Lulaki means lilac in Greek, but has become the term for the blue paint used on doors throughout Greece and as trim and accenting in the Cyclades and the couple of Dodecanese islands (like Patmos) that use it against their whitewashed buildings. Lulaki is distinct from the world for blue – Ble. This word recently came to my attention and has been a powerful tool. Painting my interior doors and closets a Greek blue? Lulaki. Speak this to the hardware store and they know exactly how to mix your paint. Speak it to the lady at the furniture shop – letting her know you want it in a dresser, a desk and a kitchen table – and she understands exactly what you mean. Then things start to happen – like contacting a local man who makes wood furniture himself and Lulaki it (if it can be used as a verb, but I'm going to take the liberty for the time being).
Lulaki is a signature piece of the Greek aesthetic and there are several lines of thought on how Greece came to embrace it. For centuries, Greeks believed turquoise could ward off evil – and it became practice to paint doors turquoise or blue throughout Greece – even on the islands that are not whitewashed such as Rhodes and Crete. Another story tells of whitewashing becoming common, but not universal on certain islands – particularly in the Cyclades such as Santorini and Mykonos. People chose all kinds of colors to accent their white homes with blue, the cheapest of them, often being what was accessible to fishermen and the less affluent – meaning more homes had blue than other colors. Whitewashing was popular because it naturally cooled stone homes that would otherwise absorb heat in their natural state.
Then in 1936, then dictator Ioannis Metaxas dealt with a cholera outbreak in the Cyclades by ordering the Cycladic islands to uniformly whitewash their houses. It was believed the limestone or lime in the whitewash was a powerful disinfectant and would therefore slow the spread of Cholera. While everyone was at it, they could stand to be a little more patriotic – so they were required to accent buildings in an Aegean blue. And perhaps not through the best of reasons, an aesthetic was born. When decades later the national laws requiring this uniformity were lifted, the Cyclades didn't change. Their homes were cooler and tourism flourished in no small part because of the aesthetic.
"Patmos is like a Cycladic island in the Dodecanese," George who manages the property I stayed at last year told me during one of our casual chats. "It doesn't really belong here – the other islands aren't like this."
Well, Lipsi, which is like Patmos' little sister, is – but otherwise he's right. Much of the Dodecanese was held first the the Ottomans and later by Italy. The other islands have a very different vibe.
Like the Cycladic islands, Patmos is well aware its limestone whitewash and blue (and once in awhile yellow) trim is the gorgeous locks of hair to its Samson. Local regulations ensure buildings old and new meet the Patmian aesthetic with some allowance for natural stone that isn't whitewashed. Still, the materials, style and construction still have to conform. The results speak for themselves.
Back to blue – my favorite color and undeniably the color of Greece thanks to the sapphire hue of the Aegean, the unbelievable other shades of blue along beaches, coves and grottos and the resplendent sky. How did Lulaki – lilac – become the phrase for blue? Mixing a little bit of lilac pigment into the lime whitewash produced the classic blue we associate with Greek windows and doors. Whereas the more turquoise shade seen in some parts of Greece and seen commonly on nearby Samos, came from a different pigment originally acquired from Turkey during the Ottoman era.
Me, I'm leaning into Lulaki. Between my love of blue and the obvious appeal of Patmos' aesthetic, why go against the grain? My sofa will be an Aegean blue. Blue coffee table, blue interior doors, blue and white bathroom and probably a few more pieces of Lulaki bedroom furniture set against the wood pieces I recently received and the ubiquitous white walls. Why hold back? Let the blue flow – it's my house and both Greece and I love blue.
The vibrant hues of blue here are healing and reinvigorating for me. If I'm feeling off – a quick swim into the blueness of the water revives me – especially the turquoise tones At places like Petra. Being able to swim between sapphire and turquoise - and to be surrounded by them – it's amazing.
Being here on Patmos is very good for me and most of the time, I'm happy. Happier than at home. More fulfilled and relaxed. Patmos resonates with me just like the blue water. At the same time, if I'm being honest, it's not all joy. Sometimes I love the personal time in such a magic place. Sometimes I feel the absence of my kids and the loss of the life I used to have before divorce. It's easy – almost helpful – to not mourn the loss of Emily. I can think of the way things were toward the end of our marriage – and how they've been through the divorce – and find all the reasons to eschew all of it. That might serve me, but it's a false narrative. When we were here in 2010, 2014 and 2019 – we were great. They were good times. We were in love and great travel partners. We had a ton of fun and Patmos was a great place to walk, hold hands, share mezzes and find our "office" for the day at a beach, taverna or cafe.
In the aftermath of the destruction of our family and life together, it's easier to let go of the feelings around Emily. I'm an adult and can make my way in the world on my own – just as I did before I met her. I can also find love again. I can grieve and then decide Emily was part of my journey and while I may be disappointed we didn't go the long haul with together as we had promised one another, I can continue forward myself. Because in the end, we can share the journey with others in some ways – but we're all on our journey alone in others.
Instead I really struggle with the amount of time in life that I don't have my kids. Five weeks alone in Patmos would have sounded a lot better if I was with the kids everyday in and out the rest of the year as it used to be. The week-on-week-off custody cadence we have at home leaves me feeling like I'm never a full-time parent nor a full-time individual. I'm always stepping between two lives, never able to fully live in either.
Switching into summer and coming to Patmos, I was excited for the five continuous weeks to just be with my kids uninterrupted. Patmos is ideal for it because my official "work hours' don't begin until 4pm. I always had most of my day to be present with them – which is a lot more than at home. I also knew that while I had them, I had the better half of the deal and that the second half of the summer without them might not be as light and fund as expected.
Of course I don't mind a quiet day at the beach myself or having conversations with people without being interrupted. The bathroom stays much cleaner and I don't have to negotiate with anyone over where we go for dinner. I have a lot more room to think – which is great and not. The time alone may actually be the more important part of the work – but the time together was inherently fulfilling.
The kids are on day eight of twelve at camp. During the week prior to their going, I called them every morning their time. Now I email them everyday. Letters can go in, but there's nothing that comes back – no two-way communication. I can look at the photos the camp posts and see if I see my kids each day. I can spy on them a little via our rabbi who is living at camp for the summer while his wife is a director. Nonetheless, there is no reciprocal interaction. I can't read them and know what's going on.
Today Emily sent an email saying two days ago the camp mom called because Sennen told her he wanted go home – he hadn't seem Emily while he was here in Greece and then had to go to his grandparents because she had COVID. He was feeling homesick and wanted to see her. Then yesterday, the camp mom called again to say Sennen came up to her to say he was feeling much better and was okay. He's resilient and kids get homesick at camp. On top of everything else, the kids have never done anything as long as a 12-day stint at camp. It's a lot and probably has many benefits. It also dimmed my morning a little to know he was struggling.
There's no two-ways about it, this is the first summer since the divorce began. We can fill it with great things, but we're all (at least the kids and me – I can't speak on Emily) going to feel it. Life has changed dramatically and while some things have some regularity and consistency, other aspects of life are still in flux. Emily said in a recent email that I had been so worried what the divorce would do to the kids but that they're okay and finding their way. I agree they aren't falling apart day-to-day, but I don't know that any of us (except maybe Emily – I don't know) have yet found our way. I think we're trying and I think there are layers of emotions and shock yet to come. Some things can't be whitewashed and touched up with Lulaki.
Mourning a marriage and a family is like any form of grief – it doesn't happen linearly. Pain from loss happens in pockets and moments – the moments when something is lacking. Time with your other parent. The stability of a single household. Visiting places you used to go together. Sharing the little moments. Enjoying your kids together. Ordering more mezzes because someone was there to share with you.
Maybe next year, things will feel easier – more solid. We'll know what to expect and be at peace with it. We're never the same from year-to-year, so we'll be different people next summer. We'll come back to Patmos a little different than we left it – and if my work here is successful, we'll come back to a house a little different, a little better than we found it.
And to this we say, Amen.
