A Greek Song Started It

It all started with a Greek song. A handful of years ago, Gino and I were in the port town of Hania, along the northern coast of Crete, innocently shopping for local crafts. As we sauntered down a shady cobbled alley, I was drawn by an evocative melody wafting from the open door of one of the shops. I followed the strains of music into the coolness of the little store and stood there, pretending to stare intently at colorful artifacts, but in truth letting the notes of this ethereal voice wash over me. It was haunting and beautiful. I abandoned my pretense and asked the proprietor who was singing this song. She wrote down the name on a scrap of paper (good thing, since it was unpronounceable by me!) and told me it had been a very popular Greek tune a few months ago. Any music store will have it, she advised.

I bolted from the store, precious scrap in hand, intent on dashing into the next music store I found. I had to have this music! We snaked through a busy pedestrian street filled with leather goods — shop after shop, all with leather purses, belts, and strappy sandals dangling outside each door. At the end of the street, a little music store sat boldly anchoring the corner. We walked in and I presented my little scrap of paper to the clerk. “Oh yes!” she nodded. “This artist had only one hit that was very popular. but she did not produce a CD.” My face fell. “But,” the clerk offered, “I do have a compilation CD with her song on it.” Yes! She disappeared into the back and shortly emerged with a CD in a case containing a handwritten list of songs. “She’s number 17.” I smilingly paid my $15 and left, clutching my treasure.

We resumed our Cretan adventure for another few days while the back of my mind danced with the luscious anticipation of hearing this music the minute we returned. I was taking Greece home with me! Back in California, the frenzy of greetings over, I ceremoniously laid the CD into the player, pressed play, and waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing. I fast-forwarded. Nothing. The CD was entirely blank. Crestfallen, I dashed to the computer, my mission clear. I was sure this had been an honest error. I knew that the woman at the music store had not meant to cheat me. The Yapping Chihuahua was on the case. I researched several Crete forums, Googling everything I could find. Referring to a map of the city, I closed in on what I remember was the real name of that “leather street.” I posted my predicament in several places, asking for anyone’s assistance in finding the name and address of this music store tucked away in Hania, holding the CD meant for me.

Online, someone admonished me, proclaiming it was my karmic due for “cheating” the musicians by buying a bootleg CD in the first place. I defended myself by explaining I only wanted to possess this one song, to listen to that voice over and over again. Finally, a very sweet and witty fellow from Finland responded, giving me hope. He, a Grecophile and music lover himself, suggested I simply write to the music store explaining the problem. No address? No problem. Just address my letter to “The Music Store on the Corner of Skidou Street, Hania, Crete.” He said the postman would get a chuckle, but would know just where to deliver it. So I did. Several weeks later, I came home to find a padded white envelope in my mailbox…from Crete! I tore it open and there was a CD inside, along with a handwritten note written exactly as follows: “I’m sorry about this mistake. Hope to enjoy the CD! Happy New Year. Katerina.”

Ecstatic, I flew to the CD player and plopped it in. I pressed play and waited…MUSIC! I fast forwarded to #17 and then stood tearful and transfixed while the clear voice that had beckoned me into that little shop half a year ago rang out pure, filling my living room with sweetness. I played it over and over again, finally running to the computer to tell my new-found friend from Finland that his simple idea WORKED! As a thank you, I burned him a copy and sent it forth for him to also enjoy.

This odd little story resulted in establishing a fast friendship across the miles. My Finnish friend, Jan, and I have shared music, passing back and forth CD’s and tips for other obscure, but delightful music. We’ve discussed the state of the world from our respective perspectives. We’ve shared family sorrows, pictures, and events, but most of all many laughs. Now, a few years later, the Greek Gods and Goddesses conspired to put us both in Athens at the very same time. His daughter married a Greek and now had a child — Jan and his wife, Liisa’s first grandbaby. Retired and turning 60, they would be in Greece while we would be there on vacation this year!

Unable to believe this fortuitous coincidence, we laid plans for our first meeting — of course involving Greek food and Greek music. We would meet in front of our Athens hotel at 9:00 p.m. on our first day in Greece. The day arrived and we met up as planned, old friends seeing each other for the first time. We were nine of us in all, and we took over a long center table in the secluded outdoor courtyard of the restaurant. While we ordered dishes of succulent Greek specialties, the Greek musicians entertained us with traditional songs.

About halfway through the evening, I suddenly heard the notes and then the words of that prophetic song being played live before us. Jan paused, looked up, then announced, “It’s because of this very song that we are all here right now!” Silently we listened, the musicians having no idea as to the profound impact of that song.

Over the next few days, we were able to spend several hours together, sharing meals, stories, and laughs. One afternoon Jan and Liisa showed us the delights (and sometimes horrors) of the food, fish, and meat markets. One evening we were graciously invited to the home of Jan’s daughter and son-in-law where we shared a beer and delighted in the smiles of sweet grandson, “Mio.” Our last night in Athens, we had a delectable meal at an authentic, non-touristy taverna (we were very glad Jan speaks fluent Greek!) where we celebrated Jan’s 60th birthday. As the magical night came to an end (sometime after midnight), Jan presented us with a CD of music by famous Greek musician, George Dalaras. “Some wintry California day,” he said to us, “as the rain keeps you inside, play this CD as you sit around your table and remember your sunny days here in Greece.” Forevermore, this precious music will not only remind us of the clear blue light of sunny Greece, but also of a very special friendship forged of the common love of music.

*The singer’s name is Melina Aslanidou and the title of the song is “Ti Sou Kana Kai Pineis.”  You can hear and watch Melina sing it on youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1UA2-n3iV6o&feature=related.