Thursday 28 February 2013
Pink on the White Mountains
I want to tell you that this morning the peaks of the White Mountains glowed with a pinkish hue in the early morning light. Walking around our little piece of Crete I was stunned by the beauty which surrounded me. The wild flowers had appeared silently and suddenly. A sea of purple, blue and fuchsia anemone glowed amongst tiny marigold, white daisies and yellow Maltese buttercups. Luminous weeds all displaying magnificent resilience, shape and volume are a fitting background to such a tapestry.
Thursday 21 February 2013
A Lesson in Slurping
It June 2000 Pantelis celebrated a name day. He planned a party in his village house which we had rented and already occupied for two weeks – our first fourteen days in Crete. We weren’t sure what a Name Day meant but we suspected that in Crete it was even more important than a birthday. We decided on our contribution -- the largest water melon we could carry.
We waited in Villa Ilios until the old wall clock showed seven in the evening. Was the party being held elsewhere we worried? Should we arrange tables outside on the veranda? It was almost dark, the mosquitoes were active and moths flung themselves towards the light. If nobody came to the house how many weeks would we need to consume our massive piece of fruit?
My husband Matt glimpsed a man lighting the barbeque. They saluted each other through black billowing smoke. As Anna, the wife of Pantelis, rushed indoors with tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and onions she gestured to me. I suspected it was my job to prepare many salads. While I peeled, skinned, chopped and cried I was delighted to see women from the village appear with trays of pies, freshly baked bread, local sausages and various dips. The aroma of barbequed meat rose into the night air.
But where was Anna? ‘She’s weeding the garden,’ Matt whispered. ‘What?’ I screeched, ‘She’s weeding the garden while I need her help. ’Anna carried the weeds indoors and swamping them in a sink of cold water she washed and rinsed, washed and rinsed over and over and over, then having strained the ‘weeds’ she steamed them in large pan. The contents were drained and strained, showered with olive oil and lemon juice and we all sat down to enjoy a delicacy.
In my bowl an island of dark green floated in pale green water. I observed the guests slurping enthusiastically. The quality of these horta (wild greens) was exceptional Pantelis explained. He slapped Matt on the back and gave him an encouraging look. Matt reluctantly took up his spoon, slurped and smiled. Following his example I slowly sampled the dish – and in no time I too was enjoying my first taste of horta while learning to slurp as noisily and appreciatively as the locals.
We waited in Villa Ilios until the old wall clock showed seven in the evening. Was the party being held elsewhere we worried? Should we arrange tables outside on the veranda? It was almost dark, the mosquitoes were active and moths flung themselves towards the light. If nobody came to the house how many weeks would we need to consume our massive piece of fruit?
My husband Matt glimpsed a man lighting the barbeque. They saluted each other through black billowing smoke. As Anna, the wife of Pantelis, rushed indoors with tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and onions she gestured to me. I suspected it was my job to prepare many salads. While I peeled, skinned, chopped and cried I was delighted to see women from the village appear with trays of pies, freshly baked bread, local sausages and various dips. The aroma of barbequed meat rose into the night air.
But where was Anna? ‘She’s weeding the garden,’ Matt whispered. ‘What?’ I screeched, ‘She’s weeding the garden while I need her help. ’Anna carried the weeds indoors and swamping them in a sink of cold water she washed and rinsed, washed and rinsed over and over and over, then having strained the ‘weeds’ she steamed them in large pan. The contents were drained and strained, showered with olive oil and lemon juice and we all sat down to enjoy a delicacy.
In my bowl an island of dark green floated in pale green water. I observed the guests slurping enthusiastically. The quality of these horta (wild greens) was exceptional Pantelis explained. He slapped Matt on the back and gave him an encouraging look. Matt reluctantly took up his spoon, slurped and smiled. Following his example I slowly sampled the dish – and in no time I too was enjoying my first taste of horta while learning to slurp as noisily and appreciatively as the locals.
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