Friday November the Somethingteenth

This is a travelogue about staying in one place. Maybe that's an oxymoron, or maybe it's quantum physics - not travelling through space but through time. Whatever, for the next half a year or so, I'm going to be living in Preveza, journeying through the seasons in a small Greek town.

Preveza. No, I hadn't heard of it either. It's on the North-West coast of Greece, in the region of Epirus, opposite the island of Lefkada. I came here, like everyone does, pronouncing the name with an Italian flourish, Pre-vay-za! Let's correct that at once. It's Preveza, accent on the first syllable. It's home to - my 1998 Lonely Planet guide claims 13,340, but I've heard people say 20,000 or more. A largish town by Greek standards, but a small town all the same.

Claim to fame: apparently, James Bond specifically asks for Preveza shrimps. I really hope this is true. I don't know in which film this occurs though, so if anybody can enlighten me, I'd be delighted to know. I'm vegetarian, but I'm assured the shrimps here are indeed excellent. The sardines too, apparently.

Another claim to fame, at least amongst those with an interest in classical history: here or hereabouts is Cape Actium, where Octavius defeated Anthony and Cleopatra to win overall control of the Roman Empire and thus determine the whole course of Western civilisation, which I guess makes it quite a significant event. To celebrate, Octavius, or Augustus as he thenceforth called himself (you become the most important man in the known world, and you change your name so that people know you as Gus for short?!), built the city of Nicopolios, and forcibly moved the local peasants there. The ruins are now an extensive but not especial exciting site on the northern outskirts of town, on the way to Lidl supermarket.

Some Greeks come here on holiday, a few Germans and Italians heading for the beach resorts further north, and the yachtie set who berth in the still waters of the gulf as they sail the Ionian. It's not a tourist resort, though. It's a real, normal Greek town, attractive but not beautiful, lively but laid-back. As a foreigner, I stick out, more and more so now that winter approaches. 'You make holidays here?' I'm asked, with increasing surprise these days.

I do not make holidays here. My girlfriend make employment here. She teacher English language in the school. Very much students is learning English in Greece. I shouldn't mock - not, at least, until my Greek is beyond the level of 'Hello, how are you? One beer please.' The number of private language schools in the town is staggering - at least 20, I'd say. Speaking English is a necessary qualification for almost every job these days, and the standard of tuition in the public schools is poor. Hence pupils are sent off to spend their afternoons getting extra classes in the private frontesteria. The poor kids spend all day in lessons of one kind or another, and consequently are an absolute nightmare for Rachel (speaking lesson with the native English teacher = chance to let off steam).

We've been here two months now. For six weeks we were living in a hotel room by the beach, but have now moved into a fifth-floor penthouse in town (or, a couple of rooms on the roof of an apartment block). From our lofty rooftop, the views are superb. Preveza is built on the end of a peninsular, so we have sea on three sides: the Ionian to the west, the Ambracian Gulf to the east, and to the south the narrow strait which separates us from Aktio and Sterea Ellada (Continental Greece). This strait used to be traversed by a ferry (now moored as a rusty platform to fish from) but recently an "Immersed Tunnel" has opened. It is, apparently, the third longest immersed tunnel in the world, from which I can only conclude that there are very few others. I am not quite sure how an immersed tunnel is different from a normal tunnel. If anyone knows, I'd be moderately interested to find out.

As well as sea, we have mountains on three sides. Gloriously, if slightly disconcertingly, more of these seem to appear all the time, as the summer haze that shrouds them in summer lifts and the visibility improves. I'm expecting to see snow on them any day now. If you thought Greece doesn't have a winter, you were wrong. Right now, it's bloody freezing. It's a shock, as less a month ago it was still sunbathing and swimming in the sea - maybe it's true to say Greece doesn't have an autumn. We've had some impressive rain and thunderstorms too. These have been arriving with increased frequency in recent years. Global warming? You better believe it.

There'll be no more tourists till the spring. The people of Preveza are beginning to recognise us. Rachel can't walk through town for more than a minute without a shout of 'Hello, Miss'. When we're out with the other English teachers here, it's almost farcical - a constant chorus of 'Hello Miss Rachel,' 'Hi Miss Sharon,' 'Hello Mr Ewan.' The man in the corner shop greets me with a sly wink, the girl in the internet cafe with a 'you again!' smile. I must be the internet cafe's most valued customer. I have a laptop with a modem, but no phoneline, so I'm stuck spending hours in their (particularly now that my floppy diskdrive is broken. The computer shop has ordered a new one for me, which was supposed to arrive in five or six days. That was about a month ago. Shall we talk about national stereotypes? Or just pretend that this is an isolated and unexpected example of Greek inefficiency?) [Update: I'm uploading this in January, having finally acquired a diskdrive from the UK. Let's not talk about national stereotypes. I'll only get angry]

What do I do? I am, ahem, a Writer. I'm waiting for a novel to be published. I've just finished a play and a few short stories. I'm doing what freelance work I can. I'm realising it's a damn difficult field to break into. I'm finding myself writing blogs for travel websites for no remuneration... But this is better than keeping a diary, because it provides an answer to the question which always bugs me: who am I writing this for? Myself? I've never bought that - if you were simply writing for yourself, you'd sketch things out in a private shorthand, you wouldn't worry about the quality of the writing, you wouldn't need to remind yourself that you're a vegetarian and you're girlfriend teaches English. Posterity? I hope I'm not that pretentious.

But this: dear reader, I'm writing this for you. I have no idea who you are, or why out of all the other trillions of words out in cyberspace you're reading these ones. But it's enough to know you exist, at least in theory. And if you're passing Preveza in the next few months, drop me a line. It would be great to meet you.