Saturday, 23 March 2019
Winter is a memory. Rain and more rain. Icy winds straight from the Siberian steppes, the daily emptying of ashes from the wood burner. No more. Our wood pile isn't quite finished. We have enough for a few BBQs, roasting the easter lamb but hopefully not for a sudden drop in temperatures.
Spring has arrived though there's not much to show in our neighbourhood. I have spotted more red anenomes and I've seen two wild red poppies. The hydrangea has turned into a leafy green bush and the recently pruned grape vine has new shoots.
Over the other side of the strait, up the hill and round the corner there is a completely different climate. We went down to the farmer's market at Ermioni, a small coastful village about an hour away. Once we were up the hill and round the corner the sun shone brightly and warmly. The hillsides were ablaze in reds, yellows and purples from all the wild flowers. The olive trees had white carpets of chamomile underneath. Stunning.
A little further on the market garden fields were green with cabbages and lettuces and workers were planting tomatoes and zucchini.
This little church overlooks the sea. I managed to get K to stop for a minute to take photos. It was clear enough to see over to the island of Hydra
The view from the church
Tomatoes, aubergines, green peppers and zuchinni. It's still a little early for the basil I wanted
A calm spring day on Ermioni harbour.
These are two of the big fishing fleet which harbours here
And loads more of these smaller fishing kaïkis
We sat outside in the sun along with tables of german and english residents enjoying a beer or a glass of wine. This market is multi-cultured. The germans and english own homes around here and live permanently. Coming down from Poros there are plenty of big gated villas with groomed lawns and gardens, trees and flowers and no rubbish aroud the perimeters, a sure sign of foreign ownership.
In the market itself greek is only one of the many languages heard. There are Indians and Pakistanis with their families, workers in those market gardens, Bulgarians, Ukranians and Romanians, and a New Zealander!
I have just seen a sure sign of spring. I heard rustling noises in the long grass under the carob tree and it wasn't Vaso inspecting her carob crop but a slow plodding tortoise, woken up from his winter hibernation