First stage of the 50th Acropolis Rally.
It’s a long walk and it’s hot. A huge kebab van, laid out with layers of fresh ingredients revitalises us. We sport bandanas to keep out the dust. Adrian looks like a boy scout in layers of khaki and my red bandana from Monte rally.
We headed into Lamia for the service park, Adrian in his element pressed against the Subaru bunting, free Pirelli cap in hand (another?!) despite the intense heat.
On the way back we go to the village of Distomo. 200 villagers were slain here by the Nazis in 1944 as reprisal for a guerrilla attack. We see the memorial to commemorate this. We can’t understand more than the odd word but it doesn’t need translation. The town is coastal, eerily quiet like we have driven into an army base when the army is out of town. The homes are small and new, like living quarters than homes. The water though is clear and tempting. There is an industrial plant across the bay, it doesn’t deter us and the water looks none the worse for it. Adrian is submerged in a flash, Rowena flaked out under a tree. We have no towels but the heat dries everything out quickly.
We search for local cuisine for lunch. We both know what we want. Some of the cafes (kafeneia), populated only by old men playing backgammon, clicking worry beads are intimidating. Some of the restaurants are closed. We check out several settlements unsuccessfully until Adrian spies a large building like a tidy big shed. There is a family eating inside and a man hosing down the road in front to keep the dust down. We are beckoned inside to eat. When it’s apparent we don’t speak Greek we are invited to the kitchen to identify food. Seeing mass style catering throws anyone the first time when you are accustomed to seeing a well presented chicken breast on your plate, rather than a whole mass of chicken in a pot. But we are hungry and we point to what we want and get a load of lukewarm but real Greek food in return. (There is a joke comment that the Greek wife nags her husband “come to the dinner table quickly before your food gets hot” because of their reputation for serving food lukewarm.)
Adrian patiently follows small wooden signs to the Moni Osiou Louka (Monastery of St Luke Stiris) In Greek the word for Monastery looks like Movn prompting Adrian to call out from time to time, “there was a sign there for Moving… Moving House, Moving Something – is that it?”
The monastery (dating from 10 to 16th C) is dedicated to a local hermit who was canonised for his healing and prophetic powers. I really wanted Adrian to see some of the frescos which I had seen in other Greek monasteries over ten years before but had made such an impression on me. The main church Agios Loukas contains some of Greek’s finest Byzantine frescoes and well as marble and mosaics and icons by a famous 16 C painter Michael Damaskinos. The frescos and mosaics are brilliantly preserved. We try to honour to sanctity of the place, and I cover my arms and legs despite the heat and scowl at the French tourists baring all. Many visitors are demonstrative in their religion, kissing the icons, and paintings. We contemplate what this does in terms of preservation, not to mention personal hygiene.
The monastery is in a peaceful green setting and we are both surprised at how lush the vegetation is compared to our expectations.
We headed into Lamia for the service park, Adrian in his element pressed against the Subaru bunting, free Pirelli cap in hand (another?!) despite the intense heat.
On the way back we go to the village of Distomo. 200 villagers were slain here by the Nazis in 1944 as reprisal for a guerrilla attack. We see the memorial to commemorate this. We can’t understand more than the odd word but it doesn’t need translation. The town is coastal, eerily quiet like we have driven into an army base when the army is out of town. The homes are small and new, like living quarters than homes. The water though is clear and tempting. There is an industrial plant across the bay, it doesn’t deter us and the water looks none the worse for it. Adrian is submerged in a flash, Rowena flaked out under a tree. We have no towels but the heat dries everything out quickly.
We search for local cuisine for lunch. We both know what we want. Some of the cafes (kafeneia), populated only by old men playing backgammon, clicking worry beads are intimidating. Some of the restaurants are closed. We check out several settlements unsuccessfully until Adrian spies a large building like a tidy big shed. There is a family eating inside and a man hosing down the road in front to keep the dust down. We are beckoned inside to eat. When it’s apparent we don’t speak Greek we are invited to the kitchen to identify food. Seeing mass style catering throws anyone the first time when you are accustomed to seeing a well presented chicken breast on your plate, rather than a whole mass of chicken in a pot. But we are hungry and we point to what we want and get a load of lukewarm but real Greek food in return. (There is a joke comment that the Greek wife nags her husband “come to the dinner table quickly before your food gets hot” because of their reputation for serving food lukewarm.)
Adrian patiently follows small wooden signs to the Moni Osiou Louka (Monastery of St Luke Stiris) In Greek the word for Monastery looks like Movn prompting Adrian to call out from time to time, “there was a sign there for Moving… Moving House, Moving Something – is that it?”
The monastery (dating from 10 to 16th C) is dedicated to a local hermit who was canonised for his healing and prophetic powers. I really wanted Adrian to see some of the frescos which I had seen in other Greek monasteries over ten years before but had made such an impression on me. The main church Agios Loukas contains some of Greek’s finest Byzantine frescoes and well as marble and mosaics and icons by a famous 16 C painter Michael Damaskinos. The frescos and mosaics are brilliantly preserved. We try to honour to sanctity of the place, and I cover my arms and legs despite the heat and scowl at the French tourists baring all. Many visitors are demonstrative in their religion, kissing the icons, and paintings. We contemplate what this does in terms of preservation, not to mention personal hygiene.
The monastery is in a peaceful green setting and we are both surprised at how lush the vegetation is compared to our expectations.
posted by Rowena at 4:32 pm
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