Dining with Nymphs

Evenings in the village of Oia, on the island of Santorini, bring the most exquisite images in the world...

 It was necessary to leave our quarters by 7PM, as my elderly companion sported a cane and orthopedic shoes. On her last journey abroad, she had been thrown from  an open jeep on the Balearic Islands.

Rose was quite an adventurer for a woman in her eighties. We were making the pilgrimage to the most Westerly point on the island, to view the world renowned sunset.  Along with hundreds of camera toting tourists, we hobbled along the singular cobble stoned path that wove in and out of the mountain.

 Rose hesitated, and walked with great caution,  while chatting incessantly along the way, reading aloud every sign that was written in English. The store names , Restaurant names, street names and warning signs….. noticeably very annoying to everyone behind us.

Upon our arrival at the designated viewpoint, she was quite miffed to see the hundreds of people that were standing huddled in a pack , and the rest strewn about on the craggy cliff …hanging on to the rock formations with one cheek of their derrieres.

Not too far in the distance, a little further north, I could see a sliver of a terrace through the mountain. I realized the sun had already dropped considerably, so I rather hurriedly asked  her if she was up to walking a bit more…in search of a place to sit down.  She hesitated, but  I took her arm to guide her, stumbling and slipping, first up, then around, then down, and then finally up again to the terrace. It wasn’t exactly a terrace, but rather a landing of sorts, behind an enormous whitewashed limestone structure that seemed to be well hidden from anyone’s view. With great labor, and as patiently as I could (considering the sun was just about to vanish)…I helped her to sit on an overturned clay pot. 

We actually did miss the entire setting of the sun as we rambled about in search of the terrace.The darkness began to set in, as the sky turned pinkish grey, bluish and then black  right before our eyes.

 In that moment, I realized that I had no idea where we were, how we got there and how to find our way back.  I could see the panic come over Rose's face, as she had simultaneously had the same epiphany.

I told her to just sit there, and wait, while I went in search of someone to help us.  I navigated around the huge structure which consisted of white blobs of limestone jutting precariously in and out of the cliffs. It seemed like an eternity later, that I came upon a beautiful obscured very grand door . I was quite relieved to find the bell, which I immediately rang.

A very elegant older “gentleman”  with white hair that glowed like the whitewashed  limestone, gently and rather slowly opened the door. “He” was attired in a suit with a silk jabot , against a backdrop of  a  rather decadent yet appealing interior. 

 It appeared to be some kind of private club? restaurant, as tuxedoed waiters and well dressed guests milled about. I did my best to explain my situation in my extremely limited Greek, along with some charade moves and sign language, imitating a limp and pointing to the rear of the building.  I truly believe he still had no idea what I was talking about, but he nodded quite approvingly. 

So, I went back to get Rose.

I am sure it was an hour later when we finally arrived at that door, and rang the bell. The same “gentleman” once again slowly opened the door, and silently motioned for us to follow him.  As she hobbled through the elegant room in her white orthopedics, Rose's interest and delight were palpable. 

 We were seated exactly in the center of the gloriously appointed room, which afforded us a spectacular view of the candle lit steps that seemed to lead nowhere . Both elated at the strange and quite magnificent surroundings, we were totally immersed in observing every aspect of  the clientele, which included some fashionable middle aged men in business  suits, very wealthy looking older gentlemen , a smattering of well coiffed middle aged women, and, several mannish looking women in tuxedos.  A few very beautiful young women were strolling about, stopping every now and them to chat with a random guest.

  Our table was set in embroidered white linen finery , sterling silver and crystal accoutrement's against a huge bouquet of pale pink roses amidst magnificent local flora.  There was also a beautiful tiny silver bell placed on the table. A waiter cautiously approached us with a very grand champagne stand, which he placed to Rose's left side. Without further ado, he brought the champagne, very deftly and quietly uncorked the bottle and poured a tasting into my glass.

I addressed him as “Monsieur” and gave him a big nod “NEH!”.

As we toasted to our good fortune of finding this place, Rose removed the bottle from the stand and inspected the label.   Armand De Brignac Methouselah Midas. To our extreme horror, we had recently read in one of the tourist pamphlets, that this notorious brand of champagne comes at a price of $120,000.

Well, we certainly couldn’t make a “run” for it with Rose in tow.  Before we knew it, the Waiter arrived with some Pheasant which , like the champagne, we did not order.

I looked at Rose's  flushed worrisome face and told her to sit back, relax and enjoy it, as there was naught we could do.  She broke into a slight smile, and then, as she got tipsier, a huge cackling laugh. We just sat and ate, mostly without benefit of conversation because she was getting tipsy, and no longer sat too upright.

Out of nowhere, and rather loudly, (thank God in English) She began a slurred diatribe about nymphs, cross-dressers, pimps and johns. I intended to just disregard her babble, however, I did notice a plethora  of well dressed singular men going up the candle lit staircase to the interior caves on the periphery.

     

Rose was asleep by now, so I decided to take a chance, and head up the staircase. I slowly and cautiously approached the door to one of the caves. The door had been left slightly ajar, so I squinted and pressed an eye to the opening.

Before my eye was an exquisitely lush and luxurious room , with heavy velvet drapes of blood red, gaudy yet dazzling crystal chandeliers and crystal sconces holding candles. The  aromatic fragrance of bougainvillea and jasmine clung to the tapestries of various eroticism that hung on the walls. Stunning Nubian women with porcelain skin barely clad in white robes were reclining on plush gold velvet settees. Some of the women were passionately being attended to by the lecherous though well dressed men in suits.

A moment later, I was escorted to the front door by the "gentleman" with the beautiful white hair, where I waited for Rose. She was being delivered to me by 2 men in fishing caps. The "gentleman" opened the front door and escorted us to our taxi's.

DRIVERS.....

OUR TAXIS

The Dark Spot

I've had the pleasure of being alive for a lot longer than I believe was originally intended. Perhaps it can be called grace, good fortune, serendipity or just plain luck. Due to these circumstances beyond my control, I have lived a life of great adventure and risk-taking, "Nomadic Interludes"; both real and imagined...totally oblivious to any consequences there might be laying in the near or distant future.

There was a tiny village atop a cliff on the shores of The Adriatic. The ash of rock dust and volcanic matter wafted in the air echoing the souls of those lost to the rubble of centuries gone by. One could smell it, feel it, hear it, breathe it in and feel it in their blood.

I first came to this place to fulfill a dream of an elderly Aunt, who wanted my companionship on her quest to see Greece before she passed. I never dreamed of the overwhelming effect that would capture my soul, leaving me breathless.

The village is a sacred one, hushed by the very air I breathe, and most people do not speak above a whisper.  The indelible cobalt skies betray the solitude, as do the colorful fishing boats along the rocky coast that lays hundreds of steps beneath the city. Dark Spots appear sporadically, darting out from behind walls as I hesitantly maneuver the uneven paths to explore my surroundings. One Dark Spot lingers in my view, as the relentless wind formed a tunnel that held the Spot immobile. 

As I got closer to the Spot, I noticed it had a lump of bramble and vines persistently lashing at it with full force. Another few steps and I was face to face with a very tiny, very old weathered face entangled in the black and the serpentine green vines. I reached out to steady the whirling dervish as she weakly uttered "Eh...Eh...eeeeehhhhh". We were blown into a higher rock wall and I found myself clinging to her. The black tentacles, the vine, the brambles and the face had become one with me. Suddenly my new appendage got up, taking me with her.  She dragged me along until we got to the precipice where the rock steps headed straight down to the sea.  As we descended the steps, I was fully aware that the biting, acerbic windy wet mist encasing everything in its path could sweep us up.

 My darting Dark Spot was unaware of me, and flitted and tossed about on her mission to get to her dwelling.

She stumbled to the right, just about 6 steps from the sea and unwittingly dragged me with her into a cave under a boulder. I heard a man's voice angrily utter something quite unintelligible to me, as I do not speak the language. My appendage did not respond, but instead began to untangle the vines and the bramble and her black clothing. Horror swept over her face when I uttered a big yelp, as she inadvertently grabbed my breast while trying to untangle herself.  As she yelled and screamed in her native tongue, it was clear that she was totally unaware of this human who was entangled in her cloak and twigs.  I automatically yelled and screamed and laughed in mine.

The winds must have died down considerably, because many other Dark Spots and their respective husbands rushed through the open door to rescue this woman whose cries were echoing into the mountain.

I was still quite tangled and could barely see them, but I could feel their anxiousness, hostility and fear. Their craggy voices got bolder and louder as they yelled and screamed at each other and me.  

I could smell the cold, the dank and the lures and the nets and envisioned the headline story in the New York Times "American Tourist mistakenly bludgeoned and shot to death in Greece".

About 3 or four pairs of hands began to furiously tear at the garb and twigs that bound us so closely together. They kept the old woman still, and twirled me around her much like unwinding a ball of yarn. Much to my amazement, when I was almost totally unwound, the chattering turned to bewildered laughter.  There was that moment of sheer relief when I knew that they all instinctively realized what had happened.  I wished I could speak to them, explain...apologize, introduce myself...anything! Instead, I laughed and began speaking in English, as if they could understand.

They motioned for me to sit down, and I gladly obliged. As one woman began to boil water on the burner, another picked up the mess on the floor, and put some of the twigs on the table. The rescuers began to leave, one by one, obviously content in knowing that the old lady was safe and comfortable with her new guest.

I tried to get up to leave, but the old woman motioned for me to sit, and carefully placed a tiny cup of coffee on the table. It was a welcome respite from the exhausting experience I had just endured. She sat across from me and began disseminating the vines and twigs, carefully showing me each berry and bloom on them. She tenderly lifted the bouquet of vines, first to her own nostrils... and then to mine. I gently followed her direction, and breathed in a somewhat familiar scent. Next, she chose a beautiful leaf, broke it in half, and put half in her mouth. As humming "delicious " sounds came from her mouth, she motioned for me to do the same.  I was delightfully entranced, and slowly rolled the half leaf around in my mouth.  Next, she removed one of the berries, put it to her mouth and took a bite. I placed a berry between my teeth, and took the tiniest bite.

Caper berries????  Caper berries!!! My head is thinking "I am wringing wet, in a hut, in the dark, at the end of the earth,  rains blowing in through the holes that are windows, unable to communicate, speak, understand"
 ...yet the all consuming thought at that moment was that of aromatic, beautiful, colorful, exquisite, ripe, delicious berries.

The old woman took a huge pot of water, and to my amazement, removed all the berries and cooked the leaves!

She sat across from me in the dark, for what seemed like an eternity. We stared into each other’s eyes, both with a little curl at the outer edges of our lips.  All of a sudden, with great intention, the old woman banged her open hand on the table. Each time she banged , she said "Tavola" ! Tavola! Tavola!

I repeated...Tah- vo- la!

Then I banged my hand on the table and said, in my best English...Table ! Table ! Table!

The old woman said "Tah bull”!
We finally understood each other...