24 Hours in the Mountains of Epirus

They stand at attention one after the other as far as the eye can see, the mountains in the village of Vitsa. You and I are alone on a balcony, a balcony that fits a tiny round table and two chairs and nothing else, characteristic of the architecture in this area of Epirus. The only sound seems to be the far off tinkle of animal bells--probably goats, judging from the climb of these steep inclines. The beauty is obvious, but it’s the un-noise that has me mesmerized. The sound of nothing.

Nature barely makes herself known with the bird songs so muted it’s as if they’re whispering. The distant rumbling of a car as it makes its way along the winding road alerts my ears. And yet at home, in New York, the hum of the highway--no not hum, because that conjures up a pleasant un-annoying rhythm. Rather, it’s the bang and rumble of voluminous lives passing at top-speed-- that is a constant jar to the senses. Yet, here a small intermittent motor sound as it passes between trees and makes its way up the mountain, jolts us from the quiet and I think of times long passed.

Igoumenitsa's Irony

When the serpent in the Corfu Channel made its way to Igoumenitsa Bay one cool autumn day back in the late 1950s, it terrorized some unsuspecting shepherds. One of the local children of that time, my husband, Nick, remembers the story well, or perhaps his memory comes from the repetition of the story over the years. 

The shepherds were from the Metsovo area. They had bought cheap land at the bay as a means for bringing their sheep to lower land in the cold mountain months, many of them leaving the mountains for the first time. They were people of some very high peaks and had little to no experience with the sea. So, when they heard the moan of the creature long before they saw it, they rode their horses with the speed of light through the mountain trails to Margariti Village where they had friends and relatives. They were there to escape, to warn, and to prepare for defense.

It's in Margariti where they learned the truth and I'd venture to say it was not told to them in a patient understanding way or the story would not have outlived them, as it has.

The moan was, of course, a ship, one that was unable to dock near land because at that time there were only a few small fisherman wharfs aligning the tiny sea port. Thus, the ship's steam horn alerted potential passengers of its arrival so those people could get in the assigned dingy and be rowed or motored out to the ship. The name of the ship was "The Seagull," and it came at regular one-month intervals. This was something the locals knew and something the shepherds learned that day. Ignorant shepherds? I think not. From that family, rose the entrepreneurs who started the Corfu / Igoumenitsa ferry service. 


Here are the links for The Nifi, Your Own Kind, and Among the Zinnias. I hope you'll give one of them a try!

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My Life as a 3-minute Topless Sunbather

In the 1980s, Valtos Beach in Parga, Greece, was a bit of a trek down a dirt path on the other side of the castle. But it was always worth it.

In those days, a woman wearing a bathing suit top seemed most out of place. The topless sunbathers were abundant on both sides of the castle and I envied them.

Such freedom!

I was visiting Margariti that summer, alone with my small children. Our routine was somewhat predictable as the village offered so little for a non-Greek speaking bride. Each morning we'd take the bus to the heart of Parga, stop at the bakery for a sweet or two, and then spend most of the day at Krioniri Beach between the sand and the island, frolicking or whatever one could do with two high energy children. Eventually, after our lunch, we'd make our way to Valtos Beach to rest, possibly to encourage a bit of siesta so mama could have a break.

On one very sultry evening, as I was feeling a bit weighed down by the drudgery of motherhood, I thought it would be a wonderful sensation to swim in that warm salty sea without my bathing suit top. It seemed so simple and so natural. A therapeutic moment. We were alone on the beach so it was safe enough for a puritanical, uptight, American. Even alone, however, the courage did not arrive until I was completely submerged in the water, as both children played in the sand on the beach. Both oblivious to my intentions. I took off my top and threw the wet garment onto the sand.

It was glorious!

Until I heard the putter of a small boat and saw what looked like a fisherman coming to shore. He could not have gotten closer without drowning me. He gave me and my bobbing neon-white breasts a nod as he jumped ashore and pulled his small boat to safety. Then, he stood on the shore, his hands on his hips, an oversized mustache encased around a smoking cigarette. And waited.

I did not want to get out of the water but what about my kids? They were standing on the shore now, calling, "Let's go, mommy!" Any hope of emerging unnoticed was lost.

So with all the courage of a hunted rabbit, I walked toward them. As the water released me, their little perplexed eyes squinted. They scrunched their eyebrows,  pointing their fingers, mouths agape. And screamed.

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Here are the links for The Nifi, Your Own Kind, and Among the Zinnias. I hope you'll give one of them a try!

Amazon UK

Amazon.com