Fear is a strange phenomenon. A concoction of the mind? An anticipation of the worse. For some a preventer. Others an enabler. Sometimes justified. Sometimes not. Explainable and unexplainable. There are many types of fear. With many manifestations. Some we deal with. Some we don’t.
In the days of no central heating or fitted carpets I did a silly thing. I adjusted a loose fitting element of a 3KW bar fire – while it was still plugged in! It had unexpectedly stopped working. The current surged into my body. Looking for an earthly escape. My mind numbed. Unable to make sense of this new sensation. My fingers magically magnetised. Unable to resist. Like iron filings under an invisible force. I held on. The mini explosion that resulted blasted me across the room. Turned me into a confused raging hulk. Mary-Ann came running. Took one look at my tortured and demented face and slammed the door tight on me. Terrified of what she’d seen.
For many weeks after that incident I held a sense of intense anxiety whenever I was in the same room as that fire. Fearful to go anywhere near it. An invisible power of a different kind still had a hold over me. I wouldn’t touch it – not even with a barge-pole. Delighted and relieved when we changed it for an oil filled radiator.
At some point on each trip our on-board LPG bottle needs refilling. I always delay doing this. Almost until it’s empty. Even though it’s our source of energy for cooking and heating. Ever hopeful that by some magic it might just see us through. It never does. And why delay? On our first trip I had an embarrassing encounter. Couldn’t fathom out which adapter to use. Caused extreme consternation at a very busy petrol station. The French forecourt lady almost blew a gasket. Had to do it for me. Un visage rouge the result. Along with a fear that that may happen again.
Yesterday, Greece comes to my rescue. All petrol stations manned. (or ladied) We follow a sign. LPG this way. It leads to a dedicated stockist. The lady recognises immediately which adapter to use. Three minutes later we’re full and on our way. Sorted – until the next time.
We make the most of 30C. The beach and swimming near perfect. Even if our pitch isn’t. Plenty of reading. Plenty of dozing. Plenty of cooling off.
We never spend a full day on the beach. So today we go for a change of scenery. Go Scoot into Volos. 20K up the coast. Interested to visit the Butterfly and Insect Museum. Web site shows it’s open today. It doesn’t show that it’s housed in a downstairs apartment. By a private collector. The lady on the other end of the buzzer tells us to buzz off. Visits by appointment only! If only Mr Google had translated the web page.
Returning to camp we notice a road sign. Martyred Village. With interests piqued we detour. Scoot up towards Drakeia. It nestles within a luxurious deciduous hillscape within the Mount Pelion region.
Transpires that on 18th December 1943 a mass execution took place. 118 men brutally killed by SS soldiers. One of many reprisals against the Greek Resistance. 58 of the 350 houses completely destroyed.
A wake in memory of the victims is held in the area every year. Members of Parliament, including the President attend.