Other Cultures

Ejo #163 – Drunk In….. Greece (Birthday Edition): AKA – A Love Letter To Marya

July 31, 2023Drunk In....., Food, Good Life, Greece, Learning About Me, Other Culturesfriendship, Greece, Greek Islands, Mediterranean, Sailing, Saronic Islands, Travel, travel writing, wanderlust, Zakynthosmisschryss Leave a comment

I had big plans for my 50^th birthday party. Huge! Destination island (I had my eye on Sardinia), lots of food, sunshine, champagne and all my favourite people gathered together to celebrate my half century with me. A bacchanalian Festival of Chryss! But alas, it was not to be, for Miss Rona had other plans. I couldn’t even go back home to see my family and friends, as Australia had completely shut its borders to travellers. Even citizens. Even me!!! Two years in the making, my grand plans for a birthday extravaganza were cruelly shattered; but please don’t bother opening the case of your tiny violin for me just yet. For, as soon as it became clear that my plans had gone to shit, I consoled myself by booking a trip to Greece with David. And the cherry on top of the birthday cake was that one of my best friends in the world, Marya, and her partner Pablo, flew all the way from California to join us!!

The four of us rendezvoused at Athens airport the day before my birthday, and hopped on an afternoon flight to Zakynthos, excited to be starting our Greek adventure together. As we approached our magnificent villa, set in a vast olive grove, we were greeted by a symphony of cicadas welcoming us.. This thunderous sound, which was foreign and peculiar to Marya’s ears, felt like home to mine. Over the last few years, Greece has become so much more to me than just a holiday destination. It is a place I have developed a very deep connection to, and an abiding love for. I feel my roots starting to take hold in Greek soil, and I see myself settling down there once our Dubai hijinks are over and done with (hopefully sooner, rather than later).

For dinner, we strolled to the local taverna, Armonia Restaurant, which was only a two minute walk from our place. We ordered delicious food and, as is the Greek way, got absolutely shitfaced on barrel wine and raucous laughter. After we were gently encouraged to please go home by the tired taverna staff, the four of us tipsily staggered through the olive trees back to the villa for a swim. Less than five minutes after jumping in the pool we all kind of looked at each other and collectively decided we didn’t really need to be wearing swimsuits, right? We were all friends. We were all grown ups. So the bathers came off and we basically spent the rest of the holiday in our birthday suits! How apt! The next couple of hours very much lived up to the name of this ejo series. Drinking copious amounts of wine, quaffing cocktails and doing shots of mastiha. Completely nude, we frolicked in the water and we gallivanted around the garden and we laughed and laughed and laughed until my sides hurt. I was having the time of my life.

Until… I stupidly (oh, so stupidly) slipped on the wet tiles as I was running (running??!!!) back to the pool from the kitchen. I remember becoming airborne, as if I’d just slipped on a cartoon banana peel, and when I came down I landed on my back on the sharp edge of the pool. I blacked out for a few seconds and came to in the water, engulfed in agony and unable to breathe. Winded by the fall I struggled to take a breath and, panicked, my first thought was that I’d broken my back. But as air entered my lungs and I dramatically bawled in Marya’s comforting embrace, I gratefully realised that I was still able to move my arms and legs. Still, I knew something was terribly wrong and the next morning I woke up in the most excruciating pain I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. I have violently snapped most of the ligaments in my knees, I’ve broken bones and I’ve been hospitalised (and operated on) for my dreadful habit of rupturing ovarian cysts. I know pain. But I’ve never felt anything like the pain I felt that morning. The drama queen in me imagined that my insides were awash with a tsunami of blood, that my pancreas or my lung had been pierced by an errant stiletto of rib bone. It hurt to talk, it hurt to laugh, it hurt to move, it hurt to breathe. It hurt to just sit there and do nothing. You know that little violin we were talking about earlier? You can take it out now. Happy 50^th birthday to me!!!

Agonisingly slowly, and wallowing in self-pity, I showered and dressed, and gingerly tiptoed down the stairs to join the others. We were all horribly hungover and I was shocked to learn that David had also drunkenly injured himself the night before, breaking his little toe after slamming it into the coffee table. Oy vey!! This was not a healthy start to our holiday, but I was grittily determined to keep having a goddamn good time. I made a quick birthday video call to my sisters, which was wonderful, but I could see myself on the screen, wincing with pain the whole time. I didn’t know it then, but x-rays later confirmed that I’d broken three ribs and displaced another rib in my fall. I mean, I hit the edge of the pool really fucking hard. If I’d made any contact with my spine, mere centimetres to the right, I’m fairly certain I’d have broken my back. And if I’d hit my head, I reckon I’d be dead. So it’s no surprise that I was feeling so rough. In fact, I was in severe pain for the next two months, and experienced a great deal of discomfort for the next six. The others wanted me to go to hospital but I demurred. There’s no treatment for rib injuries and I just wanted to bloody get on with the festivities. We spent my birthday at the villa, barbequing tender lamb chops for a feast accompanied by home-made tzatziki, fetta cheese, Greek salad, olives and crusty fresh bread. And lots more wine, which definitely helped ease the pain of my injury.

The next day, feeling slightly less like I was haemorrhaging from multiple internal organs, I insisted that we carry on with our plans for the day, and so we took a lovely scenic drive to a highly recommended restaurant set on a cliff face on the northern part of the island. When we got to Taverna Xigia, we were absolutely blown away by the spectacular view. Peacefully nestled in the shade of several beautiful, stately trees, the restaurant was the perfect place to while away the afternoon, eating fish that had jumped out of the water fresh that morning, and drinking several large carafes of wine (my new pain medication). All the servers were beautiful and super friendly, but Pablo had eyes only for the owner, Spiros, who was cheerfully running from table to table to make sure that everyone was happy. And we all were! Pablo was particularly riveted by the jaunty red bandana, breezily tied around Spiros’ neck. The same bandana that was also sported by his cute little dog!! At the end of our meal we resoundingly declared Taverna Xigia the best lunch, at the best taverna, with the best view, run by the best dude wearing a fucking amazing red bandana.

The next day while lunching at the top of a mountain, we spotted a gorgeous looking beach and decided to drive down there for a swim. From my previous beach experiences of the Greek isles I had already insisted that we buy a couple of large beach umbrellas to protect us from the sun, but when we got there we didn’t need them. Actually, in the whole five days we spent on Zakynthos we never once used those damn umbrellas. In the end we lugged them to the airport with us on our way back to Athens and gave them away to a rental car full of exuberant, young Italian studs who had just arrived on the island. They were thrilled, and beeped and waved at us as they drove away.

When we landed at Athens airport, we headed straight to the port of Piraeus where stage two of the holiday kicked in. Pablo had worked hard in the months leading up to the trip to attain his Captain’s license, and when we got to the port the magnificent 34 foot sailing boat we had rented was waiting for us. Hell yes, bitches!! For my fiftieth birthday I spent three glorious days cruising the ravishingly beautiful, deep blue seas of the Mediterranean. It may not have been the legendary party I’d set my heart on, but it was hardly second prize, am I right?

While our time on the yacht, cruising around the beautiful Saronic islands, was an absolutely exhilarating experience, it was also pretty punishing. I was, unfortunately, less than useless thanks to my smashed ribs. I was unable to help with any of the rigging, and I just found myself getting in the way all the time. I felt particularly bad because it turns out that sailing a boat is actually really hard work. Thankfully Marya and David (even with his broken toe) both stepped up to the plate, and made very competent first mates to Pablo’s skillful captain!

At the end of the first day of sailing, we reached the island of Salamina, anchoring offshore. Ludicrously, we’d severely underestimated our capacity for knocking back wine and had tragically run out of booze, but David and Pablo came to the rescue by rowing the dinghy to shore in the dark to try and procure some emergency wine from the taverna on the beach. Somehow they managed to sweet talk the owners into selling them some white wine, which almost became wine for the fishes because halfway back to the sailboat the dinghy slowly started sinking. They somehow made it back, deflated dinghy and all, and we celebrated with a cheerful round of warm cat piss! Hey, you take what you’re given in a wine emergency. We drank it and we were grateful for it.

The next day we set sail for the neighbouring island of Aegina, but there was no wind so we drifted along at a crawling pace, which was fine with us. There was nowhere we needed to be! Along the way we navigated into some incredibly beautiful turquoise waters, and just had to stop and anchor so we could all go for a skinny dip! When we got back on the boat, Marya ran to the bow to hoist the anchor, and while she was gone I thought I heard her shout something so I yelled back to ask if she was OK, and she cried out, “No!” Pablo, David and I all dashed to the front of the boat, and when I saw all the blood I scrambled back to the cabin to try and find the first aid kit. While she’d been pulling up the anchor, Marya’s toes had got caught in the steel-sprung latch door which had unexpectedly slammed shut. Her foot was covered in blood and her second toe was dangling precariously. I’ve known Marya for many years and I’ve never seen her cry before. To see her sobbing like a child broke my heart, and I did my best to comfort her while she bandaged up her foot. My mind couldn’t help but go back to just a few days earlier when she had held me in her arms after I’d hurt myself in the pool.

I first met Marya in San Francisco in September 1999 when I visited a friend that she was dating at the time. She picked me up from the airport, and it is no exaggeration at all to say that when our eyes met across the crowded terminal I knew it was her, and she knew it was me, and it was love at first sight. And ever since then, we’ve been connected by an energetic force that I cannot explain, and don’t even want to. Despite spending most of our lives thousands of miles apart, our bond has only increased and become more loving with distance and time. On that first three day visit to San Francisco I got to know one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met. She’s fun, energetic, warm, kind, quirky, loving, hilarious and up for anything. Crushing on her hard, I decided that I simply had to get a nose ring just like hers. So she took me to a piercer in Haight Ashbury and she held my hand as they stuck a needle in my left nostril. And 24 years later, I still have that nose ring. I’ll never take it out because it’s an enduring memento of an incredibly special moment of time in my life. It’s a part of who I am now.

Marya and I have been there for each other (emotionally, if not physically) through rough patches and broken relationships, and we’ve happily celebrated the beautiful relationships that we’re in now. We danced together in Ancient Korinth with my parents, not long before my father was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Afterwards we lay on the stony beach, drunk, looking for shooting stars and holding onto each other while the sky spun. We survived Burning Man, not just once or twice, but three times, riding bikes around the playa completely naked and free. We’ve eaten all the Mexican food, and we’ve washed it down with all the margaritas. Marya is now a very respected audiologist, but years ago she worked in hospitality and I remember helping her out at a bartending gig one day when one of the servers didn’t turn up. Let’s just say that a lot of people got free drinks that night! I totally sucked at the job, but thanks to Marya it was one of the most fun afternoons I’ve ever had. I’ve often wished that I could marry her. Or be her.

Marya and I have had some intensely deep and serious conversations about mental health, about motherhood, about existence and non-existence. We’ve kissed, and we’ve shared our inner most secrets, and supported each other during the most difficult times. And it’s really quite outrageous how much of all of this has happened from afar. Marya lives 12,963km away from me so we don’t see each other very often, but whenever we’re together magic happens! And for the last 16 years, David has been lucky enough to come along for the joyride. I’m so happy that the two of them are such good friends, and I feel so grateful that David understands the unusually deep relationship that I have with Marya. He knows how important she is to me. I’d go anywhere for Marya, I’d do anything for her. And, thrillingly, I believe that she feels the same way. Apart from my own mother, I’ve never met anyone who is as unconditionally loving and giving and kind. I’m still shocked by how smitten she seems to be, because I honestly can’t believe my luck that such an extraordinary person could feel that way about me. I cannot express in words how much I love her. But surely you’re getting the idea.

♥

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We had to get Marya to a hospital stat, so we abandoned any hope of trying to catching some wind, and just furled the sails, switching on the engines to try and motor along a little faster. Our progress was, nevertheless, painfully slow and it took us an interminable three hours to reach the port of Aegina. The guys dropped us off while they tried to find somewhere to dock, which would be no easy task in the crowded marina. When Marya and I got to the hospital the medical staff attended to her right away. They weren’t able to put any stitches on her toe, but they cleaned up the wound and bandaged her foot, telling her to come back the next day to have the dressing changed. Marya was shocked that we were able to walk away without having to sign anything or even pay a single eurocent. Yay socialised healthcare!

When we all got back to the boat later that afternoon, some major drama was brewing about where we’d parked it. Some big shot in a fancy yacht was insisting that we were in his spot and had to move, like right now. We’d already spent a couple of hours after a long, boozy lunch in town cajoling the harbour master, jumping through hoops and greasing her palm with an expensive bottle of wine, to allocate us that spot. So obviously we didn’t want to move. But the guy on the big cruiser started getting a little thuggish and causing quite the brouhaha. Eventually the harbour master came down and told us we’d have to move our boat after all. Even after we’d bribed her!!! How rude. But she was kind enough to give us another mooring close by, and Pablo and David did a magnificent job of getting the 34 footer into the tight space while Marya rested in the cabin and I watched from the floating dock. After all the kerfuffle, a crowd had gathered to watch the guys back the boat into position, which is no easy feat in the best of circumstances, let alone under pressure, but they nailed it.

^{Pablo & David doing laps around the marina until the harbour master could find a spot for them to park.}

We decided that it was probably a good idea, after all the shenanigans, to stay in Aegina for the next couple of nights and try to stay out of trouble. Three of us had been pretty badly injured, and we were worried that some Final Destination type misfortune might befall Pablo if we took the sailboat back out onto the open waters. Aegina was delightful and I’m really glad we got the chance to stop and enjoy the pretty town.

Before we knew it though, our last day on the boat dawned and we pushed off super early so we could get a headstart on our trip back to Piraeus. When we finally reached the port after a long day of sailing the four of us were totally wrecked. We were exhausted, we were sunburned, and after three and a half days without a shower we were all absolutely filthy. We walked into our Athens Airbnb like zombies and just collapsed. Somehow we regrouped, showered and mustered up the energy to go out on the town, but it was a pretty sedate evening and I think we all appreciated the early night and the comfortable beds.

The next day at the airport we said goodbye to each other as Marya and Pablo headed back to the US, and David and I moved on to stage three of our Greek holiday, a couple of weeks on the island of Naxos!! Marya being with me on my 50th birthday had made it a profoundly special celebration for me. And despite some events making it a difficult holiday, it was also one of the best. Just before we parted ways we joked that Pablo had somehow evaded the Final Destination injury that had befallen the rest of us on the trip. And he, donning his new red bandana effortlessly knotted around his neck, quipped back that he had in fact been injured after all. With liver damage. Which is how it goes when you’re drunk in…

Ejo #161 – Drunk In….. Greece (Skiathos Edition)

May 31, 2023Drunk In....., Food, Good Life, Greece, Learning About Me, Other Cultures, Photographs, TravelGreece, Greek Islands, Skiathos, Travel, wanderlustmisschryss Leave a comment

After our mid-pandemic trips to Santorini, Milos and Sifnos in 2020, David and I were hooked on Greece. And in particular, Greek islands. I’d always been mildly embarrassed that I had never explored the dazzling isles of my parents’ motherland, but COVID gave us an opportunity to rectify that problem, and in 2021 we added Skiathos, Zakynthos and Naxos to our list of Hellenic conquests. Today I’ll be talking about our trip to the beautiful island of Skiathos, which I’m not afraid to say is my favourite Greek island (so far).

David and I arrived on the island after overnighting in Athens, which is something that I just love to do as it’s one of the most vibrant, gritty, crazy and wonderful cities I’ve ever been to (standby for a suitably colourful Drunk In… Athens). Still slightly hungover when we landed in Skiathos (see Athens, above) we picked up our rental car, a cute little Suzuki Jimny, and made our way to our villa. I was a little nervous about what we’d find when we got there as I’d broken one of my own cardinal rules of Airbnb, which is to never rent a place that hasn’t already had its cherry popped by other guests. I usually need to read at least one review. Also, according to the listing there was no BBQ, which isn’t necessarily a deal breaker for me but it’s pretty fucking close. I absolutely loved the property though, and during my search for the perfect place I just kept coming back to it. Torn, I knuckled down and did some serious forensic holiday research, finally coming to the conclusion that being the first guests would be worth the risk. After all, when I’d emailed the host, Laura, and asked her if the house did have a BBQ that perhaps they had forgotten to list, she told me that they didn’t have one, but she would happily buy one for us. Now that’s Greek hospitality, people!

Waiting for us at the villa was our host’s effervescent mother, Katerina, who showed us around the property. And wow, what a beautiful property it was. A two bedroom villa set amongst a lush, almost tropical, garden and surrounded by ancient olive groves and countless cicadas, chirping in the hot midday sun. After the tour, Katerina sat us down and gave us the inside tea on all the cool, hidden places to visit on the island. Tavernas, beaches and bars that most tourists wouldn’t have a clue about.

^{Our beautiful Airbnb. ♥}

After Katerina left, we headed out for a walk looking for a yummy lunch, and almost immediately stumbled upon a taverna just around the corner from our place called The Koutsavaki. We weren’t sure whether it was open or not as it was very quiet. Don’t forget, this was still in the depths of COVID, and unfortunately during our time on all the Greek islands, too many restaurants, bars and cafes were either closed or empty. We felt bad whenever we were the only customers at a taverna, but we also felt good that we were supporting them during that difficult time. We had a wonderful lunch at Koutsavaki, ordering all our favourite Greek dishes, including sardines, skorthalia and greens washed down with delicious white wine served in a half kilo jug. What a fantastic way to start our island adventure.

^{The beautiful midday sunlight at Koutsavaki Taverna.}

The food was delicious, and the service was hospitable, but what made that first lunch on Skiathos truly special for me was the song that played half way through our meal. I jerked up in my seat, wide-eyed and with a broad smile growing on my face as the lyrics rushed back to me. I was instantly transported back to my childhood, bouncing on my father’s knee as he sang the song. I used to squeal with delight when my Dad clucked his tongue to recreate the clip-clop sound of the horses trotting in the song (and which you can hear in the clip below). I hadn’t heard that song in over forty years, and it was exhilarating to unearth it from the memory graveyard of my mind. Hearing it brought up so many early memories of my beloved family and I got quite emotional, shedding a few tears over my food.

^{The jauntiness of the song belies the dark lyrics which speak of two horses drawing a beautiful carriage. One horse is white, like the singer’s pure and innocent childhood dreams. The other horse is pitch-black, just like his bitter and wretched life.}

Later that day we walked into town to get a drink before dinner, heading to a place called Borzoi Club. I used to work with an Emirati guy called Salah who’s been to almost all the Greek islands coz he’s lucky enough to have a Greek girlfriend. Salah’s a very cool dude, a Teflon-coated hotshot who can smooth talk his way into, and out, of any situation. He’s also a massive party boy. He was the one who recommended that we holiday in Skiathos in the first place, and for that I will be eternally grateful. But he and I definitely have different criteria for what makes a good holiday. He’s into partying, beach clubs and trendy venues. David and I are into tavernas, homemade food and isolated beaches. Cocktails at Borzoi Club, which Salah had recommended, just confirmed the contrast between us. While the place was super fashionable and the cocktails were tasty, the service was disinterested and everyone in there was trying super hard to be cool. It just wasn’t our kind of place.

The next day, after a boozy lunch we walked along the small harbour, admiring the bazillion dollar yachts before climbing up the steps to Bourtzi, a small peninsula which was once an ancient fort. Built in 1206 by the Venetians, who conquered Skiathos and ruled it for over three centuries, the fort has a turbulent history. After the Venetians chewed the island up and spat it out, the Turks decided to take over, mercilessly bringing the Skiathians to their knees for another three hundred years. In 1829, the beleaguered people of the island decided enough was enough and took up arms, fighting the Turks off from the secure stronghold of Bourtzi fort. Unfortunately that wasn’t the end of hardship for Skiathos, which had the shit bombed out of it when the Germans invaded during World War 2. After the war finished, Skiathos was finally left alone and permitted to flourish. Not much remains of Bourtzi fort, save for a few walls and ruins. David and I drunkenly frolicked up the hill, stopping to take several photos of the incredibly beautiful sea and to watch a couple of winsome, brown limbed boys on the rocks below, egging them to jump into the crystal clear waters. They cheerfully obliged and we rewarded ourselves at the top of our climb with glasses of ouzo, refreshing frappés and the extraordinary view.

^{Instruments of war in such a beautiful setting are difficult to compute, but the island has been through a lot and it’s good to have the historical artifacts to show for it, even if they are jarring to see.}

So, what exactly is a frappé? I’ll be so bold as to say, more than any other, it is the national drink of Greece. When shaken with ice, the relatively unassuming ingredients of water and a couple of heaped teaspoons of Nescafé instant coffee produce a delicious iced coffee drink with a thick, glossy crema that will have you licking your fingers; and which is far, far greater than the sum of its parts. The eagle-eyed among you will remember that I don’t normally drink coffee for coffee’s sake anymore (coffee naps are an exception), but when I’m in Greece I drink the hell out of frappés. They are delicious, satisfying, extremely moreish and just one frappé will perk you up for hours.

The next morning after yoga and a leisurely swim in the glorious pool we decided to try out one of Katerina’s suggestions and drove to Kastro Beach Taverna on the northernmost point of the island. From the parking lot, the beach is accessible only by foot down a somewhat treacherous rocky mountain path. But the effort is totally worth it. On the way down we had to make multiple stops just to soak in the breathtaking beauty of the sea below. When we made it to the shore we discovered that the taverna wasn’t open yet, so we pitched camp on the hot sand and went for a dip while we waited. Even before midday, the sun fiercely beat down on us, and we lamented that we were the only ones on the beach without an umbrella. Mental note to self: get a beach umbrella. Stat!

^{Kastro beach. Wow! Just wow!}

Keeping an eye on the taverna, we made a beeline for it as soon as it started showing signs of life, and claimed a table in the middle of the rustic porch. Two cute boys with big smiles and bleached hair expertly weaved between the chairs and tables to take drink orders and serve the food. Hot from the sun, we rehydrated with a couple of beers before ordering our usual ouzo and white wine. And then, of course, we moved onto the delicious traditional fare. We spent a couple of hours there, under the large driftwood shade, just chilling, reading, talking and enjoying the great vibe. For real, Michelin can just suck it. This is the good stuff, right here.

*^{Piss off Michelin, this is where it’s at. Kastro Beach Taverna.}*

So, David and I are weirdos (in case you didn’t know), and we like to celebrate not only our annual wedding anniversary on the 23^rd September, but also the occasional monthly wedding anniversary. Coz why not? So, if we happen to be on holiday on the 23^rd of any month, we’ll usually do something special to mark the occasion. And since we were in Skiathos on the 23^rd June we celebrated our 177^th month wedding anniversary at a restaurant located in one the oldest buildings on the island, a windmill originally erected in 1880. The view from the top balcony, which I’d booked for romance and privacy, was magnificent. The setting was super intimate, the service was impeccable and the food was delicious. But I needn’t have spent the extra cash on the honeymoon table as, once again, we were the only patrons there. Sad face.

The next morning we set out in our little Jimny intending to take her on an off-road adventure to a beautiful, isolated beach called Mantraki. Unfortunately, shortly after turning off the main road, a big-ass van got bogged on the dirt track in front of us and we couldn’t get around them. We waited half an hour to see if they could get out (they couldn’t), and then changed our plans and headed to another of Katerina’s beach recommendations called Kriffi Amos, which translates from Greek as Hidden Sands.

The beach was beautiful and secluded, hidden away from the mountainous road by trees and brush and accessed by walking down a very steep, uneven dirt track. We fell in love with the super chilled vibe of the beach taverna, not much more than a shack really, constructed of driftwood and dried palm leaves, and decorated with old fish nets and buoys. The rambunctious owner of the taverna, Maria, took a particular liking to David (of course), doling out compliments, winks and raunchy jokes followed by rasping howls of laughter in between puffs of her cigarette. After we’d ordered lunch, she suddenly reappeared at our table wielding a large tablespoon of tzatziki, giving us each a generous taste. She explained that her chef was making up a new batch and he wanted our opinion on how it tasted. Feeling a little sassy, we told her that it was perfect… for public consumption, but that we personally liked it with a little bit more garlic. She took that information back to the kitchen and when our lunch came out, the tzatziki was garlicky as fuck!!! Hell yeah! We spent the whole day at Krifi Ammos beach, heading up to the taverna every now and again for a refreshing ouzaki, frappé or ice water. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the goddamn life.

*^{The stunning beach from our happy place at Maria’s Taverna.}*

The next day we drove to a beautiful taverna at the top of the hill at Mega Gialos for lunch. We were warmly welcomed by the lovely host and seated outside on the deck that wrapped around the restaurant, overlooking the stunning blue water and the neighbouring island of Skopelos, which you might remember from the movie Mamma Mia! We had delicious food and delicious wine and we chatted with the friendly host, telling her we were planning to hike down to Mega Gialos beach after lunch. She shook her head and said we should go to nearby Nikotsara instead. Fine by us! Anytime a local recommends something, we listen. And we were handsomely rewarded for followed her advice because when we got to Nikotsara we discovered a stunning little secret cove that we never would have found by ourselves. The only other people there were a couple of wrinkly, leathered German naturists on the other side of the beach, and they took off after a few minutes so we had the whole place to ourselves. We set up our umbrella, took off our kit and splish splashed the afternoon away. Happiness.

A couple of days later, we went back to Mega Gialos, determined to check out the famous beach despite the waitress’ word to the wise. From the taverna at the top of the mountain, it’s a difficult 20 minute trek down through thick brush, prickly shrubs and cobwebs, and you definitely need proper walking shoes to do it. When we got to the gorgeous beach we were thrilled to find that once again we were the only ones there. Unfortunately, we soon realised that the reason for that (apart from the horrendously difficult hike) was that the water, which was the most beautiful, most crystal clear water I have ever seen in my life, was full of bastard baby jellyfishes.

^{Up the road to the right is the taverna, down the road to the left is the overgrown track to the beach. Across the sea is Skopelos.}

We deliberated on it for a long time, and finally decided to risk a swim. We carefully waded in, the sun glistening like diamonds on the salty water which felt like velvet on my skin. I gazed up at the intense blue sky, and smiled at David. I got comfortable. I got complacent. And I got stung. I’ve never been stung by a jellyfish before and I did not handle it well. Screaming like a banshee, and comically wind-milling my arms around, so as to thrash the water (and other jellyfishes) away from my body, I hightailed it onto the pebbly beach thinking I was going to die (don’t forget, I am Australian). I melodramatically implored David to piss on my arm, and he fell over laughing (no, I had not been aware that was just an urban myth). It stung like hell, but in the end it wasn’t actually that bad. Certainly not as bad as I’d expected. Sulking on the beach under our excellent umbrella, which was doing a phenomenal job of reflecting the powerfully strong sun, I felt pretty resentful looking at that beautiful water, knowing that it was infested with electric devil spawn. There was no way I was going back in so we didn’t stick around much longer, and the hot and sweaty climb back up the mountain felt all the more gruelling for having been for naught. When we got to the top we stopped off at the taverna to quench our hard-earned thirst with an ice-cold beer, which is when David told me that he had also been stung by the jellyfishes, multiple times. And he’d never said a goddamn word. My husband, the tough guy.

*^{Stunning beach, but sadly unswimmable. Great umbrella though!}*

On our way home from the beach we decided, against our better judgement, to spend the rest of the afternoon at Koukounaries, apparently one of the world’s most beautiful beaches, and one that my colleague Salah had raved about. In Greece, beaches are classified as either organised or unorganised. Organised beaches are maintained and have sun-loungers and umbrellas for rent, public toilets and usually a taverna or beach bar to buy food and drinks. We prefer unorganised beaches, which are exactly what it says on the label. There usually aren’t any facilities at all, though you can still find tavernas at some unorganised beaches

Knowing that Koukounaries was definitely not our style of beach, we turned into the carpark anyway and crawled around for 15 minutes looking for a spot amidst the hundreds of vehicles. Not a good start. We grabbed our stuff and shuffled unenthusiastically towards the busy beach. As we approached the sand, the distant sound of muffled doof-doof music became louder and doofier, the number of tourists in a variety of shades of sunburn varying from light pink to deep lobster became greater, and the revving of jet-skis became even more obnoxious. We saw signs for €30 (front row) lounge chairs, waitresses serving blue cocktails, kids running around screaming and what seemed like thousands of people crammed into a narrow strip of sand. No thank you. We turned around and legged it back to the car, deciding that an afternoon in our gorgeous pool was a much better proposition.

We went out a lot for lunches and beach adventures while we were in Skiathos, but our villa was so beautiful, and the pool so inviting that we stayed in most evenings. It was so lovely to just jump in the pool whenever we needed to cool off in the intense Greek summer heat. Also, we did get a fantastic BBQ provided especially for us; it would have been a travesty not to use it. Every day we’d go to the local supermarket and pick up whatever meat looked great, usually lamb but sometimes pork. We’d also get some olives, dips, tomatoes, lemons, local cheese and fixin’s for David’s special tzatziki (yoghurt, cucumber and lots of garlic). And wine, obvs. David is a master chef on the BBQ so we ate like Greek gods. Afterwards we would read or play backgammon and listen to music. And we would always, always, finish the night with a midnight swim. Always, always accompanied by shots of mastiha, a delicious sweet liqueur made from the resin of mastic trees. This has become a tradition for us now, and we will always, always drink mastiha while skinny dipping in our pool late at night whenever we are in Greece. You should try it sometime.

*^{We loved the villa so much, we bought it! Actually we couldn’t afford it, but it’s nice to dream.}*

One night we did have dinner in town and afterwards walked along the harbour to a bar right on the water called Gin Fish, which was totally vibing and absolutely packed with tourists and locals alike. I suspect that Salah would have loved it, but unfortunately, the service was spotty and the drinks were overpriced. Disappointed, David and I started walking home through the town when we discovered the much quieter Andersson’s Bar which was superior in every single way. Tucked away in a quiet courtyard, it had amazing service and super delicious cocktails, in a very relaxed atmosphere. We went there so many times after that first visit, that when we dropped by on our last night to say farewell, the owner Ullis Andersson gave us each a big hug goodbye.

So Salah and I might have different ideas about what constitutes a fun holiday (remember Koukounaries), but there is definitely some overlap in our interests. David and I wanted to get to Diamantis beach, another of Salah’s recommendations, but it’s only accessible from the sea, so we drove down to a local boat rental place to enquire about hiring a boat for half a day. When the guy suggested that he take us there himself, we quickly took him up on his offer. Being water-limousined was great because it meant that we could drink as much as we liked and didn’t have to worry about drunk driving a boat home. We just called the guy up when we were done and he picked us up 15 minutes later. This worked out perfectly and was a fraction of the cost of renting the boat ourselves.

Diamantis beach was amazing. Set in a tiny little cove, there were about ten lounge chairs for guests of the taverna and a cool upstairs beach bar built into the treetops, where we had beers and frappés and cocktails until the restaurant opened. The food was trying a little too hard to be fancy (I mean, c’mon babes, don’t mess with perfection), but we had a really fun time, and finished the afternoon lounging around in the sunchairs and going for several swims in the gorgeous (jellyfish-free) water. Bliss.

^{Is this heaven on earth?}

One of my favourite tavernas on the whole island was Taverna Ligaries located by the sea in a very remote part of the island. But we almost didn’t make it there. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Google maps has been acting kinda loopy lately, sending us down roads that aren’t roads at all and choosing routes that are unnecessarily way off the beaten path. This is what happened to us and our trusty Suzuki Jimny on the way to Ligaries, one dirt road in particular becoming steeper and steeper, until at one point we were almost vertical trying to crest a ridge and it felt like a minor miracle that we didn’t flip backwards. We made it over the ridge but, instead of opening up, the track narrowed even more and the tree branches closed in around us, menacingly scratching the side of the car and threatening to completely envelope us. There was no way we could go back, but it didn’t seem like we were able to keep going forward either. According to google maps, we were on the right track, but the situation was fraught with danger. Gripping the car handle with white knuckles, I actually thought we were going to get stuck and probably lose the Jimny in the overgrown jungle vegetation.

I tried to keep my cool, but my heart felt like it was going to pound right out of my chest, and every now and then I’d burst into hysterical, nervous laughter. Also occasional screams, which I attempted to stifle because I didn’t want David to feel as scared as I was. I didn’t want to put him off his driving game which, incidentally, was magnificent. I was in total awe of his skills behind the wheel, and of how cool he stayed, even when things got really hairy. With my crappy navigation and David’s incredible driving we eventually popped out of the jungle and onto the paved road that we probably could have been on the whole time. Thanks for nothing google maps.

With the adrenaline still coursing through our veins we eventually made it to Taverna Ligaries and gratefully sat at a table under the shady, vine-covered pergola. We ordered a few of our favourite dishes, and before we knew it the place started filling up with big parties of local guests enjoying themselves and getting happily rowdy. After drinking a kilo of white wine, we were getting happily rowdy ourselves. The food was delicious, the service was friendly and relaxed, and the taverna was filled with laughter and shouting and backslapping and table banging. All the wonderful Greek vibes. Afterwards we walked to the beach where we paid €2 each for beach loungers and an umbrella, and sobered up by alternating between lolling in the shade and swimming in the beautiful, clear, warm water of the Mediterranean Sea.

I never expected to love Skiathos as much as I did. I was taken aback by how at home I felt on the island. At how seductive I found its extreme serenity, rugged beauty and spectacular, isolated beaches. How charmed I was by the friendliness of the locals, their willingness to help and their quickness to smile. And at how captivated I’d become by the technicolour palette of the island, the fresh salty air, the hypnotising thrum of cicadas, the rustic and easy way of life where nothing is really so important that you actually need to worry about it. I could imagine living out my life here, just like this. Yoga, nude swimming, delicious Greek food, wine served in ½ kilo carafes, siestas, cicadas, writing, living. I left Skiathos a changed person. I left a Skiathan.

Ejo #160 – What Is An Artist?: The Orquevaux Diaries (Denouement)

April 21, 2023Art, france, Good Life, Interviews, Learning About Me, My Diary, NFT, Other Cultures, Photographs, Travel, WritingArt, artist, artist residency, france, Travelmisschryss Leave a comment

^{My application to the Chateau Orquevaux artist residency programme}

Continuing on from Part One…

DAY #8 – FRIDAY, 20^th MAY 2022
Today the newbies (yes, we’re still the newbies, we’ll always be the newbies) attended an Art & Business presentation in the salon, where Beulah talked about the necessity of understanding and taking control of that side of your career as an artist. It wasn’t really geared towards writers, but as an avid art collector it was still very interesting to be in attendance and to learn about what goes on behind the scenes in galleries. Beulah’s experiences in the art world brought home the reality that most artists will never exhibit, most artists will never make it big, and most artists will never be able to make a living from their art. Afterwards I had a chat with Catherine about NFTs, and how they are a way of directly connecting artists and collectors, and doing away with the middle-people; the gatekeepers, the galleries, the dealers and the brokers. NFTs allow artists to actually sell their works and have them be seen by a larger audience than the traditional art world allows. I’ve been considering doing a presentation about NFTs for my Writer’s Open Studio in a few days, and Catherine’s enthusiasm during our conversation has cemented my decision.

I had lunch in my room today, foregoing my usual glass of wine. I’ve decided to skip the day drinking. Not because of what anyone thinks, but because it’s making me sluggish. While I was eating I received a message from David complimenting me on my new overalls. I had no idea what he was talking about, and was a little bit confused until he referenced the picture of Marcie I’d sent to the family group chat yesterday. OMG, even my own husband is mixing us up!

After lunch, I ran upstairs to the studios and interviewed Catherine, a painter who primarily uses oil on canvas (and sometimes wood) to produce captivating small-scale works. When I walked into her studio I was enthralled by all the beautiful pieces hanging up on the wall. Each of them inspired by Orquevaux landscapes, architecture and colours. Catherine lights up the whole room with her energy and I find her really engaging, spirited and fun to be around. So of course I loved our chat. She reminds me of my friend Ellen, who I love very much, so it makes me very happy to spend time with her. After we finished the interview I hung around, and we gossiped about our perceptions of the Chateau. Our expectations, our reasons for being here, and our experiences of it so far. We learned that we’d both been promised self-contained guesthouse accommodation, but ultimately been assigned a room in the main house. And, we’ve both come to the same conclusion that, even though we were initially disappointed, we’re actually much happier to be staying in the Chateau, the beating heart of the residency, rather than in the village. We agreed that being so much closer to the action has elevated the experience for us. Which is when Beulah, who was (apparently) in her office down the hall, and could (apparently) hear everything we were saying, shouted out, “You two are hilarious!!” Oops! Catherine and I looked at each other, as our jaws dropped in unison. I mouthed, “Shit!” as Catherine mouthed, “Whaaat?” And we burst into laughter! Beulah came in to explain the reasons behind the accommodation swap, but we didn’t really care. We’re exactly where we need to be.

I sheepishly excused myself to drop in on Avital in the studio next door, and luckily she was also free to do our interview. Avital is an Israeli collagist, and it’s been so illuminating for me to learn exactly what collaging is. I must admit I had kind of conflated it with scrapbooking before I met Avital. I now know that it is a serious visual artform combining photos, pictures and objects to create something that is completely new, whether that be an idea, a message or a concept. It felt great to have two more awesome interviews under my belt. I feel very comfortable with both Catherine and Avital, and have from the beginning. Is it because we started our residencies together? Is it because we are the grande dames of the Chateau? Or is it something else? Maybe we just really like each other, and our friendship takes little effort. Avital is really affectionate and maternal with me and I love that. Whenever she plays with my hair or squeezes my arm, I feel like purring and curling up at her feet.

Tonight was the Pomme Frites concert so I wanted to dazzle at dinner, but I’m running out of unique and interesting clothes to wear. I scraped the bottom of my suitcase and decided to just fuck it, and wear a skimpy little silk robe as a dress. Rock ‘n’ roll, baby!! This thing is uber short but I’m no longer self-conscious about dressing up, and I’m actually having a lot of fun being a little bit daring. Forcing myself to take risks has made me feel so much freer about what I’m wearing, and I’ve always promised myself that I’d be a more flamboyant dresser in my 50s, so now’s a great time to start.

^{Before I left, I polled my friends about what sartorial vibe I should go for during my artist residency, and the overwhelming response was to stick to my usual palette of black, black, black. I decided to completely ignore this advice and packed a bunch of bright, whimsical, outlandish and swashbuckling clothes instead.}

The Pomme Frites concert was a wild success. Noah, Jad and Jonny performed a really fun 45 minute set for the rest of us on the steps of the Chateau. We danced for ages on the front lawn, fuelled by rosé, joy and a beautiful sense of camaraderie, and when the party was over, we all walked down the hill to kick on at Charles and Jonny’s house in the village. I was a little tired, so after a drink or two I hitched a ride back to the Chateau with a couple of the others on a commandeered golf cart. Despite my best intentions, it was another late night.

DAY #9 – SATURDAY, 21^ST MAY 2022
While everyone else went to the shops this morning, I stayed and interviewed Elissa, who is also a writer. She’s a published novelist though, with a number of literary awards under her belt, so we’re not exactly in the same league. She’s so passionate and knowledgeable about her craft, and very generously shared a number of sources and tips with me. It’s been really great interviewing everybody because the very foundation of an interview is asking people to talk about themselves. It’s not a real conversation but, still, the act of communication creates intimacy and closeness. When I’m interviewing someone, I feel confident and sure of myself. And so far everyone I’ve interviewed has been very generous and open with me. I’m enjoying the process a lot, and I’m really proud that I pushed myself to do this project.

After lunch I took off in my car and drove 15 minutes down the road to see my friends Nat and Andy, the ones who’d told me about the Chateau and the artist residency in the first place. It was so wonderful to be with people who know me and love me. It was so wonderful to leave behind, for a couple of hours anyway, the constant worry of how I’m being perceived and where I fit in. It was a respite, and a salve for my soul. We sat outside drinking wine and eating charcuterie and chatting for hours, and it felt like home. I was a new woman on the drive back to the Chateau because I’d remembered who I was. Carefully navigating the winding roads, I rolled the windows down, turned the music up and joyfully sang at the top of my lungs.

Everyone was tired from the night before so they went to bed early, but Otto and I stayed up quite late, drunkenly chatting and getting to know each other better. Otto, my fellow big drinker. Otto, a beautiful and gentle soul from El Salvador who came to the Chateau to volunteer his time as a general hand, in exchange for a room and the chance to paint. Otto who is learning how to speak French beautifully, but English not so much. Which doesn’t really matter when you’re in the countryside, sitting under the stars next to a fire and sharing whiskey from the bottle. I was thrilled to learn that Otto’s paintings had recently been accepted to an exhibition being held in Paris at the end of the month. He’s so incredibly talented and I’m so happy for him and this amazing achievement. He’s such a sweet, humble man and he deserves great success.

DAY #10 – SUNDAY, 22^ND MAY 2022
I am finally at ease now, on day 10 of 14. My jaw no longer locks and clicks when I’m talking to people. And today I talked a lot, racking up five interviews!! First up was Charles, who creates wonderful street installations from reclaimed wood. I chatted to him in his studio at The Stables, where he was putting together a large scale piece. I love the organic nature of his work, and that he creates art for public spaces. A few minutes into our interview, Charles became quite emotional as he recounted the connections he’s made with people that he’s met on the streets and on his travels. When I saw him wipe away some tears, I jumped up and gave him a big hug. I love a man who’s in touch with his emotions and is unafraid to express them, and Charles is all heart.

Afterwards I walked back to the Chateau, and interviewed Jad in the upstairs studio he shares with Noah. Jad is a Canadian singer-songwriter who was accepted into the residency as a musician but has been inspired to try his hand at painting after spending time with so many talented artists. And that’s the beauty of this place. There are no rules. Everything is possible. I love being here because I’m surrounded by creative people who are actively and passionately pursuing their art. My creativity was always something that I kept close to my chest because I was never around creative people for any significant length of time. The environment in the Chateau fosters an understanding and an acceptance of the creative process, which has been such a luxury for me to be around, and which will change the way I live my life.

Jad and I talked about how being here has reawakened his desire to paint, something that he hasn’t done since high school. He opened up to me during our interview, and once again I felt a growing sense of ease and closeness with my confrère. We finished our interview with a beautiful long hug. Hugs all day!! Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing.

On a roll, I went searching for Christine, who was painting in her studio. I really wanted to try and connect with her during our interview because we’ve kind of kept each other at arm’s length so far, and I desperately wanted to bridge that gap. During the next thirty minutes I was surprised to discover a side to Christine that I’d hadn’t seen before. She revealed herself to be a serious person and a very deep thinker, taking the time to carefully consider each question before answering. It was enlightening to learn about how seriously she takes her work, pouring her entire being into every brush stroke. I enjoyed spending a little one-on-one time with Christine, and as she spoke about her life and her work, I got an even clearer understanding of who she really was. I realised that her aloofness doesn’t mean that she doesn’t like me, and it doesn’t mean that she’s judging me. It doesn’t mean anything. Thinking that I’m the only one with shit going on is so self-centred. Everyone is conquering unseen mountains, and everyone is navigating unseen depths. Just as Christine couldn’t possibly know about the turmoil hidden behind my smile, there’s no way for me to know what’s hidden behind hers. We didn’t hug after our chat, but I did feel like the heaviness between us had lifted.

Later in the day, I grabbed a few minutes to interview Andrew in his room, and when we were done he offered to show me some of his work. His beautiful, reverent photographs of men’s bodies absolutely blew me away. And gave me an idea. I’ve long dreamt of posing nude for a Helmut Newton or an Annie Leibovitz. I don’t really love my body, but I’ve always thought that it would be wonderful to have a beautiful snapshot of what it looks like now, knowing that I’m not getting any younger (or thinner, or firmer). Knowing that one day I’ll look back and admire my relative youth (and relative perkiness). Quickly determining that I may never again have 24/7 access to a photographer of his caliber, I blurted out to Andrew that I would love for him to take some photos of me sometime? Maybe in the woods? Maybe topless? He said he would be honoured. OMG!

After dinner, while everyone else watched the comedy special Nanette in the adjacent salon, I notched up my fifth and final interview of the day, spending 90 minutes quietly whispering with Viktoria in her darkened studio, so as not to disturb the movie-goers next door. It was the longest interview I’ve done by far, easily outlasting Hannah Gadsby’s stand up show. I’ve enjoyed a few long conversations with Viktoria in the last couple of days, and this one was no exception. I find her a little bit mysterious, and a little bit enigmatic. She fascinates me. Everyone here does.

DAY #11 – MONDAY, 23^RD MAY 2022
Just as I’ve been interviewing all the artists here, Andrew’s been photographing them, and today it was my turn to be snapped. For my photo shoot Andrew and I went downstairs to the spooky basement and took some very cool pictures, playing around with lighting, props and poses. He makes me feel really comfortable, so hopefully I do get the courage to actually go through with a semi-nude shoot. It would truly be a once in a lifetime experience, especially with such a talented photographer.

Tonight was Literature Night. I finally decided to just go for it and read my essay about not wanting to have children, and my decision to have abortions. I was super nervous about speaking in front of everyone, but I made the executive decision to just be bold. Bold in what I chose to read, and bold in what I chose to wear. Earlier that day I’d found a very fancy, over-the-top, dusky pink dress in the basement costume room which was absolutely perfect for my reading. After dinner I got changed into it, twisting my hair into space buns, and creating a persona. An alter ego. Cruelly, I was selected to speak first, and as I approached the lectern I looked around at all the familiar faces looking back at me, as my heart pounded in my chest. I’m a writer, I’m not a performer. But this was my chance to show everyone why I am here. To prove to them, and maybe even to myself, that I am an artist after all. I looked down at the words on the page, words that I had written, and as I read them out loud I could see that everyone in the room was in my thrall. No-one was listening out of politeness. No-one’s eyes were glazed over. And when I was finished, I had a truly raw and authentic response from the audience, my peers.

^{Performance art (Photo © Avital Baron Izackov)}

I feel so, so good about exposing my true self, and allowing myself to be so vulnerable in front of everyone. We’re all artists here, but the art that I create is words on a computer, or on pieces of paper. It’s been impossible for anyone to see the work that I’ve created the last ten days, or to know what I’m even capable of creating. Tonight, I showed everyone what I can do, and so many people approached me afterwards, and congratulated me or told me how much I’d touched them with my story. For the first time, I feel seen as a real artist. I feel validated. I’m floating, and I love this feeling.

DAY #12 – TUESDAY, 24^th MAY 2022
This morning I walked to The Stables to sit for Jonny. I was a bit nervous but, as always, my boy effortlessly put me at ease. He played me some of his favourite hip hop music and we made each other laugh while he painted my portrait. I love the way he sees the world; with a beguiling combination of childlike innocence and refined sensitivity, and when he showed me the finished canvas after a couple of hours, it took my breath away. I absolutely love it. I love the way he sees me, and I love the way he’s painted me. Is it wrong that I really want to buy it and put it up on a wall in my house? Vain, much? I am really going outside of my comfort zone during my residency and feel so good about doing things that I normally wouldn’t have the courage to try. I’m so glad I was brave enough to ask Jonny to paint me, and that he said yes. Working up the nerve to actually disrobe for Andrew is going to take a lot more guts. And I’m not sure that there’s enough rosé in all of France.

^{If you zoom into the coffee cup, Jonny has inscribed it with, “I only drink coffee for coffee naps”. ♥}

While I was at the Stables I ran into Charles and, feeling kinda sassy, I asked him if I could take one of his pieces back to Dubai with me, with the intention of putting it up in a public place. He said he would make something small for me to take back in my suitcase. And that’s one more item ticked off my residency bucket list.

In the afternoon I saw Noah chilling under the big tree overlooking the lake, and I approached him about doing our interview there. Noah is a self-taught artist, which makes his work all the more amazing. He’s a versatile and multi-talented threat who seems to excel at everything he does! Noah is an absolute powerhouse of a personality. Happy, confident, loud and always the life of the party. It was nice to get to know the man behind moustache.

After dinner Jonny mentioned that he had a studio session scheduled with Ziggy to paint his portrait and I thought that would be the perfect opportunity for me to interview the man responsible for all of this. I was so happy when Ziggy agreed, and we had a nice half hour chat while Jonny did his thing. When we were done, I took advantage of the fact that Alonso was right next door, and checked off his interview as well. A Mexican architect turned multidisciplinary artist, Alonso is so fucking beautiful that it sometimes hurts to look at him. He’s warm natured, charismatic, and has a dazzling smile. Oh, and the peachiest butt you ever did see. If you watch Andrew’s video below, ladies and gentlemen, you’ll see exactly what I’m talking about. You are so very welcome!

During my bedtime shower I discovered another tick, under my right breast. I initially thought it might be a mole, but it felt a little flicky, just like the first tick that I found under my knee a few days ago. On closer inspection, yep, it was a little bloodsucking tick. Unbelievable. It was after midnight, so I couldn’t ask anyone for help to remove it this time. I’d have to do it on my own. Google helped me out with instructions on how to extract the nasty parasite using tweezers, making sure to pull straight up, so as not to crush it or detach the body from the head. Apparently crushing it, or detaching the body from the head is very bad. Contorting my naked limbs by dim lamplight, I anxiously placed the tweezers around the body of the tick and pulled up, but the little cunt held on for dear life. I kept pulling, nervously, and eventually the freeloader’s face let go of my boob, making quite a horrible, loud “pop” sound when his head came out. I grabbed that fucker and I squeezed him, I squeezed him until he was dead. No mercy.

DAY #13 – WEDNESDAY, 25^TH MAY 2022

Today was Open Studios. Exhibition day. We started in the morning, all of us going on a walking tour of the estate to check out Marcie’s botanical sculptures and Charles’ wood installations that he’d put up all around the village of Orquevaux. Seriously spectacular works of art from both of them. We then took a fabulous group photo at the village entrance. We’ve all been through so much together the last couple of weeks. Even if we never see each other again, right now it truly feels like we’re a family.

We headed back to the Chateau and were treated to a slide show of Andrew’s beautiful photos as well as an incredible video, composed of footage of all of us throughout the two weeks that we’ve been here. Andrew’s movie is a priceless memento of our collective experience and I will always cherish it. I’ve already watched it about a hundred times. How lucky are we that we got such an accomplished photographer and videographer in our residency group. Talk about winning.

Suddenly it was time for my talk on NFTs from the artist’s perspective. This is a topic that I’m super passionate about, and I feel like I got a really good reception to it. I received a lot of thoughtful questions, and a few of the artists approached me afterwards to tell me that they wanted to learn more. I’m not 100% sure how to go about it, but I would love to help facilitate the transition of artists from the traditional art world into NFTs. Watch this space.

After my talk, Charles asked me to meet him in the foyer, where he presented me with the piece that he’d custom made for me. It’s an absolute masterpiece, and I fell in love with it instantly. I honestly think it’s one of his best works. I asked him how much I owed him and he said that he wanted me to have it for free, since the plan is for it to go up on a public wall in Dubai. But as I held it in my hands, I knew that I would not part with it. That it was too beautiful, and that I selfishly wanted it for myself. We settled on $200.

^{Isn’t it beautiful. I look at, and touch it, every single day and it takes me back to Orquevaux.}

At 5pm we all marched up the creaky stairs to the studios to check out everyone’s work. I was so proud of all my friends for the beautiful art that they have created during their time here. I am in total awe of every single one of them, and their incredible work ethic and their drive to just produce, produce, produce. That’s something that I would like to take away with me. I particularly loved Christine’s paintings and arranged with her to buy one of the medium sized ones. I’m splashing the cash today, but it feels so good to support the artists that I’ve met here, and I love that I’ll have a couple of beautiful and lasting reminders of my time at Chateau Orquevaux.

^{A Little More Growth #3 by Christine Olmstead.}

Later in the evening most of us walked down to The Stables to do a burn of one of Charles’ wooden sculptures, called Dead Man. It was a beautiful night and everyone who was gathered around the installation made an offering to the piece that was being sacrificed. I wrote a haiku about the Chateau, and pinned the piece of paper to the sculpture, watching the flames lick at it until it floated away in ashes. It was beautiful and cathartic to watch, and reminded me of the impermanence of life.

Jonny left earlier today, and I miss him already.

DAY #14 – THURSDAY, 26^TH MAY 2022
Avital left yesterday and I miss her too. She was always the first person I saw in the mornings, and my morning ritual doesn’t feel the same in her absence.

After my shower I finally caught up with Beulah, for her interview. I still have Otto to do but he’s been too busy this morning. Even though we have one day left, it kind of feels like the end already. The energy feels different, and everyone is running around cleaning up their studio spaces and preparing for their early trains in the morning. I’m not leaving until midday tomorrow so I have the luxury of packing later. So I’m just chilling, and writing this. It’s kind of crazy that I came to Chateau Orquevaux to write, but haven’t written nearly as much as I thought I would. Which is OK, because, even more significantly, I’ve been creatively activated. And I think that will manifest more fully when I leave this place and re-enter the real world. The Chateau’s mission statement declares: The Chateau d’Orquevaux Artist Residency emphasises the human experience and the creative process. The residency creates an environment for the artist in their quest for personal growth and artistic expression – while reinforcing that the end product is not necessarily the principal focus. Well, I’ve certainly been on one helluva quest. And I am hoping that the body of work I create when I collate everyone’s interviews will result in a beautiful piece of art.

Before dinner I sought out Andrew and asked him if he would photograph me. Like, now or never! He said yes, and I took him on a short walk to my special place near the swimming hole, the little copse of trees that I walk through every day after my morning skinny dip. With my two buddies at the entrance of the grove keeping watch for me, I slipped off my bra and flung it into the trees, baring myself. I took a deep breath and tried to relax, knowing that I was in the capable hands of a world class photographer. It wasn’t easy, but I stopped focussing on Andrew and his camera, and started focussing on where I was; in my secret garden. Chateau Orquevaux. France. In my own skin. Right here, right now. The poses that I’d practised in front of the mirror felt wooden and contrived, so I softened and just allowed myself to be. I was still awkward as fuck, but it felt more natural to just be myself. The timing was just right, and the golden hour light was absolutely perfect. And at that very moment, magic happened.

At our final dinner, everyone took a turn to say a few words to the group. It was super emotional and by the end, we were all in tears. I haven’t had an easy time of it but Chateau Orquevaux, and the people I’ve shared this experience with, will course through my veins for the rest of my life. I know this. And, as cliché as it sounds, I’ve learned so many lessons about myself along the way. I’ve grown, not just as an artist, but as a person. I’ve learned to look at the world around me, and not just focus on the world inside of me. I’ve learned to be vulnerable. I’ve learned to be courageous and bold. I’ve learned to bare my body, and my soul. I’ve learned to ask for the things that I want. I’ve learned that being an artist means doing it, and not just talking about it. And I’ve learned to say yes, fuck it, why not!! And I have developed real friendships with my fellow artists. Friendships that I know will last a lifetime.

As the night came to a close, there was a flurry of individual goodbyes, and farewells. So many emotions, tears and hugs. So many promises to meet up in other parts of the world. I genuinely love every single person here, but from day one, Marcie has been my le plus aimé, and I absolutely hated saying goodbye to her. It physically hurt. We hugged a lot, and when we couldn’t hug anymore, we said goodnight and went to bed.

^{Marcie & Chryss (Photo © Andrew Putschoegl)}

DAY #15 – FRIDAY, 27^th MAY 2022
It’s time for me to leave. I woke up early enough to fit in one final yoga session by the lake, and one final skinny dip in my swimming hole (yes, it’s mine now and they should just name it after me already). I wanted to stay in the water forever, but I had a lot to do. Having to pack away everything in my room (my room!) into a suitcase hammered home the reality that it was all over. And most of the others have already gone. I shook off the shroud of melancholy threatening to engulf me and lugged my suitcases downstairs. In a mad rush, about fifteen minutes before I had to go, I cornered Otto and we finally did a quickie interview in the dining room. It wasn’t an easy one, as we were unable to communicate in a common language (where’s that bottle of rosé when you really need it?)! Despite that, it felt really wonderful that I had this last minute chance to talk to Otto, because it meant that I actually achieved my goal of interviewing every single artist at Chateau Orquevaux. High five to me!!

Once the interview was done and the car was packed, I did that thing I’m prone to doing; of already checking out mentally, already looking ahead to what is coming and no longer seeing what is in front of me. Even if it’s important. Which is why I was almost startled to see Noah, Christine and Charles waiting to say goodbye. I almost cried! And in my mentally frazzled state I totally would have just taken off without saying farewell to Andrew. I’m so grateful that he came out to wish me happy travels because I would have really regretted not saying goodbye to him. He’s one of the loveliest people I’ve ever met, and I adore him. Also, he’s seen my tits, so we’re practically married now.

I took one last look at the Chateau, knowing that I wasn’t taking any of it in, but also knowing, in my heart, that one day I would be back. And then I drove away.

^{What Is An Artist?}

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