Last day in paradise

Today, we met Kostas for a return trip to Portianou where we met more cousins. Evengelia and her ailing father Yiannis Haramis (the last living Haramis male in the area) welcomed us into their home for cherry juice (Eena was thrilled). Evengelia and my dad are either second or third cousins. We met one of her sons (she has four in their 40s) and Kostas’ uncle Harry. We then waited over an hour for a taxi to arrive. When the taxi arrived, someone was sitting in the passenger’s seat, so Kostas, Dad, D, Eena, Baba and I all sat in the back seat as the car made its way down the long, windy mountainous road. Today, we discovered that Kostas’ grandmother used to be the mayor of Myrina in the 1990s. Eena feel asleep on Kostas’ lap, another sure sign that our new cousin has so quickly become a happy face for the kids.

The rest of the day, we napped, played ping-pong and just rested as we enjoyed our last day in Limnos. Tonight, we have a late flight to Athens (where we’ll spend the day tomorrow).

During our trip, Eena and Baba said/learned new things. Eena doggie paddled with floaties yesterday for the first time. Baba now says: “I mean it.” … “Really.” … and “I’m hungry.” Both girls learned to speak a little Greek as well, particularly “Yiasou” (hello to you, and goodbye, as well) and Epharisto (pronounced here, “faristo”) meaning thank you.

Tour de force

Yesterday, we ventured on an all-day bus tour of the island under what turned out to be a punishing sun. The tour of about 20 people (mainly Brits and Aussies), traveled all over the island, with stops at the wondrous but only partially excavated city of Poliochni—perhaps the oldest city ruins in Europe (approximately 6,000 years BC). The kids found a rebuilt small dwelling amid the cross-cross of wooden boards, and immediately took occupancy perhaps not unlike their sea-faring predecessors so many millennia ago.

We next stopped at Kotsinas—site of small chapel in the midst of heavy remodeling. The real find, though, was below the modest shrine, where steep stone stairs descending several hundred feet led to an underground well containing holy water. Evidently, the underground passage was discovered in the 1800s, along with a Byzantine-looking religious icon. So it was assumed to be holy water, and hence the church was built on the site. There was also a statue of a woman with a sword over the water here—a sort of Limnos Joan-of-Arc, who rally the people during an earlier war with the Turks.

My dad and me, along with the others, drank holy water. D, being Jewish, did not drink the water. Although after I told him that it’s suppose to heal all ailments, he gave it a second thought but still refused. I didn’t take the girls down the steep staircase because it was a small space. However, I did place some holy water on their foreheads.

We also drove past the ancient city of Ifestia—complete with its famed theater—but we couldn’t get off the bus because the road was too rocky. We stopped nearby at the wonderful Kavirio—a partially excavated temple complex. Here, ancient peoples worshipped the Kaberoi, half-mortal descendants of Hephestus, who was thrown by his angry father Zeus to the island as an exile from Mount Olympus. This formerly volcanic island was said to contain the forger of Hephestus, and a complicated mystery cult—with human and animal sacrifice—thrived during the ancient period.

Toward the end of our tour, we visited the small town of Portianou, and saw the house where Winston Churchill lived during WWI when he was planning the ill-fated Battle of Gallipoli.

We closed with lunch over Zamatas beach, where our exhausted crew refueled with a feast of rice-stuffed peppers and tomatoes, grilled eggplant (which Baba quickly inhaled), and, for the coup-de-grace, sweet-but-slightly warm watermelon—thankful to be sheltered, at least for the time, from the throbbing Aegean sun.

My life in ruins, Limnos style

One thing I can always count on my husband, D, to do is to push me—from pushing me into a bet to date him or to climbing the Great Wall of China when I was 3 months pregnant; he’s always challenging me.

Yesterday, our day began in a relaxing manner: eating breakfast, playing ping-pong and swimming. Then we took a cab to what I thought would be a leisurely walk around the Venetian castle that overlooks the city of Myrinna. It turns out that there is no paved path, just a rocky climb up a mountain where wild goats and deer wander. My smart dad (so wise) decided to stay at the bottom and guard the strollers as D, Eena, Baba and I climbed up a treacherous course. Huffing and puffing, we reached the first major plateau, but would’ve had to climb more rocks to reach the rest of the castle ruins. It was at that point that I said: “no more.” The kids and I were exhausted. Eena and I were petrified that a goat was going to attack us. D spotted a cave and took Baba to explore with him as Eena and I unwrapped our reward lollipops. Luckily, the stench and swarm of mosquitoes kept D and Baba from venturing too far into the cave. D and I climbed down with each of us holding one of our daughters (and their reward lollipops).

Afterward, we walked into town, bought some more souvenirs and the girls found the playground again (later, when we passed it at 10:30p.m., it was filled with kids playing in the dark). We met Despina and Kostas for dinner at 8, which was way early for them because they usually eat dinner at midnight! Kostas’ mother Electra and Despina’s friend (an ex-pat from England) also sat with us. I say “sat” because only Despina ate. It was a fantastic Italian restaurant right along the water. We asked Kostas all about what life for a 16 year old is like (we were wrong about his age in previous entries). He has two more years of high school left, he takes additional classes outside of school, he has a girlfriend, he’s in a band and he loves American heavy metal and punk music (he was wearing a Ramones shirt).

After D told him about our castle climb, Kostas said that it’s very dangerous at night: he’s heard stories about everything from drug-users to un-Godly people hurting those poor goats and deer. Scary! All I could think about was that creepy cave D and Baba almost explored.

Thankfully, D’s equally reliable good sense prevailed over his urge to explore.

More Tsmandria photos

Read about our Tsmandria adventure in the previous entry.

Back to the Old Country

Around 10 a.m., we met Despina Bogdanou and her 17-year-old grandson Konstantio (Kostas) in our hotel lobby. They are related to us on the Haramis side of the family. After a mild fiasco with the local rental car company (who drives manual these days?—oh yes, much of the non-U.S. world…) We took two taxis through a series of mountainous bypasses (yes, we saw a shepherd with a small flock of sheep), followed by hairpin maneuvers down narrow village roads. If we had succeeded in renting the car, we would have neither found our destination nor been able to navigate the terrain.

We arrived as the village of Tsmandria--the town my grandparents were born and raised. We were only about 15 minutes away from where we’re staying, but we may have well crossed into a universe completely different from the tourist resort on Platy beach and the relative urbanity the capital, Myrina (6,000 of the island’s 18,000 people). Kostas speaks English and translated as much as he could for us. It was difficult for him to translate at times because the relatives spoke so fast. Imagine three radio stations simultaneously blaring different Greek channels—but speeded up by some mash-up deejay, and well, you get the idea. Kostas said a few times, when we asked what was being said, “Nothing very interesting…”

In Tsmandria, we met my grandmother’s side of the family. We were greeted warmly by my grandmother’s sister Auntie Paraskevi (80-something) and her husband Theofani (82). We sat in their home, drank orange soda and met their grandson Vailos. Both Paraskevi and Theofani look fantastic for their age. Theofani credited his years as an octopus and lobster fisherman to his youthful look. My father couldn’t believe how much Auntie Paraskevi looked like his mother (who passed away in 1985). I couldn’t believe how much my father looked like Auntie Paraskevi. She told my dad that his mother Malama mentioned him often, which he was happy to hear. Theo spoke about everything—from fishing to my grandmother—with intensity appropriate to a hostage crisis, waving his arms and shouting.

The highlight of the visit: Auntie Paraskevi showed us the giant Victorola that my grandfather Christos brought over from New York when he returned to Limnos to meet and marry my grandmother. I’ve heard the story my whole life, but seeing the RCA Victrola in person was mythical and magical, and hearing it play an ancient record speeded up or distorted or aged or to sound like Greek “Alvin and the Chipmunks” had all of us swaying to the music (see previous entry for Davis’ jerky video of Victrola and Paraskevi).

As we left the house, Paraskevi’s grandson, shirtless and in a ball cap, led a donkey down the street for the kids to see. He cajoled the animal from the end of a long rope, and seemed pleased to no end when I earlier gave him a lollipop.

We also visited my dad’s second cousin Anthoula, who, we did not know about until she appeared at the end of the street warmly greeting us. She spoke excellent English because she used to live in New York City, where she worked for Jewish furriers for many years. She has children and grandchildren in New York City and New Jersey, and she seems to travel frequently in those places, Athens, and Limnos (where she has a house in Myrina and also Tsimandria.) Anthoula’s mother and my grandmother were first cousins. She gave us Greek coffee and cookies, and the kids marveled at her busy Mediterranean décor and old baking oven now converted into a smaller unit in the corner of her well-appointed but rustic kitchen.

Before we left, we also visited with another second cousin Despina and her husband Voutsae. They had a beautifully lush garden in front of their house, with flowers and lime trees. They served us fresh cherry juice—a sweet mix with candied dark cherries sunk at the bottom of tall water glasses, which we happily mixed—and which Eena and Baba loved, especially when we poured the excess in their cups for the trip back.

Our last stop, to wait for our cab, took us to Haramis Square. The main town-square was named after John Haramis, an ancestor who, it seems, was a builder who constructed much of the town and square. We were thrilled to discover that the square was named after a Haramis—and that the family name lives on so strongly in the life of this small village.

Later this week, we plan on taking Despina Bogdanou and Kostas to dinner to thank them for taking us to Tsmandria and translating. Also, Baba—who has stranger anxiety—loved Kostas and let him hold her hand to cross the street, and also pick her up!

We asked Baba if she made a new friend in Kostas, and she answered enthusiastically with a yes. Eena said “I made the same friend too!,” demonstrating that her newfound cousin has also found a place in her heart.

Christos' victrola

First day in paradise

While everyone napped, Eena and I watched young cousins from Australia play ping-pong. Like me, their grandparents are also from Limnos; it seems that many Greeks from the island of Limnos emigrated to either the U.S. or Australia during the mid-20th Century, and I have distant relative down under as well.

Eena and I also went to the expansive Plati Beach—which is a minute walk across from our hotel—and she loved it, raking her legs deliriously through the sand.

We returned to our room and woke everyone up; turns out, Davis had not slept, but has managed to write a bit and finalized rental car arrangements for our next two days.

We hurried to take our resort’s shuttle to Myrina (the capital of Limnos—and a neighboring port city on the southwestern side of the island). Myrina Castle, where wild deer evidently carouse in the empty fortress, hangs high above this city of approximately 6,000. We walked through the harbor—past the prominent “Limnos Hotel” which looked a bit like a wild-west façade, and then slowly meandered up a long street of tourist shops and local restaurants and businesses. We managed to buy some snacks for the kids and a few souvenir trinkets.

Most of the shopkeepers spoke English and were very friendly (we had been informed by our cabbie the night before that almost everyone under 50 speaks English, and we have certainly found this to be the case). We reached the top of the street, which formed a considerable incline from the harbor, and made a quick left toward a glimmer of ocean.

Just a few hundred feet parallel to the street of shops we discovered a breathtaking vista on the water. We had somehow journeyed to the other side of the town as Myrina Castle now rose behind us. A series of waterfront restaurants overlooked the Aegean from a height of approximately 20 feet. We spotted a playground, with old-fashioned wooden swings with backs (eliciting, from Baba, a happy cry of “I swing in a chair! I swing in a chair!). Apa gazed into the distance at a stark white church rising under the castle. Needless to say, the girls were less-than-happy to be pulled from their see-sawing to return to the shuttle.

We finished the day at the resort’s buffet dinner at approximately 8:30, clearly adapting to European meal schedules.

Tomorrow, we have a full schedule. We’ll head to Tsmandria and meet relatives on both my grandmother’s and grandfather’s side—starting with a distant (17-year-old) cousin who will arrive via moped at 10 am, along with his grandmother, to serve as our translator.

We hope also to discover the two squares named for the Haramis family!

See previous entry for more photos.