One Summer in Crete

by Nadia Marks

  ‘I know, I’ve googled it and I’ve seen the pictures,’ she told him. ‘It looks like paradise – but to me most Greek islands are paradise.’

  ‘The thing is, Calli’ – he peered over his glasses at her – ‘apart from people living a very long time, research on the island indicates that on Ikaria instances of cancer, diabetes and heart disease are much lower than other places, and dementia is almost non-existent. But they don’t really know why.’

  The more Calli was learning about the place, the more her interest was aroused. She loved Greece. She had spent most of her childhood summers on Crete with her grandmother, and what better opportunity to ease herself back into her old life than a trip to an Aegean island? She liked nothing more than a travel story with bite.

  ‘So, what do you say? Interested?’ David asked, treading carefully. He was aware of Calli’s recent problems and her reluctance to take on lengthy assignments. ‘What do you think?’ he added hesitantly. ‘Are you up for it? Do you feel well enough?’ He smiled gently, gauging her reaction. ‘I can’t think of a better person than you to go and discover the secret of Ikaria.’

  5

  Calli arrived in a small, noisy plane around the time when, apparently, all of Ikaria’s inhabitants were taking their siesta, except for a few taxi drivers outside the little airport. She had taken an impossibly early flight from London to Athens, where she then boarded a plane the size of a bus for a connecting flight to the island. From the air, Ikaria looked like no more than a massive rock rising from the sea, yet once on land and starting to explore, Calli was to discover an altogether more interesting world.

  Her hotel, which had been booked by the newspaper, was a good hour and a half away in the village of Armenistis, and the taxi driver who approached her as soon as she walked out of the terminus was more than eager to drive her there.

  ‘Kalosorisate,’ he greeted her, using the polite plural tense but quickly adding an English welcome, unaware that Calli spoke perfectly good Greek. Her response in Greek caused his face to break into a broad smile and he reached for her hand.

  ‘Very nice to meet you, miss,’ he said with evident delight. ‘I am Theo.’

  ‘Very nice to meet you too, Theo. I am Calli,’ she said, returning his vigorous handshake and relishing this island familiarity which she knew so well from her visits to Crete. If ever she had to get a taxi to her grandmother’s house the driver would invariably try to find out everything there was to know about her in the hour it took to drive to the village.

  She liked to travel light for her work; she had only two small cameras, her laptop, a notebook, and her mobile as a recording device. ‘I like to feel free and not be weighed down with too much gear . . .’ she would explain when people were surprised that she carried so little equipment with her. ‘The kind of photography I do is spontaneous, not very technical, I could do it on my phone,’ she would laugh.

  ‘Are you on holiday, Miss Calli?’ Theo enquired right on cue as she settled herself in the back seat. ‘Most young people come here as couples for a romantic holiday – or old people come in groups from Athens for the therapeutic waters.’

  ‘I’m here to do some work . . . take photographs,’ she replied, wondering if perhaps she should start her investigations with Theo, but too weary to ask any questions.

  ‘Well, there’s a lot of things to photograph here,’ he said, gesturing out of the window towards a steep precipice falling to the sea beyond. ‘I hope you don’t feel carsick, Miss Calli,’ he added cheerfully, ‘there are many bends on this road.’

  ‘I think I’ll be fine,’ she replied, sinking into the seat, her eyelids suddenly heavy with exhaustion. She was quite used to ‘bends on the road’, Crete was full of them. She longed to close her eyes for a few minutes to combat her fatigue after the early morning start but what she now saw out of the car window was so spectacular that she couldn’t bear to shut it out; sleep would have to wait.

  ‘No matter how many times I make this journey I am always amazed by these views,’ Theo told her, ‘especially on a clear day like today when you can see so far!’

  The journey to the village – a bone-shaking drive, since Theo was not the best of drivers, which lasted almost two hours – proved to be breathtaking and kept Calli wide awake and on the edge of her seat. One moment they were high in the hills, only to plummet down into a valley the next, then climbing steeply again to reveal through crystal-clear air a panorama of the shimmering sea stretching across to neighbouring islands.

  ‘Look, Miss Calli’ – Theo gestured eagerly to her – ‘you can see Samos over there, and the other one is Fourni . . .’ His excitement was equal to hers, as if he was seeing everything for the first time through her eyes.

  Theo delivered Calli to her hotel safe and well, if a little rattled, in good time for her to collapse into bed for a well-deserved siesta of her own. When she woke the sun was already sinking fast towards the west. She stepped out barefoot onto the balcony and rested her eyes on the uninterrupted line of the horizon. The sky, a swirl of faded pastels, was alive with the flight of swallows skimming the surface of the sea in a last attempt to snatch whatever insects they could find hovering over the water before nightfall. The warm sea breeze on her naked arms and legs felt like a welcoming Grecian caress. It can’t get much better than this, she told herself and filled her lungs with sea air.

  In no time at all she bathed, dressed, grabbed a camera and ran outside to catch the last of the light. She needed to explore, to walk around, see what was there. She didn’t need a map, she didn’t even want any information from the hotel reception just yet, she was sure she would find her way around.

  No sooner was she outside and down the front steps onto the road than she was cheerfully greeted by a young couple in high spirits dancing their way barefoot towards a small crowd, also apparently in a celebratory mood.

  ‘What’s happening over there?’ Calli asked, gesturing towards the animated group.

  ‘We are all going down to the beach,’ the young woman replied in English. ‘Come with us,’ she said, taking Calli by the hand. ‘My name is Sylvie and he is Christian, what’s your name, are you staying at the hotel, have you just arrived?’ she asked in one long sentence.

  ‘Did you come here in time for the festival?’ The young man hurled another question, giving Calli no time to reply.

  ‘I’m Calli,’ she finally said, extending her hand. ‘I didn’t know there was a festival . . . But possibly yes, maybe I have come here for that,’ she murmured, more for her own benefit than theirs. It occurred to her that a festival was just what she needed now for a multitude of reasons, but chiefly because it was high time for her to start enjoying herself again.

  ‘Well . . . it’s not exactly a festival but more of a celebration—’ Christian started to explain before Sylvie cut him short.

  ‘Come on!’ she called, pointing towards the waterfront. ‘Let’s go! We’ll talk about all of that later.’

  ‘Why is everyone here?’ Calli asked once they reached the beach.

  ‘We’ve come to see the moon rise, we do it every evening,’ an older woman in a red bikini and a colourful sarong replied, turning to look at her; she smiled broadly, flashing even white teeth.

  ‘Calli has just arrived,’ Sylvie explained as a way of introduction.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Calli.’ The woman extended her hand. ‘My name is Maya. Welcome to Ikaria, you will love it. The moonrise is a magnificent sight at this time of year.’ She cupped Calli’s hand with both of hers and held on to it for a long moment.

  ‘Of course she will!’ enthused Sylvie. ‘How could anyone not fall in love with this place?’

  ‘Do you practise yoga?’ Maya went on as Calli settled down beside her, taking off her sandals to feel the warm sand between her toes. ‘We gather here every day at dawn.’ The woman gave Calli a long persistent look. ‘Join us, you look as if you are in need of some sea air in your lungs and some colour in your cheeks.’
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br />   ‘Erm . . . well . . . I haven’t done yoga for years . . .’ Calli mumbled, taken aback by the woman’s candour. ‘Pilates is more my thing,’ she added lamely, darting a glance at Sylvie for support. She was well aware that she looked pale and fatigued, she hardly needed a stranger to point it out. Then again it wasn’t a lie; she was indeed in urgent need of more than sea air in her lungs and sun on her skin and she had to admit that nothing was her thing these days; it had been a long time since she had done anything that resembled physical exercise.

  ‘That’s OK, Pilates is not so different,’ Sylvie chirped. ‘Come, you’ll enjoy it, no better way to start the day.’

  ‘Especially on this beach,’ Maya added, ‘you can feel the presence of the angels at dawn.’

  Calli sat chatting with her new acquaintances for some time while they waited for the moon to rise and as they did so, she fancied that she was in the company of good friends instead of complete strangers. They talked and laughed and drank ice-cold beer as the waves lapped at her feet in the warm evening breeze. And as time passed, Calli discovered that this crowd in which she so unexpectedly found herself was a friendly gathering of men and women of various nationalities and ages, all with a shared love for this small Aegean island.

  ‘Christian and I come from Berlin,’ Sylvie told her. ‘We leave our busy city lives behind and come here to feel free . . . Enzo over there and Maya are Italian . . .’

  ‘Actually, I am partly Italian,’ the older woman protested, ‘my grandmother was Greek! I consider Greece my spiritual home . . .’

  ‘We don’t see each other from one year to the next,’ Christian took his turn to explain, ‘but in the summer months we all gather here, come what may. See the two guys over there?’ He gestured with his chin. ‘Bruce and Andrew come all the way from Australia . . . We try to keep in touch via email but even if we don’t, when we meet, we all pick up from where we left off.’

  ‘Early morning yoga on the beach,’ Maya went on, ‘is the one activity that we all like to follow together to keep mind and spirit healthy – meditation too, but generally speaking we mostly go our separate ways.’

  The group came and went individually at different times over the summer months, Calli was told, occupying themselves with voluntary tasks such as working in the vineyards with the picking of grapes or assisting elderly folk in their gardens or fields. This year, Christian explained, they had agreed to gather at the same time in order to witness all together the lunar eclipse which was about to take place in a few days.

  ‘It’s the longest total lunar eclipse of the twenty-first century, and I can’t wait!’ Sylvie said with evident excitement. ‘It will be spectacular to watch it from the beach. Christian is an amateur astronomer and he has everything ready to capture the event on film, and a state-of-the-art telescope for all of us to use.’

  ‘It’s a very special event for us all. That’s why we are celebrating,’ Maya added. ‘This year most visitors have come to the island for this experience alone.’ She turned her eyes quizzically on Calli: ‘Is that why you are here?’ she asked.

  To her embarrassment Calli had completely forgotten about this celestial phenomenon, despite having heard and read about it during the past few weeks in London. Her own concerns had been so all-consuming that everything else had an annoying habit of slipping her mind.

  The moonrise that evening was breathtaking, equal only to one or two spectacular evenings she had witnessed with her mother and grandmother on beaches in Crete many years before as a child, although then its impact had been lost on her youthful self.

  This time Calli watched closely in anticipation as the moon announced its appearance in the form of a yellow glow on the horizon. She sat motionless, waiting. Within moments, as if in a spectacular conjuring trick, an enormous amber globe began to rise from the sea towards the heavens. Calli held her breath and as she looked on, she was engulfed by a sense of wonder so powerful that it caused the tears to overflow from her eyes and her heart to ache. She sat on the warm sand for as long as it took for the moon to travel high in the sky and turn into a silver disc so bright that it lit up the restless sea. She followed its slow upward journey with her eyes, and her mind began a journey of its own, taking her back to the events of the past year which had caused her such pain. To her surprise she discovered that the sting in her heart was one not of sorrow but of joy. She looked around her and was filled not only with gratitude to have been transported to this blessed island, witnessing this awesome spectacle of nature, but also, for the first time in a year, with a positive anticipation for what the future might hold for her.

  Gradually and without haste as the time passed, a few people rose from the beach and ran into the sea for a moonlit swim while others started to make their way towards the local taverna. Calli stood up, wiped away her tears, walked to the water’s edge and stood in the shallow surf. Tomorrow night I too will bathe in the moonlight, she promised herself.

  Her companions all strolled unhurriedly to the taverna and sat in the scented night air at tables surrounded by pots of basil and geraniums, under a vine laden with juicy black grapes hanging over their heads. That first evening on Ikaria Calli found herself in the midst of this unconventional, likeable and most easy-going group, the likes of which she had never encountered before. These people, she was glad to discover, apparently took pleasure in leisure and gave merit to life’s simple joys of the moment, unlike herself and most of her driven friends back in London who valued work and its rewards above anything else. With a sinking heart her mind also turned to James, the man she had lived with for more years than she now cared to recall, whose principles and values she now found abhorrent. She looked around at all the new faces she had just met and her old life in London seemed as distant as the moon itself. They say that people are the same the world over, Calli thought, but it wasn’t really true. She saw something in the folk she was with now that she hadn’t seen since she was a child in Crete – a diversity in age that was quite uncommon among social groups in London. This group, she guessed, ranged from their mid-twenties to their sixties and more, and their age seemed to be irrelevant. Their common interest of nature and this island united them.

  ‘I hope you are not too fussy with your food,’ Sylvie said, laughing when she saw Calli searching for a menu, ‘because you’ll get what Kyria Erini gives you, which will be whatever she’s cooked.’

  ‘If she’s prepared fish, you know it was caught that very morning,’ Maya said, stretching across for the wine carafe in the middle of the table.

  ‘That’s fine by me. I’d eat anything, especially if it’s Greek,’ Calli replied, picking up her camera and leaning forward to take a photo of the earthenware carafe and the several glasses that Kyria Erini had piled on the table when they arrived.

  ‘So, Calli . . .’ Maya said, looking at her while filling everyone’s glasses. ‘If you are not here for the lunar eclipse, then what are you here for?’

  Once more Maya’s direct approach caused Calli to raise an eyebrow.

  6

  Calli’s introduction to Ikaria and the people she met there proved to be as fascinating as she’d hoped the island would be. Sylvie and Christian were delightful, and she found Maya intriguing; once she had explained the reason for her trip, she found plenty of offers from volunteers to show her around and help with her story by introducing her to remarkable old people.

  ‘Apart from the obviously healthy life they lead here,’ Maya observed, ‘they are also a spiritual people. The island’s history sees to that – those ancient Greeks knew a thing or two about mysticism.’

  ‘In a way, that’s the reason why most of us are here,’ Sylvie added. ‘To absorb the aura of this place and perhaps learn something valuable about life from its people.’

  ‘When I am on this island, I feel more connected with the cosmos than anywhere else in the world.’ Maya turned her eyes on Calli once again. ‘What about you, do you feel this power that emanates from here?’ she a
sked.

  Calli had never considered such matters before. Spirituality or mysticism were concepts she had never dwelled on – she considered herself a thoroughly grounded and pragmatic person.

  ‘I am very excited for you to meet him,’ Sylvie said a few days later as they made their way to visit an old couple she knew, who had agreed to talk to Calli about her subject. Socrates and his wife Sophia lived close to the beach and Sylvie was now eager to introduce him to Calli; she had been helping him with his grape harvesting for the past few summers and had grown very fond of the old man.

  ‘He is a super amazing guy,’ she enthused on the way to his house, ‘you’ll see. Not only does he look twenty years younger than he really is, he has more stamina than I do sometimes.’

  ‘Did you know that, compared to Americans, two and a half times as many people on Ikaria reach the age of ninety?’ the old man told her when they met. ‘And I should know, I lived in Chicago for fifty years.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘I’m eighty-seven and I don’t feel any different from how I was when I left Ikaria as a boy.’ He smiled broadly, showing a set of teeth that a far younger person would have been glad to own. ‘But when you get to my age – and I aim to live to be over a hundred – it’s time to return to your home.’

  Calli and Sylvie were sitting with the old couple in their garden, shaded by a large walnut tree, drinking their home-made wine and feasting on black olives, village bread, ripe red tomatoes, freshly laid eggs and cheese. When Sophia was told they were having visitors she insisted with typical island hospitality that despite being unexpected they must stay and eat with them.

  ‘No one comes to my house without being fed,’ she told her husband and busied herself laying the outdoor table.

  ‘I know you probably think this is very late to be having lunch,’ Socrates told them, ‘but we don’t wake up early here, we don’t rush, we take our time with everything. We don’t even have a clock in the house. Who cares about time, eh?’ he laughed. ‘In America they eat their dinner the same time we wake up from our siesta.’ He spoke in English, his heavy Greek accent tinged with American, betraying the many years he had spent in the USA.