A Greek Love Affair

Book summary

After a failed marriage, Carys relocates to Greece, hoping the change will help her regain confidence and fulfillment. However, her journey doesn't go as planned, leading her to unexpected challenges and discoveries. Based on a true story, A Greek Love Affair explores love, self-discovery, and the pursuit of happiness amidst the beauty of Greece.

Excerpt from A Greek Love Affair

The Dream Unfolds

August 1991

Carys Wynne-Jones looks around at the other passengers waiting to board the flight to Athens. Most, she surmised, are going on holiday. But Carys Wynne-Jones isn’t going on holiday. A smile puckers her lips. The man sitting opposite averts his gaze. Carys’ smile broadens. She wants to laugh. She wants to shout, let everyone know. Carys Wynne-Jones is about to fulfil a lifelong dream - going to live and work in Athens for a year. It has been a long journey to here. Now is the start of a new journey in her life. But when did it all begin?

1950s-1970s

Carys’ Greek love affair begins at a very young age when her father thrills her with the myths, legends, and history of ancient times. She dreams of visiting these, to her, exotic places and walking in the steps of Theseus, Odysseus, Agamemnon, Socrates. The names are endless. To see the stadium at Olympia, the Charioteer at Delphi, the frescoes at Knossos. Her dream is all-encompassing.

A five-year-old Carys is sitting on a small wooden chair in the section of the library designated as ‘Children’s. It is her first visit. She gazes around the shelves. So many books. A wondrous world. Where to start? There are books at home, but books for children are scarce and expensive. Something to do with a war that people still talk about. Christmas means the ‘Beano’ annual and a children’s classic. And Carys knows birthdays mean another book. She can read from the age of three, but her mother still reads a story every evening at Carys’ bedside. Carys has always looked forward to the day when she would have ‘real’ books like her parents. She has known for some time about this place where she is sitting, for her father comes every week. Sometimes her mother comes with him, but often she is too busy at home. Her father works permanent nights on the fish-dock, as a bobber, so he can find time to come during the day. He has explained how a person can borrow two books free for two weeks, return them, and choose two more.

It is a Saturday morning, so there is no school. Dad has made sure her hands are clean. Mam has even let her wear her second-best dress and cardigan. A short walk and they arrive at a big, old, imposing building with semi-circular stone steps leading up to two, heavy, shining brass-handled doors, one of which stands open. Above the doors is the engraved-stone legend that this is the ‘Western Library’.

Carys and her father enter the dark, high-domed inside. They pass a very high counter behind which are two formidable-looking ladies. The older one, she seems very old to the child, acknowledges the father with a nod as he places his returned books on the counter. She merely looks at the child, but the tight curls, severe spectacles, and the fearsome aspect leave Carys in no doubt as to who is ‘in charge’.

Carys clasps her father’s hand more tightly. It is so quiet, like being in church. They move on together, and she sees, to the right of the counter, a strange wooden structure. It looks like a roof on stilts. Each slope of the roof holds newspapers fastened by metal rods but which still enable people to turn the pages. An elderly, rather scruffy, man stands reading one of the papers. Then she sees beyond - thousands and thousands of books tantalisingly waiting. She could stay here and read for ever and ever. Her father smiles at his daughter, enjoying her wonderment. He knows he has transferred his love of books. He guides her to the children’s section, explains that she can look at any book she wants, and then choose one to take home. He will return when he has chosen his books.

Carys wanders among the shelves, sometimes reaching out her hand towards a book, not quite daring to touch. Then she trails her finger slowly along the spines, reading the titles. Occasionally the finger pauses, the book is withdrawn, handled, opened, and gently returned to its resting place. For another time. On and on until a book is withdrawn that causes her eyes to sparkle. There, on the dust cover, is the face of a man. The face is a golden mask. The eyes are closed. Holding the book to her chest, she returns to her seat. She sits and stares at the face. Her father returns. ‘Ready? Agamemnon, eh? Might have a read of that myself. Let’s go.’

On the way home, Carys carries the book carefully under her arm, anticipating the delights inside.

Carys is fourteen and at the Girls’ Grammar School. She is just beginning her courses of ‘O’ levels. She has chosen Classical Greek so she can attempt to read Homer’s Odyssey in the original. Her teacher is organising a trip to Greece. Full of excitement and anticipation, Carys rushes home with the news. Her parents try to find a way. The trip will cost £80, plus some spend. Her father earns around £9 a week. For the first time, they have to say no. The group leaves without her.

The Greek studies continue at ‘A’ level and in Higher Education with New Testament Greek. Carys impresses tutors with projects, during teaching practices, on the myths and legends of Ancient Greece. More important, for Carys, is that the children enjoy them.

1970s-1980s

After College, life intervenes - career, marriage, divorce, career. In 1984 Carys goes to Crete. The writing of Leonard Cottrell and Mary Renault has instilled in Carys a strong longing to see Knossos, especially the frescoes. She stays in a bungalow, in the grounds of the prestigious Rethymno Palace Hotel.

The smell of freshly baked bread meets her every morning as she walks, carefully to avoid standing on the many tortoises that live in the gardens, over to the main building. To go with the still-warm bread is a selection of Cretan cheeses for breakfast. Dipping the bread in honey or olive oil, local of course, she is set for the day. The food is absolutely superb, everything fresh and such variety. Much of it is still not readily available in the UK where she lives, so she takes advantage and gorges herself. She can always diet later. Carys’ late afternoon treat, after a day of sight-seeing, is a dish of ice-cream made from goats’ milk, topped with the honey from the wild bee, which survives on native herbs and plants.

Carys hires a car -very expensive. Better than organised trips, though, more freedom. There seems to be only one main, reasonable road, which circles the island. One day, seeing what is little more than a track, she decides to make a detour, eventually arriving at a small village. After parking she is met with friendly greetings and led to a small house. A teenage girl appears and invites Carys inside. The house is very traditional, quite dark but very clean. The girl indicates a small table, on which lie a few old photographs and some postcards. She picks up a photo of an old man dressed in traditional Cretan dress and a postcard of what is obviously a print of a painting. It too shows an old man but one dressed in early 16th century dress. The girl points to herself and then to the photo. ‘Grandfather.’ Putting the photo and the selected postcard together, she smiles. ‘Same, same.’ Carys recognises the postcard as a print of a painting thought, by some, to be a self-portrait of El Greco. The girl holds ‘El Greco’ in one hand and swings the other arm around the room. ‘House.’ Carys has found the possible birthplace, Fodele, of El Greco. Also, perhaps, she is in the company of a descendant. Smiling her thanks, Carys leaves the house to find a drink of fresh orange and a plate of Cretan olive oil biscuits (the ones with a touch of raki) waiting for her. No attempt is made to sell her anything and, when she returns to her car, she finds a bag of freshly picked oranges waiting. A memorable, unplanned experience.

Carys has read that an older version of Modern Greek is spoken here and traditions are different. One day she needs to ask directions so Carys uses Classical Greek to make enquiries of an elderly shepherd, dressed in traditional costume, as so many of the older men and women are, especially in the more rural areas. Although he laughs, Carys likes to think it is with, not at, her. The shepherd seems to understand and sends her in the right direction.

The day comes for the visit to Knossos. Carys ensures she is up early, leaving immediately after breakfast, to avoid the heat of the sun and the tourist buses. She arrives at the site shortly after 8 a.m. Carys has a map of the original palace, is aware of the concrete left behind by Sir Arthur Evans and what has been removed for preservation, such as the frescoes. Those now in situ are copies, the originals being in the Heraklion Museum. Carys is occasionally making comments to herself on the history of the place, setting out on a personal journey into the past and the world of Theseus. She soon realises she has been speaking out loud and has attracted a small group of English tourists. Most stay with her for nearly two hours.

She has waited so long to experience this place, and now she is there. Carys perches on a fallen stone, surveying the vast expanse of Minos’ palace, wondering what Theseus’ thoughts are when he sees the magnificence displayed by Minos’ palace.

Leaving Knossos, Carys drives to the museum to see the frescoes and the many artefacts that have been removed for safety and preservation. The ground floor is packed with objects from all of the island’s history, but Carys is particularly interested in the Minoan section, and the Phaistos Disc. She goes to view the frescoes, which are on the first floor. There is a rope across the bottom of the stairs. The notice hanging from it informs prospective visitors that the frescoes are undergoing restoration and conservation, so are ‘closed’ to the public. Carys sits on the bottom step, trying to hold back her tears.