Talking to the Dead

Get ready for a trip to the Underworld, the River Stix, Hades, The land of the Dead.

It is the 12th century B.C.  You have paid the  boatman to take a deceased person to the underworld where you believe he will live out eternity.  But after some time, you realize you need to speak to that person, so you make a pilgrimage to The Oracle of the Dead.

You might remember reading about it in Odysseus's travels in Homer's The Iliad.  Or you might have heard reference to the underworld in the video that claims Margariti people as descendants of Odysseus (you can see that video by clicking --> HERE)  In any event, the story that was once thought to be fantasy, has much basis in truth. So, let us continue on our quest to talk to that deceased person.

Imagine this valley as the lake it was, before being drained in the 1940s to make farmland. In the black of night, you will begin your journey from the far mountains in the distance.  If you are lucky enough to have a boat, you will sail to a landing, dock your boat and begin the hike to the oracle.  Without a boat, you will have to make the long pilgrimage by foot around the lake until you get to the path that leads to the gates. Once there, you will not gain access unless you have an offering for the gods, which could be anything from a live goat to gold coins. But do not arrive empty-handed or you will be turned away.

And remember the rule. You can only go to the oracle one time in your life so you must choose carefully when deciding with whom you want to speak and the question you'll ask that particular dead person.   That rule was most likely created so people wouldn't figure out the scam, which might have happened if they were allowed to keep returning.

Just below those rocks in the photo above, scientists have discovered an area where the water of the lake would hit against some shallow cave-like openings in the rock and make a low moaning sound, so that is most likely what you hear as you approach the gates.

If you still have the courage, you proceed and tell the gate keeper your intentions: Who you are there to visit and the question you wish to ask.

Have you noticed that church on top?  The Oracle of the Dead was part of the 12 Gods religion, before Christianity had become established.  So what's up with that church? You can google exact dates and circumstances, but somewhere around the 300s, Christianity took over and orders came to destroy the temples used for worshipping the 12 Gods.  All over Greece and Italy there are churches built on hills. They most likely cover some ancient religion and the same is true for this site: Necromanteion-The Oracle of the Dead.




When ordered to destroy it, those in charge simply covered it up, built a church and waited for Christianity to die out, thinking they could come back to it someday.  So the church has nothing to do with the oracle.  It was simply hiding the ruins until archeologists and historians started poking around Epirus looking for evidence of Homer's Iliad.


You can see the ancient stones in contrast to the later-built church.




So, let's continue on our journey to communicate with our deceased person.  After entering the oracle, you are brought to a room where you will "cleanse" yourself to prepare for the underworld visit.  That probably consisted of fasting which tends to make a person a bit listless. Part of the ritual also requires you to drink a special elixir.  The poppy plant is prevalent in this area.  My mother-in-law, Chevi, used to talk about how they would collect the black seeds and put it in tea as a treatment for serious illness.

Time goes by while you are being "cleansed." In this dark cavern-like structure, it is impossible to know whether it is day or night. Finally it is time to journey further down so you can communicate with that deceased person.  You walk and walk and walk.  The maze below shows how a person, stoned on opium, listless from lack of food, might be further disoriented, believing himself to be transported far below the earth.

Next, you're brought to a lower chamber.
Archeologists have never been able to find a passageway to  that lower area but they know it exists because in more modern times  a floor-stone was dislodged and pulled off and the chamber was discovered. This metal stairway was constructed for the archeologists, but tourists are welcome to descend down its steep steps.

The chamber below, was constructed in such a way that the acoustics, when someone speaks, give off an eerie dull sound.

There is no echo and it is deadly silent all around. The lighting you see is a modern addition for the safety of archeologists and tourist.

So, it is not clear how you, the visiting person waiting to talk to the deceased, would get to that chamber, but once you are there, you are instructed to stay at one end while you talk to your deceased at the other end.  Archeologists found a structure that they believe was an apparatus for lowering something into the room, so perhaps your  deceased person would descend from the ceiling.

When you see that person, you ask the question, which you had told the gatekeeper about when you arrived.  Your deceased person answers you.  Then you make your long ascent back to the world of the living. As you depart from the gates of the underworld, you are required to throw a black stone behind you and promise never to return.

Necromanteion, the ancient site in Epirus, is a great place to visit.  It pulls together some of the information your teachers told you in sixth grade about Greek mythology, while giving you a greater insight into religion: how strongly we want to believe, and the charlatans who have been taking advantage of that faith since as long as religion itself.











As you exit the site, the town of Mesopotamo offers you some quaint little cafes.  The bakery is one of the good ones and the woman behind the counter is the most cheerful person I've ever met. I encourage you to sit and soak up the atmosphere.






But in addition to their hospitality, this little village has its own more modern relics which are fun to photograph.












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 The Nifi and Your Own Kind are available in paperback and ebook. And they're free if you have Kindle Unlimited. I hope you will give one of them a try!

Food and the Beach

Food, Epirus, The Ionian Sea:

Antipaxos Island

Kamini

Kamini

Ammouthia

Pisina

Ligia

Agianaki Beach 

Plateria

Plateria

The River Stix (Gliki)

Loutsa Beach

Lichnos

Iced Cappuccino at Preveza Port

With good food and beautiful scenery it's always nice to have a good book!

                     THE NIFI     AND    YOUR OWN KIND

Walking through Margariti's Old Village

If you ever have a chance, I highly recommend you take a walk up the mountain of Margariti and visit the old village which is where the original village used to be. A long time ago, living next to the low-lying roads or close to the sea would be near suicide in an area that was invaded often. It was just safer to be up higher so the residents could see who was approaching long before that person reached the village.

This picture shows some of the old houses that dot the mountainside. 

As the political climate became more stable, the houses were abandoned by their owners for newer structures close to the road at the bottom of the mountain.  The photo also shows the result of a gigantic shift in culture because the houses are hidden by vegetation, a fairly new addition to that landscape. The cultural change is that of collecting wood to burn. Thirty years ago there were no trees. Absolutely none. The women scoured the mountainside to collect every piece of wood available, every branch, every twig, so they could cook and heat the homes.  That meant the mountain was brown and naked and the houses were completely exposed. Also, the weather was hot and dry. Today, because of the modern convenience of indoor stoves, ovens and heating, these green trees have been able to grow freely, so now they hide many of the houses.  But they also throw moisture into the air so that the weather has a hint of humidity at times and every afternoon a blanket of clouds forms over the mountaintops.

Clouds in the summer! This was unheard of only a few years ago. Sometimes they shower down a bit of rain, but rarely in Margariti.

The old village roads are worn dirt paths. You can see how narrow they are as they were meant to be traveled by foot or by animals but certainly not cars. Their narrowness gives a sense of a society where its inhabitants lived closely together and were dependent on each other.








The houses were made of stone.

The floor was built with wood and the tiled roof was put on wooden beams.

This photo shows a typical 3-floor home. You can see the ridges where the floor used to be.   The ground floor was always the store room and the main living quarters were always on the top floor.













Naturally, wood is not as durable as stone. As soon as it decayed, the roof and floor fell inward.

The roof tiles that weren't collected and used as materials for the newer homes are mostly lying broken with other debris inside the stone structures.

The main floor at the top of the house had large rectangular windows.

These beautifully constructed arches, if  you can imagine them in a well-maintained lived-in house, gave the homes a look of elegance.

Many of the houses are surrounded by a gated wall. There would have been a giant wooden gate in the arch, most likely with an ornate door knocker. But today these yards are often used to house animals, like goats or sheep, so the current gates are usually made with whatever material is available and with those functional purposes in mind.






It's very interesting to walk among these houses in the old village.  There is a sense of strolling back in history while a clear view of Modern Margariti just below, gives you a delicious sense of being in both worlds simultaneously.

However, the old village continues to disappear at a gradual pace as nature slowly reclaims her stone. So, I recommend you visit those grand homes, sooner rather than later.

The house that Chevi raised her children in was one of those from the old style.  It was refurbished over several years, piece by piece as her children became adults and were able to make those improvements. You can see it if you ever visit Margariti but if you can't make it,  just look on the cover of THE NIFI.

Your Own Kind and The Nifi are available in paperback or ebook. And free with Kindle Unlimited. I hope you'll give one of them a try!

I'd love to hear from you!  authorfagiolikatsiotas@gmail.com      

Greek Stress

They call him the garbage man.  He sports a long unkempt beard and mustache and tangled scraggly hair hangs down his back as he walks through the streets of Igoumenitsa picking up items of trash and protectively hugging them to his body as though they were gold nuggets. He’s mentally unstable now but there are those who remember him when he was normal. What caused him to become so unglued? No one seems to know, but I suspect it may have had something to do with a trip to the local government building on a simple errand.

Let me give you an example of such a simple task: Recently, I accompanied Nick to a lawyer’s office to sign a paper that would combine two small parcels of land, making it one.  The lawyer found that there was some kind of government block on Nick's name and that he needed to go to the social security office to inquire before we could proceed.  So we walked a few streets over and I think the entrance to that government office building should have warned us of the type of experience it was going to be.  The lobby is a coffee shop. 

We had to walk through it to get to the stairs that took us to an office where a very pleasant woman informed Nick that he had not filed income tax since the government had started enforcing tax collection and therefore, his name was red-flagged in the system.

It seemed not to matter that he had not received any income because he had not worked in Greece for over 40 years, nor had he been a resident. He was sent to an office down the hall where, after glancing at a computer screen for a few seconds the official informed him in a very official way, “Sorry—I cannot help you. It says you’re a resident of Greece which means you had some kind of income and you now have to declare it.” And he shrugged his shoulders. Nick persisted and the official sent him to a “manager.”

Yes- it’s true. The manager verified it. According to the computer screen, Nick is a resident of Greece and should have filed the mandatory 2011 tax return. And that is where the computers ended for the government office workers. It became all paper after that and I might add, there were air conditioners hanging in every wall  of every office but none were on, so the sweltering sea air cooked us and everyone else who was waiting in the hallway (no waiting area)—and there were some pretty heated arguments in that hallway.  

So we headed to a private accountant down the street.  He was going to help us by filing the needed mandatory tax paper, even if it meant showing no income. We made the climb up the stairs, which was an exact replica of every office we had to go up to that day: a narrow winding stairway that somehow seemed to have 3 sets of stairs for each floor and of course each office we needed was on the upper floors.

Once we got there, the accountant found Nick’s information on a computer and then verified it again. Yes- he needed to file that tax paper. But first we needed a government PIN and – yep, you guessed it, it could not be gotten over the phone or email or fax or by yelling out the window to the guy down the street who was holding a cell phone to his ear and smoking on the balcony of his office in the government building.

We had to go back and get it. So we went back and waited with the other irritated people in the hallway only to be given a piece of paper and told to fill it out and make a copy of the passport. But making copies is a full time business in Greece. Government offices do not have copy machines—really! This is no joke.  You have to walk down the street to the copy store, hand the passport to the clerk who then puts it on the glass, closes the top, pushes the button and hands it to you with one hand as he takes your money with the other.  

So down the stairs we went, out onto the street to the copy store, back again up the hot stairs and waited to get the PIN. As it was our turn to be helped, the official’s cell phone rang, he excused himself and walked out onto the balcony you see behind his desk.  

After twenty minutes, his colleague helped us, as he was still talking on his cell.  

After a little while longer, with the PIN in hand, the colleague noted that Nick’s sister was on file as a contact person and did we want to change that in case they needed to contact him immediately. 

“How about emailing him with that big black machine on your desk,” I thought, “That’s a pretty immediate way to contact someone—or text him with the cell phone your colleague is still talking into—also very immediate!”

But no.  They wanted a person here in Greece but if we wanted to change that person from his sister to someone else, we’d have to fill out this paper and go to that office and make copies of . . . no, no—never mind.  We wanted to live our lives while there was still some of it left.

So – with that PIN we went back to the accountant. He has the PIN now and will do some kind of filing electronically and we need to return to his office in two days. What time? None given. Just come in two days.

I like the accountant and the lawyer. They’re nice people and they know their business. But it’s very odd how we have to sit at a café and wait for them to get to their offices—and making an appointment seems to be unheard of. Just go there and hope someone is in the office.  But also—the location of these private professional offices is very telling about this culture. These prestigious professionals get to their places of business through narrow alleys with broken walkways, peppered with graffiti. The cafés, however, are center stage, easy to get to, accessible from the main walkway. 

I love Greece, and Epirus in particular. It is a wonderful place to vacation, but the moment you try to get anything official done, beware—you may end up like the garbage man.

Your Own Kind and The Nifi available in paperback and ebook. And they're free if you have Kindle Unlimited. I hope you will give one of them a try!

You're gonna miss me when I'm gone.

I've got my ticket for the long way 'round
The one with the prettiest view

It's got mountains, it's got rivers
It's got woods that give you shivers
But it sure would be prettier with you

When I'm gone (when I'm gone)
When I'm gone (when I'm gone)
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone

You're gonna miss me by my walk
You'll miss me by my talk
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone


It's a song sung by Anna Kendrick but it was originally written and recorded in 1931. It's not just the Lyrics that make me think of Chevi, but it's also the upbeat way Kendrick sings it.

You can hear it on  --> YOUTUBE  Chevi was a woman who could tell you the saddest story about her life with a smile and a little laugh, as though the tone would explain: That's just the way life is. It's okay.

I'm on my way to Margariti; it'll be the first time in 32 years where she will not be there. But I have a feeling I'll see her in the mountains, the rivers, the woods that give me shivers. . .