Can I Love You?

With Christina Boutari enjoying
 The Grand Reserve
 

It all started with a glass of Grand Reserve with Christina Boutari at a one of kind North end upscale Greek resto.   It was a wine flight featuring new offerings from the Boutari wine appellations.  She was on a North American tour, as the Ambassador of her family business.  Lovely and charming, we had a moment that will be seared in my brain for an eternity.   A group of us were invited and I decided last minute to attend because it was round the corner from my mums house and typically these events don't happen North of city and certainly not in my hometown.  

Boutari was making the rounds and greeting guests and when she made her way to our table she chose a wine for us to sample ahead of the flight.   In her perfect English with the sweetest of Greek accents she says directly to me, "I think you'll like this one."  My group and I were delighted that we were having a personal tasting with her and anxious to try one of the new arrivals. But she only poured for me and insisted that I'd adore it.  Odd.  I take the glass from her and do my best impression of a wannabe sommelier, swirling the glass and taking it up to my nose.  And as I do, my heart skips a beat and begins to race.  I inhale deeply and I'm transported to my parents dining table. In a flash I can see the Sunday dinner spread out and the familiar wine bottle being opened by my father.  I know this wine and I know it well. 

My eyes welled up unexpectedly and I tried to hide it.  "What is wrong?  Have I chosen incorrectly? she asks.  I felt exposed and vulnerable and not wanting to come off as a snob, I beamed up at her and exclaimed in a shaky voice, "This is a classic!  It's the Grand Reserve, isn't it?"  I prattled on trying to conceal that while I may physically be sitting next to her, mentally my mind has taken a trip to the spirit world...or has the spirit world come to me? Yes, indeed it was my father's all time favourite wine.  Dad's 'go to red' that never disappointed and always made an awesome gift.  I haven't tasted it for a least 10 years and there I was having a glass with Christina Boutari herself in a restaurant 3 minutes from my dads house.  Startling.

And then it happened again.

The Complete Works of William Shakespeare was sitting lonely atop a pile of bargain bin priced hard cover books.  I stopped and did a double take and stared at it for a moment.  I was in a massive hurry, cutting through the downtown subway tunnels to make my Bloor train.  The tunnel shops were busy and people were whizzing past me but the world just seemed to stop as I zeroed in on this book. My hand reached for it and it felt like a veil was coming down over me.  That familiar book, its colour and size, its pencil sketch of Shakespeare, those thin almost newsprint pages took me back 25 years when I was a young girl dusting the window display at my dads bookstore. The Heritage Shop, on Yonge Street, was only up and running for one year, but what an indelible year indeed!  Part bookstore, part art shop, it was his best and worst business ever. 

The clerk interrupted my mind trip, "Hey, how did that book get into the outside bargain bin?  Oh well, it's $3.99!  Crazy right?  It's asking you to love it...", I put the book down.  The clerk picks it up, holds it out to me and continues "...or maybe its asking Can I love you?"  The colour drained from my face and a chill ran up and down my spine.  "I beg your pardon?  What did you just say?  Why would you say something like?  What do you mean?" The clerk stepped back and I stepped toward him, clearly making him uncomfortable.  "I don't know, just said it, don't take offence, just sounded poetic...the book made me say it!" He started to laugh and I started to feel ill.  "Are you alright?" he queried and offered me to come in and have a seat and glass of water, but all I could choke out was, "'I'll buy the book."

It was a one-two punch.  I was winded for the rest of the day.  Finding the book, or more like the book found me, was one thing, but when those familiar words, Can I love you, tripped out of the clerks mouth...I knew it was no coincidence.  What kind of a question is that?  Who says that?  My father did.  It was his catch phrase.  His trump card.  I never did understand the question and what kind of a response did he expect? Was it rhetorical? Nevertheless, I've never heard anyone, before, during or after, ever ask that question. 

Why I haven't thought of The Heritage bookstore in decades is a mystery!  Gosh, I had great fun then and met some real interesting people.  The book and art suppliers were an eccentric bunch and dad enjoyed introducing me because I had practically read all the books in the store, Lord knows he hadn't.  The courage my father had!  Truly.  English as a second language and the only thing he'd ever read from cover to cover was the daily newspaper, but there he was selling The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, amongst other classics, without a flurry of doubt and with complete confidence.  Wow.  I do remember this one book supplier, Wil, that frequented the shop on his off hours to chat with dad.  What a card!  He totally loved my dad!  And now that I look back on it, I wonder if he was writing a book of his own and profiling my dad for a character! I guess I'll never know, but dad as a character, is multi-faceted and you can't deny the tension that a love/hate relationship so deliciously provides for good story telling.

My girlfriends think its time we take a road trip to Long Island...and it wouldn't  be for the ice-tea! LMAO!  Although I'd likely need a very tall cold Long Island Iced Tea, if we were to ever get an audience with the Medium that resides there.  Too funny!  For those of you who don't know her, she apparently speaks to the dead.

A couple of friends are unabashedly addicted to the Long Island Medium, Theresa Caputo and her TV show on Sunday nights.  It certainly is entertaining and I've become curious, considering all this "paranormal activity", yet cautious. My experience with the paranormal is limited and I'd like to keep it that way!  I'm not so sure I should consider a trip to visit Caputo to find out what, if anything, dad is trying to communicate to me.

I'm not an overtly spiritual person and I'm rather quick to dismiss any ambiguous sign or symbol that could be interpreted as a form of communication from the other side.  But how can you ignore this?  Sure, I've dreamt of dad a lot since his passing, especially now that I'm building this Greek House and they have left me frightened.  But I'd always conclude that they were, well...just dreams. However, these events are certainly not ambiguous!

But wait, there's more.  Yes, that's right and as worn out, distraught and confused as I am, the rains in Kalamata this Spring brought a delightful, miraculous, thoughtful and hopeful sign.  Irises. 

Irises, from my Uncles description,  aren't seen around Messinia.  And there aren't any small animals, like squirrels, that would have dug the bulb up and transplanted them onto the Verga property.  And even if there were, the soil isn't any good for growing much of anything especially these delicate and elegant flowers.  The only catch here in laying claim that my dead father had something to do with this, is that his favourite flower is the Sunflower.  However, having said that, this flower has become significant to me these past two years and the portrait that my dad gave me of himself year ago has a pewter frame of iris flowers!  Not to mention that I've always enjoyed them in print form by Van Gogh and other impressionist artists and they have adorned my walls for several years and have brought me great joy.  From what I understand, there are about a dozen of them, a sparse amount, surrounding my large Greek House as if to give it a gentle embrace.  I'm overwhelmed.

February, March and now April all brought harbingers of dad's presence.  This being the fifth anniversary of his death, I  must admit, has been a positive reflection.  I am quite grateful that I've been able to remember him and even experience him in softer, quieter and gentler ways.

And it isn't until this very moment that I finally understand this quote,  "If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die."

And I guess in this case, destiny demands that every moment has a purpose.

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Can the Apple Fall Far from the Tree?

Never thought that I'd find myself doing tequila shots in an orange grove, in Kalamata, with my 84 year old Uncle.  But there I was, dusting the shoulders of the bottle, a long forgotten gift, while my Theo (Uncle) fetched the lemon and salt. 

"Να ηρεμησεις" (Na ee-remisis), To calm yourself, and then you'll tell me what happened on the Mountain" he said while he cracked the seal of the 35 year old bottle and I wondered if tequila ages well.  "Kοιτάξτε εδώ, θείο" (Key-taxte edo, Theo) "Look here, Uncle, let me show you how the Mexican's do it."  He was playful and eager. He mirrored my image, with a grin on his face, as he licked the salt, took the shot and sucked the lemon.  He chuckled after and sat forward to pour us both another.  I love him. 

He would have been an awesome father.  He and his wife were never able to have children.  And why is it that the people who have the best dispositions for children often are the ones that end up childless?  A cruel puzzle the universe imposes. 

Theo Yianni (John) is my mother's second eldest brother.  Pericles, the eldest of six children from the Parthenios family died 5 years ago.  A gentle soul with a loving heart, shockingly handsome and fiercely patriotic, also remained childless. 

They both fawned over me when I'd visit and lived the Greek expression that they modified, " το παιδί της αδελφής μου είναι δύο φορές παιδί μου".  "The child of my sister is twice my child".  As a young girl, I never felt more loved and cared for and cherished.  And I most certainly returned their affections.  We were three peas in a pod...now only two. 

There is no doubt that Theo Yianni has mellowed over the years, but his opinions and loyalty is unwavering.  He may be 84 but he stands tall and straight with no stagger in his gait.  He has the thickest mass of white wavy hair and the laugh of a young man going on an adventure. 

He said to me, "that while your father and I tolerated each other, this Verga house he built  was really a gift to me. He made a mess of it and who else would come and try to fix it...but you, my Katerina. I pray that Boufeas takes forever to finish it." 

My eyes swell and I feel so comforted and protected by those words.  And yes, he is the only one that calls me Katerina, my third name, because he simply likes it best.

After the third round of tequila shots, between laughter and tears, he presses me to reveal what exactly happened on the Mountain.  "It's like you've seen a ghost or a monster!"  I felt like such a child as he held my face and pleaded with his eyes for answers.  I went to my dad's Horio, his village and Theo Yianni was right, I encountered a red-headed monster. 

I had an afternoon suddenly available to me.  I was supposed to be in Athens shopping for a kitchen, but it didn't turn out that way, regretfully.  But I was excited when I told Theo Yianni that I'll be heading up the Mountain for a drive and to visit the grave of my dad's brother Nikita.  The drive up the Taygetos was joyful and lighthearted and I relished all the familiar twists and hairpin turns that  it has to offer. 

But the afternoon turned tragic, once I encountered her...my father's doppelganger.  I felt like I was 12 years old, vulnerable and small. As she hollered and insulted me just like my father did. She made up bizarre situations in her head about how poorly she is treated by the family and how I caused my father's cancer and what I'm doing to the Verga house is scandalous and that the names of my children are disgraceful. WTF.  She has turned into him...perhaps she has always been like that.   And I turned into jelly as her expressions and words and glances and hand gestures morphed into my father. It was as if he was standing right there. I froze in horror. And then ran from her. And while doing so I broke the heels of my shoes.

To steal an expression from a close friend, "I pressed the delete button" about a thousand times  as I was driving down the mountain.  My father's sister has now been...deleted.

Theo Yianni was empathetic and had a rebuttal for all the nasty comments she made.  But he asked a very sage, very pointed question, "You are no stranger to this kind of verbal attack, you are an exceptionally strong, confident woman....tell me why you are trembling? You know none of what she said is true, what revelation have you had?"  And there it was, the answer, it just tripped off my tongue, like its been waiting there on its mark for the starter pistol.  "I'm afraid I'll turn into them...him! Will I?"

He sat back and while I waited for his response, I felt relieved.  The unspoken was spoken.  I know that I am related to them, but how can I possibly be?  I feel so different, I feel most times like I don't belong.  I looked up at the orange trees with its boughs full of fruit and thought, can the apple fall far from the tree?  Or in this case, the orange?  lol. 

Theo Yianni has never said an unkind word about my father, ever.  So when he offered his answer it was the classiest most respectful response and a little shocking.  "You are like him.  You have skillfully pick the best parts of your father and that is what makes you.  And you have taken the best parts of your mother, your sweet nature...its what every parent hopes for."  "Now, let's go see your scandalous house, it always makes you happy!" 

Father of the year, I say...or Lifetime. Some are just born with it.

Earlier that day, the window and doors arrived from Athens and likely they had been installed.  I was aching to see it. There was about two hours left of sunlight to an already long and eventful day. And it seems that whenever I come to Greece, I have the most...enlightening experiences.  lol. 

We drove silently up the winding road to the Verga house.  I welcomed the calmness that driving provides me and the security of my Theo next to me.  As we pulled up to the house and parked we both just sat there for a moment and stared at it.  It was magnificent.  He held my hand and said, "It has your energy and spirit."  And with those words, the events of the day just disappeared. 


We didn't except to find anyone working at the house so late in the day and was surprised when the foreman, Dimitri, greeted us at the door.  "You have windows and doors.  What do you think?", he asked proudly.  "It's finally a real house", I said.  And then he reached into his pocked and held something out to me and rather coyly asked, "would you like the key to your house?"  I beamed at Dimitri and held out my hand. 

Theo Yianni was grinning from ear to ear, as I just held the key by its end to examine its uniqueness.  "Kαλοριζικο, Katerina mou" (Kaloriziko, good-root or luck my Katerina).  I was silent.  "Well, I'm off" said the foreman, "be sure to lock the door when you're done."  Stunned, I thanked him and only wished that Peter Boufeas was here to share in this delightful moment. 

We toured the house and checked all the new windows and doors. There were a few minor errors, but I knew that Boufeas would take care of it in a New York minute.  Besides we were both so delighted with the outcome and Theo Yianni was quite impressed with the quality and I was happy that he approved.    I handed him the key.  "You lock up the house for the first time Theo."  His chest puffed up as he reached for the key. 

As the key turned and clanked 6 times, I imagined shutting the door and dead-bolting the earlier events with the red-headed monster.  I imagined dead-bolting out all the negative, toxic and unrelenting memories that this house once represented.  The next time I come I will unlock the door and my children will run through it, clearing out any leftover unwanted ghosts, with their laughter and joie de vivre.

And I'm ok with where the apple has landed.  It has fallen far enough away from the tree...this Verga house was built after all on a mountain side. LOL.

 

Home is where the House is?

I never doubted for a moment that I am Canadian.  And being a Canadian  often means having a duality of the kind that Trudeau spoke of so passionately; Pierre Elliot, that is.  Not his son, the long haired boho Justin, who by the way, is vying for the Federal Liberal leadership.  While he may have a great head of hair and a face that reminds me of Alexander the Great, he is wet behind the ears and when he speaks I cringe with transferred embarrassment. lol. 

Trudeau spoke of a multicultural society that benefits from each others diversity, not trying to assimilate or create a melting pot. My parents were indeed part of Trudeau-mania.  And their children are definite personifications of the all Canadian dream.  Maintaining a double identity to their benefit not detriment. 

Storm clouds breaking over Verga House

And yet as I write this from Kalamata, I feel out of sorts.  Never have I ever felt out of place, but this past week surprised me.   I have never felt more disappointed and heartbroken and bewildered and cold and displaced.  For the first time I feel "off" here. Only when I'm at my Greek House do I feel connected. I visit it everyday.  Sentimental, maybe.  Confused about the rest of the week and how it will unfold, undoubtedly. 

Perhaps its the rain.  Fine weather for young ducks.  Down pour every day, with thunder and lightening that lights up the sky so brilliantly and a cold that chills the bone.  I quite enjoy the dry cold Canadian winters, but there is nothing worse than a wet cold.  Nothing that a hot toddy like a tsipouro with honey and clove can't remedy.

I am without a permanent address in Toronto, having sold the Unionville house last November. Don't know where I'll land or what place I'll call home, but I guess home is where the house is?

A fully Plastered house

And the Greek house, quite ironically, is all I've got.  It's come a long way, but still has many problem details that need to get resolved.  Acquiring the needed 700m2 is still an issue and the back and forth with the surrounding land owners have left my friends, mihanikos/engineer Peter Boufeas and mihanikos/engineer George Giannopoulos (I affectionately call him GG)  bored and restless with the situation.   I, on the other hand, don't mind the waiting game, especially since the deadline for the zoning penalty/fines keeps getting pushed back.

Meanwhile, the majority of the funds have been devoted thus far, to the grading and drainage of the property.   Both very important, but seemingly endless and I've grown bored and restless with this money pit.  My head is still spinning over the cost of the topsoil!  At which point I threatened Boufeas that I'd bring in the soil myself with a wheel barrel...he wasn't too impressed, but leery that I may actually follow through. lol.  The house itself is stunning now and the property is without question, unrecognizable with its gorgeous terraced walls.

Hammer coming down on garage

The structural issues, like the garage and concrete pergola are being addressed.  I had to take down part of the garage because it just didn't make sense to leave it as is when a car could barely get in and the door would have been on the inside rather than the outside.  Sigh.  Exhausting really trying to correct mistakes of the previous mihanikos/engineer Voldemort.  And even though the entire house, inside and out, has been plastered, the concrete pergola continues to be an eyesore...and now the engineers are telling me to add more of it because it isn't symmetrical.  Hmm...



plastered pergola, watching the sunset

I wish I could physically hug my Greek House.   I want to wrap my arms around it and feel it hug me back.  I lean against one of its large columns as I watch the sunset over the Messinian Bay and think of how this Canadian finds herself at this spot, at this moment, at her house.  Her house...on a Greek hillside.

Excuse me, how much for this Rock?

I prefer the kind I can put on my finger, but how much would you say this rock is worth?  It comes with about 150 m2 of land and two olive trees.  It's on the border of my property and at the corner of the driveway entrance to my house.  It would be nice to have, to shore up my acreage and square off my property.  But the present owner is a tragic figure.

When the road was opened up, on the hillside of Verga, it cut through his, or rather his wife's property, it was her preeka προικα(dowry).  Yes, I know, totally archaic but still in play in parts of Greece and central Europe.  Anyway,  this rock (vrahos, Βράχος) and its postage stamp parcel of land, is a remnant of the cut road and quite worthless to him/her.  We attempted negotiation twice with him and while he is open to talking he keeps stalling and saying that he can't make a decision without his wife.  Like I said, tragic. 

He is a tall, thin, wiry man, late forties is my guess with a vacant expression.  Dark matte hair with eyes to match.  We made arrangements to meet in the evening in Kalamata at George Giannopoulos' office, a civil engineer who is also working on my house.  Giannopoulos and Boufeas have an interesting relationship, one best described as "good cop, bad cop".  And its fun to watch.  More on that later.

George Giannopoulos' office was busy that evening.  Phones were ringing and meetings being conducted in the front room. So when this wraith of man entered the office and took a seat next to Giannopoulos, who uncharacteristically was having a rather animated discussion on the phone, Boufeas and I wondered if this was who we were waiting for.  We had only ever spoken on the phone.

He sat there, gaunt, hunched over with his hands clasped.  I thought the polite thing to do was wait for GG to finish his phone call, but Boufeas launched into introductions and didn't mince words.  Classic.  "Are you Mr P?"  Yes.  "Where is your wife?"  (Or did I ask him that?  I can't remember, it happened so fast).  "She has a late shift at the supermarket", was his reply.  "When does she finish so that we can have a resolution tonight", insisted Boufeas.  Mr P just shrugged his shoulders and collapsed them in even further, I guess realizing that he is no match for Boufeas.  I kinda felt bad for him. 

Sensing a weaker opponent, Boufeas, in a reclined and relaxed position in the office swivel chair, presses Mr P gently on the price tag of the rock.  I had turned my attention to GG because he looked up at me and was communicating to me with hand gestures that he can't seem to get off the phone.  It was then that out of the corner of my eye I see Boufeas lunge forward, toward Mr P,  swivel chair crashing in the opposite direction. "Excuse me, how much for this rock?!" Πώς τολμούν να έρχεστε εδώ με αυτό το γελοίο ποσό. Είστε δεν ντρέπεται για τον εαυτό σας; Δεν είμαστε ανόητοι! Βγες έξω, πριν σας πετάξει έξω! " "How dare you come in here with that ridiculous figure.  Are you not ashamed of yourself?  We are not fools!  Get out, before I throw you out!"

We are all standing at this point, except for GG who has the phone pressed to one ear and the other plugged with a finger, and Boufeas has escorted Mr P to the threshold of the office door. 

Well, that went well.  At least it was quick. Not so fast.... Mr P comes back into the office with new found confidence and a rebuttal on the worth of the rock!  'It's a rock with two olive trees', Peter Boufeas exclaims to the staff and clients in the front room.  'Now, get out before I really loose it!"  Boufeas leaves me and Mr P in the front room... awkward!   He raises his head and turns to look at me.  His eyes narrowed and he squared his shoulders, as if to make one final demand, but I wouldn't let him.  I was surrounded by men and I wasn't going to be the one they called a girl.  So just as he was about to launch in on me, I said, "Mr P, I will give you your 8,500...in drachmas.  Make sure you tell your wife."  Ouch.  With his mouth agap, he turned and left the office in silence.

And the best line of the evening was when GG finally got off the phone with the client and looks at the two of us and asks, "Did it really have to result it that, honestly you guys." Ελλα, ρε παιδια.

Mr P actually wanted 8.5k euros, when originally, 2 days prior, he requested through Peter and George, 5k and I was prepared to offer him half. 

"So where are we going to tonight?"  I asked.  "We all need a drink and something to eat."  Which is something we did almost every night that week.  We have become an unlikely trio and I have been pleasantly surprised by my great fortune to find myself surrounded by these bright men, who have become my friends.

And as I walk (more like run)  the streets of Kalamata flanked by them, their steps and strides three times as long and quick as mine, in search of our next watering hole, my faith in the human spirit is restored. My father wasn't that lucky.  

The Reluctant Employer PART 2

The Elections have come and gone for the second time and the country did not implode.  What has happened, is that people have become more desperate.  Uncertainty is palpable and relationships are being challenged.

My house in Verga is the perfect example.  The foreman (εργοδηγός, ergotheegos) that Boufeas had hired and has been with his company for some time now, has caused difficulty on the site.  Once a loyal employee and the 'go to guy' for Boufeas for these types of jobs, had become the enemy and not to be trusted.

The foreman (εργοδηγός) raised decent amongst the crew.  Informing Boufeas that certain works were more difficult than anticipated and that indeed more time and effort would be needed.  The foreman had Boufeas' head spinning and driving the long route of Athens to Kalamata on a regular basis.  Upon further investigation, Boufeas uncovered that the crew was just playing along with the foreman hoping that it would pay out and that "The Canadian" would cough up more cash.  Boufeas, in classic form and without hesitation, fired the lot of them.  What can I say?  He did exactly what was necessary.  There comes a point where attempting to understand, being sympathetic, negotiating and bargaining ceases.  Full stop.  Off with their heads...he showed no mercy.

My house with Scaffodling

And why should he?  Yes, these are tough, uncertain times and Greece's jobless rate scaled a new record high in April, providing gloomy news for the new hard-pressed coalition government that emerged from the country's rerun election in June. But if you have a competitive paying job, like the kind at my house construction, then why risk it with poor attempts of blackmail?

My father would have loved this drama.  He would have loved to have been part of the take down of these so called skilled workers, that deserve χαραγμα και αλατι (haragma kai alati), filleting and salting, lol.

Dad detested lazy people and especially Greek lazy people because he just couldn't relate.   His first job when he came to Canada was picking worms at night with a miners lamp for .50cents a can.  He stayed in an apartment that he couldn't stand up straight in, for crying out loud. That work ethic left Greece on the maiden and subsequent voyages of Queen Frederica and Nea Ellas, that brought 100 thousand Greeks to pier 21 in Halifax, Nova Scotia during the mid to late 1950's and early 1960's, otherwise known as "The Gateway of Hope". Pier 21 Halifax, Nova Scotia Canada.

The Parthenon with Scaffolding

I can't relate either.  Lazy is a four letter word in the Sakellaropoulos family.  In fact laziness is a foreign concept with the Greeks of North America.  Maybe the only thing to save Greece is to bring that work ethic back?  Naive on some level perhaps, but the problem, wether it be work ethics or morality, has certainly mushroomed into a deeper more systemic and institutionalized force.

Ireland, which has been undergoing a similar economic crisis has been experimenting with various concepts and programmes to encourage ex-pats to return to the homeland, Ireland Diaspora Return .  Something for Greece to think about.   In the meantime, here is something the new coalition government should implement that would have an immediate impact in reshaping the country, or at least reshaping Parliament...allow the Greek diaspora to vote! lol.  That would certainly piss off and send a clear message to today's Greek citizens.  Imagine that.

If the Greeks of Sydney, NYC, Chicago, Cape Town and Toronto were allowed to vote in the next Greek election they'd clean house and never allow the fascists to dishonour Parliament with their presence.


Back in Verga, Boufeas cleaned house, literally.   And from what I understand he finally had a good nights sleep. 

The Reluctant Employer

Stone wall in front of house

All the smart money has left Greece. I'm the only idiot doing the opposite.
My obsession to complete this house is now full blown and unstoppable; not unlike the downward spiral of the country.

Greece is in chaos; no government,  neo nazis in parliament, the extreme left barking marching orders, the sceptre of the drachma looming, the increase of unemployment, an abyssal debt,  plans for more austerity, progression of suicides, increase in poverty and now even locusts have descended on parts of Greece. Is there a pox on the Greek Oikos? Its sure seems like it is, in biblical proportions, but not on my Greek House.

Two new chimneys

Somewhere in my youth and childhood, I must have done something good, because the winds of discontent have not reached my little spot in Verga. Its like an oasis, in the massive desert of a country on the verge of a default. Verga is busy with bulldozers, brick layers, stone workers, plumbers and electricians. If you were to observe my house on a daily bases, you'd never suspect that just outside of its borders people are stricken with fear.

Electrical

A friend pointed out to me that I am an employer of sorts and that I'm doing a good thing.  Really?  I never thought of it that way and when I think of my role as an employer, I am uneasy.  I am bankrolling this venture, that's for sure, but I never thought beyond that.  Who are the men that work on my house?  Do they have families?  Are they sending money to their children to go to school?  Are they even Greek citizens?  Will they be in my employ right to the finish line?  And are they relying solely on what I pay them?  All very good questions for Peter Boufeas, the mihanikos.  But do I really want to know the answers?  That's a lot of pressure for this reluctant employer.

Nevertheless, Boufeas, seems content with his crew and the progression of the house.  The work did get interrupted over Pascha (Easter) and Proto Maya (May Day) and the Ekloges (elections) on May 6th, but Boufeas rules with an iron fist and was able to snap them out of their stupor and push forward to meet certain deadlines.  And as a result, the house is truly taking shape.  Delightful really to see that the crew are meeting Boufeas' standards and that despite the troubling times and uncertainty that surrounds them, they choose to put their skills to work rather than stay home and despair. I guess I am doing a good thing.

A third chimney. Decadent!

And as the second round of elections approaches, or possible referendum, on June 17th and the 8th and subsequent plagues descend on Greece, this 'employer' will pray that her Greek House continues to be passed over.

A Corruption Pricelist? Priceless!

Having spent the entire day working at my house in Verga, Peter Boufeas returned to his, frustrated, knackered (his word) and rather put off.  Unusual state for him to be in?  Perhaps, but not when you've been dealing with the local trades people in Kalamata. 

He sent me a late afternoon progress report, which I always enjoy reading.  Straight forward, to the point and matter of fact.  He writes:
1. All walls are finished.
2. Pergola at front has been removed.
3. Rocks are on site to begin rock wall building.
4. Plumber has started work outside to connect septic tank and water runoff.
5. Earthworks nearly completed.

Perfect, sounds like a banner day.  But wait, he continues and launches in on two separate encounters, both with local suppliers, that sent him round the bend; one for the fireplaces and the other for the pipes. He ended up telling the one guy to get lost and the other to stick the pipes ...well, you know where.  I can feel his frustration, because how is he supposed to provide me a cost estimate and ultimately a solid quote for the completion of the house, when these suppliers choose to triple the price on items, rather than honour the original price tag.  You just can't do business that way.  Or can you?

Did these local suppliers expect Boufeas, well me, to provide “fakelakia” (φακελακια  little brown envelopes) to secure their word and that they would honour the original quote?  A resounding yes!

Believe it or not, Greeks paid an estimated 554m euros in petty bribes in 2011. A National Survey on Corruption in Greece was published recently by Transparency International Greece, and what I found rather amusing in the report was that they also provided a "Corruption Pricelist".  Almost like a crib note or cheat sheet for those of us who are novices in the art of "greasing the palm" or  the more sophisticated term, "transactional lobbying".  But seriously, a corruption pricelist?  Priceless!

People have built careers on the success of this subcultural, if not main stream, bribery culture. But according to the report, the Greek financial crisis had an impact in the amount requested and paid in “fakelaki” (little brown envelopes) in 2011; 78m euros less than in 2010. LOL. So basically the "bribery business" is also taking a hit due to the austerity measures!  Too funny, the script writes itself, lol.

Nevertheless, the report found that the amounts spent on petty corruption remain significantly high, with hospitals, tax offices and planning offices (License construction bodies/Settlement of illegal building) the most likely places in the public sector where bribes are paid.  Lucky me.

The report also provided a profile of those who pay bribes.  The usual suspects are mainly male, aged between 45-54 years old, educated, live in Attica and are self-employed or employers.  Well, that sounds about right!

The survey also noted that citizens are now more likely to deem the non-issuance of a receipt as corruption. Really?  That seems rather hard core actually,  because it happens quite often here in Canada.  But the penalty here for even a suspicion of attempting to bypass/evade taxes is an immediate seize on your bank accounts.  Only "the stick" here, never "the carrot".

What I also found fascinating is that “Transparency International Greece" actually exists! It also promotes the "implementation and protection of whistle-blowing so that citizens can be empowered and effectively participate in the fight against corruption by reporting complaints," so says their mission statement. Maybe Boufeas (http://www.naquatec.gr/), should sit on the board of directors.

And on a positive note, the report revealed that a significant percentage of respondents said they had refused requests to pay bribes in 2011. 25.3 percent for public-sector services and 21.6 percent for the private-sector services.  Maybe there are more like Boufeas than I had originally thought.  And that he isn't alone on his crusade to drag Greece kicking and screaming into legitimacy.  And here in lies his frustration, because it is such a small insular group that on some days he surely feels that he is shovelling sand against the tide.  My Kingdom, my Kingdom for an honest mihanikos! 

I can appreciate and share  Boufeas' frustration.  Trying to follow the rules in a country where officials  seems to make them up as they go along is a huge drain on my energy and my faith in humanity.  One fakelaki (φακελακια)  here, voila, my house is legal.  Another fakelaki (little envelope) passed across a table there, voila a building permit.   But it takes an equal amount of energy and willpower to resist the dark side. 

Greece is at a crossroad and so am I.  I'd love to take the path of least resistance, who wouldn't?  If I take the true path, the path less followed, the path paved with good intentions, I tell the corrupt tradesmen and bureaucrats to take a flying leap into the Messinian Bay. I'll end up paying more in the long run, but my house will be built on a solid foundation, albeit a more expensive foundation.  Peter Boufeas, the angel on my one shoulder whispers, 'take this path.'  My former mihanikos, PI, the devil (the old Greece) on the other shoulder, smiles wryly 'take the well trodden path, koukla.'  This is the path that ultimately led Greece to where it is today.

Still, I think I'll keep the "Corruption pricelist" handy...just for fun...really.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>  Corruption pricelist 2011
		Type of service	From	Up to
Public sector	Public hospitals	Procedure/surgery	€100	€30,000
		Speeding up of case	€30	€20,000
	Tax offices	Arrangement for financial records audit	€100	€20,000
		Issuing of documents	€15	€1,000
	License construction bodies	Issuing of a construction licence	€200	€8,000
		Settlement of illegal building	€200	€5.000
Private sector	Health services (hospitals, clinics)	Procedure/surgery	€150	€7,000
		Medical tests	€30	€500
	Vehicles	MOT inspection	€20	€100
		Driver’s license	€40	€500

.