"Can you imagine leaving the house and everything is normal and then on your way home, you find seven donkeys you've never seen eating grass on the side of the road by your house?! That's what happened to me today," I told my kids who laughed hysterically.
Last month, two donkeys grazed on the hill around the bend from my place. Then they disappeared and I wrote about it. I found them later that same day down by neighboring Meloi beach in what can best be described as a Donkey Garden – a sort of fenced area with a garden in which the donkeys are allowed but a sign restricts people from entry. Like these two donkeys are the Adam and Eve of donkey-dom.
For the past several weeks I had seen neither hide nor hair nor ass of them until three days ago, when there weren't just two donkeys on the hillside, but seven enjoying the tall grasses now replete with with very tasty wildflowers. In fact, at least one donkey had clearly eaten so much she burrowed into thicket for a cozy nap. The next morning the donkeys were gone again – but returned again in the afternoon. I never see who moves them or where they go during their off-hours. I end up with endless questions. Who are these donkeys? Who do they belong to? Is this a donkey daycare or some kind of donkey cooperative? Why that hill? Why only afternoons? Why do I never see anyone with them? Perhaps most importantly – I have seen places in Greece – like Rhodes – where donkeys actually perform some kind of work. What do these donkeys do? What's their purpose? Are they on vacation? Or are these donkeys just living that fat island life?
I'm prepared for the fact that I may never get to the bottom of the donkey mystery. That's kind of the thing about islands.
I have lived on three islands and spent significant time on several more. Every island has its own unique, quirkiness that is part of its charm. As far as Greek islands go, Patmos is low on the donkey scale and also on the ancient ruins scale as well. But it ranks highly on the quiet, traditional, friendly people and beautiful beaches scales – which I value highly. Emily would probably add this it ranks very high on the grilled octopus scale – her favorite food here, which Patmos tends to have more of than other islands. Apparently, it doesn't take much to find an octopus hiding in the rocks on the local beachside and harbor.
"You have to remember that after the Second World War, this place was devastated," Stefanos the owner of the Agriolivadi Taverna explained to me. "The Italians and Germans, they destroyed the place – all of Greece including the Dodecanese. The Italians even tried to starve everyone so the Greeks would just leave. This became a VERY poor country after the war and so many Greeks went to Australia, England and The United States. So many Patmians had to leave – there was just nothing here for anyone."
I have seen Stefanos across four visits over 12 years and this was the first time he got into a real conversation with me – probably because I was the only customer at the taverna when I arrived and I asked him how his English was so great. The answer is that his mother's family had emigrated to Australia and while he was born and raised here, his mother lived in Australia until she was 20 and primarily spoke English to him and the rest of her family. Stefanos proudly said he understands all the idioms and slang phrases, unlike most Patmians.
"It wasn't until the tourism that things became better and people could move back and rebuild. Greeks went to places like New York, New Jersey, Ohio, Virginia – but many Patmians went to Panama City, Florida. Why? Because the Patronis Family settled there and started Capitain Anderson's restaurant – you can Google it – which became a big success at Panama City Beach. Then Patmians went, worked there and found jobs and lives in America."
This connected two dots for me. Nicolas, whose apartment hotel we stayed at the first two visits and whose family we continue to be friends with, told us he learned his English working at his uncle's restaurant in Florida when he was in his late teens. Stefanos confirmed this for me. This story actually puts into perspective many people and families I know. Jimmy who owns the restaurant and gallery up in Hora who lived much of his life in Iowa and still goes back to visit frequently. The family who owns the gym where the mom grew up in Ohio and speaks like an American, but her son Tenassus speaks with an accent. The Benetto family who came back from America and opened the two most expensive and well-reviewed restaurants on Patmos. The Australian-Greek waitress at the Netia Taverna who has since left to work at her car and motor scooter rental shop in Skala. The family who runs Alas Grill where the wife's mother is British and decided to move to Greece after meeting her husband in the UK. The wife and her kids all speak perfect British English. Stefanos tied the pieces up in one cohesive narrative.
Now Patmos has enough tourism to power its economy and at least the original Patmian land-owning families live fairly well.
And why wouldn't you want to return if you could? A couple from Sarasota, Florida on port-call from their cruise ship mentioned how amazingly quiet it is here. I honestly hadn't thought about it and then realized it's true. No airplanes, no freeways – not even a traffic light. The most hustle and bustle is near the front of Skala where the ferries or tenders serving the cruise ships come in and out – and vehicles come and go with locals doing their errands. Still, small vehicles, low traffic volume – it's not that much noise.
I've become used to the sound of the wind and shimmer of the water. The air is always fresh and neither too humid or dry. My nose that's always itchy at home isn't here. I hear birds, sometimes owls. Other times goats and the occasional donkey around dusk (from the direction of the Donkey Garden).
The rhythm of the island isn't based on the 9 to 5 workday, but the comings and goings of boats – if that. Of course from 1-5, the island quiets down as many people go home for lunch and family time. Businesses – especially restaurants – stay open late. People don't eat dinner until 9 or 10 and it's not unusual to see men getting their haircuts at the barbershop at 8pm while children play around the town square. The park toward the back of Skala where we used to take the kids has FINALLY been refurbished and is alive with children at 7pm.
I've started to notice little details that had eluded me. Every day there are two produce trucks by the port and people seem to favor them over the local produce shops. Now that I'm starting to read Greek, I finally realized that one truck is from the produce shop by the New Marina – they send a truck down to the port because their shop is a bit far down the road for the average Skala resident who might otherwise go to the more centrally located produce shop. The other truck is from Ktima Petra – my favorite restaurant with its own organic farm. They're selling their fresh organic produce in town.
There are two bakeries in the front of town. It finally occurred to me that the reason they can both succeed is that one specializes in fresh breads and pies (like spanakopita and tirokopita) while the other focuses on pastries and desserts. I'm pretty sure their divergence is no accident.
In the late afternoon, I usually go home to work rather than stay at cafes around town like Emily and I used to do. At first I felt like I wasn't out enjoying Patmos enough. Then I realized, we never had a place with the kind of view I do. Sitting at the table on my patio, I have a better view than at any cafe I could go – and maybe all but two or three tavernas. The view, the peace, the breeze, my kombucha and music playing – and I'm very happy working at home.
Three days ago an almost frightening thought hit me: I'm going to have to leave the island. It hasn't only been this time away from Emily, away from life to think that's made me feel safe – it's this island. There's no reason for surprise – I chose an island purposefully as a place to retreat and protect me. And it has – beautifully. This little, simple world filled with beauty, kindness, comfort and prosperity has given me latitude. I stopped drowning and got my head above water. I'm not struggling, I'm easing into a new perspective – being ready for whatever may come. I no longer feel victimized, on the defense. I have a sense of myself and what I need to do for future sustained happiness and thriving. I'm not coming from a place of anger or fear – but from centeredness, clarity and assuredness. Not that anything ahead will be easy – but I'm not in danger of being pulled down by a wave. I remembered how to body surf and swim. Moreover, the tender spots where Emily knows to stick her knives when she feels she needs to – I've got a handle on those. They've been healed and reinforced and I'm wearing body armor now.
It didn't always feel certain – there was a lot of shame and blame thrown my way and I felt shaken and doubtful – but coming here was a good idea. The kids do not feel abandoned. They're fine. Sure, they want me back – and they'll have that. It turns out they are not so fragile and they can understand the difference between Daddy being away and abandoning them. Just as importantly, I have made a lot of progress in six weeks. Yoga and writing have been good for me. Friends and family have been in regular touch and I have felt loved and supported. I've had some really special conversations with a number of people I love and with whom I don't often get as much contact.
Undergirding all of this has been Patmos itself. This quirky, beautiful island of gorgeous water, wildflowers, fantastic food, kind people, brazen goats and inexplicable donkeys. It shrunk a big overwhelming world into 13.2 square miles and pared away all the clutter and distraction so all that was left to me was just what I needed. On a day like today where the stunning aquamarine color of Agriolivadi is sitting right in front of me looking like a Pantone color wheel I could dive into, I feel nothing but gratitude for the island. I still have three-and-a-half weeks here. Four weekends. Going home and dealing with my life is necessary and inevitable. Nonetheless, the idea of crossing that water feels foolish. Who wants to be on the other side of it? I'm safe and well right where I am. Most importantly, what will I do without that blue?
