Finding Steve

I have learned that when someone close to you dies, you are forever on an incremental path of discovery of that person, whether you like it or not.  I have found that people are willing to share details of that persons life that otherwise would have been more or less...unspoken.  I find that both disturbing and exhilarating.  Just because that person is dead, does it make it ok to "gossip"?   There are a couple of adages that come to mind "if you've got nothing good to say, say nothing at all" and "never speak ill of the dead".  Both are wise, but who ever adheres to them? And what do you do, when what you've learned turns out to be a crucial piece of the puzzle that you didn't even know you were without?

You listen.  What else can you do?

I knew this Greek House meant something extremely important to my father.  I've been told he had this mania to complete it to the point where he slept on the concrete overnight and waited for the workers in the morn.  Heck, maybe I should have done that....perhaps I could have avoided the present leaky window debacle. But I digress. 

At first glance you wouldn't think it too odd that dad would hover over the workers and watch as every brick and mortar was laid.  But it became compulsive and wildly out of control.  Why would he choose to sleep there? He had places to sleep, safe places, lux places.  Wasn't ANYONE looking out for him?  Couldn't the redheaded monster, Voldemort, tell that Steve wasn't well?  Couldn't his cousin, the past mihanikos, stop for a moment from ripping him off and consider that perhaps Steve wasn't altogether?

I also recently learned that he suffered greatly.  And my heart, my heart...my heart hurts. My mind plays these events over and over and I picture him like a wounded, lonely animal labouring for no good reason in the dead heat of the Greek summer sun. 

He had 7 mini strokes.

I listened.  I listened as this random old acquaintance of dad's just "talked" about a part of my dad's life that I wasn't privy to.  As he continues, without any encouragement from me, I think, "What else does he know?" And do I pretend like I know these details or do I actually show the shock and dismay that I'm experiencing inside?

I continued to nod as if I've heard all of this before. I smiled at this old friend of dad's, trying not to show the discomfort that he is causing me.  He meant no harm, so I sat still and I listened.  He spoke so enthusiastically and with such  quirky detail about my dad and this Greek House, that I began to laugh.  He genuinely admired my father and I could sense that this man...missed him. 

"Losing family obliges us to find our family", the opening line to an essay read by Sean Connery in the movie Finding Forrester.   And as the 6th year of losing my father Steve approaches,  I feel like I'm just finding him! 

And even though I feel like I've let him down by putting the final completion of the Greek House on a temporary hold, I know that this house is the ultimate gift from him.  Because while my journey of   Finding Steve continues,  he has lead me to find that "it's not always the family that is our blood, but the family that can become our blood" that carries us through life.  Old friendships reborn and new friendships that you never knew you could live without emerge and your spirit is renewed.  Finding comfort in knowing that when the universe takes, it also gives back. 



It's true that you'll never know anyone truly and completely, especially a parent.  But you may stumble upon a handwritten note, tucked away in a drawer that was likely never meant to be found, proclaiming undying love for someone you know or perhaps don't know! Or bump into and old friend willing to share personal memories with someone that you didn't think had any real friends.   Even this Greek House, left abandoned, patiently waiting to tell it's story, chooses me to reveal it's secrets. And then suddenly insight about that parent just starts to pour in.  You welcome it,  you fear it, you crave it and you need it.

I will always listen.

 

If one is Lucky, a Solitary Fantasy can Totally Transform One Million Realities

Brilliant Sea view in Kalamata

My big, gorgeous, lonely, Greek House may not be getting a lot of physical attention these days, but it has been getting a lot of virtual attention! Through this blog!
Twenty-two posts with over 10 thousand views, which may not seem like a lot in the blogosphere, but certainly more than I would have ever wagered.  Plus, the ultimate compliment... a request to do a public reading! Wow. 

This upcoming momentous event will be held in a chic Montreal boutique bookstore and I am flattered to learn that I am slotted in with  two seasoned travel bloggers.   I thought perhaps if you were to categorize this blog maybe real estate or even memoir.  Hmm, travel blog...why not?!

A little bit shocking, really, to be asked because as a very close friend said to me, "why would they ask you?  You're not a published author."  Well, he is right and his comment practically took the bloom off the rose, but he is unaware of the social reach of blogging and just between you and me he doesn't fit the right demo anyway, lol. 

The organizers have requested that I read excerpts from four blog posts and one from a new one that has yet to be posted. 
They've given me their four selections:
"My Greece is the Taygetos Mountains"
"Where's the Street Wise Hercules to Fight the Rising Odds"
"The Reluctant Employer Part 2" and
"Perfect Imperfections"

Funny that they chose these posts because they actually are some of the more popular reads!  They range between 225-475 views.  I'm glad they selected for me though, because it would truly be a difficult task.  Every word, sentence and paragraph resonates deeply with me and it would be like picking a favourite child. Oh, please tell me which posts you like best.

Now the fifth selection poses a problem.  I have six posts in draft mode and I'm not sure which to put a finish on.  To be honest...I've kinda lost my muse.  My brain is scattered with too many incomplete thoughts and feelings and emotions.  

You see, it wasn't long ago that I wrote about how my Greek House wasn't touched by the pressure of the country's or even the world's economics and politics, but I was naïve.  I had pulled together a dream team of builders which resurrected it from its questionable start and had wrapped their collective arms around it, to shield it from unsavory characters and nurture it from its past neglect. 


But all that flurry of activity around my house has come to a grinding halt due to tumultuous circumstances beyond my control and it has weighed heavily on my chest.  And once again, it has been sadly neglected and with its faulty window installation has become damp and cold.But I remain passionate, warm and enthusiast and perhaps this opportunity to present this personal journey live, is what I need to encourage my muse to reawaken.  And to tell a personal story that readers can relate to, is what a writer, any writer, published or otherwise, strive for!  I'm beyond flattered!

I guess that when you share some of your own pain, difficulties, and setbacks, and then show how you recovered or learned a valuable lesson, you become more real and human to your readers and  allow them to see the person behind the computer.
 

leaky window

For example, one of the current setbacks are the faulty windows.  Now, I'm not an engineer/builder, but I need to understand why the windows leak.  I will research it and find a reason and when my mihanikos begins to offer his professional  take on the situation I can meet him in the middle and I'll be coming from a place of understanding and basic knowledge.   It's not that I don't trust my mihanikos, I do,  he's just not on site all the time,  but I need to always be a step ahead.  I am my father's daughter after all. You see, I can accept failure, I can't accept not trying.

Which brings me back to finishing one of the six posts that await in the drafts file.  I could do a part 2 to an existing post or better yet, a Directors Cut!  Actually, in my wildest of thoughts, I  dream that this blog gets optioned for a movie like Julie and Julia. LMAO!  Hey, like the immortal Maya Angelou said, "If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally transform one million realities."

Well right now my reality is a bit like fantasy.  I feel little like Carrie Bradshaw, from Sex and the City, when her new book just gets released and you see her reading from it at a book launch in NYC.  Ok, a bit of a stretch...its not a book and its not NYC...yet ;)



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.
 

Perfect Imperfections

Perfect.  What a deliciously alluring, seductive, tempting word.  Purrfect. A word that Eartha Kitt owned and would growl out on demand of which I've had the personal privilege of hearing.  In most cases, perfect, is hard to achieve, almost impossible.  We can only strive to be perfect, always falling short for most, and for the rare few, just out of grasp.  But is it really something to aim for?   And for which part of your life do you pour all your energies in to perhaps reach perfection? Wealth, health, relationships?  Something's got to give, right? 

Well, this house is certainly not perfect.  Except for this ceiling.  There is nothing more perfect than this ceiling.  Ok, I may be exaggerating...the house location is perfect and the view!  Lord have mercy, the view is beyond perfection!  But I had no control over that.  My father did, and he chose perfectly.

Every piece of the coffered ceiling  was cut and placed by hand, no prefab mouldings here.  A true coffered ceiling of this calibre adds the best of architectural details and elevates the worth of the house.  There can be no flaws in its geometry and I threatened Boufeas (my mihanikos) that if there was it would be horribly obvious and would have to be taken down at his expense.  He was leery at first because he said that this was a Greek house not an English house and we don't install these types of ceilings.  Having taken him again outside of his comfort zone and having to admit that he never erected one, he cleverly discovered that our foreman, Dimitri, was quite the expert on coffered ceilings.  Perfect.

I always admired the look of a coffered ceiling and how it truly does finish a room and make it grand.  The house's main floor high ceilings presented me with a rare opportunity to indulge and completely surrender to this fantasy.  It was a true labour of love, as most all good things worth fighting for are, and in this rare instance resulted in pure magic!  It was worth the wait and the cost.  It is by far, the best feature of this house.  When I finally saw it this summer, it took my breathe away.  Success!

And isn't it funny that when you want something real bad, you start seeing it everywhere!  Like a new car that you're thinking about purchasing and you see it at every turn. As many times as I've visited the Acropolis, it wasn't until this last visit that rocked my world.  As I looked skyward up the long length of the doric columns, I was delighted to only discover, you guessed it, coffered ceilings! They were suddenly everywhere! Up high running across the top of Parthenon and various other temples on the grounds, and pieces of it, down low on the ground, on its sides.  Despite dissenting voices, I couldn't help but grin and giggle as I stood there and relished that my house indeed was as Greek as it was going to get. Heh, Heh...perfect.

Am I a bit of a perfectionist?  Perhaps.  And as a culture, we tend to reward perfectionists for setting high standards and trying to meet them which is addictive.  And while I said that the ceiling is perfect, I also admitted that the house is not.  Success in some areas and failure in others.  Perfection may always equal success,  but will success bring you perfection?  Arianna Huffington was in Toronto recently launching her new concept called, the Third Metric, at a fundraiser for Women's Brain Health Initiative.  And while I do admire her willingness and ability to reinvent herself, something that I always strive for, I find this concept of taking success to another new level, a little abstract and pedantic.  Nevertheless, something she said resonated with me.  That "failure is not the opposite of success." 

 



I immediately thought of my hot yoga/fitness practice.  While its great for slowing down my monkey mind and building physical strength (success), I am otherwise absolutely horrible at it (failure).  Try as I might, I will likely never be able to do  the scale pose asana, the peacock asana, the standing splits or any kind of splits!  But I have learned to at least make an authentic attempt and reflect inward.  Trust that wherever you are in your pose, that is exactly where you need to be.  Imagine that in your minds eye that you are performing the pose/asana perfectly. 

"Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius

and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring."

Marilyn Monroe

I am learning that perfection doesn't have to be something that everyone sees, but rather a feeling a connection, to something or someone.   And that we treat it as a rare gift, because it sustains us and feeds into other parts of our lives.  It makes us feel more normal, more creative, more inspired and more strong.  Trying to live an authentic life is way more difficult than yoga asanas and building houses, but I am learning to try and be successful in smaller portions and aspects of life.  I am learning not to fear failure because its not the opposite of success!  It is after all, our imperfections that we relate and bond with one another. It is how we handle our failures and weakness that makes us truly great.

 

I close my eyes and imagine that my Greek house is perfect.  I imagine away the pergola, the window wells, the retaining walls, the front door, the kitchen door, its illegal status and that there is no window on the west side of the house.

I love my Greek house... and all its perfect imperfections.

 

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.  

Technically, House Building is not an Olympic Sport

I am indeed an Olympic junkie.  Short of wearing my 1988 Olympic Torch Relay track suit while watching the London 2012 Games, I'm pretty much dead gone.  Yes, that's right.  I carried the Torch for the Calgary 1988 Winter Games.  That was my shot at Olympic glory, a tenuous one at best, but it was my moment. 

I carried it for 2km through Orangeville Ontario on a cold winters night. The best time to carry it because the flame stretched and trailed out behind me in full glory. It was the one of the best, most memorable moments of my life.  For this torch relay they really wanted you to train, because unlike the torches they carried in London, Beijing and Vancouver, this was authentic.  Solid wood handle with a metal cauldron.  Engineers came up with a supposed lightweight design but it still weighed 3.3 lbs, plus fuel.  Sure, it was a challenge and I was ablaze with Olympic spirit, but I wasn't competing and putting myself out there to be scored and judged; I didn't win any medals.

And the motley Greek Olympic Team that led the parade of nations during the opening ceremonies at the London games this week may not win any medals either, but by writing a brilliant letter, a young Marios Chatzidimou does.  He wins gold for Greece.

He took the Gold Medal in the UPU’s 41st International Letter-Writing Competition for Young People. The 2012 edition asked young people to write a letter to an athlete or sports personality they admire to tell them what the Olympic Games mean to them.  Talk about ablaze with Olympic Spirit, he puts all of us to shame; out of the mouth of babes, as they say.

Chatzidimou, who is 14 years old, writes to his hero, the tennis player, Roger Federer and places him in ancient Olympia alongside athletes such as Diagoras of Rhodes and Polidamas where he creates a dialogue with him. “Participation, entering the contest, is already a great victory, regardless of the trophy. A victory against fears, insecurity and difficulties, of yourself, against your own vanity and selfishness.” That’s how young Chatzidimou has Federer describe the Olympic values to him. Chatzidimou criticizes the sometimes absence of fair play and the use of drugs in modern-day competitions, adding: “But for me the first Olympic Games mean neither anabolic steroids nor championship, nor financial benefits, economic crisis nor hate. They do mean joy for participating, fair play, friendship, peace and, I hope, this meaning will apply to this year’s Olympic Games.”

The UPU jury complimented his simple and creative writing style. “The composition is original, very personal and stylistically creative. The modern and historic Olympic values come out very strongly,” it said.

What does all this have to do with building a house on the side of a mountain, you are probably wondering.  Nothing and everything!  True, plastering walls, stone-cutting, and carpentry are not Olympic sports.  But young Chatzidimou's heart felt letter about values and ideals wasn't just intended for aspiring sport Olympians. 

Technically, house building is not an Olympic sport, but every metre of rock wall erected, every ton of earth moved at my house in Verga, represents a considerable challenge, especially under an inhospitable August sun. Building a house requires participants, just like a track or gymnastics team; individuals willing to put aside vanity, selfishness and personal difference to work as one. Building a house requires participants willing to engage in fair play.  No job or role is insignificant, each citizen of Greece is an indispensable member of an enormous relay team. That's how medals are won, that's how houses are built, that's how nation's overcome adversity and thrive. 

I say let the young Marios Chatzidimou have a true Olympic moment and allow him to lead the Greek Team in the closing ceremonies of the London 2012 Games, carrying the Greek Flag.  What better time than an Olympic year for Chatzidimou to remind the world and the Greek citizens themselves, that Greeks are indeed an exceptional, resilient and hardworking people.  That the Olympic triadic of Higher, Faster and Stronger should be replaced with his words, Fair Play, Friendship and Peace.  These are the Hellenic ideals that should be emblazoned across the heart of every house and home in Greece. 

I had my Olympic moment and now I sit and watch and scream and cheer while CTV's Brian Williams delivers the best Olympic coverage in the world, thank you my friend!  And as I rally for every fabulous Canadian, British and Greek awesome moment of these summer games, I can't help but think, does my 1988 Olympic Torch Relay track suit still fit me?

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.