...and the Kali Kardia Taverna...
There's
something indescribably reassuring
about
settling in behind a cold drink in an unassuming, no music, no game
machines, no-nonsense workers' bar like the spotless Kali Kadia
taverna in Othos Fountalidou, just off the Othos Kazanzakis in the
centre of Sitia in north-eastern Crete.
The
Kali Kardia is a traditional taverna, not at all touristy, with
streetside tables and chairs, friendly regulars, farmers, fishermen,
wandering cats, a lazy old dog and the occasional nosy sparrow
flitting in and out curious about the calm. And locals' drinks are
served with a mezedes of broad beans and olives or, as a special
treat,
broad beans, tomato quarters, cucumber...and
olives.
Once
you have been there twice, you are a regular - and if you eat there
in the evening, in front of the TV with owners Lena and Manolis, you are
family - and in Greece, as it was for the ancients, life is all about
family.More
than once we sat with them to watch the evening news, (delightfully
indecipherable) and the most appalling TV game show where the host
encourages the blindfolded contestants to pull a towel off the bikini
clad hostesses then guess whether they have won an increase in their
prize money for their efforts. If they lose money, the hostess shows
a large 'ZONK' sign and if they win she shows the Euro sign.
At
certain points during the show, the host will sing along tunelessly
or make strange backing noises to a once
popular
chart hit from the
sixties in the style of Karaoke.
I
have to say after watching in fascination on at least two separate
evenings, we were hooked and would hoot and boo along with the
Manolis family and friends until we could take no more and step into
the street with tears streaming down our cheeks, our faces aching
with laughter.
Most
people in this friendly village town greet you as they pass. You
receive a warm smile and a nod from Manolis' mother who each morning
comes in to clean and often sits at a table near the counter picking
over the bushes of spinach she brings in from the morning market; or
a bow from the gent who slowly makes his way to his usual seat below
the shelf supporting the TV; the students who carry their problems in
and out of the university annex across the way, all smile their
perfect smiles with "Yiassous", "Kalimeras" and
wave.
Whenever
we called in, we would sit amongst the Kali Kardia regulars,
discussing, arguing, meditating or, well, just sitting and sipping
the most amazing local lemonade we have ever tasted. Also Manolis
prepares a delicious, crispy-edged omelette served with fresh local
baked bread that comes from a bakery not a hundred yards down the
road amongst the fresh fruit shops, butchers, barber shops and more
refreshing fruit shops.
For
breakfast one day, I ordered two 'ex frie'. They arrived settled, as
is the custom, in a pool of Sitian olive oil, oil of the most
delicate and palest of pale green, on a small white plate this time
served with soft sesame bread. I took a deep breath and then dipped
a piece of the bread into the oil not knowing what to expect and
popped it into my mouth. At that moment there began a new and
fulfilling relationship between me and breakfast eggs or 'ex'. It was
something between the taste of morning sunshine and a sense of
ancient recipe. I closed my eyes and ate in silence, savouring every
mouthful. No need for Flora or Meggle now.Instead
of waiting for my bill, sometimes I would go to the counter to pay.
At first Manolis thought I was there to ask for something and looked
puzzled, but as he got to know me he would offer a tiny cup of
morning coffee, "With me - change the day!", and invite me
to stand with his friends and eat more mezedes even though I'd just
eaten. One day, after our lunch Manolis told me to take Sandy's
orange juice across the narrow street to where she sat at our table
then come back and join him and some jolly friends for a few lethal
rakis. I took Sandy's drink over to her then went back for the
diplomatic drink, some nuts and a taste of tzatziki but I was too
scared to spend the whole afternoon with my new friends so I made my
excuse, "If I stay here - it will be Iraqi for me!" They
saw the joke and while they snorted and laughed I scuttled back to
the safety of my Sandy.
So
there we'd sit, not so much on holiday but more just being
ourselves in a parallel life and watching the street scenes
unfold - the old people who stumble and stroll, or stop just to chat; the little girl who waves from the tank of her daddy's
motor scooter; the cars that park in the middle of the road whilst
the drivers nip into shops for cakes and bread; the important
shouting along the street; the grinding of the two-stroke; the woolly
old dog that slept under our table; the man with the starey eyes who
looked at everything as if for the first time in his life; the mounds
of the freshest and most fragrant of vegetables and fruit in dazzling
natural colours, freshened on the hour with sprays of precious water
- this is the stuff of everyday Sitian life. Respect according to age and for
each other. Said Sandy, "It makes you want to try it yourself
when you see what a quality of life they enjoy."
We
lived in Sitia for seven days, strolling the streets and marina
trying to understand the names and words we saw and heard, getting
hopelessly confused and sometimes completely lost. We climbed the
hill to the Byzantine site of the Kazamar Fortress and gazed with
dizzy satisfaction over the town below, its working bay and the
ancient rugged mountains guarding all its wonder.
In
the Archaeological Museum of Sitia and at the settlement of Petras,
we looked into the minds of an ancient, sensitive people and saw their thoughts
and ideas born in tangible form. There we saw the extraordinary gifts
they left to aid our positive development - art, astronomy,
mathematics, architecture, science, sculpture, sport, theatre - but
somehow, with the passing of time, I think we humans took the wrong
path. We turned outward to technology and trading instead of inwardly to the mind.
But then it takes a lot of courage to look within, and our leaders
aren't at all adventurous when it comes to that kind of daring -
which is why we
haven't
really come
very
far
in
all
this time.
One
day I had my hair cut amongst the market traders in Odos Fountalidoudos at the barber's opposite the butcher's.
Barber
- "Excuse me sir, but have you ever had your hair cut properly
before?" Cheek! He even did my nostrils, my ears AND
my
eyebrows.
But after a week I grew restless and felt the need for tranquillity because, although I grew up in a city, life has always seemed more natural amongst the trees and fields, on some strand of sand and even under the water.
So one day after snorkelling a clean but featureless sea bed, in a moment of silence whilst watching the huge Lanes Lines ferry manoeuvre stern-first up to the quay, (if you wince it looks like Dave Lines - "Ah, three-thirty, and here comes Dave."), Sandy suggested we break camp and sail the Cretan Sea to the next stage of our parallel living - and explore the village of Kritsa on the slopes of Mount Dikta, and with that she changed the day and I could stretch again.
..............................................................................................................pame!
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