovely wee story here: The Irish use - as do we Scots – an additional word for the second person plural pronoun: youse, the Irish version having a richer diphthong sound. On serving Angeliki her fish dish, the young waiter, wishing to mark that that our order had now been completed, said, ‘That’s youse!’ Angeliki, wishing to agree with what she had understood he said, responded, ‘Yes, that is huge!’!! 😄

                                

 It was the people of Belfast, though, who charmed and impressed me. They were artistic, resilient, imaginative, philosophic. I remember the advice of an elderly local sage: we have two ears and one mouth and we should use them proportionately.  Cool!

We had visited the magnificent City Hall and were interested to see that people who had been honoured by receiving the freedom of the city included the musician, Van Morrison, in 2013, the nurses of Belfast in 2015 and Sir Kenneth Branagh, doyen of film and theatre in 2017.

How fitting, then, as we flew from Heathrow, the in-flight film was none other than Belfast. It is, to an extent, a biopic of Branagh growing up in Belfast during The Troubles. And it has splendid Van Morrison contributions to the sound-track.                                                      

The recent Sinn Fein seat majority win in the Northern Ireland elections was ground-breaking in that they now constitute the largest party in the Stormont Assembly for the first time and could possibly lead to a North/South union in Ireland. That got me thinking and made even more poignant the final scene of the film. The words are spoken by the remarkable Dame Judi Dench in her role as the grandmother, as she watches her son and family leave for a better life in England.

Go, go now and don’t look back!

Could these be prophetic and express a future reverse movement of N. Ireland breaking away from Britain to reunite with the Republic?

 I would so much like Scotland to make a similar break-away movement towards independence!

Being In Belfast

 I must ‘fess up to wishing that the conference venue was to be held in Dublin, rather than in Belfast – how wrong can you be?  On our late afternoon arrival, we decided to find the venue and register. As we strolled over, we marvelled at the stunning architecture, the lovely River Lagan and became victims of a Belfast deluge! My first purchase was a sturdy umbrella!                                                     

Not impressed that we - two! - could not be accommodated for dinner at the hotel as they ‘had a group in‘, we trudged out  in what was now a fine drizzle in search of food. And we lucked out: some succulent scallops and a chilled Chardonnay made my day! 😊

 On Wednesday we attended some interesting conference sessions as well as some not so interesting ones so we decided to go for full-on tourism! Our first ….er….. port of call was the Titanic Experience. Now I had been fortunate to visit the touring Titanic The Exhibition in Victoria, British Columbia some years ago – a really, really must-see! It was magnificent: we were each assigned the ticket and persona of an actual passenger and actors dressed as crew members led us through the ship facsimile. One actually ‘chased’ me out of the first class restaurant (I was spellbound by the china, crystal and crockery replicas of the originals set on the dinner tables) since I was travelling steerage! We suddenly felt the jolt of the collision with the iceberg. An even more ‘moving’ experience was at the final section which housed the passenger lists of both survivors and victims; this we read to the background accompaniment of a bagpipe lament.  My assigned passenger had been a widow, on her way to America to make a new life for her children, left behind in Belfast. When I learned she had drowned, I wept.                                                          

In Belfast. The focus was, understandably, on the building of the ship and the first sea trials she made there. The exhibition building is a noble ship shape, but the prow was crying out for an outside balcony where dramatic couple-selfies could be taken!                                                               

Top of my list was the Hop-on, Hop-off bus tour and magically the sun shone warm on us for its open-top entirety. Can you see us both in this picture?  Our guide was informative and impartial.                                                            

 It was saddening to go down the Falls Road, murals outlining characters and victims of what are euphemistically referred to as The Troubles.                                                                 

We viewed the wall, sometimes referred to as The Peace Wall, dividing the Catholic and Protestant areas as we then drove down the Shankhill Road.

 I’ve been to the Green Line in Cyprus, the UN buffer zone separating The Republic of Cyprus with the Turkish occupied area in the north. I’ve been driven through a sentry gate in the UN- court-deemed-illegal West Bank Barrier segregating Palestine from the Israeli-controlled area.

 It was heart-breaking to see both and to see how they affect the lives of so many. Yet, I think that witnessing the Belfast boundary moved me most as it seemed so close to home.