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. . . One feels that man lived to live, that he was not plagued by thoughts of a life beyond, that he was not smothered and restricted  by undue reverence for the ancestral spirits, that he was religious in the only way which is becoming to man, by making the most of everything that comes to hand, by extracting the utmost of life form every passing minute." - [Henry Miller, The Colossus of Maroussi, 1941.]

. If I had to define myself with three words, they would be calculating, clever, and visionary.  In case you’re wondering, these are good qualities. I needed each of these characteristics to define, plan and live on Aegina, a small Greek island, about 12 miles from Piraeus (the main port outside of Athens).  The idea to live in Greece is not quite as ancient as the country, itself, but close. My introduction to Greece was courtesy of my dad.  He used to tell me Greek myths.  Coming from a Jewish atheist, it was a unique perspective in storytelling.  When asked if the myths were true, Dad chortled “As true as the Bible”. In college, I studied archaeology.  I couldn’t get enough of learning about the past.  In 1973, I “had” to go to Greece.  Once this idea passed through my cerebrum, there was no changing it.  I spent four months “island hopping” , less a week in Israel, as I had promised my grandma. No drug, drink, or imagination could have prepared me for the 100 days I spent in Greece.  I arrived on June 17, 1973. Upon Athens arrival, I took a taxi to Piraeus. The plane trip was about 19 hours, but I felt I had just had a sound night’s sleep.  I knew I wanted to be on a Greek island, and a boat was the only way to get there.  I couldn’t recognize the alphabet and I certainly had little practical experience with the language.  Fortunately, I met up with a couple from Sweden.  They spoke English, perfectly, as I quickly learned nearly all Europeans do.  They were headed for the Cyclades Islands.  This group of islands included Myconos, Ios, Santorini, and several others.  They were famous for their beautiful whitewashed homes, (on Myconos, each home and church is white-washed once a year.); fresh Mediterranean prepared meals, clean, white sand beaches, crystal clear aquamarine waters, and a loose, free lifestyle.  This was my definition of “heaven”, so, as far as I was concerned, I had arrived.

Once in Greece, all five senses are stretched to their limit.  It’s something you want to experience again and again.  It’s something you wish for everyday, consciously and subconsciously.  It’s a feeling you never forget, and you never want to.  It’s something that motivates you to continue to live and breathe and feel.  It’s what is Greece.

I made the conscious decision to move to Greece in January 1991.  I needed to implement each personal characteristic quickly and systematically. Sparing you the details of my plan, suffice to say I arrived on Aegina July 7, 1991.  Our arrival was aboard a hydrofoil called the “Flying Dolphin”. Things had changed since 1973.  Transportation had made a considerable turn for the better.  One could escape to a Greek island in less than a half hour, not the traditional two hours on a rusted out nearly ancient ferryboat.

Upon arrival in Aegina, I took a taxi to a small fishing village at the end of the island, called Perdika.  It is the island’s “famous” fishing village, approximately 4.5 miles from the main town.  My daughter and I shared the sparsely furnished cubicle, no T.V. or telephone, of course.  The bathroom was large and clean, so we were set.  I met people quickly, both native Greeks and tourists, alike.  The Greek people, in general, are amiable. They used to think everyone from America was rich.  That’s changed, somewhat, now.  However, when an American buzzed into nearly any small, relatively unknown Greek island, the news spread, quickly.  Before long, the “regular” crowd at the various cafes greeted me.  Because children are revered in Greece, my daughter was welcome everywhere.  The summer bonus was the streets were closed off from 9 pm to midnight from cars and motorbikes in the main parts of town.  This tradition benefits the children and adults. Children were able to play in the streets while their parents enjoyed their social right of conversation, eat and drink with friends and relatives at the various cafes.  Unlike some situations where a child might be a deterrent to social meetings, in Greece, a child is like an introduction magnet.  Men, women, young and old introduced themselves to my daughter and me, including my husband.  Children are their future, and Greeks pamper them.  Introductions led to conversations.  Conversations led to invitations for various social gatherings, including the one known as “coffee”.  Meeting for “coffee” is a traditional activity nearly all Greeks participate in.  It ’s an activity that takes about 5 minutes to become customary.  Greeks traditionally meet with their friends around 6 pm for “a coffee” and gossip. I put coffee in quotes, because the choice of fare is entirely up to you. The social participation is the real precedent.  Anyway, “coffee” often led to dinner, somewhere around 9 pm, followed by another tradition, “Bouzouki”. This is a Greek club, filled with dozens of family style tables.  “Everyone” sits together, drinks, dances and has a generally great time.  I was able to attend because of a chance meeting with my soon to be boss.  She became my regular baby-sitter.

After a week stay in Perdika, my daughter and I changed locations to Aegina Town, the main town.  It was far livelier than Perdika, with more tourists and locals.  Our “digs” in town were much the same as Perdika, which I soon learned was typical of all Greek islands.  “Domatia” was the word to look for when seeking living quarters.  Signs are posted all over town in Greek, English, German and French.  It was the first word I learned to recognize in
Greek.  Before long, I decided to buy a motorbike, as it was the preferred form of transportation.  With a few inquiries, I found myself 200 dollars poorer, but in possession of a fairly well used red motorbike.  It was perfect.  My daughter and I explored everywhere.  We happened on a beautiful little cove in an area called “Plakakia”, about a half mile from the other side of town.  We stopped, parked the motorbike beneath the hot, unrelenting sun, hiked down to the cove and dove in.  Underwater visibility was about 50 feet.  A seasoned SCUBA diver, I was nearly “over the top” with joy.  I had my mask and snorkel; as did my daughter, and we suddenly found us surrounded by sea life, large and small.  We dove and swam and chased nearly everything that moved.  We explored, touching everything, tasting some things (the Greeks were eating things pulled right from the water.  I wanted to try, too!)  I felt this overwhelming sense of personal control, and I knew I had made the right decision by making this move.  While diving, many people had joined and left us, including a fascinating English woman.  She heard me speaking to my daughter and immediately joined in the conversation.  She knew we were American, but didn’t hold it against us.  Many Americans repeatedly make rude fools of themselves.  We talked while the three of us tread water.  I told her of my desire to find something more permanent than my current living quarters.  She quickly informed me of the house across the road from her.  Coincidently, it was also across the street from this cove. I knew the minute she told me about it; this would be our new home.  We walked up to Anne’s home.  She telephoned the owner of the house to check it ’s availability and whether it was open for viewing.  It was.  We walked over.  The trek from the small dirt road at the property entrance to the house itself was about 100 meters.  The “house” was actually two houses, with two separate entrances.  The main house was the owner’s weekend retreat.  The attached smaller house was originally used as maid’s quarters. It’s floor plan included two rooms, one small, the other quite large, a hall, about 6 feet by 4 feet, a small kitchen, and bathroom.  The back had an enclosed patio with plenty of growth surrounding it.  (In the spring, I found out the surrounding growth was artichokes, which my daughter and I happily picked, cooked and ate.)  I hadn’t noticed the front was completely enclosed with a 3 foot, whitewashed stonewall with a seat built in on the entire perimeter.  Finally, a completely whitewashed, flat roof, also enclosed, completed the structure.  At the time, I didn’t realize this was a great boon to the house, as at sunset, my newfound friends enjoyed an ouzo (Greek liquor) and appetizers caught fresh from the sea, below. The small house was adequately furnished, including 2 beds, an armoire, and basic kitchen utensils.  Needless to say, I moved in the next day.  I forgot to ask the price, straightaway, so Anne volunteered it…$175 a month.  My husband, then boyfriend thought it was a terrific place and had I not taken it, I think he would have, himself, even though he owned a house on the “other” side of town.  As it turned out, his house is on the same property as the rest of his family, and a small “getaway” was often desirable.
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