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.

 

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.

 

Well, it certianly looks like a "capsule"

I'm increasingly obsessed with how time keeps moving faster as I get older.  Once again, it's Spring time in Greece and as the country blooms with colour and beautifies with natures tremendous gifts, so does my house in Verga.  It's turning into a jewel.  And with each day that passes it continues to blossom and will likely be done by end of July.  While I'm in no great hurry, time certainly seems to be. 

Four years have come and gone since my father's death. It seems that when he passed the days just seemed long and tedious, filled with endless tasks.  Now the sun rises and sets with such briskness that it leaves me winded at the end of the day, wishing it would slow down.  All I want is more time.

Time for what, exactly?  Time for adventures and experiences that are indelible. Indelible not only to me but perhaps, with any luck, to others as well.  A life well lived, with no regrets.  Full of faults, of course, but admired for its gumption, ambition and regardless of any fear factor, made an effort. 

And you know what?  That's how my father lived. 


This house that my father built over a decade ago and was left as a shell, with all its problems, was indeed a direct reflection of his endeavours as a whole.  But there must be more to my dad.  At least I have hoped and prayed that there will be more. 

So I've embarked on a memory finder mission.  And it all started with the concept of a time capsule.  Yup. Some call it a cornerstone, others a memory box, but "time capsule" is the preferred vernacular.

The idea is to consider an item, whether real or contrived, that reminds them of Steve, dad, and then place it in the time capsule.  My brothers think it to be a fine idea and once I told them, they have been busy chatting with family and friends about what they should put in.  Then we'll find a day either this Summer or Fall, to all congregate at the Verga house for a memorial of sorts to place the time capsule in the ground.

In my mind I have envisioned a quiet sunset moment, family and friend gathered around the open time capsule, each holding a memory of Steve in our hands.  Then one by one, with great laughter and joy, we place that memory in the capsule.  Idyllic. Poignant.  Sentimental.  And STUPID!  What was I thinking!  Anything involving Steve is never that tender, or gentle or just...easy. The time capsule turned into a time bomb!

Early on before I involved the brothers, I asked Peter Boufeas, my minhanikos, to set aside a spot in the ground near the house to place and bury the time capsule.  I told him that it will be a small, rectangular box, 19.8 x 18.2 x 10.3 inches, made out of composite material that can withstand large temperature fluctuations (-40F to 250F).  Easy to seal, watertight, lightweight that can be buried with no fuss.

No such luck.


My older brother really showed an interest in this project, so I thought to hand it over to him to run with.  He decided that the time capsule that I wanted, which would come from a company that specializes in time capsules, wasn't good enough.  So without further consultation, he went off and had one designed and built in a matter of days.  No one said he wasn't a doer.  What resulted was nothing like I had described.  In fact, it's the complete opposite.

Steel time capsule

"Well", I said to him, "it certainly looks like a...capsule".  "How on earth will you get this past customs?  It looks like a missile...a bomb."  Well, if his time capsule doesn't start WWIII at customs, it certainly started one at my house that afternoon.  Sigh. 

It's made out of steel and weighs a ton.  Seriously, I broke out in a sweat just moving it to take this picture.  lol.  It will require a gasket that my brother says will be hot silicon glue. On site?  Who is going to facilitate that?  And when you place the items in the cylinder, you can't view them after because its stacked.  And how do you bury it? 
 Vertically??? But, it will be water tight and endure temperature changes....oh and of course, a nuclear bomb.  



Steel time capsule open

My brother and I had a cold war for about a week after, but I've come to terms with it.  He left it in my foyer as punishment for being ungrateful.  lol. He did paint it to make it look nice and purchased archival sleeves, pens and paper.  I know what he did came from a good place.

The only problem I have with it now is that it's triple the volume than the original small discrete box.  What will we fill it with?  I only have one small item.  I'm worried.  Will our memorial for dad turn into a trip down nightmare lane  rather than memory lane?  Do we have enough "memories" to put in it? 

I only want good ones...



 

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.

I Almost Forgot

Leave it to Google to remind me of my youthful influences.  Just seeing the pictorial tribute to Odysseus Elytis with the Olive Tree, a Vineyard and a Boat, had me inhale sharply and made my heart race.  A wash of Theodorakis music played in my head and nostalgia created a lump in my throat.  Who else can do this, but a poet!

A few loose pages of poems tucked in between an old tattered book, travelled across the Atlantic in my mum's book bag.  Eventually, "Sun The First Together With Variations on A Sunbeam" (Ηλιος ο πρώτος, παραλλαγές πάνω σε μιαν αχτίδα, 1943) found its way on top of the old HiFi turntable console, a place of honour, next to Robert Frost.  Poetry resonates deeply with Greek people and my parents were often walking testaments to this.  He wasn't just any poet.  He won the 1979 Nobel Prize in Literature.   

As I grew older I appreciated his poetry even more once it was put to music, of course,  by legendary Mikis Theodorakis.  "Axion Esti-It Is Worthy" became an anthem of sorts to the modern Greek of 1964 and beyond.  My dad, even though he wasn't very modern, connected some how to Elytis words. And through the wicked combination of Elytis and Theodorakis I also found a connection... with my dad.  

I almost forgot.

He'd pop the tape in the car and we'd listen to the music during the morning weekend drive to open the restaurant.  He'd ask, "do you understand what he is saying here, Tzaki?" If I didn't understand he'd stop the tape and try to translate the word, the meaning.  And dad was spot on, with the meaning of Elytis.  Dad said that he is speaking to 'us', not the ancients or about the ancients, but to me and you. 

And indeed Elytis, "Unlike others, he did not turn back to Ancient Greece or Byzantium but devoted himself exclusively to today's Hellenism, of which he attempted - in a certain way based on psychical and sentimental aspects - to build up the mythology and the institutions. His main endeavour has been to rid his people's conscience from remorses unjustifiable, to complement natural elements through ethical powers, to achieve the highest possible transparency in expression and to finally succeed in approaching the mystery of light, "the metaphysic of the sun" - according to his own definition."



Look its plastered!

Psychical and sentimental indeed describes Elytis work and aspects of my father that I've never considered.  And perhaps it also describes me and my Greek house.   (Which has progressed considerably and I must update you on!)

And today's modern Greek has forgotten the wave of positive influences that Elytis had on the attitude and worth of self.  It's 101 years from his birth, holding a book, poems in flight and Google has shown Odysseus Elytis in his quintessential sailor's hat with the Olive Tree, a cluster of grapes and the Boat.  Why?

Because Elytis had once said, "If you deconstruct Greece, at the end you will see that you are left with an olive tree, a vineyard and a boat. Which means that you can rebuild it,"   Wow, his words just jump off the page considering the climate and chaos that Greece finds itself.  Thanks for reminding us Google.

And my mum's book of poetry has lost its cover.  It has yellowed and its tips have turned in; it is well thumbed.  It now sits proudly on my office shelf along with Frost, Tennyson, Noyes (nothing beats The Highwayman) and a full collection of Dr Seuss.

 

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

.