Getting ready to leave

 

Getting ready to leave.

Over the past ten years we have long since perfected the opening up and closing down of the house. What we did not anticipate was that the transfer of our time spent living in the different environments would actually become more difficult rather than less. Here on the island we spend days and days with just our own company. We live, laugh, love, talk, share our thoughts with each other without need for anyone or anything else. We have the occasional grumpiness if I am spending too much time on the computer - I do have work to do - or if Waldo is once more looking for his glasses, keys, a spanner, measuring tape, the piece of paper he put down ten minutes ago. But on the whole we just enjoy the joy of being together, without the need to wear watches when we do what we wish when we wish. That is of course within the limits of Kythera shopping hours!

In Cardiff it is a different matter. Because we love being on Kythera so much, we minimise our time in Cardiff. I organise our trips back around board meetings and other important meetings that I have. Consequently I usually try to pack in far too many meetings into the short space of time. There is also the issue of catching up with friends and relatives and as such we become poor friends in many ways. We do have an open invitation to most to come and visit us and have enjoyed good times. But Waldo and I spend far less time together when we are in Cardiff and I am usually far more stressed and difficult to live with. We both find it far more stressful just being in the UK. The need for security, the heaviness of traffic, the crowds wherever we go, the inability of most shop assistants to understand that their job is to serve and help customers, and the general selfishness and personal greed do not sit happily with a contented life.

So the psychological impact of the negative emotion of returning presses down on us for days. Totally irrationally we leave the packing and closing up of the house until the last possible minute - as if we don't do it, the whole event might go away. But of course what happens is that we leave it until a last minute rush when we both get hot and bothered and often make mistakes. But this time we do not have to do much because we will only be away a short time. I do not have to empty the refrigerator, we do not have to lock away lots of items, pack up for winter and put moth balls everywhere.

We don't need to collect all of our patio furniture up and bring it indoors. It will not rain before we return and there is no fear of theft here. But Waldo does like to put the trailer and Bobcat in the garage. Now our garage is massive; about 18ft by 20ft but pentagonal in shape. Along one wall is the tank for the central heating fuel and running along the top of it, almost full length of the wall is a work bench. Apart from the usual clutter of old bed frames, old mattresses, the complete piece of a fitted wardrobe (not yet rebuilt as garage storage space), car washing equipment, pool vacuum cleaner, paint and brushes, dust sheets, strimmer, chain saw, cut shelves for my knitting store (not yet put up), spare pieces of wood and lots of other things 'that might come in useful one day', we have to make room for quite a large wood saw bench; two long garden hoses; rakes and shovels, brushes and all manner of garden equipment; two huge cable 'cotton reels' (yet to be painted and made into patio tables); the trailer (5ft x 6ft) plus tow hitch fitting, the Bobcat with bucket and shovel attachments. With all of this we can still get two small cars into the garage when everything is in its correct place!

This morning it was time to put the Bobcat away. The long shovel across the front of the vehicle was attached and that was no problem. Waldo put down two pieces of wood where he wanted to 'park' the shovel (just in case we need to get ropes around it at some later time), drove into the garage, positioned the shovel over the pieces of wood, lowered it and left me to turn the levers to disengage the shovel. Of course when anything needs two people to be working with Heracles the Bobcat, Waldo mostly gets the drivers job. This means I have everything else to do; most of which requires physical strength, nifty footwork and usually means getting up to my elbows in grease, oil and dust. Disengaging the shovel means moving two levers through 180' which, on the face of it, is quite simple. As the machine has been working the shovel and the weight of anything in it (usually about half a ton of stone dust or the equivalent pressure of uprooting trees) has squeezed the two metal plates together with pressure much greater than even most Olympic wight lifters can bear. So opening these levers needs muscle.

The next job is to engage the bucket and arm attachment. This needs precision driving and again lots of muscle! First Waldo needs to bring Herakles very close the the attachment arms and completely in line - amazingly for such big steel equipment there is less than 1/4 inch of play. I then have to connect the two hydraulic pipes. Normally it would not be difficult to lift the collar of one, insert the other end into the pipe collar and let go. But, given the position where they are located and the stickiness of the hydraulic fluid it takes me some time to do this. Once attached Waldo has the connections to lift, lower, rise and turn the bucket and arm attachment. After a number of attempts he gets everything in line and once more I am called upon to close the 180' turn of the levers. My muscles are now rippling with power and glistening with hydraulic fluid! Oh yea!

Once Waldo lifts and pulls the bucket attachment towards him, there are arms on the top with sockets which must fit exactly over a ball. Gently does it. Then with a long handled extension socket spanner I tighten up the nut on one side. Because the nut on the other side is rather misshapen I have to use pipe grips this time. Both must be fastened tightly and I am amazed (and secretly delighted) that Waldo just accepts that I can do it and makes no attempt to come behind me tightening things up.  He reverses into the garage because the weight of the arm on the front means that he would not have headroom clearance otherwise. As it is he has less that half an inch and I just have to be patient as Herakles goes up the slight slope to the garage, finding the flat floor just a coat of paint's width between the top of the protective cage around the Waldo and the door frame. Waldo is left to clear up the tools and rags whilst I come inside to wash and get some much needed cold drinks.

As I potter in the kitchen I cannot help but reflect that Waldo does not turn a hair at the fact that I get stuck in with what is often considered 'man's work'. I often tell him that he would have to go a long way to find a woman who would be willing and able to do a lot of the fiddly, dirty and sometimes technical things that his helper needs to do. He expects me to know what mole grips are; pliers, spanner sizes and all the paraphernalia of men's tool boxes. He expects me to have the strength to take the other end to lift furniture, lengths of wood, tree trunks, cement pipes and such.

As I reflect, I realise that for most of my life the men with whom I have spent time have had me working besides them. When I was on the farm my uncles saw me as another farm hand. If I wasn't prepared to be a 'little girl' and do women's things in the kitchen with my aunt, preparing picnic lunches, cooking huge meals, cleaning tripe, salting bacon, collecting and washing eggs for sale, then I couldn't be anything other than an outside pair of hands. Health and safety in those days did not seem onerous and so up to the age of about 12 I was too short and too weak to do much more than drive the tractor up and down the fields during haymaking. At first my little legs would not reach the pedals from the seat and so I had to drive standing up, jumping with all my weight on both feet onto the brake when needed!

I used to long for the day when I could be 'big and strong'. I certainly developed muscles when helping my aunt milk the cows. There was no electricity at the farm and so this was done my hand. At first it was my job to put hay in the mangers for the cows. I would take an armful of hay, walk between the animals and push the hay in between the metal bars at the front of the cows. I was only able to carry enough hay for one animal and so the unfed animal would move as far as it's neck halter would allow to try to get to the feed. This action would trap me between the two animals' necks and I would have to work up my muscles punching and pushing until they moved apart. It was much better exercise than a boxer's punch bag! Later, as I progressed to milking I worked on the muscles of my wrists and fingers - anyone who has milked a cow will know exactly what I mean. It is no job for weaklings or the faint hearted.

Feeding calves and lambs, lifting the animals into pens, mucking out and all the jobs of farming soon develop muscle strength. One of the annual jobs was to dip the sheep. This was usually done by different farmers in a locality on different days so that those not dipping could come over and help the one who was. Some farmers had a special trough, others merely damned up a stream (that was of course before the days of environmental concerns). A foul smelling yellow fluid was mixed with the water and the sheep herded to one end. Then, one by one they would be pushed or thrown into the yellow mixture. Men with dipping poles which were long poles with a curved crosspiece at one end would  put the crosspiece on the sheep's neck and make sure they went under the surface and had a good dipping. Mostly once dipped the sheep scrabbled free. Every now and then one could not get a grip and the dipping pole would then be used to push the animal up the bank and out of the water.  Before progressing to the experienced work of handling a dipping pole, the youngsters job was always to push the sheep into the water. Most of the sheep were reluctant to go and did everything to resist. Sheep are fairly stupid animals anyway when it comes to going where you want them to go. One day I seemed to be the only youngster around and so, together with the sheepdog, I was lifted into the 'push the sheep into the water' pen. It was hard work and the dog was beating me two or three to one, but he had the advantage of his bark and the sheep were afraid of him having come across his authority and threat of teeth before. I was only a little human and so, for the most part, they took no notice of me. One sheep was particularly stubborn and to get more of a purchase to push I did what I knew never to do, I turned around and pushed him with my back on his bottom. I could get far more purchase on the muddy ground that way. Of course, the inevitable happened. The dog saw that I was struggling, came over and gave a yelp at the sheep, the ewe dived into the murky water and I fell over backwards after her! I was actually in there for some time before one of the pole dippers realised I was not a sheep! I grabbed the pole and he dragged me across the whole length of the disinfected water and pushed me as I scrabbled up the bank where the sheep climbed up. Nobody was terrible concerned. Somebody, I think it was my uncle, wiped my face with his handkerchief and I was put back into the pushing sheep into the water pen again!


Secretly I used to try weight lifting but the only weights we had on the farm were 56lb iron weights used on the balance scales to weight out half hundredweight sacks of potatoes. My progress was slow but deliberate. At first, two tiny hands could not shift the weight. Then I was able to tilt it slightly. Then came the day when I could just about lift it with two hands, but had t0o be really careful that I didn't drop it on my toes. As a young teenager I progressed to being able to lift one to shoulder height with one arm. Then I progressed to having one weight in each arm. This was soon out to the test when I was called upon to help my uncle deliver the bags of potatoes which my uncle sold around the town. He had always driven a tractor and it was possible to get from our house to three relatives farms and lots of friends' farms without actually going on the main road but just using their land. Thus he did not have a road going driving license and it was I who sat in the car as he practiced for his test. This was a hair raising experience as he drove the car as he had the tractor; slowly, deliberately and with the complete understanding that whatever happened he had the right of way.

Before he passed his test the family came up with the idea was that because I had a driving license, I would drive the tractor through the town and he would deliver the potatoes. This only happened a few times because as soon as it was realised that I could equally carry a half hundredweight sack of potatoes on each shoulder, there was no need for him to be taken away from his work. So for a number of years, in the potato season, I could be seen on a Friday evening after school delivering sacks of spuds. I used to laugh when going around the posher houses where my parents lived. The men of the houses mostly worked in Cardiff in some profession or senior management position. They were the sort that shaking hands with them was like catching hold of a piece of liver as no sinew, muscle, or skin surface had ever held anything heavier than cutlery, rubbed against anything rougher than tweed or manipulated anything more awkward than a badly balanced pen. These men would see me lifting the sacks off the trailer and rush out to help.

'No. No. I'll do it.' I would insist. 'Just lead me to where you want them left.'

I knew that there was an easy knack of lifting the sacks off the truck and dumping them on the ground somewhere. The men who tried to lift the sacks from me would invariably drop them immediately. It was then left to me to pick them up from the floor, a much more difficult challenge and one that was far beyond their ability. They would retire with wounded pride and after a while it was only the cheery women who came out to see me, I knew where to put the full sacks and they would just have the money ready.

My father was not a farmer, but being one of five boys, and wanting a son himself, did not really know anything about females. When I came along he decided from an early age that I would be an honorary boy. Now in many ways that was good because he brought me up without any gender stereotypes and made me believe that I could be anything I wanted to be. It also meant that I was brought up to share a game of golf with him. This was in the days when men were men and did not use such things as golf buggies or bags of clubs on wheels. No, in those days you walked the whole 18 hole course and carried your clubs on your back. Thankfully I already had the potato sack training and was able to keep up with his 6ft, military fit figure striding up hill and down dale of the nearby links course.

One of the other benefits of being an 'honerary male' was that I was to drive as soon as possible. Now I could already drive a tractor and since I was about 14 had been taking my mother's car over the fields of my relatives' land, so doing a driving test was no particular challenge. But, on the grounds that my mother was merely a hopeless woman, it became my responsibility to check the car which we shared. So I had to learn how to check oil and water, fill up as necessary, check the tyres and put air into them, change a tyre, know about potential brake wear and other things which meant listening to the engine, checking pedals for 'floppiness' or kicking tyres.

Waldo's great passion is cars. As a qualified motor mechanic he loves anything to do with engines, speed and that sort of technology. His parent's farm had electricity because he rigged up power from a generator and wired the house and outbuildings. When it came time to join up to the power grid, everything passed muster on the first inspection. The only part of the system which became defunct was the fact that Waldo had rigged everything up so that the generator could be started and closed down simply by him putting his hand out of bed and pulling on a cord. No getting up and going out on cold frosty mornings for him. No braving the cutting wind on a dark night for him. It was comfort all the way.

Our shared backgrounds in farming, our shared love of cars, gives us a lot in common. Kythera allows us to express that as we tend the house and garden and all of the equipment that goes with it. Or perhaps it is that we are going back to childhood when we are here that makes us love it so much? It certainly has that privileged feeling of childhood; safety, love, freedom and few responsibilities of work.

Why it takes four days to buy some pipe!

 

Why it takes four days to buy some pipe!

Now that the road has been improved, although in reality the two short half widths of concrete may be considered a pathetic attempt to pacify us, we need to ensure that the winter rains do not wash away the little that has been done. The main problem was at the lower end of the track where a local farmer had filled in the gully in order to get to his fields. Rather than go to the trouble of putting in some pipe to carry the water and create a bridge for him to cross over, he merely blocked up the gully so that he could drive onto his field.

We decided that just three concrete pipes would do the job. We have seen what we want, in a field with other building material, just a few hundred metres past the out of town supermarket. So, on Friday we decided to find out whose field it was and whether they would sell three pipes to us. Neither of the local builders merchants appeared to have the products. So we went to the plumbing supplies shop, two fields away from our desired pipes. We got the woman in the office to come outside and look to the field. She informed us that she didn't know who owned the pipes, but told us who owned the field.

Luckily we knew the man as he runs a delivery service for large goods and Waldo has used the chaotic service a few times. We drove to his office. The man himself was not there, but one of his staff could tell us who owned the pipes. He wrote the name down and told us that he lived behind the post office in Potamos.

Off we drove to Potamos, we had just come from the post office and collected a bag full of DVDs to watch in the coming weeks. the lady in the post office was outside and shouted to us when we saw the car. The day's post had arrived and there was more for us. I went in to collect more DVDs and some books - how did we manage before Amazon? - and I asked her where Vangelis lived. Surprisingly she didn't know, she didn't even know the name, which is most surprising on this small island. He obviously doesn't get mail!

I walked up the road to a rather nice ladies clothes shop where I take our visitors. The woman who runs it was not there, but her father was shop sitting. He immediately told me he would show us the house. Without even bothering to shut the shop door he bade us follow him as he walked up a side street and through a maze of streets in the hinterland of the village. He then pointed in the distance to the 'aspros spiti' (white house). We thanked him and walked on to the house. The patio, the living area of most Greek houses, showed signs of life. Children's bicycles were parked near the wall, the iron was plugged in and on the ironing board near the house wall, a table with benches and ashtrays was near the door. It was just 1pm and a little early for siesta. We knocked the door and waited, but no response. We rang one of the door bells but no response. We rang another door bell but the house remained silent. 

We would have to return another day. Waldo walked back to the car and came through the maze of streets to collect me. We then went exploring to see where the road led us and came back onto the main street down a narrow path that we had always thought was a pavement!

Saturday dawned warm and windy. Waldo was on a mission now to get the pipes before we depart next Wednesday. We set off for the house in Potamos. This time, as we approached we could see that the front door was open. There was some confusion at first as a number of different women came to the door. Eventually Mrs. Vangelis came outside to greet us. Her husband was not there, he was working on the nearby island of Antikythera and would not be back for a week or more. She would telephone him and find out about the pipes. This she did, and we negotiated a price for three. However she wanted to be sure that we were talking about the correct field, with the correct pipes. So the three of us set off in the car, through Potamos village to the field. Yes, it was the correct field, but she wasn't sure whether the pipes belonged to her husband or the field owner. We suggested that we could pay her for them, collect the pipes and she could get the money to her husband or the field owner, whoever was the seller. But she was not prepared to do this and anyway the gate to the field was shut and she didn't have the key. She wanted to see for herself what we were talking about and speak with the owner of the field.

Off we went in the car to the owner of the field's office. Being Saturday it was closed. We drove back to the lady's house, on the way passing the man from the dress shop who waved profusely, recognising that contact had been made thanks to his efforts. The lady insisted on giving us ice cold water and wonderful home made honey biscuits covered with sesame seeds. Eventually we left with the agreement to telephone the field owner and arrange to meet on Monday morning. Then we would telephone her and come to collect her to take her to the field. This meant that we would have to go with the trailer and take it to the field, unhitch it and leave it there for we would not be able to pass through the back streets on Potamos with it in tow. Then with the car only through the narrow streets, fetch Mrs Vangelis and take her to the field. After the transaction we would have to return her to her home and then come back for the filled trailer. Such a potentially simple transaction was now taking on mammoth proportions - not quite like B & Q!

We enjoyed a pleasant evening out on Saturday. Andromache is a wonderful cook, equally capable of turning out a traditional Sunday roast, a local Kytherian dish or all manner of tasty Greek food. She has a brilliant strategy for pleasing people; she always prepares at least one dish that she knows one of her guests really enjoy. So for Waldo she prepared taramasalata (cods roe mixed with dry bread, yoghurt, lemon juice and black pepper) and wonderfully light cheese pies made with puff pastry, for me she cooked sliced courgettes in batter, for Rika she prepared a very strong tzatziki (cucumber, garlic and yoghurt), for Dick a wonderful salad in mustard mayonnaise dressing. To this she added pitta bread, a very tasty lasagna and an amazing strawberry cheesecake.

It was about 1am when we drove back through the village. A few people were still in tavernas, particularly the one which had had a tango evening where a group of 4 tango teachers and their partners put on a display and then encouraged everyone to have a try. This week has been the last of the summer festivities and it has been hectic on the island. There has been a wonderful exhibition of water colours by the artist Katherine Kay who manages to capture so much of Greek life with a few seemingly simple strokes of the brush which belie the skill and experience of a life-time of observation and art. On Monday there was a fold dance of local traditional dances in a village beyond Logothetianika. On Tuesday, St Maria's Day, and a national holiday, the island's main icon of Madonna and Child (both faceless), is paraded around. It starts at the Monastery of St Myrtidda where the icon is kept. Bus loads of people turn up for the early morning service and orchestral performance by the island's band. During the day the icon is carried from village to village, by car these days, with everyone assembling just to walk through the village and giving local people a chance to take the blessing and kiss the icon. This culminates in another choral service, followed by dancing till the early hours of the morning in Potamos square. On Wednesday Aghia Pelagia hosted the traditional puppet theatre. In days past the puppeteers would travel from village to village presenting their shows, but they are becoming less and less as the skills are not passed down through the generations as they used to be. Thankfully on the island a young man has revived the tradition where rough outline puppets are mounted on sticks and then displayed behind a large white sheet so that they are viewed in silhouette. The stories are traditional and each provides part of the moral compass to be passed to the young generation. On Thursday a group of Cretans came over and sang their traditional songs and performed their local dances in the square in Karavas, a village at the north of the island. Friday night saw our weekly music by our local group at a taverna in Aghia Pelagia.

On Sunday we decided to have a leisurely time, recovering from the night before, preparing for the continuing adventure of the pipes on Monday and celebrating my birthday as day early. We were to meet friends at 1pm and all travel together to a small hamlet on the north of the island where Minas' taverna is located on a small promontory right at the sea's edge. Minas' is the only taverna that only provides freshly caught fish and most of the salad vegetables are organically grown in his son's garden. It is a delight to go there for Sunday lunch when we take pot luck of whatever has been caught that morning, served simply with a salad and chips for those who want them. We were almost on time. Waldo shouted to me 'Ready?' and I agreed, walked upstairs to the front door. I thought he had gone ahead of me and so I shut the door and locked it. To avoid the baking sun I got into the car for Waldo had already switched the engine on and the air conditioning was doing it's bit to provide a cool environment. I turned on the CD player to listen to some Tina Turner and waited. I thought Waldo had been doing something in the garage but he was nowhere to be seen. I waited. As I looked around I noticed that the roller doors to the garage were shut. Perhaps he had gone down the stone steps to collect rubbish to bin on our way down the mountain. I waited. Then something caught my eye. I could see a hand on the other side of a glass panel of the front door. After shouting 'Ready', Waldo had decided to go to the toilet, he had not gone outside the house and then found himself locked in. Since the first day here some 6 weeks ago he lost his own front door keys and has not been able to find them! Hence he was unable to unlock the door, unable to make me hear his shouts above Tina Turner and unable to attract my attention. We were only a few minutes late - our friends were walking along the beach when we eventually caught up with them.

Minas has a big fish, we think it was sword fish and with his band saw he cut us a one inch oval slice about 20cm by 35 cm: more than ample for the four of us. As with most local tavernas, no matter how we order and state what we want to start and what we want as main courses, the first dish to appear is the chips. This was closely followed by the beers, white wine, ouzo and Sprite and Soda water for us all. Then came the salad and shortly after that two plates piled high with pieces of squid cooked in batter with a whole fresh lemon to squeeze over. Time does not really matter and we ate the chips whilst they were hot, then leisurely worked our way grazing the other dishes. About an hour later, after drinks had been replenished, came a large platter with the massive portion of fish served with a delicious creamy sauce made of lemon juice and olive oil whipped together.

In line with Greek tradition, by about 4pm we moved on. Waldo drove us back to Aghia Pelagia where we visited a cafe-bar which services the most delicious ice-creams and sorbets on the island.  We relaxed, overlooking the tiny harbour where the boats were bobbing up and down.  Vanilla ice-cream smothered in cream and strawberry sauce, pistachio ice=cream, plain vanilla ice-cream and a lemon sorbet soon arrived.  We spent about 20 minutes watching a beautiful petrol blue backed kingfisher move from boat to boat, take a dive and eat a fish, then move on. What a treat. It was early evening by the time we said our goodbyes.

I was fast asleep at 7.30am when Waldo shook me awake. It was my birthday. I could catch up on sleep later. It was collecting the cement pipes day. No time to laze in bed. I put on my old working trousers and top; both already spattered with paint, tiny holes from fire embers and unmovable stains from gardening. It had been a very windy night and Freddy's 'raft' was waterlogged and submerged; it had been half submerged for a few days and Freddy had been forced to just cling on to one side rather than climb aboard. We had decided that this must be tiring and uncomfortable for our little companion. Thus, immediately after breakfast Waldo and I took up the 'raft' and I put it in the sun to dry out. Waldo had already cut two more pieces of wood and threaded them. One he fitted in the opposite corner of the pool which never catches the sun. The other he used to replace the water logged raft. It took our Fred just half an hour to climb aboard his new raft. We must wait and see how long it takes him to discover the one in the shade.

We hitched up our trailer. It still has 'The Muir Train. Kythera' printed in big letters down one side of it. This was erected when my 'Muir' cousins came to stay last year. Waldo had already filled the trailer with all manner of boxes, bags of rubbish, some electrical equipment that was now defunct and the old bed which we replaced last week. This we took to the tip on our way to Potamos.

When we arrived at the transport office of the field owner it was still closed up. There was no need to be open for the truck taking goods to the ferry had already left and the inward goods from the ferry would not be delivered until around mid-day. We decided to just take the three pipes and go and pay Mrs Vangelis. If we waited to get her and the field owner together it could be a few more days of telephoning, visiting and chasing. Waldo managed to open the gate and backed the car and trailer up to the pipes. When we went to lift the cement pipes they were heavier than we had first thought. One metre long and about 20 inches in diameter they each weighed about 2.5cwt (280 lbs). We had one pair of gloves between us to protect our hands from the rough concrete. After much puffing and blowing, rolling, lifting, wedging with hands and knees to steady the pipes we packed the three neatly in a row on the trailer; there was but half an inch to spare! And I didn't break a single finger nail!

Pleased with our efforts we headed for Potamos. As usual the traffic was chaos. Because the whole village in one-way people seem to think that they can park anywhere but assume that everyone else has a tiny car. All day long delivery vans, lorries, tractors and trailers inch forward and backwards with barely a coat of paint to spare. Waldo decided that wherever the car went, the trailer would follow and so we would take it to Mrs Vangelis' house to show her that we had just taken three pipes, that they were the smaller size and that we had no more. I had some DVDs to post and Waldo patiently waited in a side-street whilst I went into the post office. Then, after hair raising twists and turns we arrived at the house. The lady was sitting on her patio, mobile telephone at the ready, waiting for our call. She looked pleased to see us, but surprised that we already had the pipes in tow.

I explained that the field owner was not in his office, that it was closed. I explained that we thought the easiest was to collect the pipes and asked her to look at them in the trailer. We had agreed a price and I was getting ready to sit down, enjoy some of the fresh figs she offered us and pay our dues. Surprise, surprise, she started to tell me that she had been speaking with her husband on the telephone again this morning and the price had changed. The price had now gone up some 50%. I translated the news to Waldo and, as expected, it was lighting a blue touch paper. He started waving his arms around and shouting. Another woman had come onto the patio, but as neither of them spoke a word of English there was no point in his shouting. But they got the message. Mrs Vangelis kept telling me that it was not her fault, this is what she had been told to say. I thought she was going to cry. Eventually she telephoned her husband. Now speaking Greek face-to-face is one thing as body language, facial expressions and mime all aid the communication and understanding, and writing and drawing can always be an added option. Speaking on the telephone requires a greater language skill. My heart sank as I wondered whether I was up to it.

Before I could think twice Vangelis was on the telephone. Yes, there were two sizes of pipe. We had the smaller sized ones for which we had agreed a price. I told him that they were in the trailer. I would pay his wife the amount agreed yesterday and nothing more. Yesterday he had already added a quick 10 Euros to the price as a delivery charge - seeming to overlook the fact that we were collecting them! In any Greek negotiation the trick is to raise ones voice, appear angry and stay firm. I told him we would pay the agreed amount and nothing more. I wasn't even prepared to negotiate. We would take them back to his field and he would have no money. OK he agreed, but wanted to speak with his wife.

As she was on the telephone I got out the Euro notes and waved them in front of her. I had the exact amount with me. She put down the telephone and took the money. Then she smiled and the face saving part of the negotiations now came to the fore; her husband felt that the bigger pipes would be better for the job, but they were more expensive. He would rather us have them and he would have done a good deal on them because he doesn't want us coming back to him saying the smaller pipes are no good. I thanked her for his consideration, but confirmed that it was the small pipes we wanted. We finished our figs, shook hands and with smiles all round set off back to the house.

Once back on our mountain road, we off loaded the pipes, rolled them into the gully and set off back to the house. When we return in a few weeks Waldo will take the Bobcat down the road, make the gully slightly larger and bed in the pipes. The farmer will have a bridge to his land and hopefully the rain water will flow through the pipes and stay in the gully rather than wreaking havoc on the road. A job well done. And still not a broken finger nail!

Koksma's Mountain Road

Koksma's Mountain Road

Louli and Waldo didn't finish cleaning out the filters until after nine. We were both exhausted and just ate some salad, watched the news and then fell into a coma-like sleep. When we woke in the morning there was a power cut and so we just caught some extra time in bed. The power cuts rarely last more than an hour; never long enough to really cause chaos and certainly not long enough to bother with refrigerators and such. It is also interesting that power cuts always occur during office hours and thus disrupt work involving computers, telephone systems with electronic links and all manner of office equipment. However, unless it is a real emergency rather than just switching off to prevent overload, there are never power cuts which will impact upon the Greek housewife's cooking schedules. So they do not occur at breakfast time and when getting the children off to school. After 9am is shopping time so that is vulnerable to cuts, but from 11am onwards lunch is a priority. And so on. The power of the Greek housewife far exceeds and problems company bosses may experience; such as the priorities of this bankrupt nation. Food and family will always outweigh nation building and economic capitalism. Of course there are some wonderful sociological benefits of such attitudes; it is just that somehow or other a balance is needed for a socio-economic society.

We are in the middle of breakfast when Petros telephones. He tells Waldo that there is a machine at the bottom of our road. Petros's house is just across the bottom of the valley and he can see the beginning of our road easily. He cannot see out car there and so assumes, rightly, that we do not know about the machine. Grateful for Petros' information, we leave our breakfast and rush down the road. The man with the grader is already working on the road, smoothing out the bumps, cracks, fissures and irregularities causes by the winter rains. He is the same man who did a very good job on the road two years ago. Despite that, Waldo immediately starts shouting instructions which I have to translate. I struggle to have a conversation in Greek about social life, philosophy or the finer things in life, but of necessity my vocabulary easily spans anything to do with building houses, plastering, digging holes, road making, repairing machinery, tree cutting, bulldozers, water systems and ground works. The biggest problem with the road has been caused by the farmer in the adjoining field. Two years ago the grader cut a massive gully both sides of the road to carry the amazing amount of water that runs off the mountain in the heavy storms. Without concern for this, the farmer filled in the gully at the entrance to his field. Instead of putting down a pipe for the water to flow through and then building up around it, he simply pushed earth into the gully and compacted it with his tractor. Thus the water pours down the gully to this spot, overflows and has created all manner of almost impassable cracks and fissures in the road.

The grader driver will not touch this gully. The farmer, whether by chance or cunning, has run water hoses nearby and the grader operator clearly does not want to be responsible for breaking these. I tell him what a good job he did before, when he made the original gully. I then tell him that he is such a good driver that I surprised that he now doesn't want to tackle this very short piece of gully. He preens and smiles. I give a smile of resignation and, with a shrug of my shoulders, I show him that I am disappointed but ask him to do what he can. As we walk back up to the car he is reversing, consolidating the track where he has put additional dirt. Most of the road is looking better already.

Throughout the day, the drivers of the few vehicles that come up the road parp their horn and wave at us. Usually they just wave if they see us outside the house. Now they shout 'Bravo' and some even give a thumbs up signal. It is much later in the day when we take a trip down the road only to fin that not only has the dirt track been smoothed and the piece of gully remade, but there are also two lengths of concrete that have been laid. One on the steep corner, just covering the inside half of the road. The second strip, also not covering the whole width of the road but filling in the worst of the bumps and cracks. This is motorway by comparison.  We feel delighted that all of our chasing, telephone calls and meetings have paid off. It is only slightly disconcerting to realise that two years of weekly, and at times daily, chasing up has resulted in about 3 hours work. It has changed our life for sure. Friends can now visit, I can go out in the car whenever I wish without worrying about whether or not I can get up the road, and we have a lot of additional time to ourselves without having to go to the mayor's office, telephone the mayor, telephone the contractors and do all the chasing up.

We treat ourselves and go for a meal in the evening at a local taverna. There is live traditional music which we enjoy for a time. The musicians are all local people who just love what they do, and it comes through in the music. Most of then, including their engineer dress as rebels with boiler suits and long hair in pony-tails. One is the local heart surgeon, who amazing chain smokes. But he plays a good bouzouki and sings well. Thankfully for the islanders he forgoes what surely would have been a glittering career in Athens or one of the other major city hospitals. Disillusioned with the politics of health care he long since decided that his calling was to deal with people and to help them. Hence we have the services of one of the best heart surgeons in Greece as he lives here to focus on his work and not play politics.

The weekend disappears in a cloud of heat, power cuts, and shopping. The weather is quite bizarre as more clouds come into the sky; not the usual tiny fluffy 'Kytheran clouda' but the more recognisable grey or black rain clouds. The mornings feel cooler, but the heat seems to rise quickly through the day. By Sunday afternoon, the sun has disappeared and Waldo counts 50 rain drops on the pool. It is uncomfortably hot and humid. What Waldo checks our new weather station on the kitchen patio, the temperature reads 51.5'C - no wonder we feel hot!

I spend most of Monday pottering in the kitchen, cooking around the power cuts. Our Dutch visitors are coming to tea with two young men who are visiting them. I make shortbread biscuit sandwiches filled with date and orange puree, bran and raisin muffins, oat and lemon cupcakes, Greek orange and almond cake made with semolina and ground almonds instead of flour.  They arrive at six and almost everything goes as we sit and chat and laugh and graze the food until almost mid-night. Nobody had noticed the time; the conversation just keeps going as we seemed so easy in each others company and touched on politics, religion, sex, the Olympics, history, colonialism, America, education, smoking, entrepreneurship, engineering and what's to do and see on the island. The young men eventually decide that they need to feed their 6ft 7" and 6ft 4" bodies and take-off on their scooters to get some take-away kebabs whilst the rest of us head for our beds.

Tuesday starts with yet another power cut. Obviously the heat is causing problems for the island's already overloaded power system. We take off in the car to go to Livadi; a village just south of the centre of Kythera. The name Livadi, means 'meadow' and the village is built on the edge of a large flood plain which is rich in nutrients and vegetation. It seems to have built up as a shopping centre for electrical and household goods as well as a location for practising professionals such as the veterinary surgeon, optician, dentist and the Kythera radio and TV station when it had funding. We are there to collect two wall lights that we ordered last week. These modern glass and silver coloured metal lights will go over our bed and replace the awful brown ones that we have lived with for so long.

Waldo wants to buy a large torch. His son and friends are visiting soon and we want to be able to take them to some distant churches built in caves. We visit our usual electrical store. Just on the entrance to the shop is a wonderful day-bed. It has three metal sides in a rambling rose pattern and is just what I have been wanting for years. The mattress is rather soft and squidgy, but Nicos is quite happy to supply an alternative one. After negotiating the price of bed, mattress , torch and batteries we talk about delivery. Amazingly Nicos tells us it will be at the house at 7pm. I double check that he means today and not another day in the vague future, but 7pm tonight it will be.

Greece is quite a way to the Eastern Mediterranean and as such there are not long evenings. The sun rises and sets quickly so there is either sunshine or darkness and not much in between. Whilst the sun is shining at 7pm, it is dark by 8.30pm. It is after 8.30pm that our day-bed arrives. Waldo has the dangerous job of helping carry it down our stone steps, right around the pool, up to the kitchen patio, around the front of the lounge to the back patio and then into the room where the bed is to be located. This room has always intended to be Waldo's office and to serve as an extra single bedroom should the need arise. Because it is rarely used it has become a depository for everything that does not have a place. So it has been a great exercise in clearing out the room. This pushes me ever nearer to moving into my office, the AcropoLiz. I am determined to have this room space up and running before we leave next week.

Thursday dawns hot and clear. I bake another date shortcake sandwich. As I take it out of the oven we have yet another power cut! That's the end of my baking for the morning! More of our Dutch neighbours are coming for coffee this morning. The woman who owns the house is the niece of the man who did so much for this island and designed the three houses known as Dutchman's Hill here. He was very much influenced by the architect Frank Lloyd Wright in the architecture and interior of the properties. Amazing, although Hommine has been coming to Kythera for over 40 years she has never been inside our house. So it is a morning of cleaning, hoovering and generally tidying up. We don't really live in such chaos, we just work on the basis that we can live as things are and rather than clean on a regular schedule just have a mad clear up when people come. It works fine for us.

I am overcome when Hommine gives me an old plate which belonged to her uncle. It has a quotation from the work of Robert Louise Stevenson on it and is decorated with pink flowers and a gold filigree pattern. It is so lovely to have something that links back to the architect of designer of the house and how was she to know that my kitchen is pink and that the back wall hosts a collection of old plates! The generosity of people on this island never fails to surprise and touch me. Having meaning to life is so important and recognised as such. People take time to care about others, they take time to think about things and they take time to do things for other people. Yes there are frustrations with power cuts, and roads, and inefficiency, and time and much more. But that is the business part of life. For the Greek people, and the people of this island particularly what matters is family, friends and neighbours. Those are the priorities and everything else comes way down the list. Young people are not thrown out of their homes when they go to college or start work, they are nurtured, still an integral part of the family. Elderly people are not left to fend for themselves or shut away in institutions but brought back from independent living into the body of the family home where they are respected, nurtured and made to feel useful. neighbours are cared for, not just in an emergency but as a matter of daily course. If a housewife is making a casserole she will pop into the oven a small dish for her neighbour. If a fisherman has had a good catch he will drop one in to his neighbour on his way home. If someone had a glut of fruit or vegetables they will share them with their neighbours.

None of us live in isolation here. We live as a community but are respected sufficiently to be able to enter, centre or distance ourselves as our own needs demand.

Under Attack

Under attack

Waldo dragged his weary bones out of bed fairly early this morning. Louli would be here soon to mend and improve the filter system for the water reservoir which was fed mainly from water rushing down the back driveway. I grumbled but soon followed. After drinking my first pint of water of the day, I telephoned the road contractor. Once again I got to speak with the handsome Michaelis. He gave no apology for the fact that so many times over the past few week he has promised to send someone with the machine to fix the road. Patiently I asked him when it would happen.

‘Tomorrow.’ Was his firm response. ‘Tomorow morning.’ He confirmed.

‘Segura?’ ‘For sure’ I questioned.

‘Malista’ ‘Yes, of course’ he responded, as though there was no need for me to challenge him on this point.

I walked back to the kitchen. Waldo was smiling, ‘Avrio – tomorrow – it is then? We have plenty of experiences of Greek promises and know that, whilst some are well intentioned, they are not worth a light. It is no wonder Greece is in such a mess – but I won’t start on that topic!

I had managed to make some breakfast scones yesterday. I make batches of about 10 to 12 and freeze them individually so that we can treat ourselves every now and then, instead of having standard brown toast. I have kept some scones back from the freezer in anticipation. My plum and cardamom jelly has set well overnight and so I put a small jar of that on the table, together with some previously made lemon and ginger jelly. Tart fruit cheeses or jellies go extremely well with scones and provide a really intense flavour of the fruit used.

On the grounds that Louli and possibly Mario would be here soon we decide not to breakfast on the patio, where the temptation would be to linger. Waldo is just on his second cup of tea and I’ve spread my plum jelly, when we hear the oncoming drone of a fast moving aeroplane. Occasionally Greek fighter jets from the military base in Kalamata run fast moving, low flying exercises down over the Peloponnese, out to sea along the Maleas Straits, around Kythera island and back up hugging the coast of the Mani peninsular. Today it is just one ‘plane, flying extremely low and very close to our shore line. I go outside and shake my fist at the aircraft and shout my usual insult: ‘You can’t afford the fuel. Don’t you know your country is broke!’

I’ve only just sat down when we hear a similar noise, but of more than one thing flying through the air. It is quieter and more of a drone. Then we see them, as rigorous as the Dam Busters they come; 4 huge hornets come through the patio door in the kitchen whilst three lesser wasps come through the other door. One hornet after the other makes straight for me and I have to do swift sideways moves to avoid the beasts. Are they blind or were they aiming for me? The leader turns and makes for the window which he knocks into with such force that he is temporarily stunned and falls about 4ft onto the window sill. It takes just a few moments for him to shake himself and set off again. The second in command does exactly the same but from a lower starting point. They circle and aim for me again. I pushed the last of the scone and plum jelly in my mouth, put the lid on the jar and sit very still with my mouth tightly closed.

Waldo reaches for the fly swatter. Bees and some other flying insects he usually guides out of the kitchen, but hornets and wasps he is allowed to kill, kill, kill without mercy. After some early morning exercise running around the kitchen, side swiping, volleying and back hand hitting, he eventually kills two and evicts the rest of the swarm. It is rare to have such visitors. We do have some rather large insects that appear to be totally blind; they seem to think that the knots in the pinewood ceiling of the kitchen are flowers. No matter how many times they come in, they spend hours moving from flower to flower, knocking themselves against the wood and never getting a drop of nectar or pollen or whatever they are after. They are quite harmless and leave eventually; we just have to put up with the noisy droning of their wings and the occasional thuds as they hit the wood.

Waldo eats his scone with plum jelly quickly and does not attract the hornets again. Louli has still not arrived and so Waldo goes out to sprinkle the concrete with water. This is an essential part of good concrete, particularly in such hot weather. We need to give a light, but copious spray of water from the hose pipe all over the cement, twice a day for a week. This will stop the cement from curing too quickly and ensure that it takes time to set; then we will not have it cracking, crumbling or splitting. A number of our friends have laughed at this practice, but Waldo’s experience in the quarrying business have taught him such things. Friends who have taken heed of his advice can often be heard passing on this secret knowledge with authority to others at dinner parties and social events; Waldo usually just smiles and says nothing.

Whilst Waldo is watering the cement, I make a quick batch of coffee and walnut cupcakes. We are both busy with various jobs until it time for a cold drink. It is 12.30 and still no sign of Louli. I give Waldo a shopping list and he sets off to the big villages to get groceries, call of the post office, buy batteries for his new headphones which arrived, without batteries as stated, and to change a pack of ballpoint pens which he bought in the village and none work. The heat kills so much here. Despite the pens being wrapped up in plastic wrapping they had all dried out. Glue, even unopened tubes, have to be kept in airtight containers otherwise it goes off.

I do two washing machine loads of clothes. Everything which is hung out to dry in the sun has to be turned inside out. Even items which might have the fastest of colours will be bleached a shade or two lighter if left in the direct sun. But it is lovely to have freshly dried clothes from outside. Sheets and pillow cases I hang on the line on the patio outside our bedroom. This gets the evening sun and the gentle breeze wafts jasmine and geranium perfume over them as they dry. I cut long branches of rosemary and put them into tall containers in the bathrooms; better than any chemical air freshener. Geranium leaves, lavender, jasmine flowers and any wild herbs I come across provide a potpourri of freshness through the house.

Because I am overweight, I tend to wear lots of elasticated trousers. There is elastic in so many other clothes; pyjama bottoms, pants, bras, socks to name but a few. The sun soon dries these out, the elastic goes brittle and the bits of rubbery material shrivel into little balls which break and shed from their holding material. This renders the elastic useless. I seem to be forever rethreading elastic waists, darning fine elastic into edges that cling to thighs, ankles and under my boobs. The first time I needed to buy elastic I was amazed at the variety of the stuff that was available in Pangiotis' haberdashery. White, black or ecru, flat or round, fine shirring, thick or thin, 2mm, 3mm, 5mm or bigger it is all there sold by the centimetre or in 10metre lengths. I couldn't believe such a treasure trove. Now of course I know why!

The first time I made a pair of trousers out here I made them with an elasticated waist. Now I know better and always make loops or slits for a belt. I make a variety of belts out of the wonderful selection of braided or polyester ribbon that Panagiotis supplies. He has every colour under the sun - and cotton to match. As I look carefully at the older women on the island I notice that they too have perfected this way of making non-elasticated waistbands. I decide to cut out and make a pair of culottes later this afternoon.

The sound of the car horn indicates that Waldo is back. I get up to prepare some iced coffees which we will take on the patio and drink whilst he tells me who he has met, what is happening and what is not happening on the island. Lots of  unlisted treats appear in the shopping bags and as they are all drinks or refreshing fruits I know that Waldo was feeling the heat as he shopped. We sit outside with our drinks, Waldo with a nectarine and me with an orange and a fresh baked coffee and walnut cupcake each. The road is not done! There's a new girl on the till of the supermarket in the big village. The post office gave up about 2 weeks worth of DVD orders - how I can order them over a period of time and yet they all arrived at once never fails to amaze me. There is a good selection - which one will we watch tonight? There are definitely less people around - parking is relatively easy in Potamos, whereas in previous years it has been nigh on impossible to get within a kilometre of the centre.

By the time we have finished eating and chatting we decide that Louli is not coming today. Waldo goes to water the cement for the third time. I set up my sewing. Waldo will do some sewing too; I have been trying to repair the top of our large patio umbrella, but the new canvas is far too strong for me to get the needle through. Waldo has now been taught how to do the stitches and with the aid of a set of pliers can do the necessary stitches. It doesn't look very neat, but it does the job. The only problem is that he easily gets bored and so has had about three attempts already.

We're all set to start and ...... the power fails!  With all the extra pressure of refrigerators, air conditioning, fans and such, this is a daily occurrence in the summer. Mind you it happens almost daily in the winter too, but the reasons then are quite different: central heating, cookers, rain, high winds and lightening strikes! There is nothing left to do but to go to bed. So off we go and fall asleep immediately.

We both wake up around six. Waldo went out to water the cement again and to fit the batteries into his new headphones, in readiness for watching a DVD tonight. I got some cold drinks and we were going to laze around in bed for a while more and chat. No sooner than we were both back in the bedroom than the front door bell rang. Louli's here!

By the time I get out of the bedroom he is halfway down the stairs. We often leave the front door open to create an air draft through the house. We sit outside and he demolishes a litre of cold water from the 'fridge. After a leisurely chat when, among other things, he tells me about getting bitten on the stomach by a scorpion when he was a young child in Albania, he declares that it is time for work! It is seven o'clock and Waldo really does not feel like it, but off they go to check out the double filter system into the back reservoir.

Another day has disappeared in a chain of unexpected events, broken promises and thwarted attempts to do what is planned. As the Greeks would say 'Ti na kanoumai.' - 'What can we do?' Is it a resigned acceptance of fate? I saw a sign in the back of a car one day which read 'My karma has run over my dogma' - well over here it is the only way to live: keep calm and be flexible!

How to translate 'cream crackered' into Greek!

How to translate 'cream crackered' into Greek!

The alarm goes off at 6.45 this morning. I groan and switch it off. After a wonderful evening last night, when we were honorary Dutch,being the only non-Dutch people in the party we eventually got to bed around 2am! Waldo and I have no knowledge of the Dutch language at all, but everyone speaks excellent English. The linguistic skills of the Dutch people really do out us to shame. It is rare that one of the party has to search for a word in English, but when they do a Greek word might be inserted into the language. In deference to the Greek taverna owner we order in Greek and the food just keeps coming. There are so many started on the table to sample and so when it comes to main courses Waldo and I share a beautiful fish of pork pieces cooked in a lemon sauce, served with potatoes and there are ample dishes of vegetables going around the table: all are grown by the taverna owner's family, totally organic and with minimum water. They are absolutely fantastic, full of taste and cooked to perfection. The only problem our Dutch friends had was that spread branches of the two walnut trees under which our long table had been set, were too low; with people of 6ft 7", 6ft 4", 6ft 2" leading the pack of almost six footers it was noticeable. Waldo and one lady in the group had no such problems.

Amazingly Waldo is up bright as a button and by 7.15am is dressed, breakfasted and out at work. Firstly he strimmers along the edge of the driveway where the extension will be laid. This was done last week but it is amazing how Triffids have grown! Then he puts out all the tools that he knows will be needed today: shovel, rake, wheelbarrow, brush, long hose pipe connections, power leads and pieces of wood to form edges for the cement. It never fails to amaze us how little equipment the workmen here bring with them. A young man turns up around 8.15, but no sign of Louli. Mario's first request is for water as he has just climbed up our mountain road. Louli arrives a short time later and similarly his first request is for water. I soon realise that each man drinks around one litre of cold water per half hour. Thus I have to set up a system of bottles of water in the freezer; they have no time to freeze but are good and cold.

At the back of the AcropoLiz is our old bath which we took out some years ago and replaced the space with a 'his 'n' hers' walk in double shower unit. The bath is made of caste iron and unless it is cut up, will be difficult to get rid of. Thus, Waldo has left it at the back of my office where, complete with bath plug, it collects water in the winter which is piped to our vines. As a turquoise enamelled 60s bath it does not enhance the garden but it is tucked away in a place where few people see it. This is now filled from the hose pipe so that there is ready water for the cement mixer. Waldo brings eight bags of cement down in the bucket of the Bobcat (aka Herakles) and sets them down near the cement mixer. The front edges of the extension are shored up, iron netting, which will strengthen the concrete, is laid. the work will be done in two parts to allow everyone to have a break. The division of labour is agreed. Louli dons old wellington boots for his job is to lay the cement, smooth it and angle it as required; this is where the skill lies. If the angle of flow of water on the finished area is not correct then we will have damp in the AcropoLiz or water collecting in some unwanted place. Mario is designated to spend the whole day filling the cement mixer with sand, cement, water, gravel and stone dust, making sure he keeps an even consistency and that he keeps up with Louli's requirements. Waldo's job is to drive Herakles and bring about 3 tons of gravel and stone dust from the top of the driveway, round the corner and down a very steep slope and tip it within shovel's distance of Mario. Because it is so steep he has to half load the bucket and then lift and tilt it to shake the contents to the back of the container. Then he repeats the movement, making sure that the bucket is not quite full. It has to be lifted and tiled on the way down, otherwise he would be leaving most of the contents over the back driveway. The slope is so steep that Waldo has to reverse Herakles back up the slope to stop the machine turning over.  At first Louli is concerned and tells Waldo to slow down, but after two trips he realises that Waldo is an experienced driver and knows how to handle the machine.

Although I am just about up by the time Mario arrived, I can't get myself moving very much today. But Waldo is having none of it and gives me a list of things to do. The first is to telephone the contractor who was due to come and smooth our mountain road by yesterday. The handsome Michaelis tells me that his driver will come in the afternoon. I question him as to whether it is today, afternoon or some vague afternoon in the future; but he assures me that it will be today. So I then call our neighbour to give her the good news. She says she will wait until the end of the day before telephoning the mayor to complain about the road. I decide to make some cakes. Louli and Mario will welcome some and our Dutch neighbours are bringing their extremely tall young visitors down to see the house some time over the next few days. I'm just deciding what to make when Waldo comes in for a drink. He has in his hand a large carrier bag of plums; one of the farmers who tends to his fields up this road stopped and gave them to Waldo. They are an amazing blue black with a silvery sheen on them and they are the real old fashioned egg shaped fruit, rather than the more round imported varieties that seem to be on the shelves of supermarkets these days. I wash one and cut it up. We share it. It is beautiful, but not squidgy ripe. I know that they will just go mouldy in this heat and decide that I must do something with them.

When Waldo has returned to his work, I plan mine. I have decided to make a sticky date and walnut loaf, some vanilla cupcakes into which mix I will add some chopped up home made loukoumes (we don't call it Turkish delight here!), some sultana scones and I will use the plums to make plum and cardamon jelly which will go nicely with the scones. I spend the while day pottering in the kitchen, in between being on water duty. I can here the shouts and calls between the men and marvel at the communication: Mario is Albanian and speaks little Greek, but that doesn't matter for Louli is Albanian and because his was brought up on the island his Greek is excellent but he speaks no English, although Waldo is surprised at how many more words Louli does know since he was last here. Waldo just has a few words of Greek but is an excellent and uninhibited mime artist. Louli calls Waldo affendico (a word brought into the Greek language via the Turkish affendi and meaning boss). Whilst it is not used much now, it is a familiar term of mutual respect given by both men. Mario clearly does not feel comfortable to use that, and as he does not know Waldo's name, calls him 'Pappa'; whether this is a reference to his greater age or whether Mario thinks Waldo's long beard means that his is some sort of part-time orthodox priest, we don't know.

My progress is good as the men work and have worked out a way to communicate. Usually I am constantly being interrupted to go and do some translating - Louli, whose Greek is not his first language, really understands me well and I him as his pronunciation is good and he speaks slower than most Greeks. But he is an excellent workman, knows what he is doing and always does an excellent job. Waldo trusts him implicitly and has seen what good preparation he had done for this concrete laying.

By lunch time, everyone is a bath of sweat and are glad of the break. I had assumed that the men would have brought their lunch, but it appears not. Cheese, tomatoes, cucumber, oil and bread disappears quickly, followed by half of my cakes. Waldo and Louli then set off to the builder's merchant to get more wire for laying in the concrete. Whilst they are gone, I return to my computer. I soon spot Mario wondering around the pool, then he picks up the top plank of the lizard ladder. I guess that he is looking for more wood to shore up the concrete. I dash outside and start to tell him why he can't have that piece of wood. In the middle of my speech, I realise the absurdity of what I am saying. Here I am, well past my prime telling this young man about green lizards and geckos going for water and not drowning, and about Freddy, whom I can't see and that I am worried because a big bird, with a big beak came yesterday and had his eye on him. I look apologetically at Mario - most British lads of his age would be laughing at this old woman ranting about pond life - but to my surprise he shows genuine care and concern. In his halting Greek he tells me that the pool needs cleaning and that we should have plants in it to put air into the water, even a fountain would be nice.

Our conversation is interrupted by the sight of our car coming up the road. On top of it there is a big coil of the iron netting. Waldo and Louli had rolled it up, Louli had found two of my shopping bags in the car which he used to protect the roof and they tied it securely on. Everyone in the village would now know that we were having work done around the house. Waldo was smiling at the Greek way of doing things. As it was during the heat of the afternoon, the builder's merchant's was totally deserted. Waldo and Louli wondered around until they found what they wanted and packed it up. Louli would tell the builder's merchant another day what he had taken and it would be added to the running bill.

The afternoon passes quickly. One litre of cold water per person per half hour. I just keep it coming. Realising that by tea time my supply of cakes will be wiped out I start baking again. I reminds me of a weekend when my aunt was ill and all the women of the family took it in turns to go to the farm and feed the men. I was about 16 at the time and at school, but considered competent enough in the kitchen to do a weekend stint. Excited at the responsibility I drove straight from school to the farm. Another aunt was there and had prepared tea - the table was groaning with food. She told me that she had a cooked ham, potato salad and tomatoes for supper. Everything was in place for the cooked meals over the weekend but there was a shortage of fruit pies and tarts for puddings. I set to and made four different fruit tarts, an apple crumble and a deep gooseberry pie. That would do for the weekend. I settled down for a relaxing weekend. I was totally unprepared for the appetites of men who do hard manual labour. The apple tart disappeared after supper. By Saturday afternoon I was shattered having been up at 5.30am to do tea and toast all round, then get a full cooked Welsh breakfast (bacon, sausage, eggs, black pudding, sliced tomatoes, beans and fried bread accompanied by pints of tea per person and followed by more toast) by 9am after the cows had been milked and the yard cleaned. Eleven in the morning was more pints of tea accompanied by slices of cold date tart. Lunch was a cooked meal. Tea meant a table groaning with sandwiches, cheese, cakes, fruit loaf and another of the tarts disappeared. Sunday morning meant baking six more tarts, more fruit loaves, a few sponges, rock cakes and the ubiquitous Welsh cakes. That might just last until Monday! Sunday evening I said my goodbyes to the four men and drove home, looking forward to going back to school for a rest!

Back in the heat the concrete driveway extension was complete. Louli and Mario vigorously set to cleaning and washing the cement mixer, wheelbarrow and all the tools. Not a speck of dust was left. They just stopped short of jumping in the bath of water - both bent over up to their waists in water. I called them up to the back patio where they demolished a whole watermelon between them and the remainder of my first batch of cakes.

Waldo is almost sleeping on his feet. The chaps are still bothering cleaning and he calls from my washing up to come and tell them it is time to go, he will drive them home, but they must go now. He laughs as he tells me that he has told them he is 'cream crackered', but they didn't understand! I wonder how I can translate that! Eventually they are ready. The cement mixer needs to be taken up the steep slope of the back driveway to the road where the owner is now waiting to put it on his trailer. Modern technology is brought into play. Waldo starts up Herakles, Louli steps onto the lowered bucket. He holds onto the cement mixer and Mario stands behind the mixer. No Health and Safety officers are around and so the convoy moves slowly up the slope, Herakles power just pulls and the men's muscles ripple and strain in the sunlight.

Waldo takes the men down to the village. When he comes back he has a smile on his face. he just says one word 'Tipota' - 'Nothing' and I know that yet again a Greek promise has been broken.  Waldo immediately goes to bed and falls soundly asleep. He does not even dream of a smooth mountain road!

Hunting and seeking

Hunting and seeking

Yesterday when we woke we just knew it was going to be a very hot day. Sure enough the temperature was already 36'C. When I went to say good morning to Freddy he was in the middle of the pool, under a cluster of bougainvillea petals; the pink crown did make him look rather stupid, but I didn't tell him that! We assumed that it was because his plank was in full sun and his morning stone was now high and dry. We resolved to put down another plank in the corner of the pool nearest the house which is in shade all day.

When we set off to go somewhere, I usually walk on down the road whilst Waldo gets the car out from under the bamboo sun porch. By the time Waldo has found his keys, gone back for his glasses, started the car and remembered something else that he has to go back for, and then goes back again because he put his glasses down somewhere in the house, and eventually starts to drive down the road I have usually got to the end of the cement. Yesterday I had already stood in the shade of a tree for some time and then walked on, beyond the cement to the rough track and was just negotiating the second 'S' bend when he arrived. He was closely followed by another car. I recognised the long arm waving out from the car, it was our nearest neighbour, a 6ft 2" tall woman who now lives in the house built by Koksma whom our road is named after. In fact she is his niece. After some discussion about the state of the road and promises to visit I get out of the sun and into the welcome airconditioning of our little Roomster. The outside temperature gauge on the car registered 44'C; as it was still just midday we knew it was going to be a hot afternoon.

Our first port of call was the post office. I had sold three DVDs on Amazon and had to post them. Thankfully we discovered, that contrary to previous information, we were able to pay our NOVA bill there and so, a week later than scheduled we did so. Waldo and I were still laughing from his final attempt to pay via the telephone. Just before we came out he decided to have one last go. He dialled the number, waited the usual 15 minutes before it was answered. Then he was transferred to the correct department and waited another 30 minutes. Eventually someone answered, in English, and he explained what he wanted. Instead of being cut off at the sound of English being spoken the person asked for details and was just about to be given them when we have one of our daily electricity 'blips'. These occur on a regular basis and only last seconds, but they are enough to render useless any timing device I might have set on the cooker or bread maker, interrupt the washing machine cycle, cause the computers to have to reboot, change the TV programme to neutral, cut off the Internet and because we have the telephone routed through an answer machine, to cut off the telephone. These happen with such regularity that we have long since learnt to laugh at them. Mind you, I has waiting for Waldo's war dance to be performed this time, but fortunately he saw the funny side of it too and determined that we were destined not to pay the NOVA bill by telephone.

After the post office our next challenge was meeting the mayor and the handsome Michaelis at the municipal offices in the big village. The big old building which houses an excellent taverna in the basement, the bank on the ground floor and offices above is always cool. As soon as one enters into the hall and starts to climb the marble stairs, a sense of calm pervades. This of course only lasts until we meet the inhabitants of the place! We are told that the mayor is not in Potamos today, he is in Chora (the capital of the island some 30 miles away). No, he is not scheduled to be here. Maybe Michaelis is with him. And eventually we persuade the woman in the office to telephone the mayor. To her total surprise he asks to speak with Waldo directly.

The saga of the road continues. The mayor is shocked that we are still seeking him out, for his understanding was that the road had been done last week. In anger, he telephones first one contractor and then Michaelis. After long and heated overhead conversations, the major comes back to Waldo and tells him, with certainty, the road will be done later in the day, or today.

We thank the people in the office and bid a hasty retreat to the bar on the square. I order my favourite freshly squeezed orange juice served over crushed ice. Waldo insists on an ouzo. He has been working up to this for so many weeks now, and this time it seems certain that the road is to be done; he is shaking. Our neighbour and her friend join us and we bring them up to date with the news. They move on and we linger, revisiting our morning's discussions and moving on to the problems of Greece, the attitude of the Greek people and politics. It is an unsolvable issue and eventually we realise that we must move on before the supermarket shuts. By the time we return home we are exhausted; the temperature is now up to 47'C. We go to bed and fall asleep the minute of heads hit the pillow.

By 6pm it is cooler. We get up and enjoy a cold coffee on the patio. Waldo is revived and we decide to go down the road to see if anything has happened. Before we get to the end of our drive, our neighbour is coming up the road and tell us nothing has happened. 'Hope springs eternal ....'. Waldo does 2 hours work on his own Bobcat whilst I pick the last of our pears and start to make pear and rose geranium leaf jelly; a fragrantly flavoured jelly which goes well with ice cream, scones or toast.

Immediately I opened my eyes this morning I knew that it was not going to be as hot as yesterday. Today we have a good breeze; through the bedroom patio doors I can see the silver green olive branches, hot pink bougainvillea, deep red china rose and star speckled white jasmine waving as Aeolus, the ruler of the winds in Greek mythology, dictates. I am up before Waldo and get on with the routine of open the kitchen door,s boiling the kettle and generally pottering to get breakfast. I open the large metal door that leads to the back yard where Waldo's workshop is to the right and the pool to the left. As I bend to fasten the bolt which holds the door open I am aware of something fairly near. As I straighten and look, the huge male Eleonora's falcon spreads its wings and takes off from the nearby pool railing. I am shocked that it has come so near the house, actually under the cement awning of the yard. It had its eyes fixed on the pool, looking for Freddy no doubt. The bird rises majestically in the sky, circles, hovers, fixes a malevolent eye on me, squawks and then disdainfully turns from me and gives its attention to the rest of it's ornithological family. There are six falcons today gliding on the thermal currents of the valley. This one is the biggest with about a 3.5ft wing span. These are beautiful birds but this one annoys Waldo by sitting on the top of our cypress trees. It has already broken the lead growing branch of the smaller tree and it's acidic excrement has killed some smaller branches just below the top. Now that it cannot land on the dying branch it has moved to the next cypress tree where it's weight has already bent the lead growing branch.

Freddy is nowhere to be seen. No doubt he is still alive for the bird would not be still hunting and seeking around the pool. Hopefully Freddy has taken a dive and will stay there for some time. Once more I remind Waldo to fix up another plank for Freddy, in the corner where the big bird would find it difficult to approach.

Our smaller, associated island Antikythera has the third largest breeding colony of Eleonora Falcons in Europe. Whilst they obviously enjoy the peace and quiet of this small island, where just 32 people live it is clear that some have spread to Kythera. As 'our' valley is undisturbed in the sense that it only shows signs of human life just a few weeks before Easter when the lambs are gathered to meet their fate - a 3 man job on one day - and in November for a week or so during the olive harvest they seem comfortable here. Thus I guess the birds cope with that for both pairs now have adult offspring. We derive a great pleasure from watching these magnificent birds glide, play and hunt, but, they must stay away from Freddy - and Waldo's cypress trees!

I finish making my pear and geranium leaf jelly which has strained through a muslin bag overnight. Waldo has made an excellent framework from which to hang my jelly bags; it is much better than an old upturned chair which I used to use. Because of the bees, flies, wasps and other insects which are attracted by the smell of fruit, sugar and all things sweet we have also designed and Waldo has built an outer framework, the sides of which are made of fine mosquito netting, thus ensuring that no unwanted insects taste my dripping jellies.

Another neighbour of ours, two houses further up the hill, called in last night to invite us to his wife's birthday party tonight. Although she has declared 'no presents' we decide to take a trip to the village to buy a little something for her. Present buying is so easy in Greece, for every shop will ask if the goods are a present and if so, free of charge, they will wrap them beautifully and place some bow or ribbons to adorn the finished package. We also want to check to see whether anyone has turned up to do the road. We are just finishing work on our computers and almost ready to leave when the 'phone rings.

It is Louli, the good Albanian builder, who was coming to do the extension to our back driveway a week last Monday! We have since found out that he has returned to Athens. But, he tells me that he is back on Kythera and will be with us in one hour! My thoughts of a leisurely trip down the village to do buy a gift and do some other shopping, coupled with a leisurely drink at Mitsos' beachside bar, are dashed. We rush down to the village. Summer is now in full swing. Greek school holidays have begin and so all tourist related businesses and most supermarkets stay open all day now. I buy a plate which we hope Deineke will like, call in with George and get our never ending supply of drinks, milk and general stores. Louli passes Waldo in the street and is told to carry on up the mountain. We forgo our drink with Mitsos and dash up our untouched road; no sign of a machine! We wonder whether 'today or tomorrow' is not actually a literal translation from Greek. Maybe it is like a Welsh 'couple' whereby a 'couple of friends' or a 'couple of drinks' could actually mean 3, 4 or even 5. It really means 'few' rather than the pedantic 'two'.

Louli and a friend have already unloaded a cement mixer half way down our back driveway. We are all hot and bothered, ready to forgo our afternoon siesta. But after all the rush, Louli tells us he is not staying. They will turn up at 7am tomorrow! That will be just great after the party tonight! But, as Waldo said, what does it matter when we have all the time in the world to catch up on our sleep. And when it comes to only having to worry about whether or not Eleanor will catch Freddy, we really live a charmed life in the great scheme of things.

Everything and nothing

Everything and nothing

Waldo and I both woke at two forty-five this morning to the sound of a rock being dropped just outside the patio doors of our bedroom. As we lay still, trying to figure out what had woken us we could hear this rock either being pushed around or actually rocking. Certainly something was moving it. In my mind I was trying to remember the mixture of small rocks that were out there - used to hold the doors open or to hold rugs onto the top of a side-on stone wall when I beat them. It sounded like one of the smaller rocks, but even so they seemed too large for a cat or pine martin to shift. Waldo crept to the patio doors and peered into the moonlight. Immediately the sound stopped. I got out of bed and tried to look at an angle through the glass but could see nothing.

Sweat was pouring off me for it was still over 30' and the male cicadas were still calling to attract mates. We stayed still and could hear slight snuffling sounds, so knew it was an animal of sorts. Waldo switched on the outside light. All sound stopped and we could see no sign of a culprit. There was nothing to it but to go back to bed. As I was dosing off I could hear vague snuffling and scuffing sounds but decided to let the creature get on with his or her nocturnal rummaging. It would do us no harm.

Despite the broken sleep I woke early this morning.  After my routine of getting up, washing and dressing, opening both kitchen doors and breakfasting out on the patio I did the usual morning check on Freddy.  This morning he is nowhere to be seen. His plank is in bright sunlight, but a damp patch on one side shows that he has been on there at some time since dawn. I look across the pool to the opposite corner where he has taken to reside in the morning shade. The heat of the sun is having an effect; since we arrived just four weeks ago the pool water has evaporated and the level has come down two steps. This morning the area around the stone where Freddy finds morning shade is actually surrounded by a dry patch. Only one of the stepping stones and the lizard ladder now reach the water. There are no more steps across the end of the water so we may have to start thinking about how to extend the lizard ladder.  Even the metal steps into the pool now have their base just an inch above the water and would be far too hot for any frog or almost drowned lizard to cling to.
It is quite amazing how many creatures have learnt to use the lizard ladder and the stepping stones. Apart from the lizards and then birds for whom the whole array was intended I am amazed at the number of insects that come down to the pool. Bees in particular have learnt to perch on the water's edge of the lizard ladder or stones and then quench their thirst. Bees need lots of water in order to make honey, so I am glad that in our small way we can help that process. Dragonflies show their beautiful blue and green diaphanous wings as they cling to the string that holds Freddy's plank is place. Beetles and grasshoppers are occasional visitors to our micro-watering hole.

A large green grasshopper about 3 inches long came up from the pool this morning. I am trying to grow root ginger in some pots and so far have three mini-fields of green bamboo like plants about two and a half foot high. These have all grown from the sprouting ends of ginger that I have bought to use in my tea or other cooking. I have dreams of, one day, harvesting my own ginger. I think that is a long time off! In two pots I have used old bamboo canes to stake out my growing plants. In the other I have a more complicated tepee type framework held from a central pole which is the broken end of a broom which one of our visitors broke when he became over enthusiastic about sweeping the area surrounding the pool. The grasshopper landed near the top of this broom handle. I don't known how long he was there before I saw him; he was a wonderful range of greens and his skin seemed delicately veined as though a leaf. That must be his camouflage. I got up to have a closer look at him. I could not believe it but as I approached, he moved sideways to the back of the broom handle. I turned sideways and so did he. Wherever I positioned myself he put the broom handle directly between us, so my view of him was blocked. He made no attempt to hop away but just kept his eyes firmly fixed on me and inversely mirrored my every move. We played this game of hide-and-seek for a while before I decided to let him rest. I guess this too was a reaction to a potential predator or was it some misinformed notion that if he couldn't see me, I couldn't see him?

Once on my feet I walked around the house along the narrow terrace outside the lounge, crossed the back patio and up a few steps to the small patio outside out bedroom. I found the rocking stone and it was clear by the dust pattern that is had been moved recently. Some nearby droppings were tell-tale evidence that the pine martins had been there. They do play together a lot and I had visions of them taking it in turns to stand on top of the stone and enjoy the momentum as it rocked back and forth. Like children each would have watched the other in delight until they remembered that it was their turn.

I was pleased that the pine martins are still around. I don't know whether they are the original pair but there have been pine martins living in the 'Muir Glen' as long as we have been here. Some years they have been more visible than others. Most evenings, just after dark we can see them take their usual stroll out of the Muir Glen, past the pool, up the steps to the kitchen patio, keeping close to the wall, then up a few steps to the narrow terrace, around the lounge and onto the back patio. I guess that after hunting around the nether reaches of the eating olive trees they can easily find themselves up on the patio outside out bedroom. Our grey cat also lives in the Muir Glen. We put some food down there; hopefully enough to keep the animals interested but not enough to stop them needing to hunt. This logic hopefully keeps rats and mice away; so far it seems to work, with the occasional cunning animal which evades being hunted or trapped. Waldo had a week long battle with one cunning old Roland who could take the cheese out of the trap without getting caught. The trap was altered, modified and reset many times before Waldo's engineering skills beat the animal's cunning - but it was touch and go for a few nights!

Most of our visitors enjoy their time here. Indeed some return every two years or so. But most will admit that they could not live here. The house is too isolated. Nature is too close. Waldo and I were both brought up on farms and thus understand the closeness of nature. Indeed we find it fascinating and both have learnt never to underestimate the drive to survive in nature. The house is modern in design but it is not a house where one simply presses a switch and things work. Water reservoirs have to be switched over morning and night when we water our plants at night from one reservoir and use the other for our own use. We are not on mains sewage and so cannot abuse the facilities and flush any old thing down the loo, never to think about it again. The electricity supply is at best variable and we have to be cautious of connections, particularly during the thunder storm season. Waldo needs to be a bit of an engineer to keep the house and its systems going.

We are now in a situation where we have invested a lot of time and some money into getting the house as we want it. Our next major investment would be solar or wind power; either full or partial. Then we would be truly independent and sustainable. I think that we are tending towards that, not only because of the broader environmental issues but because it is our nature. Both of us are independent spirited people. We both have preferred working for ourselves than for others. Neither of us is a team player. We are both happy in our own company. When we have visitors then we do the 'having visitors' things: going out for meals, visiting friends here, going sight seeing and much more group activity. But when we do not have visitors our social life changes. We have been here for about four weeks this trip and have been out for a meal together just four times, with friends once and friends came round to share watching the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games. We spend well over 90% of our time just in each others company - and enjoy it.

Over the years we have come to understand each others strengths and weaknesses, and to play to them. We are the team looking out onto the world, rather than two individuals coming in from the world and reaching out for each other. It is a privilege to live, not isolated lives, for we are surrounded by our own world, but to live as we please, to do each day what we want to do.

Sure we argue and disagree, what an unhealthy relationship it would be without that. We have different taste and likes but we have learnt to share each others interests. I have always had an interest in cars and motor-racing, but Waldo's knowledge is incredible. For the most part he only needs to see a square foot of some vehicle to identify it, model and year of production. My love of books is rubbing off on him and we enjoy many shared discussions about the books we are reading.

Today, despite the heat, when I look out of the window and see the cloudless sky, millpond sea, apart from the local ferry half way to Neapoli nothing moves. But I realise that I actually have everything.