My father wanted Sunday lunch with the extended family, unless we were invited out to even more extended family. I remember a few things about these Sunday lunches over the years from when I can remember until I left home and started having Sunday lunches with the Italians. In some ways not much has changed.…
Conversations on Dolphins
I remember the thrill of standing on the fresh prow of a ferry boat crossing the Ionian Sea to Ithaca watching dolphins play in the wake of the boat. I think we only went to Ithaca twice, once to see Uncle Steve and Aunty Helene, and the second time when Uncle Lambros married Aunty Kiki.…
Conversations on Chest Pain and Chestnuts
The platea (square) in Tripoli is edged by chestnut trees. In early winter the fruits fall to the ground and are roasted by vendors over charcoal fires. The aroma takes the change out of your pocket to nibble on these delights. Simple flavours burst open hinting at the lazy summer that has just passed in…
Conversations with Al Capone
The 1929 Model A Ford gleamed. The vinyl flat roof top had been oiled. The old fabric red seats were perfect to cosset Al Capone. The Mafia has always been idolised, during the Prohibition for saving the masses from alcoholic starvation and then after The Godfather Movies. The Italians seem to have a love-hate relationship…
Conversations on Rituals
I always questioned my father’s rituals. He had many. Some every day, some every week, some every season. It is easy to see why the seasonal rituals worked well. He used to go to Greece every June and July for six weeks and have a good rest. He would wake up every morning and say…
Conversations on a Farm
I was always envious my father never bought me an Alfa Romeo. I remember when he bought me a new Honda after Uncle Piet’s Peugeot was stolen at medical school, and Uncle Philip asked him why he didn’t buy me a smart car, like a BMW or Alfa Romeo. My father didn’t answer. Although all…
Conversations about Cats
My mom shouted down the passage while my father was still in bed. “Peter, come see. Basil slept with Gina last night.” Not the sort of thing you say in a conservative Greek household when your son is 17 years old. Not just that Gina was Italian and not Greek, but that Gina sounded like…
Conversations on Holiday
For most of my school days we were dragged to Greece on holiday for six weeks of the South Africa winter. The trip from Athens was long and windy before the road was improved, and then again before the highway was opened with twin tunnels through Artemision Mountain to cut the trip to less than…
Conversations with an Herb Seller
I really do not know what else to call her. The walk to the open market in Tripoli is from the main square through the narrow roads on uneven pavements. As you leave the square there are modern shops and banks and as you approach the market there are general trading stores, saddle makers and…
Conversations with a Portuguese Tiler
My father had a Portuguese tiler working for him at the time of the main expansions of our house. “Patria”, he would shout as he passed the tiler, and the tiler would give him a broad smile. There was a labourer or two, but they were always in the background. The tiler did all the…
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