Olive Grove Lessons ~Life, Love, Loss

 A stiff breeze rustling the branches of the olive trees and making the terrace grasses sway, was enough to pause our stroll in the grove. Sometimes, it was the raucous cry of birds swooping to nests high atop nearby cedar trees that stopped us mid-step. 

Each new noise or movement, they taught me, was a wonderment. We had to pause, listen and watch.  Every time . . .because it might just signify something new and exciting.  

In the grove at The Stone House on the Hill

In the spring, the grove beckoned for a game of hide and seek at the rosemary bush. Sometimes on hot summer afternoons, it was where we watched ants at labor marching across the soil cracked by the intense Mediterranean sun. In the fall, it was games of chase using olive twigs cut during olive harvest that filled our time in the grove. 

Olive grove games

For several years now, I have spent a portion of nearly every day in our olive grove, simply for the purpose of enjoying it. 

It wasn't easy to do that at first. I thought I needed to be pulling weeds, trimming, doing something. That is, until my two feline mentors, Princess and Maggie Mae, decided it was time that I understood the concept best defined by Italians as, dolce far niente, the sweetness of doing nothing. 

Dolce far niente in the olive grove

One can't help but notice the proliferation of self-help tips that fill social media these days. There are mantras, memes, and meditations, all offering ways to improve one's life/outlook/happiness by slowing down, simply calming oneself. Indulging in sweet nothingness. I guess the teachings of my fur girls were much in the same vein - they just taught by example. Peace and happiness could be had just by watching a bug crawl past or a butterfly flutter above.  

The key, I learned from them, is taking time to notice, then allowing oneself the time to enjoy it. 

My grove getaway at the Stone House on the Hill

I honestly can't recall when our trips to the grove became a daily ritual.  I was doing it 'for the cats' in an effort to keep them interested in something far away from the road that passes by the other side of our home, I reasoned.  

Princess, left, and Maggie, right, explore the grove.

In truth, I was getting as much out of those grove hours as were the two felines who accompanied me there.  

Life and Love in Greece

The two - Princess and Maggie Mae -- as we named them after they each had made clear upon arrival -- one year apart and nearly a decade ago -- that they would be making their home with us. While not related to each other, after their initial skepticism at sharing our attention, they were to become inseparable sidekicks.  

Dolce far niente at the Stone House on the Hill

The lessons in the grove took on new intensity back in January as the spread of Maggie's skin cancer was clearly bringing her to the end of her life. During these last three months, our trips to the grove increased and each time we lost ourselves in the sweetness of doing nothing . . .together. 

Savoring those last days. Maggie continued to find wonder in sniffing the air to catch its scents as she sat, watched and listened.  

Maggie Mae Smith

We buried Maggie 10 days ago next to the rosemary where she had spent so many hours enjoying life. Princess and I haven't resumed our trips to the grove. We are both adjusting to Maggie's absence, but we continue to indulge in dolce far niente. 

Maggie was not a fan of our travels!

I've taken a break from the blog in recent weeks to experience that sweetness of doing nothing with my fur girls.  As Maggie's health deteriorated, The Scout and I cancelled all travel we'd planned for the first months of this year. (cat people do those things) With Maggie's recent passing, we have a small window of opportunity to travel in Schengen countries before our residency permits expire the end of April and we are no longer allowed to travel (pending the new permits).  We are ready for some travel adventures again. And he's scouted out a good one - I'll tell you about it in the next post.

Maggie 

Thanks for being with us today - and our wishes for safe travels to you and yours. 

And a big welcome to our new subscribers!!

The Night of the Jackal

They begin just after sunset, those haunting cries that echo across our valley in rural Greece.  Sometimes soft and distant and other times so loud and close that you nearly jump out of your skin. 

Sunset is time for the jackals calls to begin.

Nightfall is the time of the jackals and their blood curdling cries. It is when they begin their search for food and drink; the search and piercing nocturnal cries often continuing intermittently until dawn.

These omnivorous predators, smaller than the North American coyote, are in search of small- to medium-sized animals.  Traveling in pairs, sometimes packs, their mournful cries sound like sound effects for scenes of the untamed frontier in old Western movies.

Night view from The Stone House on the Hill

Their eerie calls used to be a rarity at our home on a hillside outside the small Greek fishing village where we've made our expat life. These days they are almost as much a ritual as the sunset itself. We told a recent visitor that if it sounded like jackals were just outside the window of the ground floor guest room - they probably were!

Golden jackals are found in Greece

Luckily, we've only encountered three of them and each at a bit of a distance - all looking much worse for the wear than the one in the photo above -- however, we find their tracks in our flower beds and olive grove.  

Maggie and Princess on alert

We know why our cats head for the upper decks of our home and keep watch on their property below. Two sets of neighbors, each with a young cat just a few months old, report their cats have disappeared, both believed to be victims of jackals.  

Now we are safe on The Scout's lap!

On only a few occasions have our two cats been outside on ground level when I heard the first of the jackals' cry. As I've hurtled out of the house and into the darkened grove with just my mobile phone flashlight, I've been thankful that the cats have come running at the sound of my voice.  I really didn't want to meet up with one of the scavengers.

Not far from our home in Greece we spotted this 'yard art'

Wanting to live differently, we chose an expat life in rural Greece. A narrow track road leads up the hill to the seven homes that comprise our spread-out neighborhood carved out of olive groves in the Mani region of the Peloponnese.  

On our Greek road home.

Back when we moved, our focus was on culture, cuisine, language and lifestyle of a different country. We were thinking about functioning within a place where English isn't the first language and where you don't order 'French fries with ketchup' when dining out (when you do eat that style of potato here, they are 'chips' and if dipped in anything, it is mayonnaise).

Our slice of Greece - rural and sparsely populated. 

We didn't give that much thought to the new experiences we'd have simply living in an agricultural setting. But roaming jackals and the wild boar who also patrol our hillside in bulldozer-like fashion remind us that we aren't in suburban Seattle any longer.  

Wild boars roam near our home

This summer a neighbor was injured when he encountered the wild boar family - a moving destruction crew - on the road about a mile from our house. He was on his motorcycle and was charged by one of the boars. They've destroyed several terraces in our olive grove and dug up plants but luckily, we've not been any closer than the night we encountered them on our way home and the blurred photo was taken.

Living Differently 

Even as we watch homes and tourist accommodations being built at a breakneck pace around our valley in recent years, we still live in a rural setting where wide open spaces stretch for miles. And for the most part, the rural setting affords us pleasant, even heart-warming, new experiences.

Giving me the once over

When I meet friends for coffee, I usually walk to the kafenion and I pass the guy pictured above grazing in the olive grove just below our house.  Sometimes he calls out a greeting and sometimes prefers just to keep an eye on me.

The cattle being led to graze in olive groves

He and his wife and child - as I like to think of them -- are regularly led to the grove to graze by an older Greek lady who owns them. 

Traffic jams are common on our village roads

If we set off in the opposite direction, towards Platsa, the village at the top of our hill, we often find ourselves caught in a bit of a traffic jam when the herd above us is moving from one grazing spot to another.

Highway slowdowns 

Traffic jams aren't limited to just the local access roads though, they can occur on the highway that cuts through our area as well.  Here 'the highway' is a two-lane road, versus the single lane local roads.

Slow cooking in the fireplace

Critters aren't the only thing different about this rural lifestyle. It inspired me to try my hand at slow cooking the old-fashioned way: in a glazed clay pot over an open fire. Embers, actually, in the fireplace.  We've successfully cooked a number of dishes that way and it is a family affair as The Scout is in charge of preparing the fire and getting the embers 'just right' while I work on the food.

Horta hunting

While on the topic of food, this is the season for 'horta hunting'. Horta is the name for wild greens harvested from along roadsides and olive groves.  A good friend, who runs a local taverna took us and two friends out last year on a horta hunting expedition. She showed us the kind you want to harvest, and which to avoid. It was one of our finest days!

We are living differently, that's for sure! 

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Too Old to be Expats?

At almost 101, she is probably the oldest expat in the area.  

She is the expat I want to be 'when I grow up'.

I am not naming her because her name isn't as important to this tale as is her age.  She is simply living proof that quality time lived as an expat need not be age defined. 

Agios Nikolaos, our expat world

Just last week I saw her studiously bent over her latest needle work, chatting away with her longtime friends at a weekly crafter gathering in the village. A couple years ago, while seated next to her at a fundraiser she kept me entertained with her stories, . . . well, until the band started playing and she headed to the dance floor! 

Three birthday cakes, a party and many friends as I hit 70!

Although not as spry as she once was, I think of her as the poster child for the 'aging expat'.  And since becoming a septuagenarian last July, I now qualify as both 'aging' and 'expat'. 

So, finding someone 30 years my senior is gratifying as I ponder the question: Can one be too old to be an expat?

'It's only a number,' chided my just-turned-50 expat friend, as my tongue swelled in July when I attempted to say my age. Saying '70' in Greek (ev-do-MIN-ta) and English (s-s-seventy) continues to be difficult. When I can't wrap my head around something, I usually can't wrap my tongue around it either.

Coming of Age in Greece

Celebrating the purchase of our home with its former owners 

'Are we too old?' we asked ourselves as we debated the pros and cons of buying a home in Greece a decade ago.

Getting those first residency cards!

'Are we too old?' we asked ourselves again, a few years later, when we pondered becoming expats in Greece.

To think, that was back when we were mere 60-somethings!

When we decided to take the plunge, we reasoned that when we were 'too old' for the expat lifestyle, we would likely move back to the States. At the time we didn't think about how to define 'too old'. Instead, we set up 'age gauges'.

Our stairs would be an 'age gauge' we reasoned.

For instance, when we were no longer able to navigate the flight of 30-steps we climb between our Stone House on the Hill and our car, it would be time to pack up and move on. Thankfully, we still climb those stairs regularly, but now we talk about the logistics of a sloped sidewalk through the garden alternative when the 'time comes'.

Olive harvest equipment replaced us!

Olive harvest has been another 'age gauge'. When we couldn't actively participate any longer, we'd say, 'it just might be time to. . .,' never really completing the sentence. Well, thankfully our hired crew is so mechanized, that we no longer play much role in the hard part of harvest, so that gauge is out the window. 

In the blink of an eye, we are 70-somethings

We know that the unconventional lifestyle of an expat doesn't ward off the pesky signs of aging. We are now 70-somethings and despite the claim that 70 is the new 50, our bodies often dispute that after a walk home up the hill on which we live, or a day spent working in the garden or grove! 

We probably do sound like 'old people' when reminding friends who've been saying for a decade that they were coming to visit us in Greece -- that it might be time to schedule that trip. But seriously, time could be running out. Even living a Mediterranean lifestyle, the longevity factor in Greece is 80.2, roughly the same as that of the European Union. (And that is better than the US, where it is only 77.5 years).

The Elderly Expat

Expats of 'a certain age' set off on the sea

The expat and Mediterranean lifestyle combine to keep us far more physically and mentally active in our Greek world than we are in the States. Expats of 'a certain age' here are pursuing any number of activities, among them: gardening, swimming, biking, hiking, trekking, traveling, socializing, and participating in volunteer activities.  

Expat friends of 'a certain age' at lunch in the village

I like that phrase, 'a certain age', possibly inspired from a similar French phrase, that puts a person in a pleasant holding pattern of sorts, 'not still young but not yet old'. It, like Mae West's, 'You are never too old, to become younger', are far more agreeable to me than 'elderly'. The World Health Organization defines elderly persons as 60 or older. 

Spring hike on a kalderimi

If that is the case, then there are a lot of elderly American expats scattered about the world. Of the approximate 10 million American expats, (U.S. State Department statistics) about18 percent, or 1.8 million, of us are 61 years of age or older. 

The ability to live as an expat isn't defined by chronological age alone; we all know that health, mobility, and mental attitude have much to do with the quality and quantity of life regardless of where one lives.

Too Old or Not?

In researching this post, I came across a hodge-podge of thoughts on age, three of which I felt worthy of repeating:

How old is too old?

First, according to a survey by TD Ameritrade 73% of women and 59% of men felt that 70 IS the new 50, based on the fact that we are living healthier and longer lives. (It didn't list the ages of those surveyed though.)

Second, American writer, Anne Lamott, in an opinion piece for the Washington Post titled, "Living on Borrowed Time,' made me laugh: 'Getting older is almost like changing species, from cute middle-aged white-tailed deer, to yak. We are both grass eaters, that that's about the only similarity.'

Short, shorter. . .vanished?

But if was an article on aging by fellow septuagenarian Robert Reich, an American political economist and professor, that provided a new perspective on the question I've been pondering. He cited a study that said: after age 60 one loses a half-inch in height every five years.  And that gave this once-five-foot-tall writer, a whole new perspective on being an aging expat. If I live long enough, I just might vanish. Then I won't need to figure out if I am too old to continue being an expat!

That's it for this week from sunny, but chilly, Greece. 

So how about you?  Have you reached 'a certain age' that now influences travels or expat adventures? Share your thoughts via comments or email.

As always, thanks for the time you spent with us today - hope to see you back again. . .bring a friend with you!

To Greece ~ The best laid plans. . .

Traveling between our US world and the Greek expat life we've chosen is a long haul no matter the route. We've come to see it as simply a condition of choosing to keep a toehold in two far distant points in the world. We make the trip back to the United States once a year. . .

A true long-haul flight between our worlds

Every once in a while, The Scout manages to find a route that shaves a bit of time off the trip while saving us some money.  He had done so this year. . .or so it seemed in the beginning. 

Gates at Kalamata International Airport

First, a bit of background for our tale:  British Airways (BA) flies a couple of times a week into our small Kalamata International Airport, a rather third world looking place that has two side-by-side departure gates, Gate 1 and Gate 2. It is international because flights from other countries land here. 

Its selling points are that it is easy to navigate, parking is 3 euros a day, it's close to our Greek home, and we can fly to Seattle from there, with a connection at London's Heathrow airport.  

We were flying round-trip Kalamata -Seattle - Kalamata although the price savings required a small, but manageable travel blip on our return flight. We would fly from Seattle to nearby Portland, Oregon -- a 30-minute flight -- on BA's partner airline, Alaska Air, and catch the BA flight to London from there.  

First leg: Manson to Seattle over Washington Mountain passes

Sounded simple enough at the time we made the reservation. We'd leave our Washington home at 9:30 a.m. Friday, Pacific Northwest time, make the four-hour drive to Seattle, have a few hours of time to spare at the airport, then some 20+ hours later arrive back at our Stone House on the Hill about 9 Saturday night, Greek time.

The Plans began Unraveling.

No matter how many times you confirm, recheck, and double-check travel plans these days, the travel gods still rule.  And sometimes they need a few laughs. This was to be one of those times.

Our plans began unraveling when we found the British Airlines check-in counter at SeaTac closed. A sign on the counter said it would open 3.5 hours before the next flight, problem was, it didn't say when that would be. A quick internet check showed it departing at 8 p.m. which meant the counter would open too late for us to check in for that little connecting flight to Portland.

Three heads are better than one 

Another woman traveler was in the same predicament. So, the three of us set off for the Alaska Air counters (at the opposite end of the airport). There, among the dozens of self-check-in kiosks, we finally spotted two humans staffing the Business Class counter.  The woman traveler went to one human, and we went to the other. 

Yes, we were assured, they could check us in! Problem was that they couldn't find our reservations nor the flight that British Air had booked us on to Portland. They called in reinforcements - three staff worked on our predicament and two worked on hers.  Finally, the five figured it out, tickets to Portland were issued and our bags were loaded on the conveyor belt.

Bags were heading back. . .were we?

While watching our bags depart, my mobile device pinged. An email from British Air had arrived saying our flight to London had been delayed by little over two hours, 'sorry for the inconvenience'.  

Our new London arrival time would be 2:15 pm. Saturday - 15 minutes after our flight for Kalamata left.

The Domino Effect

Ever notice that when things start going wrong it is like dominoes falling? Well, that was certainly the case with this trip: 

We were hiking back to the other end of the terminal, where the fast security line was located; glad to be part of the US trusted traveler program which allows us to use the speedy service. With all the check-in confusion that relaxing cushion of time we'd allowed ourselves was gone. We needed to get to the gate for the Portland flight. Wouldn't you know?  The speedy line was also being used by long-haul flight crews. We waited for some 80 crew members to be checked in before the 10 or so of us 'trusted travelers' were allowed through. 

Planning to have snacks and beverages at the airport, we hadn't eaten lunch. But no time for that now, we'd be lucky to at least get a final cup of Starbucks coffee before our flight boarded.

At the Starbucks counter a young man with bright blue hair - a color that rivaled that of the saleswoman in the phone store in my last post - took my order for a double latte. As I handed him my stack of dollars (it cost just under $7) he looked at the currency as if it were something repulsive and said, 'Oh, I can't take cash. . .' 

Okay. . .in retrospect, I could have dug out a credit card but that blank stare he gave me and my cash, simply broke the proverbial camel's back with the straw, 'Cancel the order!' I snarled as I stomped from the counter.

 

Sorry, no coffee on today's flight. . .

The Scout was disappointed at my failed mission. I assured him there was coffee on the plane. Our cheerful flight attendant promised it as soon as we were airborne. A few minutes into the flight, she picked up the microphone and, looking towards us, made a sad face, while announcing that our flight was going so fast there would be no beverage service.  

And we are finally off . . .late as promised

Better late than never - we were off!

In Portland, the BA representative issued us tickets all the way to Kalamata while noting we would miss that flight for which she had given us tickets. Ground staff in London would figure it out for us, she said with a smile. 

We actually learned what our new travel plans would be shortly before we arrived at Heathrow. Our flight attendant told us we'd be spending a night in London and flying to Kalamata the next day.

Flight connections madhouse at Heathrow

So many on our flight had missed connections that BA staff had set up a table outside the jetway and handed out dozens of new tickets from it.  Hotel, food and transportation vouchers had to be obtained at the Flight Connections desk, a place I'd call a centralized complaint/hysteria counter a train ride away in the massive Terminal 5. At the counter we fell in line with the dozens of others seeking vouchers.

Nearly an hour later with vouchers in hand, we were off to the bus stop where we'd just missed the hotel bus we needed. Nearly another hour later we were arriving at the nearby Radisson Blue Edwardian Hotel. It was 5 p.m.

At The Hotel - The Dominoes continued to fall

Lobby Radisson Blue Edwardian Hotel Heathrow

The opulent wood-paneled lobby adorned with a massive crystal chandelier was pretty welcome to these now weary travelers. Maybe this layover wasn't such a bad thing, we thought, until. . .  

'I am unable to give you a key to your room,' said the smiling desk clerk, explaining a system failure involving electrical and computer stuff had shut down the hotel's vital systems, like that of making room keys. Handing us a piece of plastic the size of a credit card, she said, 'This is the master key for the room. It is the only one that opens the door. If you lose it, you won't be able to get into the room and we won't be able to get you into the room.' 

You'd better believe we treated it with respect.

Plenty of vouchers - too bad the hotel wouldn't take them

The hotel's restaurant looked inviting. Called Steak and Lobster, it offered some nice menu choices and to our amazement the vouchers we each had were so generous that they covered even the most expensive menu item.  While sipping a pre-dinner glass of wine, The Scout asked if reservations were required. The good news, we didn't need reservations. The bad news, they wouldn't take the vouchers -- in either of the hotel's two restaurants (and not because of the system failure). 

It turned out that a 21-person tour group had also missed a flight and BA sent them to this hotel as well. The hotel had opened a conference room for us all, offering a buffet table meal of beef stew, mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli and cauliflower in exchange for the 23 pound ($28US) per person voucher.  

That proverbial straw snapped again. . .We ate in the restaurant on our own dime. . .and had a fabulous meal while vowing never to return to this hotel no matter what the reason we might find ourselves overnighting at Heathrow. 

Destination: Kalamata ~ Delayed

A new day. . .a new delay

Leaving the hotel in the early morning darkness on Sunday morning, we shouldn't have been surprised when we checked the departure board at the airport for our gate to find that the flight to Kalamata was 'delayed' - those travel gods were still laughing. 

We rejoiced when it really was only less than a half hour delay. We'd be home by mid-afternoon!

Kalamata's runway - finally!

Ready to leap out of my seat with joy when we touched down at Kalamata, my happiness was momentary . . .

With the small terminal some distance ahead, our plane stopped on the runway. 'Folks,' said the pilot, 'we've got too many planes in and have to wait for one to take off before I can enter the apron.'  Within minutes an Austrian Airlines plane raced past us on the runway and was airborne. 

But still, we didn't move.  

We sat. 

So close. . .Kalamata airport terminal

'Folks, again sorry for the delay,' began the pilot, 'but we've still got too many planes on the apron. It is going to be awhile. I am turning off the engine, feel free to come visit the cockpit, use the bathrooms, as it is going to be an hour.'

An hour! 

We both later admitted to having thoughts of hijacking the parked plane, forcing open the door and escaping using the emergency evacuation slide. Luckily planes were shifted, and we were at the terminal 45 minutes later.

Moral of the Story: Travel Gods need their jollies so be prepared.

It's been two weeks so we can tell this story and finally find some humor in it. And those of you who are looking for a reason, not to travel, you can't use this as a case in point, as it was an anomaly (we hope!). We've never had so many dominos of disruption falling on a trip.

We do tell it with a tag line of 'be prepared' when you travel these days. Prepare for delays, detours and other disruptions. 

* Pack your carryon for an overnight stay. I always pack change of clothes and toiletries in our carryon bags, 'just in case' and 'never' need them. This time they came in handy.

*Don't assume there will be time to grab food and drink.  Pack a snack with you.

* Have a 'disaster fund' for emergencies, like needing to pay for an unplanned meal or hotel room along the way. As we learned, even with vouchers, you may end up paying for items.

*And travel with some means of accessing the internet at wherever your destination might be. Airport staff and help desks are becoming scarce. There is an expectation that you will turn to the internet to check in, to find answers to questions, and to solve your own problems.  I can't imagine traveling without a mobile device or laptop nowadays.

The Stone House on the Hill

With those words of advice, I will end our travel tale. We are home on the hill in Greece and have no desire to see an airport anytime soon.  

We wonder how many of you have had travel plans upended in your recent travels.  Please share your stories in the comments below or shoot us an email. Let us know the problem and how it was resolved.  If enough of you participate, I will use your tales in the next blog post!  

Thanks for being with us today. Safe travels to you and yours!