My Greek Summer

The summer of 1989 was my Greek summer. I had planned my journey to Greece with care. I made detailed plans of the villages, islands, museums and historical sites I wanted to see. I had recently renewed my cameras. I sold my two Minoltas and bought two second-hand Nikons. I looked forward to see how they would perform in Greece. I also made a list of the different types of film I wanted to take with me. I didn’t want to find myself at the mercy of the Greek photography stores. When traveling on foreign soil, one can never be too sure of the quality of the film in the stores. At my local library I went through some books by famous Greek photographers for inspiration. I particularly admired the work of Constantine Manos, Stelios Efstathopoulos and Katerina Kaloudi.

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After an uneventful week in Athens (apart from the Acropolis, Plaka and the National Archaeological Museum, there’s not much else to see) my next destination was the island of Andros – the northernmost island of the Cyclades Islands. My friend had kindly offered me the use of his family’s summer house that is in the village of Steniais. I was going to stay there for two weeks. To get to Andros, one must take a bus from Athens to the seaport village of Rafina, then catch a ferry to the island. I’ll never forget that bus trip. The bus looked like it was from the 1940s. The seats were hard, cramped and extremely uncomfortable. I couldn’t fit into my seat so I had to stick my right leg out in the aisle. The only thing that was missing was someone sitting next to me with a goat or a couple of chickens in his lap. However, much to my dismay I found myself sitting next to an American. I cursed myself for this turn of bad luck, recalling what the travel writer Paul Theroux once wrote on the perils of traveling with Americans: To get an American talking it is only necessary to be within shouting distance and wearing a smile; your slightest encouragement is enough to provoke a non-stop rehearsal of the most intimate details of your fellow traveler’s life. I hoped this would be the exception that would prove the rule. Unfortunately I was wrong. How ya doin’ I’m Robert Barker from Wahoo, Nebraska. Pleased to meet your acquaintance. You can call me Bob. Poor guy, I thought. On our two hour ride to Rafina I got to know everything about him, his job, his wife Dawn Rae (the current female bowling champion of Nebraska), his kids and the family dog Snapper. He even showed me pictures of Dawn Rae’s bowling trophies. Under normal circumstances I would have tolerated the story of his life if it weren’t for the fact that behind me sat two very pretty Italian girls. I wanted to talk to them, but Bob Barker from Wahoo, Nebraska just kept on and on and on. Boy, you should have seen Dawn Rae bowl this year’s winner. She just bowled all them ladies right out of their socks. Follow my drift? He poked me in the ribs with his elbow. At Rafina we went our separate ways (one must never underestimate the power of praying). He was taking the midnight ferry to join his family on the island of Mykonos. The first prize for the 1988 Nebraska Female Bowling Championship was a trip to Greece or “Gur-reece” as he pronounced it. We shook hands and I told him that it had been a pleasure to meet him. At times I can be such a liar. The Italian girls, however, were nowhere to be seen.

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I arrived at the house at Steniais shortly after 2 a.m. I unpacked, showered, went into the kitchen, found a bottle of retsina, drank half of it out on the veranda and watched the stars. The next morning I went into town to shop for food and supplies. I got some nice pieces of lamb at a good price, fish, bread, honey, coffee, four bottles of retsina and a few other necessities. I put everything away in the kitchen. Standing on the veranda I could see the most spectacular view. Though the sea was about a mile away from the house, I could hear the waves break onto the rocks on the beach. A few boats moved lazily across the crystal blue sea. I noticed that there was a taverna next to the beach. I looked forward having my meals there in the evenings.

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Later that afternoon I went for a walk in the village. Steniais lies alongside a hill. The roads were very narrow, making it practically impossible for any car to get by. The best way to get from one place to another was by foot or donkey and there were plenty of them in Steniais. As I proceeded up the hill, I noticed that I attracted some attention from the local residents. Steniais is a village situated outside the tourist map, so anyone not Greek would, therefore, be the object of some curiosity. Everyone I came across seemed extremely friendly. From their windows, people would wave at me and old ladies dressed in black, knitting in the village square would look up and cast a greeting - Kalimera! Looking at them, I wondered whether they ever ventured outside the village. After my walk, I showered, changed my clothes and went down to the taverna and ordered moussaka and drank a bottle of demestica. For dessert I had some delicious kataifi. I watched the sun disappear over the horizon. I was the only customer that evening. The owner of the taverna, Yannis, joined me at my table. We talked about life and death and drank ouzo.

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The following day I woke up early, took my cameras and went out to photograph the village. The early morning light was beautiful - bright but very soft. I walked up the hill and began photographing some of the houses. They were all painted white and had very colourful doors and shutters for the windows, usually dark blue or bright red. I came across a few old men riding donkeys. They didn’t mind me taking their pictures, nor did the old ladies dressed in black who were coming out to knit and exchange gossip in the village square. There were also a lot of children playing. I photographed them as well. As I reached the top of the hill I looked out towards the sea. It was beautiful. The sea was of a deep blue hue and when looking at the horizon it was difficult to distinguish where the sea ended and the sky began.

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On the other side of the hill I could see a village, slightly larger than Steniais, called Hora. I decided to walk over there. The heat was enormous. I was noticed that my cameras were getting quite hot and I was a bit concerned that the heat might damage the film. The next time, I would not leave my camera bag behind. When I arrived in Hora I headed towards the first taverna I saw. I ordered horiatiki (otherwise known as Greek salad), bread with taramasalata and a bottle of cold beer. When I left the taverna the streets of Hora were empty. It was siesta time. In Greece, siesta is usually from 2 to 5 in the afternoon and on the islands it is strictly observed. On some islands driving is even prohibited. It was a bizarre feeling walking through the streets, having the entire village to myself - as if I were the only living person there. The only thing alive apart from me were a few cats.

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I had been in Steniais for over a week. I had got to know some of the people in the local shops by name, and I was regular customer at Yannis’s taverna. I had tried everything on his menu apart from the sikoti (grilled liver). One day Yannis came to the house and invited me to his niece’s wedding. I was quite flattered because according to Greek custom only members of the immediate family and close friends of the bride and groom are invited to the wedding. I asked him why he wanted me to come. You are much welcome my friend and we also need a photographer for the wedding. Please come. Lots of good food and wine. Food and wine – say no more. I went and enjoyed myself immensely. The ceremony took place in one of those tiny white chapels that one can find all over Greece. The reception was at the taverna. I took photographs of the bride and groom at the beach where the waves hit the rocks. The bride was very beautiful.

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It was time to leave. I had stayed in Steniais for two weeks and there other places in Greece that I wanted to see. Much to my surprise I had finished all my film - nearly two dozen rolls. That meant a trip to Athens to buy some more. I ordered a taxi and locked up the house. When the taxi arrived I asked the driver to stop at Yannis’s taverna. We said good-bye to each other. He gave me a bottle of retsina from the Patras region and a picture of the newlyweds I took at the beach. The taxi driver took me to the ferry port. As I purchased my ticket, I wondered whether I would come across any tourists from America or perhaps the two Italian girls.