Letters from Greece: The end of the first week

Part 2 of 4

Dear Friends,

The greatest delight — after the luxury of time to write — has been in the making of new friends, the instantaneous connection across age, nationality and language.

Because I am here for a month, there comes the sadness of seeing people leave. Here, as in life, those we care about leave before we are ready to let them go. 

I wondered if I would find leave-taking harder at my age? Instead I found that the new connections, by so enriching me, made me more willing to experience the  letting go. 

On Wednesday, six of us (two from England, one from Holland and two from Egypt) took a water taxi to the island of Aegina, for shopping, restaurants and the temple of Aphaia. 

The temple stands high above the port of Ayia Marina. Pine trees densely fill the slopes as you climb away from town, transforming the gray volcanic mountains into forests of green — much like our New England landscape.

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The exciting part of our excursion was the ride in the water taxi to and from Aegina. It began from the harbor of Agios Georgious on the north side of Methana.

The taxi bumped hard against the side of the concrete dock. The driver jumped out of the smallish craft. The boat holds about 12 people on single seats. No seat belts or life preservers or any sign of safety rules we are so used to. On shore he held the thick rope, attempting to keep the boat close to land while it lifted, pulled out and bobbed up and down.

My young friends scrambled aboard. For a moment I was frightened.  Would I be able to get on? One of the young women put out her hand from inside the cabin and the boatman, with one hand still holding the rope, offered me his other hand.  He held mine tight and assured me: “You strong lady. Good lady.” And I was aboard.

Like a horse gone wild in a western movie, the boat bucked over the waves while we laughed, screamed and made jokes. We shouted at him “this like horse riding” and he took one hand from the wheel and whipped it about as if he had a horse under him shouting, “hip hip hip.”

The town was crowded with motor scooters, tourists, tour buses and taxi cabs; horse drawn carriages and uneven sidewalks made walking with my unsteady gait a bit of a challenge.

 We hired a cab to visit the temple. The winding road, a double lane, seemed  to shrink to single file each time a bus came toward us. Then, all of a sudden, the cabby stopped and got out: “One minute, OK?’’  

Our assumption that he had to relieve himself was not only wrong, but ungracious. He had stopped to pick pistachios for us. Grateful and chagrined, we learned from him how to peel and crack the fresh nuts, which were delicious. 

Early theory had it that the temple was dedicated to Athena, but later excavations  in 1901 found an inscription referring to the local goddess. Worship on this site goes back to prehistoric times, around 1300 BC, to the worship of the female fertility goddess, Aphaia, who escaped the attentions of King Minos of Crete, so the myth goes, by jumping into the sea. She resurfaced at Aegina,but nobody there could see her — Aphaia is the Greek for invisible.

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 Each day I am here I am learning the gift of asking for help — and I keep being assured that it gives pleasure to the giver. This is a hard lesson to learn for those of us who are too proud of our independence. We forget that with the help we are able to do more. 

Shopping (I do not like): But the one man in our group said, “Let’s go,” held my hand, took me into stores, helped me pick out some jewelry and together we wandered into some of the side streets.

 If I had stayed alone, I would have sat in one of the seaside cafes and missed so much friendship and delight. I had a glorious time. 

All six of us came together, as planned, at 1:30 for a lunch of a nameless fresh fish, plus sardines, calamari, olives and wonderful bread with olive oil.

And best of all: the merriment of shared talk and laughter with new friends.

Part 3 next time.

Isabella S. Bick, who has a Ph.D. and MFA, works as a therapist from her home in Sharon, which her late husband, Sherman Schneider, designed for them almost 30 years ago. She is 82 years old. Reach her at isabellabick@gmail.com.