Sfakia (Σφακιά)

The last time I visited Sfakia, an area of southern Crete, was sixteen or so years ago at the invitation of a friend whose mother lived in the village of Rodakino. It was summertime and my friend's brother had gone fishing. He had bought back a 'smerna' (sea eel), which his mother cooked for lunch. I can still remember how delicious that meal was. I had never tried eel before, but anything cooked within an hour of being caught would have tasted delicious. I hadn't been back since then. Last Sunday, we visited Sfakia as a family, having talked a lot about it for a long time. It's a long and winding road to get there, even though it seems so close by: the area known as Sfakia is basically right on the other side of the Lefka Ori (White Mountains) that we see from our house.

Lefka Ori last Easter during a long winter, as seen from my home. What's on the other side of those white mountains?

Sfakia consists of a collection of villages starting from the White Mountains (Lefka Ori) located on rocky mountain slopes, reaching right down to the Libyan sea on the south coast.

This area was regarded as a fort in its own right. It is said that Sfakia was never conquered: not by the Arabs who came to Crete in 824, nor by the Ottomans. The Venetians kept a garrison in the coastal village of Hora but did not venture further into craggy hills. Sfakia played an important role in the evacuation of allied troops during WW2. But the terrain proved formidable; it could only be crossed by people who knew the paths and had developed the appropriate walking skills needed to traverse its very difficult terrain.

Olive trees growing in rocks

Sfakia is full of steep bare hills and many narrow gorges. The landscape changes abruptly once you leave the village of Vrysses in Apokoronas. Lush foliage and plentiful water gives way to desert-like hills and rocky terrain. It is hard to see the soil that roots the trees. The gorges of Sfakia are now famous hiking routes, including the Samaria Gorge. Less well known is the Aradena gorge, the Imbros gorge and the Sfakianolaggo gorge. In the winter, these places fill up dangerously with water and may close to the public suddenly due to potential flooding which could prove fatal. This happens even in spring when the nature reserve is open to tourists; locals helped in a rescue effort just last May to track all the visitors in the are and get them out safely.

Krapi basin

Such remoteness has an effect on the people living there. The population of the area live in the pockets of plains that are dispersed across the territory. They are said to be proud and belligerent, and not easily approachable. Times have changed this of course, as the road to Sfakia is now one of the most modern and cleanest roads in Crete, and people are now able to connect with others much more easily than before. The latter has perhaps tamed the locals to a certain extent. But the connection that Cretans feel with their land is what keeps the people of Sfakia in the area. The terrain is now less difficult to traverse through modern means of transportation, and agriculture in the area has also benefited from machinery and more direct sources of water. But winters can be torturous: snow hampers driving conditions and can cover the ground for months, depending on how heavy the winter is, while electricity supply is not always guaranteed. There are times that the locals will see more sheep and goats than they do people. They live in very steep elevations of up to 650m altitude with a direct view of the sea and the lower ground which, on a snowy winter's day, will not be within their reach due to climatic conditions So for many reasons, Sfakia still remains remote.

A very informative local - she enjoyed talking to all the people that passed by her cafe.

"Don't ask too many questions to anyone", my husband had warned me before we entered the area.  As we drove towards Sfakia on election day, we decided to stop off for a coffee at the Krapi basin midway between the picturesque village of Vrysses with its fountains and the Askifou plain. The area was very rocky and desolate, with sparse vegetation. But still, there were olive trees growing directly out of the rock. The female owner of the cafe, who looked as though she were in her 50s, was very talkative; she had learnt how to flag down passersby to what looked like the garden of her private home. "Going for a ride after voting, are you?" the woman asked us. She herself had steered the discussion towards politics, as is only natural for the day. She wore leggings and her blouse had seen better days. She knew we were not from the area: she would have known us if we were. We explained that we were from Hania and felt like a snack - souvlaki, as the sign on her establishment suggested - before we carried on to the Aradena bridge. "Shall I bring you a menu?" she asked us. It was obvious that souvlaki was not on the menu.

Sfakiani pita: This is a seamless cheese pie topped wth honey. Take a ball of plain flour and water pastry (with a spot of olive oil in it), open it into a round and place a ball of strained goats cheese (mizithra) onto it. Roll up the pastry into a pouch and flatten it without breaking the pastry. Then fry it lightly in a lightly greased pan, on both sides, and serve it topped with honey. It's very popular in various forms, all over Crete.

Her grave-looking daughter came to take our order. I suggested we have a Sfakiani pita, which I often make at home too, but we wanted to see how different it would be if we had one in its county of origin. "Do you still need me?" the girl (who also wore leggings) asked us while we were debating how hungry we were and how many pitas we would order. We made up our mind quickly after that. While we waited for the pitas to be cooked, we watched a young boy dressed in camouflage kicking a can around the garden. It sounded cacophonous to say the least; he showed no awareness of the din he was making. His mother was obviously the girl that had taken our order. Marrying your daughter off at a young age will ensure that she will stay in the area. Allowing her the freedom of choosing her own course in life means that the village will eventually be deserted, as if it weren't already. She will be tied to her children, and eventually to the land.

Ruins of an old fortress, Askifou Plateau

"I was wondering if you could give me some information", my husband asked the girl when the pitas finally arrived. He wanted to ask the girl if she knew a friend of his in the area. "If I know it," the girl answered quite abruptly without looking at him. She did in fact know the answer to his question but it was difficult to understand if she was not lucky enough to inherit her mother's genes, or if she was simply tired of the remote Sfakiot way of life, or if she was simply living up to the Sfakiot image:

"Sfakiá is notorious for the harshness of the environment and the warlike people. Sfakians themselves are still considered somewhat beyond the reach of the lawmakers and tax collectors of Athens, with vendettas over stolen sheep and women's honour still fought late into the 20th century, with a whole village abandoned. Stealing and banditry had been considered a way of life in the mountains..." (Wikipedia - Sfakia)

I was not surprised that no receipt came with our order. As it was election day, and I had decided not to vote, I no longer have the right to complain about what happens in my country.

Enclosures housing wild game in captivity, Askifou

We continued our drive, where we passed by the Askifou plain where you come across a paradoxical sight: In the middle of nowhere, in an environment full of goats and sheep which move around freely, an 'outdoor sports resort' suddenly comes into view. Wild game is kept in cages, and released on payment for hunters. If the game is not caught, it remains in the wild, and therefore continues to breed - if it doesn't run into other trouble after being reared in captivity for so long. The resort is associated with the Valirakis family, a well known name in the area - and in politics too: the conspiracy theory is that you need to be both rich and well connected to develop this kind of thing quickly without being hampered by authorities.

Signs of gun-loving locals - the Imbros gorge is shorter and more manageable than the Samaria Gorge.

As we passed a sign pointing in the direction of a village in the area, my husband remembered what happened to him three decades ago when he bought a fare here. "Can you take me to Goni?" a woman asked him while he was waiting in the rank in Hania. "Of course," he replied, while at the same time watching the faces of some of his colleagues. Taxi drivers have a way of communicating to each other without words, and the faces of his colleagues were signalling that this fare was not the best one. Nevertheless, the woman entered the taxi and sat in the back seat, and he set off. She told him that her mother was ill and she needed to see if she was OK. What she didn't tell him was that she was fleeing from her husband who thought she was cheating on him. Even though mobile phones had not been invented back then, it didn't take long for him to find out where his wife was going and who she went with. As my husband entered the road for Goni, he suddenly heard gunshots flying over the cab, which made him stop driving abruptly. Before the woman got out of the car, she threw some drachmas at him. "Get OUT of here as fast as you can!" she said to him, "and don't stop driving whatever you do!" Guns are thought to be part of the Cretan culture, but we northern Cretans like to say that it's the Sfakiots that give us a bad name.

Excellent road conditions in the Sfakia region

Fragokastello

After driving past the entrance to Imvros gorge and going through three recently built tunnels on a very clean stretch of road, the fertile coastal plain of Fragkokastello came into view. Thanks to the arrival of better water supply, which is the drilled from the seabed and pumped way up to the mountain villages, it is now possible to grow pretty much anything in the area. It is not the tastiest water to be had, but it is clean and potable. Some of the locals prefer to drink bottled water. Before this system of water supply, the locals collected rainwater. It is due to the water supply that tomato plants can now be cultivated in the rocky terrain of Sfakia. The traditional cuisine of Sfakia is known for its sparse use of vegetables (mainly wild greens) and high protein content.

Hora Sfakion

We were now approaching Hora Sfakion by the coast. This was not the end of the road for us. We were still 600m short of altitude to reach our final destination. To get to Anopolis (and then on to Aradena), we had to drive down near to the coast before we start to drive up again in the mountains. Hora Sfakion is basically a tourist town now, with a mess of buildings - homes, cafes, restaurants, hotels and homes-turned-into-hotels - piled one on top of the other. Hora is naturally the largest town in the area, since it is by the coast. Mountain living is tiring and trying - you only live there if you are in danger or if you have nowhere else to go. 

Typical driving conditions in Sfakia

Trying to keep an area 'traditional' in a modern connected world is like fighting a losing battle. Hora is where the ferry boat takes you after you finish walking down the Samaria Gorge at Ayia Roumeli. From there, you take a bus back to Hania. Thus, Hora handles a lot of people during the summer. At the start of the season in April, about 2,000 people walk through the gorge. By June, this figure grows to more than 20,000; in August, 30,000 cross it. Therefore, Sfakia is not as remote as it is made out to be. There is even a nudist hotel in the area, and most of the craggy beaches serve nudists. But all is not sweet as the name of one of those beaches suggests - a tourist died at the beach of Glyka Nera (literally: 'sweet waters') when a rock fell off the cliff and landed on her in May of this year. Sometimes I like to remember that God did not make these places for humans, which is why there is no road leading to them: you can only reach them via a narrow gorge-like walking path, or by ferry along the coast. But Glyka Nera beach is now so popular among the select bunch of naturists that are willing to make the walk that they park their cars on the side of the road and then hike the rest of the way. We also saw quite a few tourists with their backpacks and hiking sticks walking along the motorway back and forth from Glyka Nera to Hora. Other than that, our only companions on the journey were the eagles and goats. 

We think they're crazy - they parked here, to walk down to the beach that you see in this photo.

The road to the village of Anopolis is nothing less than daunting: a series of winding roads that take you higher and higher up the barest hills I've ever seen in Crete. The village is not visible from the road, making you wonder why and how on earth anyone would want to live up there. Nowadays, the first sign of habitation in the greater area is always a cafe/restaurant. Since the arrival of tourism, where once there was nothing, there is now a homely building perched on a cliff with an eye-catching sign hinting at its vantage point and the smells of something cook coming from within. And almost side by side with the ruins of what clearly looked like a rich person's 'arhontiko' (villa) in older times, there are also signs showing just knowledgeable the once remote Sfakiots are in modern times: signs in English are commonplace, and it is not an exaggeration to say that nearly everyone in the whole of Crete can speak enough English to direct a tourist or have a brief conversation covering basic topics such as food and politics.

A pertinent site for election day - just before we arrived in Anopolis

We had reached the main square of Anopolis where we saw a large crowd of people gathered. The local schoolhouse - it is doubtful whether it actually operates during the year: Hora's primary school has just 7 pupils, and it did not open this year due to staff shortages (due to the crisis) - was being used as a polling booth. While we were there, we saw a steady stream of people coming in and out of the schoolhouse, identification documents in hand. They had obviously gone there to vote. Not all people who vote in Anopoli live there - they are mainly registered there for demographic purposes (to retain their farmer status perhaps, or simply for nostalgic reasons). So for some of the 'locals', this was a moment to get back to their roots and perhaps to make a show of their comeuppance: some of them arrived more stylishly than others. A New York licence plate was hammered into a Mercedes parked outside the school. The Kriaras name has an connection to Sfakia, as well as the island of Milos. Many vendettas ended with a Sfakiot family moving to Milos to avoid more fighting. Milos was a safe haven for many Cretans in this way.

Primary school, Anopolis

My husband remembered a story that a past girlfriend related to him about the school. She had the position of primary school teacher/principal in Anopolis. "Every Monday, I have to sweep the yard", she told my husband. "Of what?" he asked. "Rifle cartridges," she replied. Education of a different sort took place during the weekends. The schoolhouse of Anopolis also reminded me of a Greek friend who was a kindergarten teacher. After working in a number of private nurseries, she finally landed her first state teaching position - on the tiny island of Gavdos, which is visible from Sfakia (and so is the even tinier island of Gavdopoula), although it is not part of its administration (it belongs to the country of Selino, whose largest municipality is Paleohora). According to Wikipedia, in 2011 Gavdos had a total population of 152 people. But in reality, fewer than 50 people live permanently on the island. My friend had just three enrolled students at the school. She spent two years there in order to get preferential treatment when she asked for a transfer back to her hometown, which she was given because she had spent time working in an isolated area, as the state allows. The kindergarten was fully equipped as a school: it had a television, a computer and a printer in the school. But there was no internet connection, and most of the time, the telephone and electricity lines did not work. It is doubtful whether that school is still open now.

Old arhontiko (nobleman's villa) showing signs of abandonment

Quite a bit of sensationalist journalism has been used on the subject of these 'closed' schools. Of course we need teachers for all school-aged children in Greece. But there are other models that can be copied, instead of having to physically send teachers to remote sparsely populated areas: the Correspondence School of NZ comes to mind. In the internet age, there is really no excuse for not having such a model in remote areas, nor is there any excuse for parents not taking an active role in their children's education. Greeks are no longer illiterate, and wifi is available everywhere - even the restaurant at Anopolis (where we later sat down for a meal on our return journey back to Hania) had wifi. You really can't expect the state to do everything for your children.

The beginning of the Aradena gorge, leading down to the sea

Just a few kilometres away from Anopolis was the final stage of our journey. Aradena forms of a cluster of abandoned villages in the area, named after an archaeological site in the vicinity. Nowadays, Aradena is visited mainly for its wooden bridge, which you can stand on and stare down into the gorge from the comfort of 138m altitude. Aradena was not connected to coastal Sfakia until only very recently, via a Bailey bridge, in 1986. The building of the bridge led to the opening of a cafe - of course! - at the site, and during the summer months, it is used for bungee jumping - what else! The trappings of modern life are now an everyday part of mountain life, even in places like Sfakia which are often labelled 'traditional' - that has now become a synonym for 'touristy'.

Abandoned house, Ai-Yianni

There was an asphalt road continuing out of Aradena which we decided to take, since we had come so far, keeping in mind that we would probably not be making this journey again for quite some time. The road led to the last village in the area, Ai-Yianni (Agios Ioannis), where my husband had once gone hunting with a friend whose family was from the area. They had parked their car on the outskirts of the village and walked along some tracks where his beekeeper friend kept his hives. They were hoping to see a hare, or perhaps something bigger but it turned out that this was not a good day for hunting. When they returned tot he car, they found hand-written sign on it: "Don't bother coming back unless you don't mind all your tyres slashed." At least they warned him. This family trip was the first time he returned to the area. He wanted to find the old couple who had invited them to their table for dinner that evening after their walk through the area. But all we found were abandoned houses. The village was now a ghost town.

Disease-ridden pine tree

The road from Aradena to Ai-Yanni is worth driving through. Alpine territory starts at this point, with the emergence of a pine forest which seems to have undergone some recent destruction, a victim of the crisis, when people began using more wood for heating, and whatever could be chopped down was chopped, to be used for heating or for making a quick buck. It is quite a hike to get to this area, and since locals continue to guard it like a fortress (see above paragraph), one can only assume that locals are involved in this unscrupulous trade. But the pine trees also face other dangers - they have obviously been afflicted by a pine tree disease and are slowly dying. Nature takes revenge on man's folly in various ways.

Olive trees, Ai-Yianni

You will also come across the most unusually shaped olive trees, of the likes that you will never have seen in northern Crete. Apart from the trees sprouting directly from what looks like rocks, they have also undergone a transformation in appearance due to the climatic conditions. The trees receive only natural irrigation (rain) and snow covers them in the winter. Many of the trees show signs of damage (their branches have broken) and their trunks have adapted to the climate by becoming thickset. They look nothing like the classic gnarled olive tree of a more temperate climate. You can tell where the snow has reached these trees by looking at where they begin to form their leafy branches. The combination of terrain and climate is difficult not just for the people. Animals are always moved to lower ground in the winter.

Platanos, aka Popi's taverna

We wanted to continue driving in the Ai-Yianni region, but had second thoughts because the road started to deteriorate. Our journey had finally reached its end, and it was time to make the return trip back home. We stopped off for lunch at Platanos taverna at Anopoli. Just ask where Popi's taverna is - make sure you ask for the Sfakiot specialty: tsigariasto, goat meat braised in olive oil and wine, and staka, a creamy buttery dip that goes well with friend potatoes, bread, meat, you name it. Popi speaks excellent English so you can have the menu explained to you if you don't speak Greek or you don't know the local delicacies.

German motorbike, WW2 period - Askifou War Museum

On our way home, we stopped off at the self-styled War Museum of Askifou. It was started by a young man after WW2, by collecting the remains of machinery, equipment and other artefacts left behind by British and German troops. It was then continued by his son, and there seems to be hope of the grandson continuing this venture, although he was present only in a photograph. It was the womenfolk who explained to us (the only visitors at the time) the history of the collection. Some of the explanations didn't seem to concur with my knowledge of history, but I could see that the two women who gave us the tour (they were mother and daughter, but could easily have been mistaken for sisters) had their speeches well-rehearsed, so we let them do their spiel. Entry is by donation according to the sign, but the ladies don't forget to remind you to leave something 'for the maintenance of the museum', and they also state the amount you should leave: "10 euro for all of you," the mother said, quickly followed by "but only if you've got it", in view of the times we are living in. All in all, an interesting collection of bric-a-brac, some of which we'd seen before in places like the IWM London and Les Invalides. "Look at the tyres," she said, pointing to a German motorbike. "They look new, and the motorbike still works." She then asked us if we were in the area for voting purposes, and proceeded to denounce the memorandum, grieving over the loss of our traditions in favour of western norms. Both mother and daughter were dressed in shorts and t-shirts. They seemed well accustomed to western norms themselves.

The rest of the family preferred ice cream; I ordered kalitsounia, another form of fried cheesy pastry topped with honey.

It was still quite warm when we got back on the road, so we stopped off at the big cafe/snack bar in Kalami for a refreshing ice-cream.  I asked the children if they enjoyed this trip into a relatively remote part of Crete. "If you marry a local boy," I joked with my daughter, "we'll  visit often and you can cook up a goat for us." She wasn't impressed. My son said that he wouldn't mind coming to the area again on an annual basis, "for the history," he added.

More lovely photos on facebook.

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Family feud and the Iggleza

When Greeks fight among themselves, it's often about in-family issues. This is of course not the image projected abroad about the Greek family. But Greeks do fight quite a lot among their own kin. What is there to fight about in a family? Property rights. It's always been like this. And if you search deep enough, you will find a property-fuelled family feud in every Greek family. (People that claim they don't have one have either forgotten it, or are ignoring it, or possibly don't realise that they have been duped.)

The Iggleza* in me tells me that if I can prove that something is mine, then it's mine, but if I can't prove that something is mine - even though I may believe that it is - then I must never think of it as mine. But that's just me, and I'm an Iggleza. I was taught to think like this by my family... who raised me in New Zealand... where I was educated... to think like that. What is known in English as 'common law' is known in Greek as 'Αγγλικό δίκαιο' - literally, 'English justice'.

There's a heap of Greek land and property out there that I would like to lay claim to. But nothing is in my name, and more importantly, nothing is my parents' names either. But I know that it was rightfully mine. But I aslo know that I will not be able to claim this property because I don't have any documentation for it. I like to know what is mine, and I don't mind sharing it. But that does not extend to land and property. I'm an Eggleza, and my home is my castle, not a hotel. So if land or property is not mine and mine alone, then I don't want to have anything to do with it.

My husband Dimitri (an only child) has similar views. His parents were both born in the same village, which means that somewhere in that village, there were at least two family homes that he could have inherited something from. Instead, he got, in his words, από τα τρία το μακρύτερο ('the longest of the three', ie nothing). He has never asked for anything that he knew he couldn't prove to be his, not even that room in his father's home, where he used to store his tools for working in the fields, which had been 'promised' to him - ie a spoken word, with no documents finalising anything:

- Hi Uncle (he said, speaking on the phone to one of his father's five siblings), the key doesn't seem to be working for the door where I keep my tools.
- I changed it.
- You changed it?
- Yeah.
- Er, why?
- How am I supposed to know if you gonna steal anything of mine?
(gulp)
- Can I get my tools out?
- Yeah.
- How?
- When I come over, I'll take them out for you.

That particular uncle lived in Ohio at the time (yes, that Ohio - we aint got no Ohio in Crete). Eventually, my husband got his tools out of the room of his paternal family home, and never entered that house again. He passes the house every time he goes to his parents' village (we live only 10 kilometres from it) when he goes to his olive field. Not once has he shown bitterness towards his uncle who now lives here with his wife. They don't live in the paternal family home - their house was made with US dollars, somewhere in Hania. When you enter it, you think you're somewhere in Ohio (according to my idea of an American home, influenced by the glossy magazines of yesteryear which I used to browse through). There's a lot of glass in it, explained by the fact that they never had children.

Initially, Dimitri did feel some bitterness about this situation because he is the only offspring of those six siblings that never owned a house in the village. He has inherited many patches of land, but there is not a single piece of land - despite some patches being very big, in Cretan terms - that can legally be used to build a house on. He ended up having to buy land to build on. After 35 years of renting, he felt a sense of relief that one can only sense when they never lived in a home of their own. My parents also rented a home, but not for 35 years. I too have rented, but only for 3-4 years. 35 is quite a different story, especially when, while you are building a home, your father suddenly dies and leaves you with all the debts involved in the building costs, as well as a beat-up taxi that Dimitri almost torched (his mother stopped him) because it was causing him so many problems. Dimitri ended up selling a piece of the land where the house was built, which he and his parents had bought, in order to continue to build the home we now live in, making our garden smaller (I often refer to the neighbour's house as the chicken coop that never was). I was lucky, Dimitri once told me. I sold off one third of that piece of land for the same price that I paid for the whole piece. That's what EU entry brought - a higher perceived value of a piece of land that, up until Dimitri bought it, was seen as less valuable, and there was considerable difficulty in selling it (that's another equally juicy story, but for another time).

Since building his own home, and later creating a family that he is proud of showing off, he easily forgets his past troubles with his kin. But every once in a while, something happens, a word is spoken, and the shit hits the fan. This time, it hit via his latest pet project, the garden he created in one of his maternally-inherited fields, after I posted some photos of it on facebook:

our main garden has moved to one of our village fields this year
Posted by Maria Verivaki on Saturday, 22 August 2015

A lot of people use facebook to spy on others. I am aware of this, but I am also a long-time user of facebook and I generally know how to protect myself. I use the rules of the Iggleza to know where I stand. In this case, I know that I cannot make any comment on this situation because this field in the countryside belongs to my husband, not to me, and even though it is fully registered with the authorities under his name and we can also pass it on legally to our children, the family feud in question is not my concern. I will simply be one of the beneficiaries. If I didn't care, I would not even bother to learn the story behind a comment that appeared on the post.

On this particular occasion, I have lived through the story over the years, so I cannot claim to be a passive observer. I know what hurt and anger this has caused over the short period that the family feud developed. Like all Greek tragedies, it was avoidable. Like most Greek tragedies, there are solutions. It's all got to do with negotiation, a term rarely linked to any meaning in Greece. And so it goes on - but it can stop: if only both parties decide to negotiate. (And eventually, I believe that they will.)

In order to understand how this kind of issue can arise, you have to understand that the idea of καταπάτηση (literally, stepping onto someone else's land) is as old as the hills in Greece. Land is owned by someone or perhaps a family. The plot is divided among the inheritors once the original owner dies. This is most often the children, but it can also be other members of a family, in the case of those landowners who did not have children of their own. It is rare for documents to exist in these kinds of dealings; they are all done informally, mainly verbally, and if there is proof of ownership (ie documentation) in someone's possession, it probably didn't go through legal channels, but was simply written up between the parties. In some cases, one side could not even read it because they were illiterate. People have killed each other over land ownership. It was easy back then to pull the wool over another person's eyes.

Nowadays, purchases of land all require documentation because nowadays all land must be registered. But amongst villagers, the old transaction method for buying/selling land can still be used because not all land is registered. In the case of unregistered land, siblings, cousins, and others may own a piece of land that borders another sibling's, cousin's or other's piece. When one party wishes to sell (or to buy), they often inform the neighbour who may wish to buy it from (or sell it to) them in order to extend the land under their ownership (or get rid of it for monetary gain, because they no longer have any need for the land).

The original land in question was part of a bigger plot that was owned by... was it Dimitri's maternal grandfather, or his maternal grandmother? At any rate, it was divided in two: the 'upper' part (further away from the main village road) was given to the son (Dimitri's uncle), and the 'lower' part (close to the main village road) was given to the daughter, my mother-in-law, Dimitri's mother. (There were other children too, but they all died in infancy and one was killed in WW2 by being shot in the back by a Nazi while he was sitting in the local cafeneio. His father - Dimitri's grandfather - had been killed by execution only a short while before that.) The field was all planted with olive trees, and the upper part still is. Dimitri and his mother (his father had died by then) removed the olive trees form their part (the lower part) and planted orange trees instead.

This is not the only field that was passed on to my husband. Due to the piecemeal nature of land ownership in Crete, some patches of land that a person owns may never be used. You simply can't maintain everything you own when you end up with so many pieces here and there. So when Dimitri's uncle (the owner of the upper part) asked him if Dimitri would 'sell' another patch of land under Dimitri's ownership with just 7 olive trees on it, so that the uncle could extend his own 7-olive-tree patch (he would then have a total of 14 trees on one piece of land), Dimitri obliged, by being given a similar number of trees from the upper part, at the point where the upper and lower parts bordered each other. This seemed to be a fair deal on both sides, and was accepted by the uncle's children, Dimitri's cousins. The trees that Dimitri acquired in exchange for the trees that he handed over were planted in two πλάτες (singular: πλάτη) which we could translate as 'terraces' for the purposes of this post. Dimitri says that his uncle told him to take two terraces.

Now, here is where the παραξήγηση (misunderstanding) lies: what constitutes a terrace of trees? Before I explain that one, I have to explain why we put up a fence around our piece of land, despite the fact that no other piece of land in the area has a fence that rings right round the field. The Iggleza in me likes fences: fences make good neighbours. Most Cretans will not put up a border around their land patches, claiming high costs (yes, it is expensive). The most that anyone will do if they want to put up a fence is to place some chicken wire around their land supported by loosely planted posts. Chicken wire is flexible, it can break, it can be torn by force, etc, etc. Posts can also be 'transplanted'. The reason why we decided to put up a proper fence around the property is because Dimitri decided that he would like to own more fruit trees, and the olive-turned-orange grove was the perfect place to plant those trees. These trees have now borne fruit - apart from watermelon in the summer and bananas and apples int eh winter, we don't buy any fruit. Coupled with our vegetable garden (I don't buy vegetables except for leeks because we don't plant them), we save a lot of money by growing our own fruit and veg.

So when Dimitri decided to build a fence around his property, he had to work out the borders. We actually do have documentation showing proof of ownership (and we think the cousin does too, but we don't know for sure, because we don't ask other people about their business - the Iggleza in me just minds her own business - and people don't offer to tell you either), but a piece of paper (or even  a GIS screenshot) just gives you the theory. You need to see how borders are actually marked in order to understand how land is claimed. Some people use a pile of stones. Others have built stones to resemble a wall. Other plant a stake in the ground, others use specific trees as markers. There is also the method described above, with chicken wire.

But all the above-mentioned forms of demarcation are subject to 'changes'. Dimitri has related many funny incidents that he has seen over the years, of 'moving borders' (which give way to the καταπάτηση described above). On another piece of land, he noticed that another uncle had planted baby olive trees right against the chicken wire on the uncle's side of the fence. As the trees grew, the chicken wire bent, and... lo and behold, his uncle's field grew larger, because he kept moving the chicken wire to accommodate the trees. Being the nice guy he is, Dimitri didn't say anything to the uncle. He asked his cousin to deal with the situation, and to this day, he has no problem with the cousin in question. When Dimitri wasn't using one of his fields, he drove to it one day to find it planted with broad beans. Knowing that the broad beans needed to be watered, he hid his car one day and waited to pounce on the planter - who turned out to be none other than his uncle. And so on, and so forth. Every Greek has a funny story to tell about cases of καταπάτηση.

Getting back to our issue: what constitutes a terrace of trees? He had told his cousin at various times that he was thinking about placing a fence around the land. There was no question that he owned two terraces of trees. By terrace, Dimitri took that as meaning something resembling a step on a staircase. The upper part of the field is located on a slight gradient, which requires the land where olive trees are planted to resemble a staircase, for ease of harvesting the olives. So when he marked out where to place the fence, he used the end of the staircase as the point where the border would be placed; in other words, the border was located at the point where the next step would start.

Sounds simple. So where's the catch? According to his cousin, the word πλάτη (terrace) means something else. It's not defined by the place where one row ends and another begins. It's defined by... I couldn't understand that one. At any rate, her meaning of the word gives the idea that that we have committed the ultimate land crime: καταπάτηση. We are transgressors! How much land have we stolen? Apparently, it's 25 metres (the length of the border, by 1m (the width believed by the cousin to have been transgressed), divided by 2 because on one side of the field, we have not transgressed. In other words, we are talking about a triangle of land totalling a 12.5 square metres. Rather than argue with his cousins about the meaning of the word πλάτη, my husband (in close consultation with the preceding owner of the land - his mother), decided to accept the transgression, which was caused not just by our not understanding her definition of πλάτη, but also because we pulled a straight line from one end to the other. In other words, it was also due to a mistake.

You may wonder why Dimitri didn't warn his cousin that a fence was going to go up. I want you right this minute to pretend that Zoe Konstantopoulou is his cousin. By the time she decides what the accurate definition of πλάτη is, πολλοί γαϊδάροι θα έχουνε ψοφήσει, as my mother used to say (literally, 'many donkeys will have died'; figuratively, we can't waste time waiting); we didn't have the luxury of so much time. One could say we pulled a fast one over her, but was that really our intention? We had told her we were intending to build a fence around our property, and she could have come to see it for herself... if only she actually lived here (she lives elsewhere in Greece). So many Greek landowners live far away from their land, and they treat the land as if they own it, despite not having any documentation for it. They are just waiting for a chance to sell it at a high price. The owner of another field next to ours lives in Australia. He hires local help to maintain his olive grove, and (I think) he gets some of the olive oil produced from the harvest sent to him in Australia, but he too hasn't fenced his field. Why he hasn't done this, I cannot answer. It's just very provocative to think that you can be an absentee landowner and expect everyone to keep off your land just because it isn't theirs. That's not the way the real world works. That's why we put up a fence around our orange orchard: there were apricots on the tree one day, and the next day there weren't.

The cousin discovered that the fence had been put up when she came one day to visit her field. It just happened to be the day that the builder was there. So the deed was almost done. I suppose she came to see the end result. While the builder was laying the initial foundations for the retaining wall that was going to support the πλάτη, he called my husband:

- Hi Dimitri.
- Hi Yani. How's the building going?
- It was going fine until a few minutes ago.
- Why? What's wrong?
- Do you know where I am?
- You're not at the field?
- No.
(speechless)
- You're not in the hospital? (Dimitri was terrified that the builder had had an accident.)
- No.
- The where the bloody hell are you?
- I'm at the police station. Someone's reported you for building without a licence. 

The builder was eventually released without any other incident taking place, and Dimitri was also not bothered by anyone else about this incident. Planning permission states that any time when concrete is poured onto land, a licence must be requested to do this. We never requested a licence. We knew that a licence was required but we decided to risk it. It was considered an archaic law and not always followed to the letter. When it was ascertained that we were building a fence and not a house, and the documentation for land ownership was shown, the matter was dropped. We did not request a licence because it would have cost 1,500 euro to get one (!) and we would have to wait for at least 6 months (more likely longer) till it was issued (!!), and the construction budget was calculated to at least 10,000 euro (!!!) - the fence cost us close to 15,000 euro in the final count. Sometimes you do what you gotta do.

Who might have 'planted' us to the police? We have our suspicions. Dimitri was friendly with another builder who sometimes did odd jobs for him. When he saw someone else doing building work on our land, he ----. I was going to say he got jealous. That fence looked big, and expensive, and above all, nice. The other builder had lost his privileged position with my husband: there were better builders out there, after all.

Since we accepted the transgression that we had stepped on someone's land, even if by accident and unintentionally, we tried to make up for it by offering trees from another piece of land that bordered with theirs. After some humming and hawing, the matter was left to lie. The outcome of that was - and here the feud begins - that the families cut ties with one another after being as thick as thieves for nearly 60 years. All for the sake of 12.5 square metres of land that no one is doing anything with (we haven't planted anything in that disputed piece of land - it just supports the wall). That facebook comment was the first time in - how many years? - that the transgression has resurfaced. Via the Iggleza who should not have anything to do with the matter - because both the land and the transgression do not belong to her.

I showed the comment to my husband. I showed the comment to our children. They in turn took a laptop downstairs to the grandmother and showed it all to her too. She kept a cool disposition throughout the explanations of what had taken place. I expect that she will eventually hold the key to the resolution of this crisis. She's 91, and she has seen many more serious crises in her life. This one will be child's play for her. I am sure it will be played out soon. Let's wait and see.

In the meantime, I am enjoying the fruits of our labours on that field. We have all contributed to our new garden. My 13 and 14 year old children pulled out a wheelbarrow full of rocks from each hole that was dug in that land and is now growing a tomato or pepper plant in it. We have oranges, peach, nectarine, fig, mango, lychee, plum, lemon trees which gives us a wide variety of fruit. We grew a zillion green beans on it this year, as well as peppers, tomatos, corn, zucchini and cucumber. The field gives my husband a chance to get away from suburbia. By cajoling the children to come and help him with the field work, they have subconsciously learnt how to be farmers. More importantly, they have attached themselves to the land. If you don't live near your land, you will be unable to nurture a relationship with it, except as a memory. I have no intention of letting anyone take that joy away from my family. Accusations are one thing, sabotaging our daily life with other people's misery is quite another, in this rather selfish world that we are all living in.

*** *** ***

*Iggleza = Cretan pronunciation of Engleza (Εγγλέζα); - literally, 'English woman'; figuratively, 'someone who thinks like an English person', a term Greeks often use to describe me (ie when they think I am not acting/thinking like a 'real' Greek). 

Έλα απόψε, σαν Εγγλέζα, φως μου να φερθείς (1940)

Έλα απόψε, σαν Εγγλέζα, φως μου να φερθείς,  Come tonight, like an English woman, be my light
στις οχτώμιση το βράδυ, ραντεβού να `ρθεις, at eight thirty in the evening, come to see me on a date
Στο στενόμακρο δρομάκι, τ’ ανηφορικό, To the long and narrow path, the steep one,
θα σε περιμένω να `ρθεις, κάτι να σου πω, I will be waiting for you, to tell you something
Θέλω πια να σου μιλήσω, σκέτα, παστρικά, I just want to talk to you, nice and neat,
όλα της καρδιάς μου, να σου πω τα μυστικά, everything in my heart, to tell you my secrets

The reference to the time (8.30) is what differentiates the Greek from the English woman. The English woman will be on time.

On another note, the English accent continues to mesmerize Greeks. You may be speaking a heap of BS, but they just love to hear that accent. It's like listening to the Queen and they think she is speaking to them.

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On cremation (Aποτέφρωση)

We spent the morning at our olive grove, trimming grafted trees and clearing the field of the cuttings which we burnt in piles. It was a good day for this, as it was not windy. Although the day started off with a few drops of rain, it turned into a very fine day.

- Wouldn't you like to have your ashes scattered here on this grove, if you were cremated? I asked my husband.

- No.

-But you like it here, don't you? You come here often enough.

- No.

- You'd be visited often by all your descendants ...


No comment.

- ... the sun would be your constant companion, and you'd be in the company of the gods because you can see the highest peaks of Crete from here.

- Not interested.

- You'd be close to your earthly works, like all these olive trees... My husband has seen them grow and produce fruit, burn down to the roots, re-grow as wild type species, and he recently grafted them, one by one, to make them grow as domesticated olive species.

I think I detected a hint of interest in the alternative method I proposed of being disposed after death.

- Surely you don't expect to be visited often at a cemetery? We never visit anyone's grave unless we attend a funeral.

- I am not getting cremated.

Graves are so small and cramped. In Greece, you share them with so many people. Cremation sounds so much more liberating.

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Walking tours in Hania

I am having a number of friends coming over to Crete over the summer. Lucky for me, they are all planning their visits at different times of the year throughout the warm months, and their holidays do not overlap, so I will be able to spend time with all of them individually. Most of our tourists and visitors are here to enjoy the warm sea and hot weather. Many will spend their time by the beach or a pool. But there are also a good number that come in spring and autumn, in the cooler months, for nature hiking trips; it really is far too hot to hike during July and August. It's those nature hikers that this post is aimed for, like my friends.

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Personally speaking, I find that the island of Crete is like one long walking track. One day (but not now, of course, while I am a working mother), I intend to walk the length of Crete (and blog about it, of course), with as little money in my pocket as possible - the food and accomodation aspects of this low-cost trip will make for interesting discussion. Crete is relatively easy to hike through, unless you want to do some serious mountain climbing. It's difficult to know when to stop walking, unless you are climbing uphill - you will probably get tired and your body will want to stop. But if you are walking along the coast, only darkness and the occassional spell of bad weather will slow you down. You simply choose where you want to walk (up the mountains or along the coast), and take a road map with you. You won't get lost as long as you can see a mountain or the sea, which you will use as landmarks.

I don't take part in extreme sports and I pity people who insist on walking up our bare and 2500m-high rocky Lefka Ori in hot weather. Cretan locals do not do this, and they never did even in the past. Strenuous walking has always been left for cooler periods; in the past, when people walked from mountain villages to the town and back for trade purposes, they never walked during the hottest part of the day. But the average tourist will want to walk during the daylight hours and rest in the evening, possibly at a charming little village taverna. That's why the cooler months are the best time of the year for walking. From mid-June to the end of August, I don't advise walking in Crete unless it's before 10am or after 7pm. As the song tells us, only mad dogs and Englishmen...

There is a lot of interest in "off the beaten track" places in Crete; the old worn path is too well known now, and too touristy. The most popular 'brand-labelled' travel series books and websites (eg Lonely Planet) usually list only the major sites for Crete, eg Knossos (which isn't at all over-rated - I think it's better than the Acropolis). Googling 'crete off the beaten track' is a little misleading. Most of the time, you are going to get information about exclusive hotels and villas nestled in mountain region, in other words commercial sites; but what you wanted to know may actually be information on walks rather than retreats. I prefer to concentrate on Hania to limit the area a little. Going to an online bookstore and searching for 'western crete' will bring forth a range of book titles that discuss walking routes in great detail. Most of these books - more often than not, written by Northern Europeans for Northern Europeans - are a little on the pricey side, but if you are a stickler for instructions, maps and detailed guidebooks, you will probably find them useful. Most have a 'Look Inside' feature which allows you to see the book's contents which often list the complete guided walking routes, and you can copy the names of the villages to use the routes together with your own map. To name one particular route over another is to make an omission. And if you google 'western crete' you will realise just how commercialised tourism in Crete is: who would have thought that walking can be so expensive!!!

For day trips, all places will need some form of transportation. If you want to be picked up at your final walking stop, you need to check the bus schedules or arrange a taxi. If you have your own transport (eg hired car), you need to walk back, preferably along a different route, but not necessarily (you may have to retrace your steps). So a long walk may not be conveneint in such cases. Some good places for walks are inaccesible by car - you will need to take a boat trip. It all depends on how much time you want to devote walking. A word of warning: Crete is not flat, so it's best to start your walk uphill and so you can climb down in the later part when you are tired, or to start a downhill walk and end up walking by the coast. If you use your own transport, you should arrange a round-trip that covers a particular area, preferably combining an historical/archaeological site with a nature walk.

Here are 10 not so well known places which would use up at least two hours in walking time, located close to the sea. I've been to all these places, some more often than others. I haven't provided photos, as I have photos of nearly all these places in my blog.

Aptera - This is an archaeological site featuring Roman ruins. They are very different from the classical style of Greece ruins. The ancient site is deemed as important as Knossos, and it is under excavation at the moment (it includes an amphitheatre with what looks like orchestra pits), so it is free to visit during normal office hours. The eateries at the village before Aptera (sometimes known as Megala Horafia) will help you to enter the site if you go during a time when there is noone working on the ruins.
Lissos - I visited this ancient site on a walking trip over two decades ago. It involves a 90-minute walk from and to Souyia. You will end up walking the same route there and back. There is an isolated beach located close to Lissos, but it involves more walking, and that means more uphill walking.
Falasarna - most people think of this area as the site of a good beach, but just three or so kilometres away from the beach inland is the ancient site of the maritime city of Falasarna. The coast was thought to reach here in ancient times. This walk will combine easy walking with good swimming.
Ιmbros Gorge - I walked this gorge with the Hania mountaineering club when I first came to live in Crete. This runs parallel to the famous Samaria Gorge. It is half the length of Samaria Gorge and therefore easier to walk. But it is in essence a one-way walk. You need to call a taxi at the end-poin, (the village of Komitades - it is close to the sea, but the vilage is located at 200m above se level, so the walk to the sea is a steep downhill climb, and you have to get back up to Komitades to find someone (eg a taxi) to take you back to your car at the beginning of the gorge.
Therisso Gorge - The village of Therisso has an association with the contemporary history of Crete. It is not lcated near the sea. It involves easy walking up and down the same road, through some of the lushest parts of Hania. Once you reach the village, you can have lunch at one of the tavernas there, and you can return back to your car along the same route.
Lake Kournas - One of the two freshwater lakes of Crete, which are both situated in Hania; it is a nice relaxation spot. A walk around its perimeter is unexciting, but it is located in a beautiful area.
Lake Ayia - This lake is an artifical one, which used to be a swamp. It is located in a working agrcicultural area surrounded by orange and olive groves, and pasture lands. From here, you can walk to the touristy village of Platanias (which is ON the beaten track, but I recommend that you walk as far as the taverna in the now ghost village of Drakiana and find a route back to the lake where you left your car. The area is reasonably well sign-posted.
Gramvousa and Balos - This is the northwesternmost point of Crete. Gramvousa is a peninsula and Balos is the beach formed by a lagoon. You can only do this trip if you take a ferry boat to Balos, which is inaccessible otherwise. It combines a hostorical site which was very important when Crete was seeking independence from the Ottoman empire. Walking the Gramvousa peninsula is only recommended in the winter months because it is too hot and dry. Having said that, the road is rough and your car could easily break down. But it is one of the best places to visit to get a feel of wild untamed hostorical Crete.
The Rodopos peninsula - Rodopos peninsula is the second 'arm' of Crete. It is much greener and easier to drive and walk through than Gramvousa. Still, it is large and the road is not perfect. But it holds many delights and you can plan your walk to finish at Afrata beach if you want to go for a swim. There is a famous church located on the peninsula which celebrates is feast day on 29th August, the day commemorating the beheading of St John the Baptist.
The Akrotiri peninsula: The place where most tourists land when they arrive in Hania contains some of the least tame landscape. The void which was once Stavros (it is now a beach) is where Zorba the Greek was filmed. It rounded peninsula is also well known for its good beaches, there are a couple of monasteries in the area that are open for visitors (be suitably attired!) and the coastal area is very walkable.

And a couple of bonus walks:
Botanical Park Crete - This is a privately run botanical park featuring local and tropical plants and trees that ave acclimatised to the Cretan environment. It is novel in the sense that it takes a modern approach to what can be planted on the very fertile Cretan soil. The site is located on a former olive farm which burnt down. The owners decided to do something different with it. Tours are offered through the area, and there is a restaurant which focusses on creative Cretan cuisine which uses crops grown in the botanical garden.
Patsos Gorge (also known as St Anthony's Gorge) - This is not in Hania (it's in Rethimno), but I've heard so much about it that I would include it in any Cretan hiker's guide. I haven't yet been on it myself, but I look forward to going. Hania is relatively close to Rethimno. The walk is not strenuous up to the church located in the gorge, but it may become more strenuous after that. If you walk up to the church, you can return to your car in the same way you came, but if you walk to the end of it, it's best to have someone waiting for you to return you to your car.

If you like walking without a map, just go to a village square and park your car. Then walk along all the tracks you find. You may not understand everything you see, but you will have seen more than just a view of Crete off the beaten track. It costs you nothing, and you will come out of it wondering if you had just walked through a hidden world.

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Inheritance (Κληρονομιά)

Δηλώστε και σώστε περιουσία και καταθέσεις - Τελευταίος συμβιβασμός με την Εφορία για "μάυρα" εισδήματα, so reads today's front page headline on ToVima's Sunday paper edition today; for good or for bad, Greece is changing, forever... 

I once inherited some money after the death of one of my mother's uncles. He had no children, his wife had a child from a previous marriage, and when he died, he left behind a very old dilapidated house (he lived in it till his death) to be divided among his next of kin. His wife had died before him, so when he died, her son (from a previous marriage) inherited her 50% share of the property, while his immediate next of kin was awarded the remaining 50%. As he was my mother's uncle, and the last of his brothers and sisters to pass away, the children of his siblings inherited this share of the house. Each one had between two and four children, so that the money was further subdivided. My mother's sister and brothers were all given their share, but since my mother had passed away, her share was divided among her children I received the princely sum of 50,000 drachmas (~€150). I had recently moved into my own home, and needed some furniture, which is where that money went. other than that, all my inheritance is tied up with unregistered land.

 

 Our orange grove at Ahladolakko ('pear hole'): an uneven strip of land with small trees bordered by a road and surrounded by olive groves, in the middle of a growing neighbourhood; despite the fact that the area has been built up recently (even swimming pools have sprouted on the foothills of the Lefka Ori), building regulations do not permit us to build on it because our field is smaller than 2 hectares. 

In the past, the trading of land parcels (with no buildings on them) in Crete (and most of rural Greece, I presume) was conducted orally, sometimes accompanied by a written note that stated where a piece of land was situated and who it neighboured. This is still done today on an informal basis concerning small land parcels that have still not been reigistered with the state. The agreement was deemed the 'contract'. For the most part, written contracts did not exist. To formalise ownership of property and land, the Greek government created the Enthniko Ktimatologio (the Hellenic Cadastre), the Greek Property Registry. Dates have been established for each area or alphabetically according to the owner's name (where there is a high population) for owners to register their land and property. If a property isn't registered, the owner runs the risk of not being able to sell it legally, and it may even be confiscated by the state.

 Our orange grove at Xiloporta ('wooden door'): the small dense-looking patch of land located across from the building with the white-bordered concrete roof (a fruit packing station), on the left-hand side of the dirt road (which it borders), running into the groves. Although it is within the building zone, the total land area is smaller than where we live now; the view we would have from the entrance to a potential home there (see photograph below) is not exactly enticing. 

Most rural land ownership has been handed down from one generation to another, by the common system of sharing a piece of land among one's offspring, so that patches of land in one agricultural stretch of land are owned by different members of the same family. As my husband is an only child, his parents gave him all the pieces of land they owned, and they too all border another relative's property. When there is no will, Greek inheritance laws still favour the children of the owner, with a certain part allotted to the spouse. If there are no children, the property is divided among next of kin. This land forms one of the many hidden economies of Greek people, which allow them to survive through harsh socio-economic conditions. This land is often handed down to later generations with no strings attached or money exchanged.

Our olive grove at Mesomouri ('middle face'): the oblong shape that forms the field (outlined in black) starts from the road on top of a hill and runs down a steep incline to a stream. The forested area in the filed is actually overgrown olive tress that began growing after they were burnt in a fire. The cultivated part has been heavily re-landscaped after the fire to allow easier harvesting of the crops. The housing settlement of the village can be seen on the left at the bottom of the photo. The area affords spectacular views; we are currently in the process of legalising it for building purposes.

My husband's parents were both from the same village, which carries both advantages and disadvantages. The various patches of land that they each owned are spread all over the village, which means that we can't park our car in one area, water all our fields and then leave. We have to go to each individual field to work the land. Eventually, it becomes too much for all of us as we also have our day jobs, so some fields are now neglected. At least they are all found in the same general area, so we don't need to travel far from one field to another to get jobs done. It also means that we can swap similar-sized land parcels to neighbouring land owners, who may have another piece of land neighbouring our other properties; in this way, a small piece of land becomes bigger and more manageable. Land parcels can be all sorts of sizes: On one plot, we own just 15 olive trees. A neighbour has his eye on the land parcel, but isn't offering enough money or a decent swap for it. Hence, we have to be on our guard that it doesn't get tresspassed (he may plant trees right on the border, or move the boundaries - often denoted by a stake - without our knowing).

If we did not live close to our land parcels, some of them would no longer be there for us - they would now be in another person's hands. Καταπάτηση (ka-ta-PA-ti-si, treepassing on another person's land) was especially common in the past when people emigrated. The remaining relatives would find ways to divide up properties according to the descendants that lived in Greece, not including those who had left. This is understandable in some ways, but it is often the cause of bitter resentment among the family who was left out. One of the primary reasons for family feuds in Greece is property division, even amongst siblings who may even live in the same neighbourhood. My husband has a very funny example of this kind of feuding: he happened to be a bystander when his two uncles who were not on speaking terms attempted to pass a narrow concrete overbridge with a 20m drop (pictured above) that was wide enough for a single person to walk over at a time. They could see each other as they each started trekking across it from opposite sides, but they refused to acknowledge each other. Apparently, they both crossed the bridge by standing on its veryedge, without touching each other. My husband was tempted to shout out a greeting to them (they had not noticed them), but he didn't want to break their concentration...

Our uncultivated field at Koukouliana ('hooded neighbourhood'): The area marked in the round circle was once a patch of undulating hills, planted with orange and olive trees, like the surrounding area. It was not one land parcel, but rather a number of unconnected patches, due to the different heights of each field. In terms of function, however, they were difficult pieces of land to maintain: before the landscaping, there was no public road to access them, so my husband harvested any crops from the fields there, he had to carry all the produce on his back and walk to the nearest public access - a narrow concrete overbridge wide enough for a single person to walk over at one time (the long strip labeled in the photo) with a 20-metre drop (the neighbouring landowners - most of whom are related to him - would refuse access to him from the public roads that bordered their properties. To create access to the fields, we had to buy bits of land from various relatives, which meant that we sometimes had to haggle over the price of a lemon tree that had to be cut down, or a 10mx2m strip of land that had to be bought. The whole area was then relandscaped by moving earth to raise or lower the hills accordingly. The bottom left hand corner shows photovoltaic panels, a possible use for our own field in the future. In the photo below, the panels and the bridge are both visible.

If you do not take care of your land, you risk having boundary trespassers abusing it (known as καταπατητές, katapa-ti-TES, in Greece); this is a problem when owners don't live close to their ancestral land. When you can't care for your own land, you can hire help to tend it and keep it weed-free, as a number of our field neighbours do who live in Australia and the US. Whatever you do, you need to know where its borders are (there is no law yet stating that all land must be fenced), and what's happening on it, otherwise it may be trespassed, and you just might find cannabis plants growing on it on your once-in-a-blue-moon visit. On the one piece of land I inhertied from my father, a cousin informed me that someone was growing hashish on it (so we cut off the water supply); on one of my husband's lesser used fields, he found 'leaning stakes', very young olive trees planted right beside them, and someone had even sown beans on the land!

We've gone two steps further by registering all our land parcels legally and devising ways of fencing each property. This has involved digging up old paperwork, getting affidavits and signing testimonials, thankfully all with a positive outcome; at the same time, it is not a cheap process - lawyers, land assessors, builders and government officials have all been involved. Now this land can be passed on to our children fairly without the worry of family feuds breaking out. It's easy to let things slip by as they did before, but the world catches up with you eventually, and when you realise that you don't have the energy to catch up with the world, it's too late to do anything about it.

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