MOTORHOME TRAVELLERS' DIARY FOR NOVEMBER 1997

TURKEY AND GREECE

Barry and Margaret Williamson

01 NOVEMBER 1997 TR KUM MOTEL CAMPING, GALLIPOLI

Walking the half kilometre from the entrance gate, where we had spent the night, to the site of Troy saved an 85p parking fee and we were inside by 8.15 am, enjoying the solitude except for one coach party of Japanese who quickly moved on (what time do their tours begin?) The site had been labelled and tidied since our visit in 1989, the Germans still excavating each summer, and a visitor route with walkways and steps and roped-off areas now prevents wandering through Schliemann's deep trenches. Where are the slabs with Greek inscriptions which we had sat on and fingered, feeling the first stirring of interest in Ancient Greece? This is the price of tourism - paid by those with a real interest. Anything of historical significance is removed to a museum, and the gap filled by legends (Helen of Troy and the Wooden Horse, King Minos and the Minotaur) or by the hero-archaeologist cult (Schliemann, Evans), or Disneyworld reconstructions. We heard on the radio that a replica of Ancient Rome is to be built outside the capital (while the Colosseum falls down). Back in Troy, the nine levels of settlement (Homer's Troy is VI, much of the remains being Roman, IX) are now clearly visible in a mound, and the little Roman Odeon has been relaid, but it's the site that is memorable, on the hill looking across the plain to the sea which once reached its gates, this century's war memorials visible across the straits on the Gallipoli peninsula. So many battles to control the route to the Black Sea through the Hellespont/ Dardanelles for more than 3000 years.

We drove 20 miles to Canakkale hoping to park by the harbour, but it was blocked by lorries in a queue for the irregular ferry (they seemed to go when they were full) across the Dardanelles to Eceabat. We joined the back of the line of impatient lorries which stretched right down the main street for a chaotic wait of about 1'/2 hours. After a windy 25-minute crossing, we were back in Europe! We made lunch by the Gallipoli National Park Visitor Centre and Ataturk Museum (closed) at Eceabat, then drove a few miles across to the west coast of the peninsula and found a campsite at Kum Limani. No-one else was camping, but the workman (busy laying paths between the motel bungalows and the beach) was happy for us to stay. The peninsula feels bleak, autumnal, abandoned except for agriculture (ploughed fields and olive trees), and is strangely evocative of the Somme, even though we've not yet seen the cemeteries. 30 miles. £2.54 inc elec.

2 fresh loaves waited on the counter in the deserted Reception. A rest day of reading, cleaning, maintenance, writing and Greek television while the nights draw in and the wind does not relent. Soon it will be Armistice Day, relevant here on these distant shores. While out walking by the beach M picked a souvenir puff of cotton and returned to find a gift of rosy red apples left outside Rosie (by the campsite man?)

We used Alf to tour the main battlefields and Commonwealth war graves of the Gallipoli campaign, going north up the coast from the little port of Kabatepe to Anzac Cove, site of the Allied landing in April 1915 (Anzac = Australia and New Zealand Army Corps). Past the Shell Green memorial we came to Beach Cemetery, the first of so many small cemeteries that we could not take them all in. By Ari Burnu Cemetery is the Turkish monument repeating Ataturk's famous speech of 1934 for the Allied troops: "... You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours ... After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well".

Having ridden the full length of the landing beaches, we climbed high inland and circled back along the ridge which was the front line for so many months, a pitiably short distance inland. Chunuk Bair, the highest point on the ridge, was the Allied objective fought over in August 1915, from which Ataturk ordered his troops "not just to attack, but to die" and was himself saved from death by his pocket watch, which was shattered by shrapnel over his heart. 28,000 others were not so lucky. Today there is a New Zealand Memorial (strangely next to a huge statue of Ataturk) overlooking some relaid Turkish trenches with a view of the coast on both sides of the peninsula. Nearby 5 giant tablets of modern concrete with Turkish inscriptions (badly translated into English on signs) describe the progress of the battle from a distinctly Turkish viewpoint. They looked like the propaganda of a Communist state, complete with crumbling concrete corners.

From there the road led to Johnston's Jolly and Quinn's Post Cemeteries, where the trenches lay only a few yards apart. One statue commemorates an unknown Turkish soldier who had gone into the No Man's Land with a white flag to pick up an Allied soldier, wounded in the leg, and carry him over to the Allied trench during a lull in the fighting. Other Turkish memorials were more militaristic, however, with aggressive bayonets rampant. Lone Pine was the largest Anzac cemetery, listing the thousands of names of those with no known graves or buried at sea, and with more beautifully kept small tombstones, in alphabetical order. The lone pine growing there now is from the seed of the original. Other graveyards had poignant names: Canterbury, Baby 700, too many. We were astonished at how few names were known, how few bodies identified, when the Allies returned after the Armistice to bury their dead. Many headstones began with the inscription "Believed to be buried in this cemetery" and ended "Their glory shall not be blotted out". The individual epitaphs were often moving, eg "He died a Man" for a 17-year-old; "Never mind me boys, save Sergeant Beaton" for a 22-year-old trooper of the 2nd Australian Light Horse; "He has changed his faded coat of brown for one of glorious white" for a 20-year-old Australian Private; and "He died to save Australia, our Anzac hero" for another in Lone Pine.

The sun was bright, the wind still from the north, the peninsula virtually deserted (a few women still picking cotton, a few men ploughing, one minibus on a battlefield tour which passed us). When we returned to Kabatepe we visited the Information Centre and Museum (entry 10p each!) and looked round in peaceful contemplation until it closed at 5 pm. There was a display of photographs, uniforms and rusty battlefield finds from both sides, including tins for trench flea powder, tobacco and chocolate, shaving kit and so on, as well as weapons. A couple of soldiers' letters home showed a marked contrast in style, from the graphic description of action at sea from our brave lads to a touching letter from a young Turkish law student volunteer to his mother, describing in poetic language the beauty of the landscape and the taste of fresh milk from a passing flock - 2 days later he died in battle. More gruesome exhibits included a boot which still had the bones of the foot in it and a skull with a bullet in its forehead. A motley collection in a very strange place indeed - and who won? The total number killed on the British Empire side was over 36,000, with Turkish losses nearer 56,000.

An early start on Alf, south through the village of Alcitepe (with another small war museum) to the eastern corner of the peninsula at Abide, site of the Turkish 'Cannakale Martyrs Memorial' to all the Turks who died at Gallipoli, a massive 4-legged stone table, standing 42 metres high and visible from Troy. Nearby is the only Turkish military cemetery of the campaign, with new marble headstones in rows before the open pages of the Koran, carved in stone. It was pathetic to see how few names were known to list on the walls, mostly only first names (Ali from Samsun, Mustafa from Bursa, etc). From here you look straight across to Cannakale, watching the shipping slide quietly by on its way to Istanbul or the Black Sea ports. Just inland was the French Cemetery, unwelcoming and guarded by a dog, but we found the Commonwealth War Graves Commission had done its splendid work round the tip of the peninsula at cemeteries named Redoubt, Skew Bridge, Twelve Tree Copse (NZ memorial), Pink Farm, V Beach and Lancashire Landing. Here most graves were named, as this area round Seddulbahir had been taken in the southern landing in April 1915 and the dead buried as they fell.

The individual epitaph is unique to CWG graves, and they were as moving as ever: "One of God's chosen, Life's dream is o'er, Farewell farewell" for Private Beech, age 22; and "Tread gently o'er a soldier's grave, A mother's love lies there" for Gunner Mackie, age 20, both in Lancashire Landing. The Cape Helles British Memorial cenotaph commemorated all the naval losses, listing the battleships, mine layers and mine sweepers, submarines, supply boats, etc, involved. All the sites were deserted today in the bright winter sunshine, no Germans here (in fact no mention of the part they must have played).

Back to strike camp and drive on, north to the small town of Gelibolu, aiming to spend our remaining 28 million Turkish Lira (about £95) before crossing into Greece where it would be worthless. This was not easy, given the low prices and absence of a large supermarket and the need to reach the border before dark, but at least it was market day in the little sardine port and we were hungry. Keeping 15 million in reserve to fill up with diesel, we bought fruit and vegetables, 2 large jars of honey, cheese and eggs from the market and enough bread to fill our freezer, then retired to the best quayside restaurant for an excellent 3-course meal. Next came a trolley-dash round the 2 small shops, stocking up with basics and treats. In the last Turkish town of Kesan we spent the last few million on Persil and olive oil, and our small change on crisps and chocolate at the filling station before the border at Ipsala, where 15 million exactly filled the tank (200 litres).

Penniless, we approached the frontier! The formalities took about an hour. Barry's name was written on a piece of paper on the desk of the visa-checking policeman. He was asked to 'step this way' into a backroom, causing momentary alarm, but he'd only been 'selected' to complete a tourist questionnaire! There was a prize for getting the right answers: 'Did you like Turkey?', 'How much money did you spend?', 'Will you be coming back?' and a trick question 'Which bit did you like best?' Meanwhile Margaret (after many futile attempts recently from phone boxes which were not international) got through to mum, who had the sad news that her close friend Mary Diggle had died a month ago.

As darkness fell we drove back into the EU, past alert border guards in the 1 km no-man's land, through a disinfectant spray trough, and along immediately smoother roads, to close another circle. We went straight to Alexandroupoli, where the campsite was open and quiet, to be greeted by the Italian/Dutch caravanners we'd met in Kusadasi. A long full day. 130 miles. £7.18 inc elec & C C disc.

We used our bicycles (last ridden 2 months ago in this self-same place) to cycle happily for 2 miles along the waterfront into town. We needed Greek money and phone cards, a meal at Goody's and to remember that most shops close in the afternoon! We did buy a fire extinguisher to replace the one at the door which wasn't working in our last safety check. Greece immediately felt comforting, better off, less risky, easier . . . though we shall miss some features of Turkey (such as the long opening hours, the availability of public toilets, the freshness of the bread, the price of eating out and the ever-ready glass of Cay).

Back at the campsite we found 4 new feline friends, 2 black & white and 2 pretty grey & white, very timid and very very hungry. We also watched a Great Spotted Woodpecker picking its way up the tree by the kitchen window and hoped they weren't up to climbing after it. At the fourth attempt Margaret managed to find mum at home and asked her to contact Minolta, to authorise the repair of Barry's compact camera (they'd quoted about £66).

We printed the October diary then cycled in town again to photocopy it and to shop for things we couldn't get in Turkey (such as bacon). We found an excellent pump for Alf, who was anxious about another puncture - a small telescopic Zefal intended for mountain bikes, with pressure gauge and a dual Presta/Schraeder valve so it can be used as a spare cycle pump too. A funeral procession stopped the traffic through the town, the priest carrying a cross in front of the hearse, followed by all the mourners on foot. And all arranged within 24 hours of a death. After lunch Rosie had a well-deserved wash.

In which Barry rediscovers bicycle maintenance

Barry began the annual overhaul of the bicycles, taking each bearing and component apart in turn, on the table under the awning. Careful washing with paraffin was followed by drying, greasing and re-assembly. It's a long slow painstaking task but it is really good to get back on the rejuvenated machines. Margaret helped, did some diary-writing and domestic duties. Later we walked along the beach to the edge of town and back along the main road, discovering a new supermarket 'Deal Discount' with kilogram bags of Italian biscuits and enormous chunks of Turkish Delight at bargain prices.

We retraced our route through Thrace, bypassing Komotini, to the bird sanctuary at Lake Vistonida and watched the pelicans swimming, the herons wading and many skeins of black ducks leaving for warmer climes after resting and feeding here. The cottonfields we'd seen in flower in August were now mostly picked and ploughed over, not by itinerant gangs of women but by machines which were more wasteful, leaving tufts now scattered along every bank and hedgerow.

Turning off to the EOT campsite at Fanari we found it had closed for the winter, so we parked by the saltwater lagoon opposite to make lunch and spotted a few flamingos. Maybe the big colony we'd seen had left for Africa, or perhaps it was just on another stretch of water. Then back on the highway, across the River Nestos (border of Thrace and Macedonia) to Kavala, where Camping Irini is open all year. We parked right by the sea, alone on the site, with a lovely view of the headland and castle of Kavala to the west and the island of Thassos across the water. 114 miles. £7.11 inc elec & Sunshine Club disc.

Remembrance Sunday, in which our memories stretch from the Somme to Gallipoli. A bright sunny day when Margaret made full use of the camp washing machine and turned some Turkish lamb into Irish Stew and some Turkish apples into French Apple Flan (international cuisine!) while Barry did some further work on the annual overhaul of the bicycles.

Into Kavala for a new mini-kettle (Kenwood again, like the last but one, there being no other choice) and to enquire in vain about microwave oven repair. After lunch we finished the bicycles, Margaret's needing a new front tyre from our dwindling stock, as the walls had perished.

In the evening we were joined by New Zealanders, Steve and Jeannie, who brought their own bottle of Bourbon in to supplement our nuts, cheese and biscuits. They were returning from a tour of Europe and Turkey to sell the 10-year old VW in London, fly home via India, and pick up their lives in Wellington as a hairdresser (him) and accountant (her) after 6 months' absence. They were relaxing company, especially after a few glasses of Jim Bean's, and we learnt about the tree house camp near the beach of ancient Olympos in Turkey. At 700,000 TL a night each, including breakfast and dinner, it had been full of young Antipodeans and the highlight of their trip (and we'd walked quickly past!)

The new Kenwood mini-kettle was already proving unreliable, with a loose flex, so we changed it for a full size Tefal jug kettle which is far superior (and only 50p more in price, which they didn't charge). It will probably be too high a wattage for the hook-up in certain countries, but we can always use the gas or the emergency travel kettle, and it's fine in Greece. We also bought a new bicycle tyre, then drove west along the beautifully empty coast road.

Our lunch stop was by a shoreline Byzantine watch-tower, labelled 'Danger, Keep Out' (in Greek only), so we pretended not to understand and climbed round it enjoying the sunshine and deserted beach. We parked for the night a little further along on the seafront at Ofrinio, where we'd spent 2 nights in August. Then it had been bustling with Greek holiday-makers, now it is abandoned for the winter and very peaceful, so why is the butcher sitting alone in his open shop watching TV after dark? Greek shops are the opposite of Turkish ones in terms of keenness (or even willingness) to sell something. Later we watched TV ourselves - 'Yes Minister' (circa 1982) and 'Chicago Hope'. It's good to be back! 42 miles. Free night.

A few miles along the main road and a short detour into the hills brought us to Amfipoli, a city founded in 5thC BC, important under Philip and Alexander, and a Roman town on the Via Egnatia until Byzantine times. Leaving Rosie in the modern village we walked a mile along lanes to the archaeological site, through a still November morning mist. It was huge, empty and free with substantial remains of the 4 miles of city walls enclosing foundations of the agora and many other unidentified buildings with splendid mosaic floors and pavements. There were signs of continuing excavation, a new perimeter fence and museum (closed).

Back on the main Salonika road we turned off again after crossing the River Strymon to admire the massive restored marble 4thC BC lion, looking bewildered up on his plinth. He must have impressed those early travellers crossing here. Further along the coast there were several campsites (at least one open) at Asprovalta but we continued, turning inland near Stavros and stopping for lunch by the second of 2 large lakes, quiet and watery (reservoirs for Thessaloniki?)

Turning onto the dual carriageway for Greece's second city, the traffic suddenly became very heavy but we skirted the NW edge, avoiding the thick of the centre and grateful that we had finished exploring it on our way out in August. Now we were happy to drive straight past, onto the new toll motorway for Katerini, turning off half way for a night by the little fishing harbour at Methoni. 96 miles. Free night.

An early start driving along the motorway to Katerini in heavy rain. A break there to make coffee and listen to the World Service serial at 9.15 am ('The Colour of Blood' - a good story about a Catholic Cardinal in an Iron Curtain country). Then on the toll road running between the sea and Mount Olympus (completely invisible today in the mist and low cloud), past the many campsites which had been thronged with Greek holidaymakers in August and were now all closed.

We reached the huge empty car park between the Praktiker and Eurospar stores, just outside Larissa, in time for lunch as the rain stopped. M walked into town to post mum's birthday present but our mail had not arrived. 71 miles. Free night

This car park makes an excellent campsite - both stores have toilets and coffee bars, Praktiker has a bank machine for cash and a card-phone, Eurospar has a filling station and car wash, but no-one bothers us to buy anything - very Greek. We did of course do some shopping and sampled the food from the take-away Kantina for lunch. Then we returned to the post office to find 2 packages from mum and 4 from Alan! We are overwhelmed with mail, magazines and food parcels! Rang mum with thanks for getting everything we'd asked for, plus liquorice allsorts.

Another wet morning's drive, over the Thessaly Plain to revisit Kalambaka, a short detour on the route for Athens but we knew there would be all year camping and the area has its own magnetism. We were pleased to find the site we'd used in August was still open, as it was the quietest, away from the main road, and the least expensive (and now at winter rate, more like Turkish prices). There is no-one else camping here at all, but the friendly man sits in Reception all day long by his stove, watching TV, with 7 cats and 4 sheep for company! We settled in, dried out and had an indulgent evening with Bertie Bassett's and an 'Inspector Morse' video. The new kettle is excellent, with filter and gold element, though the electric blanket has joined the microwave in refusing to heat anything up. 67 miles. £4.44 inc elec.

A beautiful clear sunny day. B fixed the electric blanket by removing the faulty switch and we cleaned Rosie. After lunch a strenuous 10-mile cycle ride climbing over 1,000 ft anticlockwise round the main monasteries left us keen to do more cyling. Meteora was peaceful, no coaches, autumn colours, a splendid atmosphere.

A busy morning, sorting the mail and doing the dhobi. We wrote to Abbey National to reluctantly settle the ground rent issue, and B began writing to Peter and Joy Cox, MMM readers whose request for advice on 'full-timing' had been sent on to us by Audrey Hunt as the experts! The reply could perhaps form another article for publication. We're very pleased with 'Neighbours' which finally appeared in the September issue, and 'Down at Heel' was published in October. Renewed our annual subscription from November, as there are 3 pieces still to appear.

After lunch we cycled 5 miles, down to the post and phone and back. We rang Brian Turner and learnt that we have new tenants, 'a nice couple who work at Mitre Sports' (where Elliot Wordsworth was Product Development Manager). Also that Jim (another kind of neighbour entirely) has complained about the crumbling state of the wall down the edge of the drive (so what's new?), and that Brian can take no responsibility for the non-forwarding of mail which led to the ground rent issue, costing us £110. We are beginning to think the easiest way to solve many problems is to sell our house, leaving only one problem (storage of its contents).

A lovely crisp morning lured us out, first into the town for more phone calls. Peter Underwood had made no progress with Roger Jeynes, and we got more information on the Barclaycard Cellnet mobile phone offer, which costs £20 per month (plus charges for calls, both made and received, and messages retrieved) with a minimum subscription of one year.

Then we cycled the 'Route des Monis', clockwise this time, and including the extra climb up to Baalamb and Great Meteora, 15 miles in all. They were very quiet, with more restricted opening hours in winter, the only signs of life being the workmen and wheelbarrows busy restoring them. The Holy Trinity, home of our generous one-eyed monk, was closed to visitors altogether. Hope he's found nice winter quarters. We ended the cold freewheeling descent in a warm taverna with a Greek salad, chips, pork chop and chicken, cooked over the coals.

Shopped at a good supermarket in an old cinema, then back to the campsite where neighbours (Italian) arrived after dark and left next morning. So it's just us, the sheep and the cats again. And who keeps emptying the rubbish all over the grass?

Wrote to Alan, with a cheque for postage, then cycled the full monastery circuit anticlockwise (a shorter but steeper climb) in lovely sunshine, in time to catch the post office, which closes at 2 pm, on the way back. Home for a full cyclist's lunch (cheese, beans and egg on toast!), then more letters to write, to Brian Turner and to Mick and Flo (who had sent us some American RV mags via Alan). Then, most importantly, we baked our Christmas cake, with Delia's delicious marmalade loaf alongside it for immediate consumption, enjoying some of that straight from the oven with custard, thanks to mum's parcel.

A change in the weather, damp and mist, not inviting us into the hills today. We did brave the drizzle for the 5 mile round trip to the phone, to wish mum happy birthday, and tried to buy a longer lead for our new kettle, which doesn't seem to exist. After lunch the rain set in and we enjoyed reading our new magazines. Life on the road in the USA sounds wonderful, though we wouldn't be alone there -apparently there are 2 million of us driving RV's.

The weekly market was bustling and we bought fruit and vegetables. The banana man must have seen us coming as he'd changed his 500 Dr sign to read 599 (per kilo) by putting legs on the O's! Spotted an oblong piece of grey cord for 1000 Dr which we got for the kitchen area. Also left 5 films of Turkey for developing and printing and photocopied 4 sets of correspondence ready to pursue the Roger Jeynes problem. Later we sorted and collated these to send to our solicitor, the Motorhome Dealers' Association and Coventry Trading Standards, with a covering letter. Barry lengthened the kettle lead by joining 2 of our many leads together, a simple and inexpensive solution. A good day's work. In the evening a lone Englishman parked his Autosleeper next to us, played interesting classical music all evening, and studiously avoided any contact.

Our solitary neighbour was off early, leaving only a copy of the Business Section of last Tuesday's Times in the dustbin, but at least he'd left the crossword unfinished. The sun shone warmer, so it was out with the bicycles and clockwise round the circuit. We find it a bit easier each time, now pausing only at the top (Great Meteora) for a bar of chocolate and a chat with the souvenir stallholders. There was a dusting of fresh snow on the surrounding peaks and a wonderful view of the town below.

After the exhilerating descent, we returned to the taverna for their superb barbecued chicken, collected the photos, and explored the town. We found the 14thC cathedral, though it was locked, and the steep twisting village of old Kastraki, above which were many caves once used by hermits and now by goats. Back in Rosie, Barry fitted the new piece of carpet, Margaret made some mincemeat ready for Christmas, using huge Turkish sultanas and raisins well soaked in rum, and we melted a box of hard Turkish chocolates, bought in the Gelibolu trolley dash, to convert them into cornflake crispies (a big improvement!) After dark we visited the cemetery below the campsite, where rows of twinkling lights attracted us to sample the atmosphere, beneath the illuminated rock on which St Stephen's convent perches. To our surprise, they were not electric lights but little oil lamps, keeping memories alive across the dark hillside, so caring and peaceful.

Our plan to move on today was abandoned when we woke to heavy rain which did not relent, enforcing a rest day of reading, writing and walking round the site in Wellingtons. A splendid film in the evening, 'City of Joy' set in Calcutta, captured the spirit and reality of life in India and increased our urge to go there again.

Still too wet for moving, for those not in any hurry. A leisurely day working on the letter and article for the Coxes, planning and mending (from pillowcases to hob lights).

The rain eased off enough to cycle into Kalambaka to post letters (to our solicitor and the MDA) and shop. Found a baker's with currant teacakes to toast! But still the air is saturated, the mist hangs over us, and the 'Kaipos' (weather forecast) has become the highlight of the evening's viewing. (B has the endearing habit of turning the volume up so as not to miss the finer points!) 'Chicago Hope' has also returned, but is not up to the last series, without heart surgeon Geoffrey Geiger.

Barry, as editor-in-chief, subbed by Margaret, as research assistant, spent the day working on the annual newsletter for friends and,family. It was too wet for outdoor work or pleasure, but writing provided both, in an excellent setting with every comfort (fan heater, music, food).

Nothing to add - another wet day spent writing and removing black streaks from Rosie's sides (the result of water running off a cold aluminium roof). In the evening Barry beat his 'Kaipos' record by watching 8 (eight) of them dotted about the 14 channels of TV available here. An excellent test of precision zapping. Later we rewatched (reviewed?) 'A Touch of Frost' video  for entertainment. Better than the weather forecasts!

Well, we saw some, but prefer them oven-ready. We did buy food and other essentials like A4 paper and superglue, but failed to find a reading lamp or new handle for the toilet door. We had lunch in a pizza restaurant by the square and then tackled the mailing list, envelopes and labels.

We took the newsletter for copying to a printer's recommended by the campsite owner, but didn't stay as their machine produced very grubby copies. This was fortunate, as the stationer's we found did them well, and for half the price (15 dr per page). We stocked up on envelopes and ring binders too, and received a gift of 2 pens! Then, buying 2 Meteora calendars we were given a good map of the monasteries. We celebrated with a copy of the 'Hellenic Times' and spent the afternoon reading as (surprise) it's still raining. The paper is aimed at the ex-pat cognoscenti of Athens, who have apparently just discovered TA, with an article 'Scripts We Live By' quoting Eric Berne's books 'Games People Play' and 'What Do You Say After You Say Hello?' Echoes of a former life! It's useful to have some of the recent news headlines explained, such as the young daughter of the late Christina Onassis, whose father is trying to get hold of her fortune, and the Larissa farmers, who are planning to mobilise next week. We hope to have left the area before any road blocks start!

It's still raining, we're still here, the StarWriter is working hard, and so are we. Barry did more work on the Full-timing article, Margaret contributing sections on Laundry, Cooking and Books. All the newsletters were stapled, written, signed and sealed: 50 to the UK, 2 to each of Germany, Turkey, Canada, USA, and Australia, and 1 to France, Holland, Romania, India, New Zealand and, not least, Greece. The reward for this was Mel Gibson on the TV in 'Lethal Weapon 2' with 'Mr Bean' for relief.