Maritsa, Rhodes Greece, Sunday March 30th

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Rising at about 11 am, we met our host properly in the kitchen. John has problems with his feet, lower legs and back, which have increased over the last ten years. In addition he was in an accident which affected the nerves in his right arm, and that is starting to be a problem. He is very happy with his wheelchair and goes everywhere in the village. He grew up here so he has many friends and relatives around.

Maritsa, the village, is just a delight. It is a lovely size with all the advantages of the buildings being very close to each other and with squares and communal spaces, yet with the countryside only a ten minute walk in any direction. There is a primary school and it was good to hear the sound of happy and loud children enjoying recess. The cafes have a very relaxed atmosphere with arm chairs and couches. We tried one because we couldn’t put in the new phone credit with only Greek instructions, so we bought some cappuccinos and the barman fixed our phone.

Just after we had woken on the first morning, and while we were trying to work out what John explaining to us, Michael arrived on his brother’s motor scooter. Michael’s own car was burnt while it was parked at the post office. Someone stopped to fiddle with their battery and their car caught on fire and burnt half of Michael’s car too. He had borrowed his brother’s car the night before to collect us. It turned out that daylight saving was starting and we had to put our clocks forward. John had already kindly fixed my watch while I tried to follow why he was doing it.

Michael had come over to roast some chicken for his father. He lit a fire and then set some home made charcoal in a burner on top of it.

Since he had a little while before the roasting started, and since Keith had announced he was having a shower, Michael and I drove off on the motorbike (no helmets, Greek style) to see the charcoal house.

The family has plots of land belonging to John’s generation. On one of the plots, Michael has a small, round building, which has two layers of walls with sand in the 60 cm gap between them. The roof is the same. There are holes all around at ground level and at about 45 cm up. Wood, with the best being olive wood, is stacked inside and lit. Everything is eventually closed off and left for several days. I gather that progress is controlled by judicious opening of the holes, with the second day being notable for the smoke that pours out. Unfortunately cheap imports from Egypt have meant there has been a slump in charcoal sales.

Since we were out and about, Michael and I visited two monasteries that are not far away. At one spot, dedicated to Saint John, there are the ruins of an ancient church and a recently built church. John told me that people go there in August, have a feast with lots to eat and drink and sleep the night. Butterfly Valley is not far away but is bereft of butterflies at this time of the year. The hills are covered in cypress and pine trees. Apparently the ancient forests were used up by people and the Italians set about a program of reafforestation during their occupation of Rhodes from 1912 to 1945.

The roasting completed, and a meal of salad, cheese and potatoes prepared, we sat down to eat. Our dirty clothes were swishing around in the washing machine. Michael departed, and after lunch and hanging up the clothes, we just lay down for a ten minute nap that lasted more than an hour. Michael said that Greeks are very big on food, on taking time to prepare it and to enjoy it. He himself had not eaten anything all, and John said that he is very careful not to eat too much and not to drink.

Finally waking up, we set off for a walk in the country and I was an excellent guide since I had had a preview. The countryside around is just like a chocolate box lid or the picture on the Derwent coloured pencil tin. Every turn in the road reveals a scene that looks like it was specially set up to be the ideal of Greek countryside.

When we returned, John had made a beautiful vegetarian stew. He is so kind and can’t do enough for us. We showed him the photos we had taken at Maritsa and in other places too, but they were reduced size so not so clear. Later we all watched the circus on TV together – something that transcends language.

Sometimes we find conversations difficult, but John tries so hard to find some words that we all know. It is a great help that he was in Australia for six months because lots of place names ring a bell and we can work out what he did there. He built houses in Dandenong and Doveton, and also worked in a bakery and a cheese factory. He visited Frankston and Dromana. I approach it by accepting that we are speaking a hybrid language with charades and drawings, and amazingly, once you stop thinking that Greek and German are languages you don’t know, you can pick out quite a lot. Keith found the going more difficult and often had no idea what was being discussed. He paid me the great compliment of saying that I was just like my dad, who had infinite patience and could glean meaning from the barest linguistic evidence when speaking with some of our migrant friends.