Kalamata

After driving through yet more mountains, we emerged in the sunny city of Kalamata, home of figs, olives, and Sarah and Nikos' relatives on their father's side. Kalamata is home port to many fishing vessels. Orange and olive groves surround the city, and many residents have orange and lemon trees right outside their back doors.

Sarah and Nikos stayed in their family home, a small old-style farm-house soon to be developed into a block of flats. The house stands on a piece of land between the downtown and the port which have now grown together to become one urban area. There are still about 40 orange and lemon trees on the property. It is a five minute walk to the sea. Apartments have been built on all of the adjacent land, and only the poor economic times have slowed the development of their family's remaining plot.

Kalamata celebrates its independence day two days early, because they declared independence and rose against the Turks two days before the rest of Greece in 1821. We went to the independence day celebrations, which were marked by many wordy speeches and a reenactment. The reenactment involved many Greeks dressed in traditional costumes, some shooting very loud blanks from antique firearms. Prior to the festivities getting started, the shock waves from their practice rounds set off several car alarms, much to the delight of the young men who fired them. After the speeches these young people walking in a procession led by Orthodox priests carrying a large cross. When they got to the main square, the crowd surged forward, going around the crowd control barriers and getting in front of us, while the police who were supposed to keep order shrugged and disappeared. We assume they reenacted driving out the Turks, but we saw no-one dressed as Turks. I guess it would be difficult to get someone to volunteer to play the side that were both the villains and the losers.

Some of our time in Kalamata was spent on family concerns. Sarah needed to get her taftotita (Greek identity card) so she could work, as she is looking for a job and wants to work here for six months. This took several trips to the municipal offices and the police station. Uncle Kostas took us all out for dinner one night to a taverna that had wonderful food and a bouzouki player who played traditional music. The bouzouki player had spent some time in Canada and, when told we were from Canada, came over and shook my hand.

Barb and I stayed with a friend of hers, Giorgos Kelarakos, and his partner Carol, a most hospitable woman from Baltimore. They both made us feel right at home. After a few days we continued our tour of the Peloponesse, starting with Sparta.