There is something unreliable off the coast of Greece.
The sea, as is well known, is the same sea.
But I do not remember seeing such a rainbow of turquoise colors, deep blue and blue-eyed blue, between Bat Yam and Netanya, let's say.
And no, I do not know another place in the world that has so many variations on the theme of "bathing beach".
Sandy beaches almost like ours and green beaches with fig and pear trees right on the water line.
Beaches of gravel or perfect pebbles, along with jagged and impossible rocky beaches that only a narrow and steep passage, not entirely safe for children, can lead to wonderful and already deep water.
Just choose the beach and memorize the required tourist mantras.
To say "picturesque," "magical," or "virgin";
Hopefully you are the first to discover the local charm that the slippers of an Israeli tourist have not yet stepped on, and not just full V-marks, and to ask for the thousandth time the question that is worth traveling abroad alone: "Why the hell can we not be so clean / simple / Pleasant and inexpensive? "
Behind every such beach hides a tiny fishing village or town that ends even before we have been able to pronounce its name.
There is no village that is too small to have a tavern, and there is no other nation like the Greeks, capable of sitting for so many hours on the same cup of coffee.
Unlike in Israel, in Greece it is impossible to talk seriously about the "shoreline".
Unlike most countries in the world, Greek children are not able to easily draw a map of their country.
To draw the map of Greece you need to be a skilled painter or a certified graphic artist.
The result is countless beaches.
And since it's Greece after all, almost everywhere there is an interesting story, which helps to calm the conscience of the faltering parents, who must beat the children with some content alongside the sun, water and popsicles.
And yes, if you ask me, Greece is totally a place to go back to.
The flight is short.
The prices are reasonable.
There are always more places worth visiting, and the people are the nicest.
And in recent years Greece and Israel have had a close and warm relationship, which is also expressed in a simple human affection on the street.
Isn't it time that this too would be a consideration?
One of these peaceful towns is Stupa.
It sits on a beautiful stretch of coastline in the Peloponnesian Peninsula.
It has a story, and we got the impression that the masses of Beit Yisrael had not yet stormed the place.
This is a story about inspiration.
That is, story after story.
It turns out that Stupa is the place from which Nikos Kazantsakis drew the idea for the book "Greek Zorba".
"Zorba" is one of the most important books of the 20th century and not only because of the famous film, or Anthony Quinn, or its theme tune, which became the bouzouki symbol and even gave a not bad fight at all to "Basama Mocho" in the street music category.
The importance of the "Greek Zorba" also does not lie in the fact that he was nominated for the Nobel Prize, and that the winner that year - Albert Camus, no less - admitted that the prize went more to Kazantzakis.
The greatness of the book is Zorba himself.
More than this book was literally quoted, it was the character of Zorba - smart, sunburned, sober, but happy and loving life and wine - who was quoted and walked magic, raised philosophical questions without philosophizing, did a lot of respect for contemptuous words like "simplicity" and "mediocrity", and sketched Possibility of a Mediterranean lifestyle that has not yet expired.
Among other things,
Zorba proved that even after more than two thousand years there is much to learn from Greece.
This is also new.
Personally I really like to travel to places that have a story.
Places that inspired.
Like Leonard Cohen's Hydra Island.
Although it is quite clear that the writer could have met his Zorba in any of the countless villages and towns along the winding shores.
In each of them stand the same olive trees, and a similar vine winds on a sukkah in the courtyard.
Mustached men stare at the world and the glass, and women fill zucchini flowers.
Still, it actually happened in Stupa.
Leonard Cohen could have met Marie Ann in Ness Ziona as well.
But it happened in Hydra, or so it's at least numbers, and there's something at this point, though it's hard to put your finger on, and he paints the stay in place, perfumes the hot air, bounces the prices satisfies, and even adds flavor to the drink, though it's clear to me that Zorba was not Approaching her voice zero.
And how do I know that the Israelis have not yet attacked the place?
Because it always seemed to us that we hear Hebrew, but in the end it turned out to be the local language.
Greek is not similar to Hebrew, but the melody and temperament are almost identical.
They drive on the road just like us.
Including the nerves, the pushing scooters and the long, long presses on the horn.
Sorry, yes?
But they are also as vocal as we are.
Both in volume and tone of voice.
We are two similar peoples.
About the same cycle.
Lovers of sandals, borax and olive oil.
Therefore, when a family approaches you on the beach in the Peloponnese, it is quite surprising to find out at the last minute that it is not Hebrew, and that the child is not called Shiral at all.
And here too there is a story, because there were times when Greek and Hebrew were considered a pair of opposites.
This is what our sages and the ancient Greeks thought, from the ingenious golden age of the two peoples.
The few times they wrote about the Jews, the Hellenes did not hide their opinion that our ancestors looked strange.
And most of all, much, much less beautiful.
Jewish theater actors received contempt calls because they were circumcised (yes, the mask in Greek theater used to be worn only on the face), so one of the two.
Or over time the DNA has changed. Or the ancient Greeks, with all due respect, held a sack of prejudice on their hearts.
We're on the beach in Stupa.
On almost every sign someone tries to steal a crumb of glorified glory.
This is the first family vacation since Corona, and everyone is excited and a little apprehensive.
Anti-Semitism has been flourishing in Europe in recent years, and thousands of years of caution are advising Israelis to try to hide and repress as much as possible.
Do not wave your Israeliness.
And if you ask "Where from?", Or "What is this language you are talking about?"
It is customary for us to be creative.
How creative?
Brazil, for example, is a weak idea.
The last thing you want to happen is a sudden test in a language you just claimed was your mother tongue.
And in short, there have been cases in the distant past where me and the guys invented names of republics that did not exist, and it is better for them that they do not.
Like "Shefmiya" or "Biscuitisten".
"Hey, War U. Fromm?"
The guy from the beach chairs asks me.
A little excited.
"Israel," I do not think twice.
Something in the air gives me the feeling that there is no reason to worry.
The man falls on my neck, takes me by the hand and forcibly drags me to the office behind the drinks fridge.
The Israeli flag stands there.
"My grandfather from Be'er Sheva!"
He tells me with sparkling eyes.
We are one blood!
I sob lightly on his neck, and the stewardess and I conclude that:
A - This beach has probably not yet been flooded with Israelis.
At least not since that naughty guy from Be'er Sheva.
B. - That's how it is.
And always will be.
Either they will love too much, or they will hate too much.
In this incarnation we will no longer receive mere matter-of-fact treatment.
As if we came from Belgium, Chile, a mustache or the Republic of Biscuitist.
Were we wrong?
Fixed!
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