spinasa

We got back to Nereida in the evening. The rain was no longer torrential, just the kind of wet that soaks in to your very soul. We sploshed past the church and got to what was obviously a café. A very nice woman said they weren`t open yet, but they would be in about an hour. In the meantime, she sent me back the way I had come saying that there was an empty house where I could camp and grazing for George.
This meant I passed by a house I had passed on my way into the village.There were two blokes pottering about under the shelter of their balcony.
They asked where I was going, and I explained.
“No no!” they said. “That house is locked” “ But” said one guy, whose name was Vassili, you could camp in that building (it was a kind of roofed place that once was used for villagers to do their washing) and you can put your horse in that field. George could be free in a huge grassy field. Perfect. Then Vassili said please come and have an orange juice with me. Even more perfect.

Vassili had a lovely warm house. He was a retired policeman from Athens. When I say policeman I don`t mean a flatfoot..he had been a superimportant upper echelon cop.There were lots of photos of him hobnobbing with bigwigs and wearing uniforms covered in medals. He said he enjoyed being retired. Being a cop was different then. He thought it was a dangerous job now.
His family came from Nereida he said, and he came there frequently to sort the house out and to undertake various duties for the village. He was the president of a society for the protection of the village. They arranged events for the summer and ran a small newspaper where all important village activities were described. Also people`s poems and written thoughts. And, of course, births deaths and marriages were recorded. It was a really nice newspaper.
I went to eat at the café, as I had promised, and there I met two of the three people who had warned me about the river and another person I had met sitting in his car enjoying the view before the rain started. Everyone had a good laugh at my wimpy failure to cross the river, and my wasted 24 kms. But I turned the tables by saying.. yes, but if I HAD crossed the river, then we wouldn`t all be sitting having a good time and making new friends. Which was true.
Then Vassili and Ilias turned up. Ilias was my first contact in Nereida, he had even made me a very clear map about how to get onto the right track for Mavromata.
“It is the duty of the wealthy man
To provide employment for the artisan”
Was something he and Vassili, and the artisans, clearly believed in. It also seems to be the duty of the wealthy man to provide copious amounts of alcohol for the artisans.
In order to avoid feeling that they were being patronised the artisans teased Ilias unmercifully. Since Ilias is a respected lawyer all the old chestnuts about crooked lawyers came up.. as they obviously did every evening. Ilias took this in good part. I noticed that the chafing of Vassili was much more subdued, though he was subjected to a certain amount of vulgar sniggering when he said that since in this village could not allow a traveller to 1. pay for their own food or 2 sleep in the wash house he was going to 1.pay for my dinner and 2 invite me to stay at his house.
I was by this time almost totally out of it with exhaustion, but I was very grateful to be offered a warm dry place to sleep.
Ilias` surname was Spinasa. This was the old name of the village. In 1935, apparently, those who decide these things had decided that Spinasa wasn`t a Greek name, and so the village would be called Nereida instead.
Imagine if all your family name was associated with a village.. lets say..Cheriton Fitzpaine , and your name was Fitzpaine, and you were all jolly proud of it and the village, and suddenly they said..no! its not British! You must be called Fairy from now on. Would you like it? Of course you wouldn`t.
Especially since, Vassili says that Spinasa is a perfectly good Greek name.. it comes from the word Spinos (chaffinch) and means chaffinch place, which is a lovely name for a village on a wooded mountainside- and for a family that comes from there.
People in Athens, even today, are all too keen to change placenames, without even TRYING to think what they mean. What city mapmaker has even heard of a chaffinch, let alone heard their glorious chorus at dawn? And yet they impose their ignorance on people they haven`t even seen. There are loads of Nereidas in Greece. Did they all once have lovely local names that were removed from the map for mistaken or spurious reasons?
I put my still damp smelly sleeping bag to dry on one of Vassili`s radiators, got into a warm dry bed and slept.
Vassili had told me he never woke up early, so in the morning I went to see to George, and then sat reading at a table, sheltered from the drizzle by Vassili`s balcony,waiting to have a coffee with Vassili when he woke up..
As I was sitting there I heard a horse approaching. I looked up in the field, George was still there. Then a little chestnut pony, a white dog and a guy wearing cowboy boots and hat came along the road. Other travellers! What an amazing coincidence.. the only two equestrian travellers in Greece both in a tiny village at the same time.
The guy was called Zenophondos he said. He lived near Napaktos. This was his first journey with a horse. He had followed a similar route to mine, he`d been on Vardousi, for example.He had spent the night at the drunk grannies church where I had been the previous night.
I stories differed though. Wolves, it seems, had come down to attack his pony at To Spiti Tou Diavatou. Hmmm.
Anyway he suggested we travel on together. I tried to wriggle out of it. If you look at his card you`ll see why I didn’t think we`d be all that compatable.
I said that I had to stay and have coffee with Vassili when he woke up, and I didn’t know when that would be. Zenophon said he needed a coffee and would stop in the village. Sometimes, he said, he just didn’t really feel like doing much. I know that feeling all too well.
Vassili and I had our coffee. I said I wanted to go on alone,and so wanted to give Zenophon a bit of space. Vassili said he didn’t have anything special to do so we just hung out for some time..til 12 to be exact.
I was very grateful to Vassili for his kindness and hospitality.
There`s a photo of him, and one of the artisans with George.
Then I set off.
And tied up outside the café was the little chestnut pony. So I bit the bullet, and Zenophon and I travelled together. But I am afraid I didn’t do it with good grace. In fact I was in such a vile temper that I could barely speak. My companion didn’t care at all as he was chatting continually on his mobile.

The photo of Zenophon and the pony- is there something ambiguous about the gesture he appears to be making? Can it be that my feelings about travelling together were reciprocated?

At some point, George lost a shoe.Under normal circumstances I would notice something like that at once. In fact, subliminally I did notice.
Anyway we travelled along in the pouring rain and freezing cold for hours. Zenophon was heading for Lake Plastira, as he had friends there. I was going to Agrapha, (I said) so the time came for a parting of the ways.
There was nothing wrong with Zenophon. He very sweetly insisted on giving me a present. He gave me a penknife. “How did you know I`d just lost my knife?” I asked him.
I just prefer to travel alone. Travelling with Zenophon made my reasons for this very clear to me.
When we parted I realised that George was missing a front shoe. Although I carry spare shoes and everything, the shoe that was lost fitted perfectly, and I would have to do a lot of bodging to get the spare to fit. And the bodging would have to be done with heavy stones and so on, as obviously I don`t carry an anvil and a heavy hammer with me.
No.. I`d have to go back. And now I thought about it, I knew exactly where the shoe had been lost. George had struggled in some mud and stumbled. That`s where it would be.
That is to say about 7 kilometres from Nereida..I would have to go back about 8 kms.
But, I found the shoe. And a LOVELY place to stop for the night..it was more or less night by now. We camped at the monastery of Panayia, which belongs to Nereida.
Lovely grass for George. Dry place for me. And no Zenophon. Who could ask for more?

We got back to Nereida in the evening. The rain was no longer torrential, just the kind of wet that soaks in to your very soul. We sploshed past the church and got to what was obviously a café. A very nice woman said they weren`t open yet, but they would be in about an hour. In the meantime, she sent me back the way I had come saying that there was an empty house where I could camp and grazing for George. This meant I passed by a house I had passed on my way into the village.There were two blokes pottering about under the shelter of their balcony. They asked where I was going, and I explained "No no!" they said. "That house is locked" " But" said one guy, whose name was Vassili, you could camp in that building (it was a kind of roofed place that once was used for villagers to do their washing) and you can put your horse in that field. George could be free in a huge grassy field. Perfect. Then Vassili said please come and have an orange juice with me. Even more perfect. Vassili had a lovely warm house. He was a retired policeman from Athens. When I say policeman I don`t mean a flatfoot..he had been a superimportant upper echelon cop.There were lots of photos of him hobnobbing with bigwigs and wearing uniforms covered in medals. He said he enjoyed being retired. Being a cop was different then. He thought it was a dangerous job now. His family came from Nereida he said, and he came there frequently to sort the house out and to undertake various duties for the village. He was the president of a society for the protection of the village. They arranged events for the summer and ran a small newspaper where all important village activities were described. Also people`s poems and written thoughts. And, of course, births deaths and marriages were recorded. It was a really nice newspaper. I went to eat at the café, as I had promised, and there I met two of the three people who had warned me about the river and another person I had met sitting in his car enjoying the view before the rain started. Everyone had a good laugh at my wimpy failure to cross the river, and my wasted 24 kms. But I turned the tables by saying.. yes, but if I HAD crossed the river, then we wouldn`t all be sitting having a good time and making new friends. Which was true. Then Vassili and Ilias turned up. Ilias was my first contact in Nereida, he had even made me a very clear map about how to get onto the right track for Mavromata. "It is the duty of the wealthy man To provide employment for the artisan" Was something he and Vassili, and the artisans, clearly believed in. It also seems to be the duty of the wealthy man to provide copious amounts of alcohol for the artisans. In order to avoid feeling that they were being patronised the artisans teased Ilias unmercifully. Since Ilias is a respected lawyer all the old chestnuts about crooked lawyers came up.. as they obviously did every evening. Ilias took this in good part. I noticed that the chafing of Vassili was much more subdued, though he was subjected to a certain amount of vulgar sniggering when he said that since in this village could not allow a traveller to 1. pay for their own food or 2 sleep in the wash house he was going to 1.pay for my dinner and 2 invite me to stay at his house. I was by this time almost totally out of it with exhaustion, but I was very grateful to be offered a warm dry place to sleep. Ilias` surname was Spinasa. This was the old name of the village. In 1935, apparently, those who decide these things had decided that Spinasa wasn`t a Greek name, and so the village would be called Nereida instead. Imagine if your family name was associated with a village.. lets say..Cheriton Fitzpaine , and your name was Fitzpaine, and you were all jolly proud of it and the village, and suddenly they said..no! its not British! You must be called Fairy from now on. Would you like it? Of course you wouldn`t. Especially since, Vassili says that Spinasa is a perfectly good Greek name.. it comes from the word Spinos (chaffinch) and means chaffinch place, which is a lovely name for a village on a wooded mountainside- and for a family that comes from there. People in Athens, even today, are all too keen to change placenames, without even TRYING to think what they mean. Or how the names connect people to their place. What city mapmaker has even heard of a chaffinch, let alone heard their glorious chorus at dawn? And yet they impose their ignorance on people they haven`t even seen. There are loads of Nereidas in Greece. Did they all once have lovely local names that were removed from the map for mistaken or spurious reasons? I put my still damp smelly sleeping bag to dry on one of Vassili`s radiators, got into a warm dry bed and slept. Vassili had told me he never woke up early, so in the morning I went to see to George, and then sat reading at a table, sheltered from the drizzle by Vassili`s balcony,waiting to have a coffee with Vassili when he woke up.. As I was sitting there I heard a horse approaching. I looked up in the field, George was still there. Then a little chestnut pony, a white dog and a guy wearing cowboy boots and hat came along the road. Other travellers! What an amazing coincidence.. the only two equestrian travellers in Greece both in a tiny village at the same time. The guy was called Zenophondos he said. He lived near Napaktos. This was his first journey with a horse. He had followed a similar route to mine, he`d been on Vardousi, for example.He had spent the night at the drunk grannies church where I had been the previous night. I stories differed though. Wolves, it seems, had come down to attack his pony at To Spiti Tou Diavatou. Hmmm. Anyway he suggested we travel on together. I tried to wriggle out of it. If you look at his card you`ll see why I didn't think we`d be all that compatable. I said that I had to stay and have coffee with Vassili when he woke up, and I didn't know when that would be. Zenophon said he needed a coffee and would stop in the village. Sometimes, he said, he just didn't really feel like doing much. I know that feeling all too well. Vassili and I had our coffee. I said I wanted to go on alone,and so wanted to give Zenophon a bit of space. Vassili said he didn't have anything special to do so we just hung out for some time..til 12 to be exact. I was very grateful to Vassili for his kindness and hospitality. There`s a photo of him, and one of the artisans with George. Then I set off. And tied up outside the café was the little chestnut pony. So I bit the bullet, and Zenophon and I travelled together. But I am afraid I didn't do it with good grace. In fact I was in such a vile temper that I could barely speak. I took a picture after we crossed a bridge. Is there something ambiguous about a gesture Zenophon appears to be making? Can it be he felt the same ? Anyway I didn`t find out much about my companion as he was chatting continually on his mobile. At some point, George lost a shoe.Under normal circumstances I would notice something like that at once. But I was too cross to take it in. Subliminally I did notice though. Anyway we travelled along in the pouring rain and freezing cold for hours. Zenophon was heading for Lake Plastira, as he had friends there. I was going to Agrapha, (I said) so the time came for a parting of the ways. There was nothing wrong with Zenophon. He very sweetly insisted on giving me a present. He gave me a penknife. "How did you know I`d just lost my knife?" I asked him. I just prefer to travel alone. Travelling with Zenophon made my reasons for this very clear to me. When we parted I realised that George was missing a front shoe. Although I carry spare shoes and everything, the shoe that was lost fitted perfectly, and I would have to do a lot of bodging to get the spare to fit. And the bodging would have to be done with heavy stones and so on, as obviously I don`t carry an anvil and a heavy hammer with me. No.. I`d have to go back. And now I thought about it, I knew exactly where the shoe had been lost. George had struggled in some mud and stumbled. That`s where it would be. That is to say about 7 kilometres from Nereida..I would have to go back about 8 kms. But, I found the shoe. And a LOVELY place to stop for the night..it was more or less night by now. We camped at the monastery of Panayia, which belongs to Nereida. Lovely grass for George. Dry place for me. And no Zenophon. Who could ask for more?