Friends, Figs, and Fruitful Frolics

It was the night of the supermoon and the three of us took to the water like wild nymphs full of giddy, nervous energy, offerings in hand. Three figs, one for each of us, and the branch of a fig tree that was collateral in our foraging. Our hands found each other, trusting and certain. It was just us, our breathing, the water, and the moon as witness.

Swimming in dark moonlit water that felt like shadows and looked like glassy, luminous mercury made me feel like I was soaking up the moon’s beams and power. I pumped my arms as though I was making a snow angel on the surface of the reflective water, slowly finding rhythm in the pulsing current of the sea and the strokes of my hands. Peace, contentment, satisfaction after an abundant day.

We went to the water to give back, to put some energy back into the Earth, to express gratitude towards the Universe.

Give thanks for what you have been given. Give a gift, in reciprocity for what you have taken. Sustain the ones who sustain you and the earth will last forever.

Robin Wall Kimmerer

My friends and I had begun the day late, the only item on our agenda to take a boat ride for sunset. Maria was our designated driver, the only one with both a license and the ability to drive stick— and a need for speed. We had rented a flimsy white Suzuki with tinny speakers that threatened to give out every time we blasted a song with bass— which was most of the time. I was entrusted as the navigator, despite not being able to use my cellular data. And Lien was our faithful backseat baby: her role fulfilled with naps and music queues.

As we embarked upon our day, we stopped by a Byzantine fortress that was all ruins and nothing special, not even a plaque with the history of the site. However, we parked just in front of a tall, lush fig tree. Lien had been keeping an eye out for a tree with ripe fruits and this one gave us just that. It also cemented figs as a symbol of our travels together.

Our foraging kicked in while we whacked high up branches with a stick found on the ground, dropping the fruits down, some making it into our hands, others gently breaking open on the pavement littered with browned leaves. We eagerly rinsed the figs and broke them open, sharing our finds with each other, and glazing our hands in the sweet, sticky juices.

It was my first fig tasting and they were so ripe and red and succulent. We carried on, sharing them in the street while Lien made her way into the tree. The moment set the tone of the day.

Across the street was a taverna marketed with a faded poster of the owner, Chrisoulas. The building was framed with climbing plants and a green, twisting, almost overgrown yard that possessed a tamely rugged nature. We set off to lunch there and my spanakopita was so fluffy and flaky and crisply delicious. Black and white cats meandered around our table, which rested under curling vines heavy with squash. A swing set called to us and we had to negotiate with some German boys for cash to pay.

After lunch we detoured to a rocky beach. I navigated us straight to the edge of some cliffs that the wind rode up like a halfpipe. The waves were rough and choppy. When they broke on the shore, they would sometimes drag the rocks back in with them, urging them home, rolling them together for this pebble on pebble, round and sharp almost tinkling sound, like marbles or dice shaken in cupped hands. My brain was transfixed by the depth of noise it added to the sound of the crashing waves.

We ended up sprinting to make it to the boat on time after a poorly timed, last minute snack run. The cruise was nothing like our private sailboat in Sardinia with Fabrizio at the helm. It was actually a bit underwhelming, but it went to show how unstoppable the energy of the day was. We were happy. Wind on our faces; a stop to swim in a transparent, aquamarine lagoon; Greek music played by our happy captain.

They dropped us in a horribly tourist town that seemed to be waiting for our arrival. The upside of the tourist shops was that I replaced my lost toe ring. I also got to swim again, the sun barely setting and throwing a golden gleam over everything. Back on the boat, we caught the sun setting behind the mountains and when I turned, I saw the moon all big and orangey like a sun concealed behind a foggy layer of clouds.

From the port we drove to a rustic looking taverna. A large party of grayed, smiling, and wise looking Greeks sat at a long table next to us, laughing and chatting, and when we had finished eating, around the same time as them, Lien and I watched as they began to cut three chocolate cakes. One of the gentlemen caught my eye and we smiled at each other and then a few minutes later, a woman set a plate with three slices of cake on our table.

The generosity was crazy, especially since we started our meal with a table of two women offering us the rest of their wine. And the restaurant brought us watermelon after dinner. Our luck was unbelievable and it filled my soul to experience so much kindness throughout Greece. I knew that we had to engage in an act of reciprocity to maintain the energy we kept on receiving. On the drive back to our lovely little B&B on a hill in Messonghi, we crafted our plan to give thanks.

When Lien, Maria, and I emerged from the water, we each picked a stone from the shore from touch alone. A memory, a connection to the Earth and to each other. A shooting star wrapped up our night at the beach and we practically skipped our way back to the car.

There was a balance to our way of life in Greece. The trip was about femininity for me, about love and kindness and joy. It was a reminder of girlhood and softness. Greece showed me that people were good and men were kind. Music carried us, figs sustained us, and generosity and abundance met us around every corner.