I miss my village. Because of the Covid-19 I am stuck in the big city. Spring makes it more difficult, but I shouldn’t complain. The streets in my neighbourhood are lined with trees and the smell of the citrus flowers is intoxicating. And I have the Acropolis to rest my eyes on. It is rather quiet and as there are not so many cars driving around I can hear the birds singing. But my “plan” was to spend Easter in my village. Plans proved to be just plans.
My real “village” is Athens, but my Chios one adopted me almost twenty years ago. It first adopted my husband, who found himself there by chance, and then I followed.
I am dreaming of walking around in the village, breathing the fragrant air (Chios is famous for it), talking to people, exchanging news, exploring the old and often abandoned houses. These houses have many interesting stories to tell me. But, to be honest, I often prefer to wonder about these stories, or make up my own. The truth can sometimes be disappointing.
All the houses in this castle-village are made of stone and each stone is interesting, unique, there are no two exactly the same. I can see the marks of the human hands that shaped them and I think of the people who carried these heavy stones on their backs or on the backs of their donkeys or mules. When I first went to the village there were only two donkeys left, now there is none. Progress!…
But the village is not just stones. It is surrounded by beautiful nature with mastic trees, wild flowers and bushes, gardens with flowers and vegetables, vineyards and, a little further away, the blue sea.
People are the most important “ingredient” in a small community, the friendships made and the way they help each other, especially in bad times. And I miss them.