She fell in love with the Peloponnese in 2001 and she returned year after year… For her and for many of us, it is a feeling of finding home. Regardless of your own nationality, here we all have a sense of belonging.
A sense of belonging
Her name is Liz Berry. And, no, I have never met her personally, but I feel myself in her words describing the nostalgia to Peloponnese. My own “WHY” are very similar, and how about yours “WHY”?
I asked Liz for permission to publish the “Why the Peloponnese” poem. Because if you’re here, you’re already in love with the Peloponnese, right?
And I look forward to meeting Liz when she comes home next time.
I also look forward to meeting several of you who, like me and Elias, fell in love with the Peloponnese. Just call us, we love to meeting new people: everyone have a story to tell:).
So, a big thank you Liz for sharing your “WHY” with us and see you soon!
Enjoy your reading!
WHY THE PELOPONNESE?
Mountains towering out of a deep blue sea, the scent
of thyme and a cloudless sky,
An area I return to, with friends asking why?
Chattering cicadas, a scops monotone, goat bells
clanging, church bells ringing.
All sounds that punctuate Mani living.
A landscape of contrast, lush green in the spring
where sure footed goats scramble and climb, awaiting
their fate at Easter time.
A patchwork of flowers wilt in the heat, the rain
needed now won’t arrive until late.
Bus into Kalamata, too busy for some, but wander its streets,
take time to discover its cafes and bars, avoiding the
gutter, lorries and cars.
Sip frappe and watch the Greeks watching you as they
volta on by with no thought to be shy. Was that really
a wink or just dust in his eye?
A beer at Greggs, then dinner quite late. Who care if
we’re sometimes having to wait?
Fertile valleys, Sandy beaches, Spiny urchins,
sunburnt faces.
Selinitsa fishermen plying their trade, a living perhaps
but no fortunes being made.
Vivid sunsets paint the western sky; photos
taken – a snapshots in time,
Memories captured in the blink of an eye – to be viewed and forgotten or posted online.
Encouraging others to fly and discover.
Continue south to the end, where the road finally stops.
A small cluster of bars, a taverna, no shop.
Quiet, remote, a place to reflect, an oasis of calm, a
haven from harm.
The clichés tumble from everyone’s lips in direct
proportion to alcohol sipped.
Friendships forged and worries forgotten.
In an area that slowly entices, enraptures.
It demands you return to recharge and recapture, a sense
of belonging, of coming back home.
