3 Ladies of Madaro

Upon arriving in Madaro and exiting our cars, the only sounds to be heard were birds chirping, a gentle breeze rustling leaves and goats bleating. Almost immediately we were met by a lady that Vasilis seemed to know well.

I assumed this to be Eftalia, the woman whose name we had found on an envelope addressed to Julie's father, but she turned out to be Ermioni Migiakis.

Based on the last name, she is probably a more direct relative to Julie than Eftalia, but to some extent this is just playing connect the dots on my part.

Another woman dressed in black arrived. She took control with the air of being the proud civic leader of her community. I assumed this must be Eftalia, but she turned out to be Ermioni's sister, Heraklia.

We were directed into her house, where we looked through photos and chatted about family history. Vasilis always interpretted everything to make the conversation possible, filtering out extraneous phrasing from what I could tell, while adding his own insights. Before long the sisters were serving us Greek coffee, goat cheese and bread, rich with flavors of the area. The sisters were wonderful hostesses.

A few moments before the distinctive thick, sweet Greek coffee arrived, the third lady of Madaro arrived. This indeed was Eftalia. When the coffee and snacks arrived, she became quite animated. Vasilis translated that she was upset because we were her guests, and it was she who was to feed us. Heraklia countered that she always hosted any Migiakis who visited from anywhere in the world.

With a smile on her face, she pretended to hit Vasilis with her cane, and she cuffed me on the back of the neck before hugging me. The best I can make out, she had been waiting for us for a few days, possibly believing we were supposed to have arrived on the day our cruise embarked from Rome. In any case, when we headed to her house, she had a giant bowl of refrigerated cooked goat and chicken for us to eat. It was tasty, but we were already full from the cheese and bread.

She proudly showed us the room where Julie's dad had stayed, and the bed where he slept. Like the sisters, she seemed immediately connected to my son Jay. He probably reminded them of young men who had left the village to move out into the world, and of course his naturally sweet disposition is always appealing, especially to seniors. Who can help but be humbled by such generous women so ready to share their food and homes with strangers, especially in light of the fact that our little band of visitors probably doubled the population of their village?