Feta Cheese

Hello world! 

I am writing to you all today from a small family farm at the end of a dirt road on top of a mountain in Greece.
I arrived in Athens on Friday morning and spent the day trying to find my way around the city. This would have been difficult even if all of the street signs hadn’t been written in Greek, which is not only a different language but has a completely different alphabet. 

Since i had no idea where i was going anyways, I bought a metro ticket and hopped on the first train I saw. I got off at a random stop and found myself at the Acropolis, a Bysantine era ruin. They had recently started excavating an ancient neighborhood nearby, some of which was built before Jesus was born, to give you an idea of the countless layers of history that modern day Athens is built upon. 

The next day I took a train to Kiato to meet my new employers. I was picked up there by a Greek man and his 10 year old son in a beat up old truck. He grabbed me, kissed me enthusiastically on both cheeks (“In Greece, we kiss!”), and threw my bag into the back. 

As we drove through the narrow streets of Kiato at high speed, he would slam on the brakes every few minutes to yell at somebody he knew (it seemed like he knew everybody). I reached automatically for the seatbelt.

“Oh no no no my friend, that’s broken.” He informed me cheerfully. 

We sped out of the village and up a mountain, which we continued to drive up for the good part of an hour as the road became worse and the view more and more beautiful. 

He had something nice to say about everyone we passed. “That’s so-and-so. Beautiful person!”

We stopped at a little fountain coming out of the hillside by the side of the road. The boy jumped out of the truck with an empty water bottle and filled up the bottle. I think it was the freshest water I’ve tasted, and probably the cleanest. 

The region of Peloponnese where I’m staying is made an island by the brilliantly blue Corinth Canal. Peloponnese is a farming district, and the rolling hills are crisscrossed by plots of grapes, almonds, olives, apricots, and figs. 

The family I’m working for runs a small family farm where they grow olives, herbs, vegetables, nuts, and every kind of fruit you could imagine. They raise goats, pigs, and chickens. They also run a small restaurant that is attached to their house and frequented by locals from the 150 person village down the road.

Greek people really know how to live. They work hard, take countless coffee breaks, smoke like chimneys, listen to loud music, talk expressively, drive like maniacs, and drink a very strong, traditional liquor on par with rubbing alcohol or nail polish remover.

And the food. The food is here in unbelievable. Every day we feast on things like spinach pie (layers of spinach, feta cheese, filo dough, and lots and lots of olive oil), homegrown olives, grape leaves, pita slofaki (grilled meat wrapped in pita bread with potatoes, vegetables, and sauce), cucumber garlic yogurt, peppers stuffed with spiced rice, and wine made from local grapes.

The work is hard, the coffee is strong, and the sun won’t stop shining.

I never want to leave.

Lola

P.S. Sorry about the lack of photos, my computer is the biggest diva in the world and is currently on strike.