Lovely Days: Remembering Summer 2022: At Home in Greece

Melting with happiness, melting with heat. Episode 2 of many (more to come)

After three long pandemic years, I was able to join my daughter and grandson in Greece, where they rented a house for the summer. In the countryside near the sea, about halfway between Korinth and Naplio, outside Epidavros, and a short walk down a dirt road to the beach. It was hot, we gardened, we ate and swam and visited ruins; we spent the summer in a sort of euphoria.

The hand-painted welcome sign at the gate of the villa. Once inside, it was all gardens: flowers here, there, in front and behind you—the house—perched on a small hill, was surrounded by a huge albeit informal, mix and match orchard: grapefruit, oranges, lemons, mandarins, peaches, wild/bitter cherries, with olive trees every so often, of course olive trees; its Greece.

At the side of the house, a vegetable garden, with pots full of herbs on the balcony, along the pathways, and delicious plants scattered all over the place: cucumbers in the dirt around the peach trees; melons of all types around other trees. Luckily there was plenty of water to keep it all growing; after only a few hours in the oven-like sun, and they turned brown, summer-crisp. So we spent much of our vacation watering. It was a pleasure: how wonderful to rent a house that comes with a vegetable garden, and an orchard of juicy, ever-ripening, fruit?

My reason for the trip was to spend time with my little family (which is everything, everything!), yet within an hour after my plane touched down in Athens, the trip felt like more, much more. I felt reconnected to the Greece I had fallen in love with, my first time in Greece, way back when: Unspoilt. Generous. Joyful. Sincere, traditional, and oh so tasty.

In the years since my first visit—wait, make that decades— I have returned and returned, visited so many parts of the country: islands, mountains, mainland, humble and luxurious. Always i had a wonderful time, always delighted in whatever came my way.

That first time though, when I straggled off the Brindisi to Corfu ferry, shaky from a rough crossing, I felt held close by Greece. That first visit to Greece was in fact, accidental; we tossed a coin when we reached the south of France: Spain and Morocco, or Italy and Greece. We ended up staying 6 months.

What if we had gone the other direction? How different my life would have been. How different I would be now. Would I have ever written a book about olive oil? Would I have ever written a book full-stop? Greece formed so much about me.

It was an amazing discovery of culture, language, foraging, dancing, music, more culture, more eating, more dancing, crazy sayings which began to feel far less than crazy as time went on.

And here I was, loving being there, and is it possible? I sensed that it was mutual. I felt like I belonged. And now, a whole lifetime later, after years of not feeling at home where I live, there I was: in Greece, feeling like I belonged.

Part of it is the sheer heady delight of a Greek summer. Everyone, everywhere, seems so happy in this combination of sun and sea and outdoor living. So here I was, again. And I too was happy; my family, their friends, assorted village dogs and cats, fruits and vegetables, music and Greek hospitality.

This photo is taken from the front door: the little gate opens to the world beyond. Stay a few moments on the stairs overlooking the garden: inhale the sweet air: so fragrant, pure, full of countryside scents, changing day by day, as the fruits and vegetables ripen; one day a breeze washed over me, smelling of orange, you could tell that it had just passed over the groves, picking up sweet volatile oils as it did. I felt I could track the ripening progress of the fig trees simply by sniffing at the air.

The sound track dawn to dusk was cicadas.

Now I have to tell you about the swimming pool. I can’t wait any longer.

Our days went something like this: wake at dawn, jump in the pool before the sun+heat becomes excruciating; spend the rest of the day having adventures (often involving fruit and vegetable shopping), cooking and eating and drinking, and then: once shadows replaced the sun’s glare, it was early evening: time for a dusk swim.

In other words, we melted in the days heat, then splashed into the pool. In the water, life feels light. Burdens lift, they ease. Cares bathe away. Anxiety evaporates. Trouble? What is this? I just want to float on top of the water, swim along the bottom, and jump, leap, and swoosh. Being in the water: its almost like flying.

Mondo is loving the water so much.

Sometimes when the sun was too strong and severe on the pool, we walked to the sea, down the shady road, past a delightful grocery shop, with vegetables, olives, and cheeses—all local— as well as tiny two-bite ice cream bars (for the grown-ups).

Mondo and Tino preferred their ice creams big: the bigger the better!

The whole little family.

My daughter: so relaxed and happy. After studying modern Greek language before the trip, she was now interacting with as many people as possible—and in Greece that means EVERYONE. Everyone wants to talk to her, to me, maybe they just want to talk? One of the delightful discovery of speaking even a handful of words in Greek is that you soon realize that the Greek language forms so much of the basis of our own.

Everywhere one looked, every corner of the outdoor area I turned, was another snapshot of beautiful. I got so used to it, I took it for granted. Except for this moment: I was climbing out of the pool, and thought: this lovely canopy of and pot of flowers, I want to remember it. Click.

Meanwhile, Mondo tastes his first koulouri. Its love.

And Jonathan enjoys a delicious Greek beer, on the beach, in this little spot of paradise.

If your paradise is in Greece, you’ll probably be eating meze pretty much all the time. Meze before lunch or dinner, meze FOR lunch or dinner. Meze with drinks, meze meze meze. A meze can be the little often free plates of savory tidbits to go with your drinks (only alcoholic drinks). Meze basically is whatever you nibble, a few morsels, communally, with a sociable drink: raki, ouzo, siporo.

The more people at the table, the more plates and variety. Olives, cured meat, cheese; and one of my favorites from a Cretan mountain village years ago: tiny potatoes cooked in the hearth, cut open and served with salt, vinegar, and the first baby pea shoots of spring.

These two were quick and informal: a plate of mixed olives, gathered from nearly every farm between Epidavros and Kalamata (and bought at the farmers market). We turned leftover pasta into a savory salad with ripe ripe tomatoes, onions, local olive oil, garden herbs, big chunks of feta.

Then there is this pale green puree of fresh fava beans. Its from my old friend olive and feta cheese guru, Sotiris Kitrilakis, when we used to visit him on the island of Zakynthos:

Fresh Fava Bean (Broad bean) meze

2 1/2 lbs fresh fava beans – (Broad beans in UK)
2-3 cloves of Garlic – finely chopped
2-3 Shallots (Green onions) finely chopped
2-3 Tbsp olive oil
Juice of half a lemon
Salt to taste
¼ cup of fresh dill/fennel leaves

Shell the beans. Blanch in hot boiling water for 3-4 minutes.  Drain and place in cold water to cool.

Remove skins by twisting beans between thumb and index finger; I often make a tiny cut with a paring knife then slip the skins off. Discard skins.

Coarsely chop the favas. Add the garlic, shallots/onion, dill, salt to taste. 

Mix in the olive oil.  Serve with crisp crackers, lettuce leaves, chunks of bread: whatever you like to spread things on.