Building Mikro Horio

How We Acquired Gastromeni

On March 28, 1972, Christos sailed from Piraeus on the passenger boat Kalymnos for the island of Kythnos. The purpose of the trip: to look over and possibly purchase a piece of land.The expedition was launched with the help of a friend, the Athens lawyer Yannis Kyriakopoulos, who had himself purchased a property on the island recently, and had become an enthusiastic advocate for its wild beauty. Following Yannis’ purchase, several islanders had approached him for assistance to sell their properties and Yannis had compiled on a map of the island an inventory of available real estate and their relevant data: approximate size, proximity to roads, sea and villages, vegetation (if other than the usual phrygana), condition of stone enclosure and of the traditional Neolithic structures for human camping and goat milking, and presence — or lack thereof — of water.

With his inventory in hand, and mindful of our finances and interest in the sea, Yannis suggested a small cove on the west side of the island, about three miles due south from the port of Merihas. It was the closest, by sea, to the port; the closest dirt road was 3 km away — but then, none of the other properties for sale was close to a road either, and they all were a lot further by sea. Yannis also pointed out something we would not have thought of: the western orientation implied not only the view of sunsets, but also, given the steep terrain, late sunrises, welcome in the summer for vacationing city folk.

Yannis was generous with personnel support: his office assistant, Dimitrios Fegitis, who knew his way around the island well, accompanied Christos on the trip, to make introductions and expedite matters. The Kalymnos sailed from Piraeus at 8 a.m. It was scheduled to reach Kythnos at 12 noon, then continue south, along the western rim of the Cyclades, making calls at Seriphos, Siphnos and Milos, and then reverse its route, calling at Merihas at 2 a.m. and returning to Piraeus at 6 a.m. Its next scheduled trip — and the next time any ship would call on Kythnos — was one week later.

It was important, therefore, to make good use of the few hours Christos had on the island, since he could only arrange for a day’s leave from the architectural firm where he worked. Missing the return boat would mean a week on the island.

By March 1972, we had been married for nearly six years. We had met in 1962 as students at Iowa State University (Iowa being Kathy’s home state; Christos was one of the half-dozen Greeks studying there). We were married on June 6, 1966, following our graduation, and we moved to Greece in December of the same year. Christos served 26 months as lieutenant in the Engineering Corps, and after his discharge, worked with the architectural firm of Gibb, Petermuller and Partners. Kathy meanwhile had been working for a rival firm, Doxiadis Associates, as editor and assistant to the vice president for research. No children, no car, few material needs, and a cheap rent had resulted in respectable savings, which we decided could be wisely and timely invested in land, somewhere in the countryside of Greece, and definitely by the sea.

Upon arrival at Merihas, the port of Kythnos, Dimitris and Christos were met by the owner of Gastromeni, the land we were considering. (Yannis Gonidakis, known locally as Kyvernitis, “Governor”, had been alerted by phone by our friend Kyriakopoulos.) The three of them embarked on the launch of Spyros Vitalis, who owned the only passenger vessel among the several fishing boats in the port, and half an hour later, they landed on Gonidakis’ property.

It was a beautiful spring day, warm enough for a sports jacket to suffice, with the light breeze hardly disturbing the surface of the sea. The boat was able to pull up by a rock, perpendicular to the 20-meter-long beach, level with the deck of the boat — a rock we have used time and time again since then, sea permitting.

Christos stood on the beach, in the center of what seemed to be a bowl, and everything within view was owned by Yannis. Three ridges, to the east, south and north, delineated by the characteristic dry-laid stone walls throughout the island, defined the property. From the beach, the land rose steeply, divided in two by a ravine and an internal dividing wall, the two halves inclining toward each other. The land was still green from winter. Unaccustomed to such flora and terrain, Christos was completely unable to judge dimensions and distances. “Let’s walk to the top,” he suggested, and before the owner could utter, “All the way to the top?” Christos, half the age of Yannis and easily 30 centimeters taller, fuelled by excitement, was striding straight up the ravine with Yannis struggling to catch up.

It was love at first sight, and Christos did not have the experience in such transactions to hide it. Yannis knew it. Bargaining took place seated on a rock at the top of the ravine, facing the sea. The wad of drachmas — the sum total of our savings — Christos carried in his pocket and pulled out to demonstrate the seriousness of his intent, was not sufficient to bring the price much lower than that originally asked. Still, it was close enough to what we could afford, and it was agreed that the rest would be paid after we had received our Easter bonuses — an extra half-month’s salary each — a few weeks hence.

Hands were shaken and the party headed for the island “symbolaiographos” (lawyer, notary and keeper of land records) who, forewarned by Kyriakopoulos, had done a title search to ensure legitimate, unencumbered ownership — a fairly uncomplicated matter on the island, at least at that time. Papers were drawn and signed, followed by congratulations all around, and then the party adjourned to Yannis’ house to “wet” the deal with wine from his barrels.

Kathy had to wait for a month before she saw the land, and she immediately forgave Christos his impulsive purchase that had decimated our savings.

We spend the three weeks of our annual leave that summer on Kythnos, with some of our friends from Athens, renting rooms in the port and visiting the land a few times for a visual feast. We met several people, sowed the seeds of friendships, and realized how difficult it would be to establish a foothold on our land.

In August of the same year (1972), we returned to Iowa State University for graduate studies. We had anticipated a maximum two-year commitment before returning to Greece. Both of us had graduate assistantships, teaching part-time, which evolved into offers for full-time faculty positions, even before our theses were completed. Not only were we both seduced by teaching and academic life, but we soon came to realize that our 9-month teaching appointments in the U.S., from mid-August to mid-May, would allow us to spend more time on Kythnos than if we lived and worked in Greece.

We did not return to Greece in the summer of 1973. Both finances and time, as we were pushing to finish our theses, were in short supply.

The following year, 1974, Master’s degrees and teaching appointments in hip pockets, we returned to Greece for a three-month visit. It turned out to be an eventful summer that saw the beginning of the Cyprus tragedy and the end of the Greek junta, events that Christos witnessed from the confines of military barracks, as a mobilized reserve officer, and Kathy in the streets celebrating, with the rest of Athens, the return of democracy to Greece.

We made three separate trips to Kythnos of about two weeks each, camping out on Gastromeni. We were always accompanied by friends — up to a dozen were present at one time, sleeping in tents and spending up to six hours in the water, spear-gun fishing for lunch and dinner. We were new at the sport, and inexperienced, and our meals often consisted of default alternatives of beans, rice pilaf or spaghetti.

On our first trip to Gastromeni that year, our friend Judy Allen accompanied us. Spyros’ launch ferried us to the land with a few hours of sunlight left before sunset, and there we were: three people standing on the beach, holding upright the two military duffle bags that held the means of our survival: two tents, camping stove and lanterns; the burlap shade under which we would seek protection in mid-day; and the shovel and hoe that the hardware clerk had said were the only tools needed to level land.

The landscape had not changed since Christos had first set eyes on it, save for its color: now, in early June, the green of March had turned into militant khaki to match our duffle bags. The colors may have portended violence but that was not what happened. Instead, we began our acquaintance with the land that turned into friendship and then into love, as we gradually learned its secrets and carved out a foothold where the ground would allow it.

Gaining a foothold and learning how to survive that first summer would not have been possible without the two people who, more than all others who befriended us, taught us and supported us: Nikolakis Gonidis, the villager who brought us supplies from the village daily during that first year and loaned us his pick after laughing at our feeble efforts to level land with our hoe; and Manolas Psaras, the fisherman who taught us that to be generous, one did not have to be rich.

Kathy documented that first summer in the journal she has kept on Kythnos ever since, and in black and white photos. Three volumes, one for each visit, record our efforts on the land and the sea and our own transformation over three months from pale, pudgy pen-pushers to lithe, sunburned pioneers.

In the summer of 1974 we had begun building a masonry/concrete wall to establish a permanent shelter on the land. It soon became evident, however, that heavy construction was too difficult and time-consuming a route.

The question of shelter occupied Christos’ thoughts during the 1974-75 academic year. The previous summer had taught us a few things about shelter. Our tents were too hot during the day for noon naps. The burlap shade that covered about 15 square meters provided shelter from the sun but not from the wind – and if the wind was really strong, we had to gather it up, losing the sun protection as well. The stone-concrete wall we built as the first step to a permanent shelter had proven too difficult and time-consuming a task. Having a conventional house built was at that time beyond our financial capability.

Christos concluded that a lightweight structure was the answer to the problem. The first part of the summer of 1975 was spent in Athens, constructing lightweight panels of wood, masonite and Styrofoam that were later assembled into a polyhedral structure on the land.

That structure was conceived as a solid tent, the “clubhouse” for cooking, eating and seeking shelter from wind and sun during the waking hours. We and our friends (we were rarely, if ever, by ourselves) still spent the night in tents.