Verga, the Beverly Hills of Kalamata

Springtime in Greece is divine. While the olive tree does dominate the Greek landscape, its the Almond tree with its blossoms bursting with white, pink and fuchsia that leaves you stunned this time of year.  Their colour and fragrance just leaves your mouth agape, wanting to drink them in.  Its one of natures moments that you must experience because its so very brief.

I don't have an almond tree on my property in Verga.  Just olives and spring wild greens that my friend tells me are mixed with some edibles. I'd also love to plant a couple of lemon trees near the kitchen and mini French lilacs leading up to the front walk.  And the pan-ultimate would be to have Lily of the Valley carpeting every spot with their perky green leaves and most delicate uber fragrant, tiny, white flowers.  That is my most favourite flower, nothing compares!  I'm hoping to anyway. Because that's what you do in the Spring right?  Hope.

Amongst many other things, I was hoping that the Canadian dollar would rebound in the new year.  But it continues to take a beating next to the inflated American dollar and as a result the exchange rate with the euro is deadly, hence one of the main reasons for the construction delay.  I'm not horribly disappointed, just slightly bewildered.
 

 

But my spirits are high, I remain unflappable with my desire to complete this house. And steadfast that Boufeas will continue to buff and shine this rare gem, until it meets his high standards. My house is not immune to typical construction delays, but I guess slow and steady wins the race.  Even though that cliché doesn't fit my personal outlook on various endeavours, it does however seem to fit this circumstance quite well.  Especially when it comes down to the legalisation of the house and property because the bylaws keep changing.  For example, up until a few weeks ago, I thought that I had legalised the "house" the entire "structure" by paying a lump sum, but I was surprised and shocked to learn that I had only legalised the first floor of the house and not the second.  Talk about a cash grab.  After my head stopped spinning and having thrown a very controlled, even-tempered adult tantrum,  mihanikos Giannopoulos calmly and patiently stated, "that this current situation is the best so far and may end this for once and for all!" Please, no more surprises, I detest surprises.  Then again, you are only safe from surprise when you're dead.

 

But sometimes, very rarely, surprises can be enlightening! And I was quite pleasantly surprised to have read that the house is in what is now considered the Beverly Hills of Kalamata...Verga! Can you believe it? Verga?  I still can't stop laughing. 

 

A Self-proclaimed Beverly Hills, no doubt, but the moniker has picked up steam.  Some real estate sites are using this label quite liberally and with abandon and why not?  Its certainly does conjure up the right images.  Or does it?  The urban dictionary describes Beverly Hills as the playground for the ultra rich and famous and identified by its palm tree-lined streets, sunshine and atrocious property values. A city of about 30,000 residents almost completely surrounded by the city of Los Angeles between Hollywood/West Hollywood to the east, Bel-Air to the West, Westwood and the campus of UCLA to the south and the Hollywood Hills to the north. Some of its most famous streets include Hollywood Blvd, Sunset Blvd., and Doheny Drive. Rodeo Drive and the Beverly Hills Hotel are probably its two most famous icons. B.H. is the world's capital of plastic surgery, bods and beamers. Its rich, arrogant, pretentious pricks can be frequently seen with sunglasses driving an expensive car while talking on their cellphone. It has become a hideout for the rich and famous. Perhaps that's why the city has so many rehab clinics for Hollywood stars.  Charming place, lol.

Verga is lined with olive trees, sunshine and the beginnings of atrocious property values.  Its just outside the borders of Kalamata and doesn't  boast any Universities or even a library. It does however have some great chic nightclubs.  The winding roads have no names and if they do only the water department knows them. Everyone does have a cellphone and while they certainly are calling their plastic surgeons, they are mostly on facebook being insufferable.  I personally wouldn't want to live in Beverly Hills, California, I'm a mountain girl who enjoys pressing olives for oil, and visiting NYC on a whim, but then again Greeks have this obsession with all things foreign, or all things "not-Greek".  Hence the steady and systematic chipping away of their culture.  This disorder even has a name, "xenomania". 

 

But what I do like about Verga being associated with Beverly Hills, it that it suggests luxury.  Not just in the quality and amenities that the current houses have, (the neighbour behind me has an elevator), but in its location.  Verga may not have all the bells and whistles as its twin, but what it does have is its plum sprawling upper and lower mountain position with grand sweeping vistas of the magnificent Messinian Bay and the ever present Taygetos in Southern Greece. Verga is Mediterranean, while Beverly Hills is a wannabe, its fake, its "faux-med"! lol.   For sure the rich and famous could hideout here and likely already do. Location in real estate is everything.

 

I'm no expert, but finding that new, trendy, up and coming location is what makes real estate so seductive and addictive.  And that's what's happening in Messinia.  To my horror, its no longer Greece's best kept secret, but to the delight of my mihanikos, Peter Boufeas, the budding real estate mogul.  What used to be a 10 hour drive from Athens to Kalamata, is now only 3 hours since the new super highways that got blasted through the mountains.  Posh hotels are popping up this year and a Spaceport in 2015 will commence construction.  Yes, Kalamata is the new Cape Canaveral.  Crazy.  Wonder what my dad would have thought of all these astounding changes happening in his home town.  He wouldn't believe it!  Or would he?  Perhaps he was a visionary, who always played his cards close to his chest.  He would mutter rather frequently, "I know nothing, I come from a small village," most times being sarcastic but perhaps pretending on occasion, it seems, to be out of the loop.  Hmm, rather clever.



Look at the vintage tiles and the ladder!
 Love to have this.

And while location is a huge deal worthy of all the attention, its also really important, in my opinion,  to focus on the other aspects of the house that are also permanent – the layout and the exposure to natural light, which my house excels in.  My house has unique outdoor spaces, which Boufeas gets full credit for, and takes advantage of all the natural light that Southern Greece has to offer, but so do most of my neighbours. Some even have self-cleaning pools, others have elevators but none will have coffered ceilings, two master bedrooms and the ultimate...two massive walk-in closets! Well, three, if you count the front hall closet.  So very North American. Brilliant.

Selling this Greek House was always the plan, but I don't think I ever could.  How could I?  I completely adore it without any reservation.  Now, I do read a lot, in fact a really close friend said that to me, almost as a criticism, but from what I've read, when it comes to selling, the bottom line is: List when you need to. And I really don't need to.  Besides, I would never sell it for less than its worth, unlike the Greek Government who is selling because it needs to.  Selling the old Athens Airport, Hellenikon, which is considered a piece of prime seaside real estate and considered the biggest free space in the whole of Europe, 6.2 million square metres to foreign investors makes me cringe.  China's Warren Buffet is being lauded to have picked this up at a low-priced, high value investment and chooses to take advantage and buys into bottom of Greek market, for what is considered a bargain at $1.2 billion.

My father was by no means the Greek-Canadian version of Warren Buffet, but it seems that he had the sense to do the same and pick up this Greek property during the drachma days.  And now, this Verga property has become My Beverly Hills East House, a high value investment. 

Well played dad, well played.
 

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. 

Not My Kind of Boys Club

You know, you'd think I'd be used to the yelling and the posturing of Greek men, because I grew up with three of them. My brothers are great accomplished men but when we all lived together with dad, we had to protect ourselves; he was a bully. And I certainly was no shrinking violet. I got right in there and battled with the best of them.

My training in the trenches, with General Ghangis Khan (that's what I called dad, inside voice only) would later serve me well in my media career. When I was paired up with two male broadcasters known for their "high maintenance" status, I managed them well and with great success. It garnered me a badge of honour among my peers and secured my position in the boys club.

So knowing that I can certainly hold my own with the opposite sex, and with the attitude of  'been there, done that', 'got the war wounds to prove it', I got set to do  battle once again with the old guard in Kalamata. I was in Greece for 10 days, this past February, a limited time for sure because of a deadline that needed my attention. The illegalities of the house needed to be rectified or declared, by the end of the month, or thus pay a fine. It had been decided that I would attempt to purchase some land adjacent to mine to shore up my acreage and thus bypass the penalty that would ensue. But something far more interesting developed.


Sunny Athens, Courtesy of Peter Boufeas

My father's younger brother, an American from NJ, and his wife, had decided to visit their daughter in Athens who had just had twin boys. The timing was perfect, so I had asked them to join me for a couple of days in Kalamata to chat with PI about the situation with the house. The thought was, that if I had some American muscle accompany me to the meeting with PI the original builder/engineer mihanikos (μηχανικος) , that this time he would acquiesce.

I secured an evening appointment with PI and chose not to disclose that I had family in tow.  PI is a tall man, robust, fair skinned with a bristly face.  Non threatening actually, as he sat slouched  behind his desk.  As I lead my entourage into his office, his eyes widen with surprise, especially when he sees my Uncle, his cousin, my father's brother, standing there.

We opened with the obvious pleasantries, but once we launched into the details of the house, he was aggressive and defencive.  We were not prepared at all!  PI had rebuttals for every question, statement  and possible solutions that we offered. In fact, he was steadfast and insistent that there are no obstacles or illegalities with the house and nothing holding back the completion of the house.  What is he talking about? What am I missing here?  He even went so far as to boldly say that we didn't even require a building permit.  That to me was so insulting to my intelligence, that if I had a firmer grasp of the Greek language, I would have ripped him a new one and the whole town of Kalamata would have heard me.  Alas, I suffer from GSL (Greek as a Second Language) and  besides, the Oxford Greek English Dictionary that I toted around was not exactly the source for the words that I was looking for.  In fact, is there such a phrase book?  Let me know.

I left the meeting feeling defeated, confused and in desperate need of an ice cold grey goose martini. Actually, I wouldn't mind one right now.  It was very late and I left my laptop back at my Theo's (Uncle θείο ), house, so I found my way to an Internet Cafe along the paralia (παραλια beach). It was horrid, smokey, full of testosterone and smelled of sweat.  The men stared with disbelief that I dare enter the boys club, but I didn't care, I needed to communicate with Peter Boufeas my builder/engineer mihanikos (μηχανικος).  I took the opportunity to then pour over all the emails that Boufeas had sent me regarding the illegalities of the house and then I suddenly realized what PI was really telling me that evening; hire him back to finish the house.

Boufeas  (http://www.naquatec.gr/), received my SOS email and came down willingly, without complaint (at least not to me) from Athens to Kalamata the next day, a three hour drive.   I set up a another meeting with PI for that evening and this time Boufeas was coming with me.  

We were like a small army, five in total. The Americans, myself, Mr. Parthenios and Peter Boufeas.  We marched right into PI office with great determination and let's just say, Boufeas went all 'gangsta' on him.   As their voices grew louder and their body language shifted to attack mode, I would cringe and look away from the scene unfolding. Soon, the verbal attacks grew more personal. First, performing a character assassination on my father postmortem and then on each others status as professional engineers. Geez, talk about a boys club.  I sat there beside Peter and all I could do was watch him fight for me.   Demanding that PI own up to the issues with the house and property and help rectify the situation, so that I may continue to build the house legally, with Boufeas as the new mihanikos. 


I tried to sit still, but I started to have a physical reaction to the verbal blows, so I actually had to get up and leave the room, briefly...a real first for me.  Can you believe it?   See, I've been absent from that war room scene for some time now,  I married an Englishman, and life is considerably less combative as a result.  Nevertheless, my husbands pet name for me  is "little fists", as opposed to, "oh, my delicate little orchid."  I realized right there and then, that I'm like a war veteran who has seen so much action that when a car backfires they duck and cover because they think its a bomb going off. LOL.

The best thing I've ever seen.

When I returned to the room, the melee was over.  PI looked drained and was slumped back in his chair like one of Muhammad Ali's sparring partners, battered, bloodied and hanging onto the corner ropes.  Boufeas then informed me that PI had finally conceded that my house was indeed illegal, that he ultimately was responsible and was now willing to help rectify the situation.  I was gobsmacked, to use one of Boufeas' English expressions.  I was gone for five minutes and the issue was resolved?  Boufeas, flushed, looked snidely in the direction of his vanquished opponent who sat in a crumpled, sweaty, embarrassed heap behind his desk.  Boufeas looked at me and smiled.  'My work here is done,' he said, and made a hasty and triumphant exit out the door.  I didn't need American muscle, I thought to myself, I have Superman.

So this is not my kind of boys club, it's dirty and hits below the belt and I honestly don't want any part of it.   And Boufeas clued in rather quickly, mercifully.  He knows it's personal for me and I'm angry and its raw. I'm content to be on the fringe during these types of confrontations and I'm sure Κυριε Boufeas, I mean Clark Kent, is too.

Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?

It has been a uphill battle, a true polemic for sure and it continues to be.  I'm having trouble securing the elusive 700sqm needed to round out my property to equal 4 acres (stremmata στρέμματα) and as a result I may end up paying a huge fine.  My fists are up and I'm ready to dodge and weave.  I'm not down for the count.

It would have been a lot worse, however, if I had never found Peter Boufeas, my engineer/builder (mihanikos μηχανικος).  Some would say that I played "Internet roulette" and lucked out that I didn't get the bullet in the head. But I don't gamble. I'm a risk taker, methodical and well researched, but not a gambler. You'll never find me pulling the handle on a slot machine, crossing my fingers and holding a plastic cup waiting for the coins to spill out. Moronic. You may find me however waiting in line at Caesars Palace with a martini to get tickets for the Cher concert.

His company, Naquatec S.A. (http://www.naquatec.gr/), was one of six that I had contacted 3 years ago. Dad died in April of that year and I made contact with Boufeas and the others in July.  I needed to fire the original  builder/mihanikos μηχανικος, known here only as PI, but I needed to find another first. 

Based on what my father revealed to me during his last few months, he did not trust PI anymore.  Actually, "trust" is the wrong word...dad didn't trust anyone.   More along the lines that PI did not have my father's best interests at heart.  From what I recall, the roof construction was the tipping point for dad, so he asked his brother Nikita, may his memory be eternal, for another builder.  Nikita found some one else to put the roof on at half the price. As a result of this, the relationship soured between PI and dad and thus the project lapsed.  If only dad really knew how bad the situation was with the house...but his instincts were correct.  So with that limited information, I trusted my father and ventured forth looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack; an honest builder in Greece.

Vetting the 6 builders was certainly a process of elimination and it wasn't necessarily what Boufeas said, but rather what the others did not say. They were vague and evasive and didn't take my enquires seriously.   While a couple of them did respond, it wasn't with eagerness or enthusiasm, but almost like I was bothering them.  Perhaps if I was male, they would have regarded the queries as legitimate.  I needed answers right away and I pressed one builder so hard with questions that he just gave up!  Peter Boufeas, confronted with the same series of questions, gave it as good as he got it.  Not only did he answer all my questions with specifics and details, he also offered to visit the property and meet with my Uncle (Theo θείο ), Mr. Parthenios.  Excellent.

Turns out that Boufeas is from the very same town, Kalamata and not only has he built houses in the region of Messinia, but also has done works for the town.  So I knew  he was connected.  Look, I interview people for a living.  And over my 12 years in the media business I've spoken to Prime Minister's, Police Chief's, movie stars, doctors, lawyers, horse whisperers, Mayors, authors, journalists, drug addicts, bank robbers, psychics and porn stars...I'm not afraid to talk to anyone. Besides, the cream always rises to the top. 

So, if you haven't heard me speak of him before, be prepared because he plays a significant role in the telling of this corrupt story. He is the protagonist, the leading man and if I had to cast a Hollywood actor to play his part for the making of this movie, it would be Hugh Grant. But not the self-deprecating introvert character that Grant often portrays.  Boufeas is half English, half Greek which automatically gives him an edgier vibe.  Uber confident, smart, bursting with flare and drama, a real man's man, yet has a refined coolness that reigns him in from time to time.

He is a good family man, preppy and slightly overly domesticated, and he can be paternalistic with me on occasion, which annoys me, but secretly welcomed...especially when negatives things have been said about my father.  He once said to me, early on, which surprised me, "Don't go into that meeting with that tone and body language. You'll get their back up and nothing will get accomplished." Damn, am I that antagonistic?  He is actually quite intuitive, for a man. 

Boufeas did a lot of the early leg work revealing the illegalities of the house and property on spec, which of course we all know was a shock to me and quite unbelievable.  And he offered solutions that were honest and forthright, not convoluted and deceptive.  And he continues to battle for me, which goes above and beyond his job description.  He is a real patriot and I think he sees himself as a warrior of sorts, a demi-god, fighting through all the negative branding that Greek people have endured, rightly or wrongly, and by default unfortunately, he is also lumped into.   

So in the immortal questions that  Bonnie Tyler begs the answers to, "Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?  Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds? "  He is right here ladies and gentlemen, Mr Peter Boufeas.

Sure, I'm paying a premium for Boufeas' full service business, I know that.  But he brings peace of mind knowing that he is operating an honourable company, above board and without a tainted history. 

He is a straight shooter and can roll with the corrupt red necks in Verga, because if it weren't for him, I may have broken a few.

My Greece is the Taygetos Mountains

I feel like I need to explain my comments about Verga.  Today its a posh part of town, by virtue of its proximity to the beaches and soaring mountain views.  Its great real estate.  That unknown hillside that my house is on, is only unknown to me and likely loved by the locals.  It still looks to me like grazing fields for sheep and goats.  Certainly uninspiring and lacks in any historical significance.

The Taygetos Mountains

Now the Taygetos Mountains, well, you don't need a history lesson from me.  Whenever I drive thru them I recall ancient history, of course, but also history that is within reach of my relatives. My grandparents hiding in the mountain caves from the Nazis.  My mother, a very young girl, sleeping with a pistol under her pillow fearing the Italians will come and take her hens.  She hide out there for weeks in her stone kalivi (καλύβη), shack, on the property called St Nicholas.  See what I mean?  Important stuff here. Verga, not so much.  Kinda boring.

There is nothing boring however about my history with the Taygetos and experiencing something for the first time!  Your first time far away from home.  Your first time you shoot a rifle.  Your first time hitch hiking.  Your first kiss.  Your first attempt to skinny dip.  It's thrilling, exciting and ultimately you want to do it again! 

Driving the Taygetos

Well the first time I experienced the Taygetos Mountain, I was 9. Travelling with my family to Greece, for the first time.  I was asleep in the car my father bought, an old green Simca, that took more water than gas.  When we reached the village house, it was dark and they put me to bed.  I woke up the next morning in a strange house, that was cool and had a sweet smell.  I walked across the floor in my bare feet to the shutter doors that lead to a small balcony and when I opened and step out into the sunlight, I gasped.  Never in all of my  9 years have I ever seen anything so magnificent.  My first experience of being surrounded by mountains!  It was for me like being in a fairy tale. 

I took my breakfast in a tree that morning, chamomile tea and a hard boiled egg from the hens on the property.  I pretended I was a naritha (νεράιδα), a woodland fairy, that lived in the mountains.  My brothers thought I was ridiculous.  Especially when I cried at the suggestion of spending the day at the beach.  I just wanted to go for yet another hike and pick wild berries and torture mindiria, the native small lizard.  Please, their tails grow back.



The renovated, not restored village house

Oh I came out of my dream world eventually that summer.  My brothers and I had a grand time.  I learned to shoot a rifle and how to make a cicada a pet.  I tolerated the beaches in Kalamata because that's what you do in the summer on vacation, apparently.  The mountains and I, however, imprinted on each other over those three months.  And when it was time to go back to Toronto, my heart was broken.  My dad, to placate me, a rare moment, promised he'd send me back.

Looking for the stream

Well, dad did send me back, 6 years later, by myself.  Another first.  And when I took the local bus up the mountain to the village house it was like Christmas to me.  I got off the bus a stop early, at Artemisia and attempted to walk the rest of the way to Pyges.  Nothing had changed.  Except I was older, a young teenager, and I was schlepping luggage up a mountain!  I must have looked like an idiot tourist, actually I was an idiot tourist.   Luckily, a very friendly young man took pity on me and offered me a ride.  Danger.  No, only in Toronto.  Turns out he was an American Greek film maker and was heading to Pyges to visit an old family friend.  So I hitched a ride.  Another first.

His name was Anesti. (Remember him, Xanthipi? LOL.)  He was dreamy.  And well, he and I shared some fun moments.  What happens on the Taygetos stays on the Taygetos ;)

So 10 years ago or so, when dad said, that he was going to build a house in Verga, I was uninterested.  Kinda put off.  We have a house, the village house on the Mountain.  That is our spot, my spot!  Nothing can compare.  Nothing will ever compare.

This Verga house has some stiff competition.