27th August 2006
Septic tank, neighbours and a fig tree

Neighbours: Looking up at our house from below Anna (“Miss Piggy”) lives at the bottom of the main steps – you have to pass her house on the left as you walk up the steps. Tends to lie in wait and leap out saying loudly “Kyria!” and complaining about something.

Has a very loud voice which hurts your eardrums and brain as it goes through your head. Amuses herself fighting with neighbours or anybody else for that matter. Can be heard day or night. Is extremely unpopular and even fights with her two friends who are, incidentally,  pleasant to us. Her husband (“Kermit”) is equally unpleasant. He is a fisherman and they have twin sons who are taxi drivers here. They had another son who had a heart attach in his early 40s. They blamed his wife, I understand.

They are, frankly, bullies who need to be ignored according to anybody you speak to (including her nice nephew and mother who is delightful).

Arriving at the top of the main steps you see two houses to your right and one a little to your left. Far to the left is our house. One family lives separately, but close, in these three house. To the far right is the matriarch, Calliope and her husband Jannis, next door her daughter Aphrodite with her husband and son Paniotti. Paniotti has health problems at 17, mostly because he has a weight problem. Separately and slightly to the left of the steps, but abutting our house is Maria, in her 30s. Maria lives on her own, but her two children, Vassili (14) and Arondula (10) live in Athens with their father and there is a great sadness in the family about this. Maria has been very friendly despite our having difficulties in communicating anything but trivia and conversations about the house/architect/plumber etc. All the women have been pleasant but Maria especially so.

 

Back to Miss Piggy. She managed to stop the mules bringing building materials up to the house. She said they could only come in the evening. Long before we moved in she complained  during a three-week lull in the building that there was water pouring onto her roof from our pipe on the path above. I  (this was before I knew her better) was seriously worried. I went up to have a look. Sure enough, the plastic pipe from the mains to our house not only had a leak – it had been burnt to a crisp. Calliope had come out to meet me and looked worried as I said loudly “Who do this”? in my best pidgin Greek. She said something I didn’t understand and I said it again. She also repeated herself and this time I understood – her husband had built a bloody fire of dried weeds and twigs over the plastic pipe.

 

Going back to the road and looking up at our house (if you haven’t got a crick in your neck by now), to the left of our house is Lefteris and Eleni. Their house had not been painted for 20 years, according to Eleni. A little tatty in places and the top floor uninhabited. This suits us as our bedroom looks directly across to it, about 20 paces. I will definitely be planting a screen as soon as the land has been cleared. They are pleasant enough people.

June 7th we moved into the house. All essential mod cons were working – except for waste/water disposal. Richard rigged up a water pump enabling waste water to go into a huge builders’ bucket. With no septic tank as yet we managed to borrow a portapotty. This was disposed of into a large hole we had dug in the back garden (the “we” is Royal – I dug to Richard’s directions) every day before we had a drink. Occasionally we found it such a bore we left it for a day – and always regretted this as the box weighed a ton and we had to carry it within a large carrier bag.

July 7th the septic tank arrived in the main port of Lakki and sat there for nearly a month as the architect tried to figure out how to get it up the 63 steps.  In the meantime we were trudging up the slope in the back garden to do the necessary and the hole looked as though it would be OK for a couple of weeks anyway. Don't read too much yet into the word "garden", however, as it is something of a wasteland at the moment, consisting of rocks, bricks, brown soil and debris fallen/thrown from the rental mill above us. Oh, and waste from the builders - plastic cups, conduit, metal frames for concrete and plumbers pipes, empty foam containers used to plug up holes.

August 7th the septic tank ("vodro", Greek for sewage) was installed. We had got bored waiting for Costa to work out how to get it up to the house and asked Valandis to do it. He found 4 mates and they lugged it up. Admittedly, a neighbour’s wall has broken marble on top but I have asked “our” tiler to fix it. Hopefully this will be done in early September.

John and Barbara came to stay – August 7th. Timing obviously rather critical, so were were rather “relieved” (sorry!) to have real loos.

20th August. We noticed that there was water collecting outside the septic tank but although we told the architect and the plumber (who asked me where it was coming from(!)), vaguely assumed it was because we had emptied the water tank (pre-vodro) onto a patch of ground and had not emptied the "clean" water produced by the vodro. The architect did not show a great deal of interest and said to call the plumber if we had a problem.

August 26th. We had organised Valandis the builder and his black (this becomes relevant hence the mention) labourer, Abdul to come and cut down and dispose of half the fig tree. Why half a fig tree I hear you ask? Between the neighbours on one side and us there was an enormous, very old, fig tree. The neighbours wanted to paint their house and the fig tree's branches impeded this. One morning a month or so ago, we were woken by sounds of a power saw. I opened the balcony door which overlooks Lefteris and Eleni’s house and shared fig tree, said good morning and saw they were cutting away at “their” side of the fig tree. I closed the door, a little puzzled but hey, this is Greece. Half an hour later Andonis, a local man with lorry, drove up the road, loaded the lorry with the cut brances and drove off.

 

Later that day it became obvious that they had cut off many branches, including killing a whole lot more on our land. Obvious because all the leaves promptly died on those now-dead branches.

A week later their house was painted - leaving us with the dilemma of how to get rid of all these dead branches and also dispose of them. With the best will in the world I cannot wield a saw. We have no power saw and no wish to buy one for a one-off job (and could I do it anyway?).

I phoned a friend who said he knew somebody who would come and look. This unfortunately didn't happen and a couple of weeks later the friend learnt that he was too busy (this man didn't tell him for some time, kept putting him off). I then spoke to Valandis (well, I got Anne to), "our" builder, in other words, runs the team who do the actual building on our house. He said he'd be at the house in a couple of hours. He certainly was, with Abdul in tow with a hand saw. Abdul started clearing the rubbish and set fire to it. Setting fires is against the law in summer. The neighbours, with their newly-painted white house, reasonably complained and said they would call the police if they didn’t put the fire out. No worries, said Valandis, got Abdul to pile the rubbish and large pieces of fig-tree wood against a rock at the back, and said they'd come at 5am and burn it while everybody was asleep. Calling the police is no idle threat, it’s how most things are settled, it seems. Names get put on record and never forgotten, whatever the outcome.

Valandis left, but before he went, pointed out that the vodro was leaking in several places. My heart contracted. Sure enough, water(?) was spraying out through an open seam on the left, the box was bulging and on the right-hand side, from another open seam, a brown trail. He said he would try to get hold of the architect. Needless to say, we stopped using water as much as possible. It was to be Monday before I actually got hold of the architect.

Now thoroughly worried about this and the fig tree, police and all, I went and spoke to Mixalis, another friend who I had discovered had a power-saw. I hoped to convince him to take the wood and use it. Fig wood, he explained, makes your eyes stream so cannot be used in a wood-burner. Mixalis doesn’t speak English but we manage to communicate and he came back to the house with me.  Abdul was clearing the back garden and slope to the side.

Lefteris, Eleni and Anna had collected on Eleni’s balcony and all three were shouting at Abdul, calling him “malaka” (tosser/idiot often used between friends but…) and to put the rubbish/rubble into bags. Mixalis (not, you will guess, the most polite person, but a great friend!) joined in when he heard the complaints and shouted “Hey Mavros (literally Black)!” to Abdul and calling him a malaka.

Nowhere else in the world would this be tolerated and Abdul, from Sierra Leone, was not amused but somewhat resigned as this happens all too frequently. There are, as far as I know, about 3 black people living in Leros and there is a certain… lack of regard. I led Mixalis up to where Abdul was working and watched them have an all-out row with Mixalis calling Abdul malaka and Mavros. Abdul stood up for himself beautifully and said he resented Mixalis calling him a malaka and Mixalis retorting that only a malaka would throw rubbish down the slope and not use bags. Abdul said “I’m not a malaka and I’m not your friend, don’t you dare…”. Mixalis suddenly started grinning, hands on his hips, feinted a punch at Abdul’s arm and said “you’re OK Mavros”. I said to him “his name is Abdul” – Abdul chimed in with a “yeah!” type of comment. Mixalis ignored this and continued to call him Mavros while they organised that the following day, Sunday 27th, they would work together. Mixalis would use the power-saw, cutting up the wood, Abdul would collect and bag it and take it down to the street where Andonis, the man with the lorry, would collect it when Mixalis phoned for him. They argued about what time they would work, Abdul wanted to start at 10 (after all, he said, he would be out that night, Saturday), Mixalis calling him a lazy so-and-so and they settled for 9-9.30. Mixalis asked him how much he wanted for the job and Abdul said €60 (about double his normal day’s pay). Mixalis told me sotto voce (for him) that this was a good price. I was perfectly happy to agree.

The next day, Sunday 27th I woke at 8.30 to the ringing of the doorbell and sounds of activity in the garden. At the door was Mixalis armed with his power-saw. In he strode, through the house and our bedroom (I don’t think Richard even stirred) and out to the garden. Other than the slope it’s the only access to the back at the moment. We had gone to the Savana Bar the night before, met some English people and had got to bed at 2.30, not entirely sober. I watched in awe as Mixalis set to work, driving Abdul hard. At some time during the procedures he started to call Abdul “Aspro” – “White”. Sigh. At least Abdul found it funny and ended up thinking Mixalis was great!

Mixalis finished his chopping and cutting by 10, clapped Abdul on the back telling him he was a good worker “Aspro” and strode off waving his hand when I mentioned paying him.  He warned Abdul he would be watching him from his house to check that he was working hard. Sure enough an hour late he boomed “hey Malaka!” at the top of his voice and waved to Abdul. Abdul laughed and waved back.

Abdul finished the job in record time and left at 11.45, going off to clean outside the supermarket above which he has a room, saving himself €150 a month.

Monday 28th. I managed to get hold of Costa at 9.15. I explained in somewhat peremptory tones that he needed to get up to the house as the vodro was leaking. “Oh, po po po!” – good Greek word for oh bugger and shit. He said he’d be up in 15 mins. When he arrived 40 minutes later he didn’t seem to think there was too much of a problem, rather what we’d expected. He almost permanently had his back to us trying to escape while we tried to find out what he was going to do about it. He said, when pressed, that Valandis would use planks of wood to prop against the vodro to stop the box expanding any further – this would be in the afternoon. Tuesday the mules would bring up concrete and Valandis would then build a wall around the vodro. I asked if he would be mending the split seams. Costa laughed patronisingly and said “no”, not needed. I saw Valandis at his evening job making souvlaki in the port – he had not turned up to do any shoring up, and asked him if he would be using “polyastara” – fiber glass to mend the seams – he also said no. I had spoken to the wife of a commercial fisherman who, when asked about this, had stated categorically that they all used this to mend anything and everything made of fiber glass, be it boats or boxes used to transport fish. The thought appears to be that slapping concrete around the box would prevent leaks. We are not of the same opinion. We are hoping our fisherman friend will be able to speak to Valandis and demand he does what we ask (writing this on Tuesday 29th).

Tuesday 29th. 4.40pm Heavens to Betsy, the truck arrived with the concrete/cement and the mules arrived too! Two men shovelled and bagged the sand and gravel and the mules trundled up the shared steps with another man and offloaded next to the vodro.

Wednesday 30th. 7.45 Valandis and Abdul started work. Abdul asked for water to mix the cement. I asked where the plumber was as he needed to fix the vodro. Neither man knew the answer. I pointed out that the box must be mended before they concreted over the broken seams. This wasn’t appreciated apparently and work stopped. I tried calling Costa (no reply). I asked Anne to call the plumber. She did and told me she woken him up but he would be at the house as soon as possible.

The plumber duly arrived and began work with his butane torch, spreading the melted plastic to weld the seams. Next the neighbours nearest the vodro appeared out the front and started arguing with Valandis – complaining that there was a smell and the vodro (remember the 400kgs with all its electricity, pipes and all?). It was explained to them that this was because the seams were broken and once Yannis the plumber was finished all would be well. As usual they were threatened with the Police. I tried explaining, to no avail.

I got hold of Costa at 9.30 who said he would be over in an hour. I took Rosie for a walk and met Costa at the bottom of the stairs. Miss Piggy accosted him on our way up the stairs. Her complaint this time was that when Abdul was clearing our path, some earth slipped over the drop onto her land.

As the plumber was fixing the leaks, the concrete wall was being built. How they didn’t trip over each I’ll never know. I heard afterwards that when Maria, the nice neighbor, told him the leaking vodro had a smell and she couldn’t sleep, he retorted that he was fine thanks and got a great night’s sleep.

The next day, water on the ground in front of the vodro. We had to assume at first it was the concrete settling… but no, two days later this couldn’t possibly be the case. So, of course, we called the architect.

13th September, Wednesday. Valandis finally came today, having said he would be here Monday. I’d phoned him Monday evening and again Tuesday evening. Both times he assured me he’d be there the next day. Tuesday evening I said “where were you” and he replied “I can see you’ve been learning Greek”! He would be here “really” which I repeated with a question mark. “Really” he said. This time he was.

He had a problem with where all the pipes were going. To empty the vodro Richard had rigged up the pump which seemed to confuse Valandis but he got it sorted out.

Valandis got to work, chipping some concrete off the front of the vodro that he’d laid a week before. He then borrowed an ice cream container to mix the gunge to glue the fibre-glass webbing to the vodro and got to work.

Half an hour later he had finished that part of the work. The following day he returned with Abdul from Sierre Leone who speaks fair Greek and they mixed and applied the concrete to the vodro. They had some left over so made a start on the concrete path between the house and the main stairs.

Half an hour after they left our power went out. This is fairly frequent in September so we didn’t think muh of it. Four hours later, however, we realised it wasn’t the usual blackout as they don’t last more than 30 minutes usually. We isolated the cause to be… you guessed it… the vodro. There are two switches under the house controlling it. To be safe I switched them both off and there were no more power-outs.

I phoned Valandis who wasn’t terribly interested – well to be fair it was 4pm on a Saturday and his wife said he was in the bath although he did take the call.

Next morning I went under the house and as I was about to switch on the power to the vodro something caught my eye. It was water pouring out of the air-pump that allows water to have good pressure and help pump the water from the vodro up to behind the house where that water is then used on the garden, being pretty clean by then.

I phoned Valandis and explained there was a problem with the pump (having quickly looked up the word), that water was coming out of it. We still thought it was too great a coincidence that he had been working… gone… pump next to vodro stops working. He came about an hour later. Incredibly it wasn’t anything to do with what they had been doing. The diaphragm in the motor of the pump had split. It was brand new – but Valandis said he wasn’t impressed by this Italian stuff. He went to get a new motor which apparently cost €28.00. Richard managed to get a spare the next day for €8.00. Ho hum.
Perhaps Richard knows better hardware stores.

So Valandis fixed the pump. He is able to put his hand to most things, it seems. I collected all our tools he had borrowed and off he went.

The vodro appears to be running smoothly and life is back to normal… ie waiting for the architect to order the materials to finish off building the house.