Our Own Greek Oddyssey

Greece, in our family, has long been the Word, and the Word was Grannie. Ask even Jenna what Greece is, anything about it, and she would have answered earnestly “It’s where we meet Granny”. And then grin from ear to ear. Like meeting Alex and Hilary, hooking up with Grannie for a few weeks has seemed a huge milestone, and a long, long way off.

Before we could meet Grannie from her ferry (or Fairy, as Jen calls em) we had days to kill thanks to a speedy departure from Bulgaria. We drove past the Pindos to have a quick look at Thessaloniki – but it is sprawling and we weren’t up for a big city at this point. Instead we found ourselves a fair way south of the city on the coast below Mount Olympus. We were spoilt for choice – campsites all along a strip of beach, complete with tavernas (or tabepnas as we call them, a la Greque) and scarily well-equipped supermarkets. After the usual dithering when spoilt for choice we selected a campsite and were offered an array of pitches. We had no problem choosing our spot for once – right on the beach. Tent pegs don’t half go in easy on sand! We had a venetian fort to our right, the glorious Aegean ahead, Mount Olympus behind. We had a lot of fun, simply sunning ourselves and occasionally making the effort to go to the beach – meaning moving a chair a foot forward. Oooh it was hard work.

4 nights later we were ready to stir ourselves and head south to the Peleponnese, part of mainland Greece that feels more like an island. We stopped briefly in Delphi but alas the Oracle was not home, so south to Patra, choosing to avoid Athens and cross at the new and amazing Patras Bridge rather than at the traditional Corinth canal. We now had just two days to prepare for Grannie at Akrata Beach – we had to wash behind our ears, clean fingernails, brush kids hair and other such unknown activities, as well as pitch her tent! Finally we were presentable and at fever pitch. We arrived massively early at Patras port and it was just as well for the Queen of Sheba was making her triumphal arrival ahead of time. The kids (well, mainly Rowan!) had made a fantastic Hello Grannie welcome sign cobbled together from cardboard boxes and paper tablecloths they had smiled sweetly at waiters to obtain. We somehow got through to the real portside of Patra, and saw what we sincerely hoped was Grannie’s ship coming in. We found ourselves running past forklifts and containers, guessing where the ship might dock, much to the confusion of the port workers. Our guess was right, because we saw two arms frantically waving from the very highest point of this huge ship. Joe’s binoculars established that IT WAS HER!! We waved and whooped and jumped our way along the dockside and so did Grannie. It was very emotional, not having seen my mum for 10 months, and she had been our lifeline to home – sorting out everything from our goldfish (she only managed to kill one) to our post, floods to neighbourly boundary problems. She had probably taken better care of our home than we usually do in these 10 months and we simply couldn’t have done the trip without her.

The reason for her arrival by ship is that my mum is pathologically terrified of flying. After some prompting she chose to let the trains take the strain, then the ferry from Bari in Italy. Quite a 48 hour marathon! She should be very chuffed with herself, not least for not flying – much smaller carbon footprint (oh shut up Rachel). It was absolutely amazing to see her, and when she tripped down the gangplank it was quite a moment. We had to go and drink some truly awful Greek wine to settle ourselves.