It’s funny how metaphorical expressions come home to roost from time to time. You realize a stitch in time could actually have saved nine (or more likely ninety) when the side of your nightie splits from top to bottom because you didn’t do anything about the first loose thread. Well my current metaphor turned literal is “It’s all Greek to me.”
I decided this morning to tackle our rubbish bins, one of which contains, to put it delicately “contaminated waste”. (We do not flush toilet paper here). Our landlady has gone to work now, but when I enquired about the waste disposal system here,, gestured down the road to two dumpsters. I feel a bit furtive as I saunter down the street with my plastic bags tightly tied – one full of normal scraps and the other more worrisomely unhygienic. I survey the bins and it’s all in Greek of course. Only one has a lid. And that has faded pictures on the side which could indicate recycling only. Would that include one or even both my plastic bags? Yesterday it was overflowing with all sorts of things including tightly tied plastic bags like mine but it has been emptied overnight so no exploratory investigation is possible. The other has no lid and was empty yesterday depite the overflow of the lidded one. In the end I put all my stuff in the lidded bin and hope for the best.
Apparently one of the problems during the refugee crisis was getting people to do the right thing with the facilities provided. They simply didn’t understand. And nor do I. It’s lucky there’s only one of me.
I’ve become rather good at turning peculiar bony chunks of lamb with long tails of fat attached into delicious stews. The vegetables here are fabulous –the tomatoes are so full of flavour they throw you into a trance and cos lettuces savour of the underworld from whence they come. We have a tree loaded with lemons outside our door and have lemon and ouzo hot toddies before we sleep as both of us still have colds. One thing that puzzles me is why Lesbos doesn’t have an obesity problem. There are so many seductive pastry shops with trays of syrupy filo delights. They must be much better for the health than MacDonalds which incidentally hasn’t made it here although the ubiquitous United Colours of Benneton has.
Mytilini is a pretty and modern little town with lots of coffee shops all full of people but alas not tourists who out of delicacy or squeamishness are eschewing Lesbos as a holiday destination. Perhaps it seems poor taste to be recreational alongside people who are trapped here. Anyway the little tourist villages are suffering badly. We went to Ayassos over the weekend – a lovely mountain village with narrow cobbled streets and old houses cleverly hanging on to the steep hillside. There were lots of little pottery and souvenir shops and cafes as is the way with such places but no bustle of commerce. There were three idle tourist buses and many cafes closed with chairs tipped up against the tables. The shopkeepers eyes seemed defeated by the collapse of their economic world. I had a fancy for a stuffed tomato like the ones I had when hitch-hiking in Greece in my twenties. The café owner sighed. “Why make a big tray like this” he gestured “when nobody comes”. He was bitter about the way the island had become a non tourist destination.
Mytilini, however is a lively town with little shops selling everything there is and it is fun to wander the narrow streets, though it pays to keep alert. There are next to no footpaths and cars seem to have priority so moving around involves a fair bit of ducking and weaving. There is a wonderful bay that I can gaze at for ages while sipping lemonade in a cafe. The sea is a particular Mediterranean blue and little houses line the hillsides on both sides. It feels like an innocent happy place.
Grant came back from his conference at one am this morning and we didn’t get to bed till two so I am going to have a nap before going to the supermarket to find some little delight for our dinner – a glorious aubergine maybe and some mince if I can mime mincing to the butcher….
I decided this morning to tackle our rubbish bins, one of which contains, to put it delicately “contaminated waste”. (We do not flush toilet paper here). Our landlady has gone to work now, but when I enquired about the waste disposal system here,, gestured down the road to two dumpsters. I feel a bit furtive as I saunter down the street with my plastic bags tightly tied – one full of normal scraps and the other more worrisomely unhygienic. I survey the bins and it’s all in Greek of course. Only one has a lid. And that has faded pictures on the side which could indicate recycling only. Would that include one or even both my plastic bags? Yesterday it was overflowing with all sorts of things including tightly tied plastic bags like mine but it has been emptied overnight so no exploratory investigation is possible. The other has no lid and was empty yesterday depite the overflow of the lidded one. In the end I put all my stuff in the lidded bin and hope for the best.
Apparently one of the problems during the refugee crisis was getting people to do the right thing with the facilities provided. They simply didn’t understand. And nor do I. It’s lucky there’s only one of me.
I’ve become rather good at turning peculiar bony chunks of lamb with long tails of fat attached into delicious stews. The vegetables here are fabulous –the tomatoes are so full of flavour they throw you into a trance and cos lettuces savour of the underworld from whence they come. We have a tree loaded with lemons outside our door and have lemon and ouzo hot toddies before we sleep as both of us still have colds. One thing that puzzles me is why Lesbos doesn’t have an obesity problem. There are so many seductive pastry shops with trays of syrupy filo delights. They must be much better for the health than MacDonalds which incidentally hasn’t made it here although the ubiquitous United Colours of Benneton has.
Mytilini is a pretty and modern little town with lots of coffee shops all full of people but alas not tourists who out of delicacy or squeamishness are eschewing Lesbos as a holiday destination. Perhaps it seems poor taste to be recreational alongside people who are trapped here. Anyway the little tourist villages are suffering badly. We went to Ayassos over the weekend – a lovely mountain village with narrow cobbled streets and old houses cleverly hanging on to the steep hillside. There were lots of little pottery and souvenir shops and cafes as is the way with such places but no bustle of commerce. There were three idle tourist buses and many cafes closed with chairs tipped up against the tables. The shopkeepers eyes seemed defeated by the collapse of their economic world. I had a fancy for a stuffed tomato like the ones I had when hitch-hiking in Greece in my twenties. The café owner sighed. “Why make a big tray like this” he gestured “when nobody comes”. He was bitter about the way the island had become a non tourist destination.
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| A street in Agiasos village, in the mountains. |
Mytilini, however is a lively town with little shops selling everything there is and it is fun to wander the narrow streets, though it pays to keep alert. There are next to no footpaths and cars seem to have priority so moving around involves a fair bit of ducking and weaving. There is a wonderful bay that I can gaze at for ages while sipping lemonade in a cafe. The sea is a particular Mediterranean blue and little houses line the hillsides on both sides. It feels like an innocent happy place.
Grant came back from his conference at one am this morning and we didn’t get to bed till two so I am going to have a nap before going to the supermarket to find some little delight for our dinner – a glorious aubergine maybe and some mince if I can mime mincing to the butcher….
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