For six months a broken lamp post at the main intersection of our Peloponnese village has been lassoed by three lengths of rope tied together and hitched to a bollard.
They laughingly call themselves the GODS (Greeks of Diaspora Society). They say it because it is true, but they also do it because it annoys the hell out of the locals.
It starts like all classical tales – mystical and ethereal. The crystal-clear river pool is the site of the Sanctuary of Pamisos, an underwater temple in the Peloponnese.
On any given day, in a sleepy rural village near Kalamata, a group of elderly men gather at the kafeneio for a drink and lively conversation. Nothing unusual about that until you get to know them.
I love Greeks, I have been married to one for 25 years, but I still don’t understand them. When we moved from Australia to the Peloponnese a few years ago, I arrived with a long-held belief that Greeks cherish their family above everything else.