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.  

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.