Piraeus, Greece. No idea what the manhole cover says.
Mark Twain writes of his vessel arriving in 1867: ’Away off … could be seen a little square-topped hill with a (sic) something on it, which our glasses soon discovered to be … the venerable Parthenon’.
Early I’m on Maasdam’s highest deck looking for the Parthenon, but find something more immediately significant.
Across the harbour (a long way, so the shots aren’t great), I notice a ferry unloading passengers.
At first, I assume this is just one of the usual island ferries. Then, with binoculars, I realize these are Syrian refugees. They’re regularly brought overnight from the Greek islands closest to Turkey.
Distant as they are, I am quite moved, especially after spotting children. You can also, I think, see some carrying Red Cross bags. The ironic (in the context) billboard ‘The port welcomes the citizens’ is aimed at a much different type of arrival. All Greece, with its own problems, wants to do is get the migrants further into Europe.
After a few minutes, they’re mostly gone.
Leaving Maasdam at the bottom of a street, I walk to the Church of St. Nicholas.
The chain slightly marring the picture supports a chandelier immediately below the dome.
Since Nicholas is patron saint of sailors (plus brewers, embalmers and pawnbrokers), stained glass appropriately shows the disciples on the Sea of Galilee and Jesus saving Peter.
When in Montreal, my Anglican father, inclined to the high church, would light a candle at Cathédrale Marie-Reine-du-Monde (conveniently located next to the Queen Elizabeth Hotel with one of Dad’s favourite restaurants). So, when possible, I light one for my parents.
During Northern Ireland’s ‘troubles’, I recall lighting a candle in St. Patrick’s (what else?) in Crossmaglen, scene of many deaths. The IRA were doubtless observing the young man in civilian clothes who emerged from a British Army base, went to the church, stopped to buy some Guinness and strolled back to what, in effect, was a fortress under siege. The army supplied the base by helicopter as roads were too dangerous. Perhaps lighting the candle saved me from the consequences of an unquestionably foolhardy act.
No escaping the news … hunt for the Paris killers, refugees, Greek economic crisis …
Still, this old boy doesn't look too worried.
A forest of expensive masts in Piraeus’s Zea Harbour …
… but, mid mega-yachts, a real fisherman who, because of poor lighting, I prefer in monochrome.
The nicely reflected ashtray is at a harbour side café. A waitress, learning I’m Canadian, says (in good English), ‘Oh! I’ve been in Canada!’ ‘Really, where?’ ‘Newfoundland and I love Tim Hortons!’ (as she serves an excellent, and not inexpensive, illy coffee).
I came to Greece hardly expecting to make the trip’s first purchase at Marks & Sparks. However, as the store’s sadly long gone from Canada, I exit with a pair of pants. ‘That will be thirty-nine Euros, ευχαριστώ (thank you)’.
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Heavy weather and we’re on our way to Corfu. Seasickness bags have been put out. To port, you can see a Grimaldi Lines car transporter creating spray.
I’m reading Patrick Leigh-Fermor’s much anticipated The Broken Road, published after his death. Third in the trilogy, it tells of his 1930s teenage trek of more than a year from London to Constantinople. Off the Greek coast he writes, ‘Walking round and round on the deck, I thought of the triremes of all the empires that have sailed these same waters …’
We pass close to Lepanto, where one of Western history’s decisive battles took place in 1571. This was the first major Christian naval victory over the Turks and last significant clash of oared galleys - successor to the triremes. There were thousands of casualties, so many they were difficult to count.
