Bye bye favorite place on earth

Saturday

Morning

I set the alarm for 6.30 this morning. Woke up hungry and kind of cold. Tempting as it was to snooze for another hour or so I knew that I would feel disappointed all day for missing the morning light. So I put on jeans and the thickest sweater I could find in my fathers' wardrobe, took the Mamiya 7 and went out.
It was obviously worth it. How could it not be. An hour of morning air with sea winds and watching the village slowly waking up covered in orange sunlight. Could turn anyone into a poet really, or possibly a photographer.

So many flowers to photograph. 10 days is not even close to enough.

Morning hike

I was warned in the morning that it was too bloody windy to walk the 6 km between Petra and Molivos. The respect that Greeks have for weather is unbelievable, and kind of funny. So I thought to hell with that, I'm Swedish and I'm going. Obvisously the warning was not completely uncalled for.. I did freeze my but off. But it was totally worth it! This island just keeps taking my breath away after all these years. And coming home to a warm house and lentils with roasted veggies and toasted almonds, a hot shower and coffee on the terace is not bad either.

Wind, rain and four hour lunch

Tara

Back in Greece

Hejdå Molivos

Sitter vid ingången till flygplatsen och säger hej då (yet again). Tittar ut över havet som är precis över gatan och funderar lite i bakhuvudet kring vad det är som ger så mycket pirr och lycka med att vara på ön. Hur kan jag känna mig minst lika hemma, om inte mer,  i en fiskeby med 1000 invånare som i Stockholm där jag är född och där allt som är mitt finns. Ligger det i exotismen? Jag vill inte att det ska göra det men ja, kanske en del av pirret grundas i det som är annorlunda. Men det är inte nog det vet jag. Får fundera vidare. 

Jag vet dock att att åka till flygplatsen i soluppgången och stanna och köpa varma sesamkringlor, dricka kaffe och få varje plats vi passerar beskriven för sig i stil med det berget som vi cyklade upp för när vi var 15, den skogsdungen innanför vilken det växer en speciell sorts blomma som bina äter och som gör honungen extra god och en kompis som har bikupor där inne och därifrån ska vi köpa honung när den blir klar, den traktorn som borrar djupa hål och får vattnet från bergen att rinna ned och samlas till brunnar som bönderna sedan vattnar sina fält med- det är sann lycka.

Sitting by the entrance to the airport saying good buy (yet again). I'm looking out over the sea which is just across the street whilst in the back of my head thinking about what it is that gives me such a thrill and such a strong feeling of happiness being on the island. How can I feel just as much at home, if not more, in a fishing village with a 1000 citizens as in Stockholm where I was born and where everything that is mine is located? Is the answer in the exoticism? I don't want it to but yes, maybe a part of the thrill is based in that which is different. It is not enough though, that much I know. I'll have to give this some more thought.

 What I do know however is that going to the airport in sunrise, stopping for warm sesame pretzels (koulouria), drinking coffee and having each place we pass by explained to me as the mountain that we climbed by bicycles when we were 15, the grove within which a special type of flower grows that the bees eat and which makes the honey they produce extra tasty and a friend who has bee hives there and from whom we'll buy honey when it is ready, the bulldozer that drills deep holes and makes way for the water from the mountains and leeds it to the ponds from which the farmers water their fields- that is true happiness.

Elvetia