Number 37 Greece 1984

Lesbos 1984

“What cannot be said will be wept.” - Sappho -

Around 630 BC the poet Sappho was born on the island of Lesbos. She is regarded as one of the great ancient poets and probably wrote about 10.000 lines of poetry, of which only 650 survive. Sapphos most famous work is the Ode to Aphrodite, which is the reason Sappho and her island became symbolic for the love between women. However, the lore has it that Sappho eventually married a ferryman, Phaon.

You could say Lesbos is symbolic for love.

Coutryside church and its interior

“Although only breath, words which I speak are immortal.”  -Sappho- 

On 10.9.2020 the island suddenly appeared in the frontpage headlines when fire broke out in the refugee camp of Moria holding close to 13.000 refugees. And this is not the only camp on Lesbos, but the biggest and the one with the most appalling conditions. The refugees had been trapped on the island after a treaty in 2016 between Europe and Turkey removed their route to the continent.

The news reports speculate that the fires in the camps were laid by refugees and some Afghan men were arrested for arson. But the question is why the refugees were held on the island in the first place without looking for a solution elsewhere.

“You will have memories
Because of what we did back then
When we were new at this,
Yes, we did many things, then - all
Beautiful...”
- Sappho -

I visited Greece with a girlfriend in autumn 1984. We wanted to visit some of the aegian islands. I had read a guidebook and what today would probably be called the bucket list was long. Far too long for a trip of 4 weeks. To Lesbos we came by chance…. after arrival at the airport in Athens it was the first and cheapest flight we could get. 

Taxis at the airport

If you look at the map you will see that Lesbos looks like it is going to be swallowed by Turkey. The strait separating it from the Turkish coast is only 5 km wide and the big Turkish town of Izmir is only 92 km away. The airport is at Mitilini, the island capital, which faces Turkey. In view of the relations between the two countries this is not a favourable location. 

Mythymna and its castle

Mitilini is a rather big place, so we took a bus across the island to Mithymna, a little town overshadowed by the enormous Molivos castle. A lot of people have passed through here, Greek settlers fought with the Persians over it, the Romans arrived, the Byzantines lost it to the Latin empire, later the Genuese were attacked by the Venetians, and eventually, the Ottoman empire conquered it in 1462. It only became Greek after the second Balkan war in 1912. In the second world war it was occupied by Italians, who set about to plant of what is left of forest nowadays. What the others left are three impressive medieval castles, a roman aqueduct, byzantine monasteries, neolithic sites and, of course, antique greek ruins – and there are fields of petrified wood.

About a third of the population of 86000 lives in the capital Mitilini, the remainder is spread out over all the little towns. Life back then was quiet. There were tourists on the island in 1984, mostly of the back-packing kind like us. There were few big resorts or hotels. Many people let simple rooms to the visitors. The waterfront had a couple of cafes and restaurants where you could enjoy the view of the sea and the fishing boats. At daytime the old men sat in the shadow and refreshed their memories. Old farmers came in from their isolated land in the countryside and sold fruit to the tourists. The beaches were unspoiled, empty and there were plenty of hidden coves even in walking distance to Mithymna where a young couple could have their privacy.

“What is beautiful is good, and who is good will soon be beautiful.” - Sappho -

Simple little motorcycles were for rent in the town. We did some excursions to the east to Skala Sikamineas and to the west to Sigri. The eastern part of the island is covered in forest and 11 million olive trees hundreds of years old. The western part of the island is rather barren. The Italians did not stay long enough to get the chance to also plant a forest here. Except of the main island thoroughfare to Mitilini most of the roads were unpaved and there were quite a lot of rocks in the middle of the track. This made driving with two people on the little bike a bit tricky, in particular at night, and since the light went on and off at random. However, the little mishap occurred on the paved road, when I had to leave the narrow pavement to avoid a car coming the opposite way. I was blinded by the light and did not see the little step down between the pavement and the shoulder. We were very slow but the bike still fell to the side and one of the utterly attractive legs of my friend was burnt on the muffler. It was not a bad wound, no reason for a hospital. If wearing long pants nothing would have happened at all, but putting that in words was a mistake.

“frequently
for those
I treat well are the ones who most of all
harm me”
- Sappho - 

Eventually we left the little town to go back to Mitilini by bus and look how to get to the next island. On the way we wanted to visit the little town of Agiasos. Lesbos has its own Olymp, the highest mountain, which towers over this historic town. We left the bus to look for a connecting ride since Agiasos is not on the main road. The bus had just left when I discovered that I had left my camera bag including a part of our money or traveller cheques (that was the time before credit cards and ATM’s) in the luggage rack of the bus. Fortunately we were able to flag down a taxi quite quickly and caught up with the bus in the main bus station in Mitilini. The bag including the valuables was still there. 

In the bus station in Mitilini

My friend, who had travelled around the world for a year without anything like that ever happening, could not understand such stupidity. It did not make sense to go back to have a look at mount Olymp and so we had to spend almost a day in ugly Mitilini. When looking for a room, an old guy approached us. He offered us a cheap room in an ugly building in the harbour. It was only for one night and so we accepted. When he handed us over the key he asked whether we would have any plans for the afternoon. We didn’t and so he invited us for a trip to show us this part of the island.

“If you are squeamish
Don't prod the beach rubble.”
- Sappho -

After a while he showed up in a battered but beautiful old three wheeled Mazda transporter. There was just enough space for two people next to the driver on the bench and SHE had to sit next to him. He drove us to some scenic sights around Mitilini and the more beautiful the places he showed us became, the closer he got to HER. When I put my arm around her back to claim my space he decided that her knee was a place better suited for his hand anyway. Again a thing much less urgent when wearing long pants, but I kept my mouth shut this time. When we arrived at a beautiful beach he suggested that we could go swimming here but we declined politely.

Eventually we got back to Mitilini without a fight. For the night we moved the heavy cupboard in front of the door. After we came back it turned out that the filmroll with the pictures of the trip with our old friend was overexposed or ruined during development. Like everything I kept it. Today's digital means do not make perfekt, but visible....  

The waterfront of Mitilini

“I want to say something but shame prevents me
yet if you had a desire for good or beautiful things
and your tongue were not concocting some evil to say
shame would not hold down your eyes
but rather you would speak about what is just”
- Sappho - 

More than 30 years will have changed even a remote island like Lesbos. However, from remoteness the island suddenly moved into the epicentre of the refugee crisis. Due to the proximity to the Turkish mainland and the Syrian and Iraquian conflict, several vessels full of refugees arrived daily.

I think it exceeds the level of tolerance which can be expected from a population of 86000 on a previously remote, almost arcadian island when it is overwhelmed with about 15000 strangers in a short period of time. Moria became Europe's biggest camp. As comparison: it amounts to a bit more than 1% of the population when a country like Germany accepts 1 million refugees. In Lesbos it summed up to almost 20%. People started to complain about vandalism, looting and burglary. 5000 of the ancient olive trees were cut for fire wood. Makeshift extensions of the camp started to mushroom into the surrounding hills into what became known locally as the Moria jungle.

In those years since 1984 the islanders have become utmost dependent on tourism. As early as 2016 tourism had dropped by 70%. Hotel rooms were empty, flights were cancelled by tour operators.

 

“their heart grew cold, they let their wings down” - Sappho - 

village band playing the syrtaki

Now, after the camp burned down, politicians suddenly cry out for solutions. There were initial offers to accept at least a part of the unlucky refugees of Moria and relieve the islanders. But they drowned in a sea of bureaucratic discussions between governments and different levels of administration. Eventually a replacement camp has been set up in a remote bay – on Lesbos. A week ago the number of corona cases amongst the refugees had risen to 240. The problem is left with Greece and with the inhabitants of the island.

My friend of the time studied law and became a judge. She now is a specialist on immigration and asylum law and decides on admitting immigrants.

 

“You may forget but let me tell you this: someone in some future time will think of us”
- Sappho - 

Number 36 France 2014

Pas de Calais

 

With Hannah's birthday yesterday I had to think of some adventures we had together. And since travelling seems to get more difficult again, I thought of starting all over again and write some more stories.

I hate the war zone of the fireworks on new year’s eve and always try to spend it in places where fireworks are not permitted. So for a week around new year 2014/2015 we rented a house in the Somme area in France. Fortunately, in France, private fireworks are not allowed and so we were looking forward to a quiet change of the year.

The rented house was in a little village close to the baie de somme. Since the location was quite remote and I still always try to take the train I had to rent a car to get there. Fortunately, in France, you can rent a car at the station in even minor towns. In this case, the next rental location was Boulogne-sur-Mer. We had to change trains in Lille and took the last TGV. In France, they are very strict in keeping their working hours. The arrival in Boulogne sur Mer was too late for the rental agency. Nevertheless, they announced that the car key would wait for us in the office of the station master.

Change of trains in Brussels

Hannah's new TGV friends

the cold station of Lille Europe

waiting for a car in the station of Boulogne sur Mer

On monday at daylight, the bleak surroundings of the station of Boulongne sur Mer became obvious

 

It was a dark, cold December night, when we arrived. The few other passengers had quickly disappeared. I found the office of the station master in the station building and asked for my car key. He opened a drawer and took out an envelope containing some paperwork and a key. Then he looked at me. He said, well this car is for somebody with the typical French name Dupont. So probably this was not the car for me. There was no other key in the drawer. I showed him my reservation, but to no avail, he did not have another key. He comforted me with the revelation that this happened more frequently with this rental agency in Boulogne sur Mer. There was also no possibility to call them. Outside office hours nobody would answer. It was Saturday night and they were bound to be open again Monday morning at 9. The station master recommended to take a taxi and get it reimbursed by the car rental agency.

So we pulled our suitcases down across the station hall and out into the frigid air of the station square to the taxi stand. There was no taxi. Apparently all of them had left after our, the last train, had arrived. But there was a long list of phone numbers. So I started calling, anxious for a quick answer, because the battery of my phone was about to die. In short, no one took up the phone for most of the numbers. In some cases there was an answering machine and I left a message. Nobody ever called back. One guy answered in person, but he was on his way for a weekend getaway in Brussels.

Meanwhile an icy drizzle had started and we retreated into the station hall, where some other lost souls had found refuge. None of them looked like a train passenger. From there I called my friends, with whom we had planned to share the house. And indeed, a couple had already arrived. Eventually they agreed to take the car and come and pick us up. But with the icy drizzle it would take at least an hour to drive the 80 km to pick us up at Boulogne sur Mer.

 

So I sat with my little girl in the cold, but protected station hall and waited. At 11 pm, the station master came and kicked everybody out. He also told us that Dupont had not showed up to pick up his car. Since he did not give us Dupont’s car key, we had to go outside into the icy drizzle again and wait for the friend to arrive and get us.

We had waited for much longer than an hour and nobody had arrived. Meanwhile my phone’s battery was at its end, but fortunately little Hannah had her brand-new portable charger, which she had got as a Christmas present and was very proud that she was able to help her daddy. Nor did she seem to mind to have to wait in the cold…. Another adventure.

Eventually my phone started ringing. It turned out that my friend had sent her husband to pick us up. However, when he wanted to exit the motorway, he was not able to pay since he had forgotten his credit card. His bank pass did not work and the machine did not accept cash. He was stuck at the payage and could not get anywhere. He also could not call anybody because he spoke no French. She recommended us to take a taxi to the exit of the motor way to bail him out. However, of course, there was no taxi. She proposed to call the police and ask for help or advice.

So I called the police and told my story. They answered that there was no way to get out of the motorway without paying. And that, unfortunately, they were unable to come and drive us to the motorway exit. However, there would always be a taxi available at the main square of Boulogne. That was about 2 km away. I was about to start walking and take the first hotel room available on the way. I called my friend to ask what to do. She complained that we could not let her poor husband freeze to death at the motorway exit. So we started pulling our suitcases through the soggy snow when a lone car pulled onto the station square. It was my friend. Some Samaritan had had pity with him and had paid for him at the motorway. So we got our ride.

 The church of our village in the morning

the village main street

An abandoned village school

The next morning I called the head office of the car rental company responsible for the whole of France. They could not do anything. I had to wait for Monday. Then I finally got hold of their local office in Boulogne. They had some excuse and told me that the car would be ready for me to be picked up if I would come during office hours, from 9 am to 12, and 2 pm to 5. Fortunately, at daytime there was a little local train and after changing in a place called Etaples-Le Touquet I eventually arrived in Boulogne and got the car.

The romantic little station of Hesdin

The modern equipment did not help: manwhile the train service to Hesdin has been stopped

The station of Etaples-Le Touquet seems to be unchanged since the time of Jean Gabin in "La bete humaine"

Eventually we were able to enjoy a week in this area, which was in the front line of the mass murder of world war I, but is, with its beautiful old fashioned towns and villages, the wide tidal flats of the coast line, quiet countryside with long alleys of poplars, abbeys and warm hearted brasserie’s, a fantastic place to pass a getaway in winter.

The main street of St. Valery sur Somme

A peek through a gap between the houses reveal the sea

in the streets of St. Valery

View from the castle mound of St. Valery over the mud flats, the wadden

boat in the mud flats off St. Valery

the lighthouse of St. Valery

The harbour entrance of Le Treport at low tide

At low tide the looks ought to keep the water in the port

the cathedral towers on the limestone cliffs above town

the cliffs above Treport

to make life easier a double cablecar provides accrss to the upper parts of the town

one of the mainy staircases

view of town from the cliffs

 Some impressions of the villages around the Baie de Somme

Many of the houses are abondoned

sometimes the inside looks like the owners just left a short while ago

Abbaye de Valloires

the countrysides offers great opportunities for walks

a tree has invorporated these old metal signs in his trunk

The cathedral of Amiens, one of the best examples of gothic architecture ever. Amiens was in the center of the conflict in WWI and changed sides several times. In WWII it was heavily bombed again. Not much of the old town is left

Inside the cathedral

grave of an unknown french soldier in one of the many war cemeteries of WWI