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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Greece is the Taygetos Mountains

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

The Taygetos Mountains

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

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

Driving the Taygetos

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

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



The renovated, not restored village house

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

Looking for the stream

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

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

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

This Verga house has some stiff competition.