School children finishing the day in Hydra. Photographs by Stephanie in 1973 on the hours of an afternoon that she spent with Leonard Cohen.
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The woman above had just come down the steps to show me her olive oil harvest for that year.
GREECE: by David
I have spent about 3 months of my life in Greece, yet I feel, and have often said to others, an affinity to the country, to the mythology and to the people. In more arrogant moments I have heard myself saying that I think I might be a bit Greek!
So what is it? Crossing the deep blue Aegean and arriving at Corfu as a 21 year old was mesmerizing. The smells, the noise and the bustle seemed familiar and at the same time quite different. I had read ‘ The Odyssey ‘, studied Greek civilization at university, read Durrell and Miller, but somehow I wasn’t prepared for modern Greece. I was overwhelmed.
The trip from Corfu to Athens through Corinth, Sparta and the Peloponnesian coast was memorable in that I was terrified by the narrow winding roads, steep drop offs and a wild driver who seemed to delight in petrified passengers. I arrived in Athens more or less in one piece.
Sitting at a cafe in Constitution Square reading the Herald Tribune I realized that James Baldwin was sitting at the next table doing the same thing. I knew enough not to bother him, but I thought it was pretty cool. I found my university friend, Pat Starnes, who was living in Athens intent on writing the great Canadian novel. He immediately suggested we sail to Hydra to find Leonard Cohen who lived there.
We sat in the hold below the waterline with a bottle of ouzo nestled amongst families heading to the islands for the weekend. The smells of lamb and chicken cooking on a habatchi! Fantastic.We landed, crossed the agora to Tassos’s bar only to learn that we had missed Leonard by 3 days. He had returned to Montreal to publish ‘ Beautiful Losers ‘ , his second novel. Pat usually stayed with an Orthodox priest and I stayed on for 3 weeks. I never saw Pat again and have no idea what he accomplished or where he is. I had a balcony overlooking the harbour, an orange tree bearing lots of fruit and for a couple of hours each day I wrote in my journal.
There are no cars on Hydra. Donkey’s, burros and horses carried people and goods to their destination. There is very little water and each day a boat from the Peloponnesian shore (about 4 miles ) duly arrives to fill the reservoirs. In 1965 around three thousand people lived on the island. ( google the history ) There were about one hundred itinerants, some who stayed for a couple of months or several years. The Australian authors George Johnston and Charmian Clift and the painter Sidney Nolan were permanent features for many years. These ‘ others ‘ were an interesting lot.
The port had a number of fishing boats bobbling in the blue water. Each day I had a sandwich at a taverna on the agora which was owned by a Greek man Gregory. He had lived in Chicago for twenty years and he was keen to speak English. I had noticed a group of men by the boats who were playing cards, playing with their worry beads, laughing and telling stories. I asked Gregory if they were fishermen. Yes they were. I then asked if they were lazy because there didn’t seem to be much fishing going on. Gregory laughed and said, they fished when they wanted or needed to or when the weather was favourable. He also said that they had ‘ perfected the art of doing nothing, creatively ‘ I think I am a bit like that.
Around 11 AM the boat from Athens arrived. I would go and see who was arriving. One day a girl I had met on the sailing across the Aegean appeared. She remembered me saying I was going to Hydra so she thought she would check it out. She stayed with me for a few days and we wandered around, climbed the mountain and talked. She was Jewish from New York on her way to Israel to see if that was where she should be. Several months later she wrote to me to say that Israel was awful, the Zionists were scary and she headed back to New York. It is impossible to be anything but lukewarm about Israel.
Stephanie waxes lyrical about Art. Generally, I find it less interesting. I am much more attracted to smells, foods, markets, sports and people. Greece personifies it all for me. Lawrence Durrellwrote in his book ‘ The Greek Islands ‘, the words of professional Victorian traveller Hugo vonHofmannsthal,
‘ the first impression of the country, from whatever direction one enters it, is austere. It rejects all daydreams, even historical ones. It is dry, barren, dramatic and strange, Like a terribly emaciated face; but it lies bathed in a light such as the eye has never yet beheld, and in which it rejoices as now first awakening to the gift of sight. This light is indescribably keen yet soft. It brings out the smallest details with a clarity, a gentle clarity that makes the heart beat higher and enfolds the nearer view in a transfiguring veil - I can describe it only in these paradoxical terms. One can compare it to nothing except Spirit. Things might lie thus in some wonderful intelligence - so alert and so lulled, so divided and yet so closely linked. Linked by what? Not by mood; nothing could be more remote from that floating sensuous dream-element; no, by the Spirit itself. ‘
I have spent about 3 months of my life in Greece, yet I feel, and have often said to others, an affinity to the country, to the mythology and to the people. In more arrogant moments I have heard myself saying that I think I might be a bit Greek!
So what is it? Crossing the deep blue Aegean and arriving at Corfu as a 21 year old was mesmerizing. The smells, the noise and the bustle seemed familiar and at the same time quite different. I had read ‘ The Odyssey ‘, studied Greek civilization at university, read Durrell and Miller, but somehow I wasn’t prepared for modern Greece. I was overwhelmed.
The trip from Corfu to Athens through Corinth, Sparta and the Peloponnesian coast was memorable in that I was terrified by the narrow winding roads, steep drop offs and a wild driver who seemed to delight in petrified passengers. I arrived in Athens more or less in one piece.
Sitting at a cafe in Constitution Square reading the Herald Tribune I realized that James Baldwin was sitting at the next table doing the same thing. I knew enough not to bother him, but I thought it was pretty cool. I found my university friend, Pat Starnes, who was living in Athens intent on writing the great Canadian novel. He immediately suggested we sail to Hydra to find Leonard Cohen who lived there.
We sat in the hold below the waterline with a bottle of ouzo nestled amongst families heading to the islands for the weekend. The smells of lamb and chicken cooking on a habatchi! Fantastic.We landed, crossed the agora to Tassos’s bar only to learn that we had missed Leonard by 3 days. He had returned to Montreal to publish ‘ Beautiful Losers ‘ , his second novel. Pat usually stayed with an Orthodox priest and I stayed on for 3 weeks. I never saw Pat again and have no idea what he accomplished or where he is. I had a balcony overlooking the harbour, an orange tree bearing lots of fruit and for a couple of hours each day I wrote in my journal.
There are no cars on Hydra. Donkey’s, burros and horses carried people and goods to their destination. There is very little water and each day a boat from the Peloponnesian shore (about 4 miles ) duly arrives to fill the reservoirs. In 1965 around three thousand people lived on the island. ( google the history ) There were about one hundred itinerants, some who stayed for a couple of months or several years. The Australian authors George Johnston and Charmian Clift and the painter Sidney Nolan were permanent features for many years. These ‘ others ‘ were an interesting lot.
The port had a number of fishing boats bobbling in the blue water. Each day I had a sandwich at a taverna on the agora which was owned by a Greek man Gregory. He had lived in Chicago for twenty years and he was keen to speak English. I had noticed a group of men by the boats who were playing cards, playing with their worry beads, laughing and telling stories. I asked Gregory if they were fishermen. Yes they were. I then asked if they were lazy because there didn’t seem to be much fishing going on. Gregory laughed and said, they fished when they wanted or needed to or when the weather was favourable. He also said that they had ‘ perfected the art of doing nothing, creatively ‘ I think I am a bit like that.
Around 11 AM the boat from Athens arrived. I would go and see who was arriving. One day a girl I had met on the sailing across the Aegean appeared. She remembered me saying I was going to Hydra so she thought she would check it out. She stayed with me for a few days and we wandered around, climbed the mountain and talked. She was Jewish from New York on her way to Israel to see if that was where she should be. Several months later she wrote to me to say that Israel was awful, the Zionists were scary and she headed back to New York. It is impossible to be anything but lukewarm about Israel.
Stephanie waxes lyrical about Art. Generally, I find it less interesting. I am much more attracted to smells, foods, markets, sports and people. Greece personifies it all for me. Lawrence Durrellwrote in his book ‘ The Greek Islands ‘, the words of professional Victorian traveller Hugo vonHofmannsthal,
‘ the first impression of the country, from whatever direction one enters it, is austere. It rejects all daydreams, even historical ones. It is dry, barren, dramatic and strange, Like a terribly emaciated face; but it lies bathed in a light such as the eye has never yet beheld, and in which it rejoices as now first awakening to the gift of sight. This light is indescribably keen yet soft. It brings out the smallest details with a clarity, a gentle clarity that makes the heart beat higher and enfolds the nearer view in a transfiguring veil - I can describe it only in these paradoxical terms. One can compare it to nothing except Spirit. Things might lie thus in some wonderful intelligence - so alert and so lulled, so divided and yet so closely linked. Linked by what? Not by mood; nothing could be more remote from that floating sensuous dream-element; no, by the Spirit itself. ‘