Kardamyli

Saturday, June 9^th, was a Rick Steves “vacation from your vacation.”  After visiting Old Kardamyli (the fortress compound of a local warlord from the seventeenth century), we decided that it was too hot to take a hike in the hills, so we had lunch with Sharon and Suzanne, a mother and daughter from North Carolina, at Taverna Dioscouri--a nice lunch with a terrific view out over the water. 

Returning to our room, we discovered that our toilet didn’t work.  I tried to fix it, but while I could probably have figured out what was wrong eventually, the mechanism was just enough different from American toilets that we decided to tell the hotel staff instead.  Managing the hotel was a middle-aged lady dressed entirely in black, from her stylish cap to her high heels (it used to be the custom for widows to dress permanently in black). Her mother or mother-in-law, also dressed in black, spent most of the time watching TV.  The manager’s English was minimal, and her English-speaking daughter was not available when Mary Joy went down to the office.

“Problema!” said Mary Joy

The lady asked, in a mixture of Greek and English and maybe Spanish or Italian, if it had to do with the air conditioning.

“Ochi,” said Mary Joy. “Toaleta!”

So the lady decided to come up and look for herself.  Mary Joy told her our room number, A5, and in trying to communicate that, apparently committed a faux pas.  The day before, on the bus, Danae had been talking about Greek culture and customs.  She had mentioned that pushing your open hand toward someone was considered a gross insult.  In order to show “five,” Mary Joy put out her spread-out hand toward the Greek lady, then apologized profusely.  The lady was apparently not insulted.

She went up to our room and looked at the toilet, after which she made it clear that she would be calling someone, presumably a plumber.  We indicated that that would be fine, and said “Beach! Beach!”  That was okay with her.

So we walked about fifteen minutes north of town to Ritsa Beach, where we rented chaises and an umbrella and took turns swimming.  The beach was pebbled, but we had our swim shoes, which we had gotten on the island of Symi the last time we were in Greece, in 2008.  The waves were strong, and an old English guy was complaining to his son and daughter-in-law that it was dangerous to swim there.  But Mary Joy and I enjoyed it, finding it refreshing in the heat (well over 90 degrees Fahrenheit).

When we got back to the hotel, we met the manager, coming down the street.  She told us to talk to someone in reception.  That turned out to be her English-speaking daughter, who told us that since they hadn’t been able to get a plumber in on a Saturday, our room would be changed.

That evening we had reservations to eat at Kastro Taverna, on the main highway north of town.  The owner (?) sat at our table, told us what was available, made recommendations and took our order.  The meal (fish and something else I don’t remember) was great, the service wonderful, the atmosphere outside delightful.