URSABLOG: The Shape of Water

We had arrived in Kavala a little later than planned, and after being shown around our accommodation, my brother dragged me out for a walk and a swim. I was dubious: it was chilly, it is the middle of October after all, and I hadn’t swum much in the summer. Nonetheless I decided I would join him. We found a beach to the west of the harbour, empty except for two older women and a lone fisherman staring out to sea.

I undressed, and as I approached the sea, I felt stupid and vulnerable. What was I doing? I reached the water’s edge and clenched myself to face the darkening waves. I took a few steps in, and then dived headfirst. The water, after the first shock, was warm and comforting: a hot summer’s worth of heat had not yet cooled off, and I was happy being tossed around by the playful waves. I delayed my exit as long as possible, as if reluctant to return to my previous, dubious existence on land. Finally I got out.

It felt meaningful – this transition from cool terrestrial life to the warmer sea, and then back again – as though life was trying to tell me something, asking me to work out the metaphor just presented to me. I lit a cigarette and thought about it for a while. And then, rejoicing in the simple pleasure of an October swim in the north Aegean, we dressed and went off in search of food.

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Since I moved to Greece permanently eleven years ago, my brother and I have tried to have annual ‘strategy meetings’ where he comes down from London, and we visit different parts of Greece together for a long weekend. This normally involves food, drink, long conversations that weave their way into whatever we are doing, conversations about our lives, what we are going through, reflecting on the past, discussing our future plans, the challenges we are facing. COVID and other life events have meant that we have missed a couple of years, but nonetheless we have been to Arkadia in the Peloponnese, Crete, Epirus, Volos, Thessaloniki, Florina as well as me hosting him in Athens. All of them have been memorable, some of them bacchanalian, none of them boring.

Kavala is one of those places I have heard of but have only driven past or flown over – I was very familiar with Thrace, especially around Komotini and Maroneia for a while – so I kind of wanted to fill in the gap in this part of northern Greece and see what it was like. I have not been disappointed; it is a charming city, spread up and across the hills behind the sea. It is not the liveliest place in Greece for nightlife and partying, but this has suited our purpose this time. Our first meal on Thursday night, was excellent: a local neighbourhood taverna away from the sea and the centre where we were able to enjoy excellent food and kind hospitality. We lingered long at the table before sleep beckoned us home. We were both in need of it.

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The next morning we awoke to the sun streaming in through our windows, but it was pretty evident from the early emails that the shipping gods had decided that this would be one of their days, and I would not be free to wander, footloose and fancy free, to explore the town or relax drinking coffee overlooking the harbour.

For those that have not come across the shipping gods before, let me try and explain. They are gods – as malicious, playful and thoughtless as the Olympian gods – that mess us around when we plan to do something that doesn’t involve shipping. A typical scenario goes something like this: I decide that I need a break and book a trip – alone or with someone I want to spend more time with – and the minute I leave, or am about to leave, something comes up that means I will be on the phone, or on the computer, or both, so I find myself on a beautiful island, or in an amazing city sitting at a table looking at a computer or having long, frustrating conversations. By the time the issue has been resolved, for that day at least, it is usually too late to do anything meaningful.

If I am with someone, either they have gone off and done something by themselves, complaining that there was no point in coming if all I was going to do was work, or worse they hang around waiting for me to finish, becoming more and more frustrated with me. Usually the day doesn’t end well. If I am by myself, I can be more philosophical and treat myself to a nice meal, but sometimes as I take that melancholy walk alone back to wherever I am staying, I wonder what the hell I am doing working in shipping, where if I am lucky enough to be with someone they will end up being jealous of the work I do – I accept it, I understand it – and decide there is a better life for them elsewhere. If I am not lucky enough to be with someone then I say to myself, well, that’s ok, I can enjoy this time by myself, alone. Sometimes I can even convince myself that this is the case. The shipping gods, of course, are at this point laughing their heads off.

But if I stay in the office because I am expecting something to happen, and it would be too risky to be out of the office, then of course the shipping gods conspire to make sure nothing happens at all, or if it does it will not result in a happy ending. They are still laughing. In fact, I imagine them living on one of those remote small islands in between the Cyclades and Karpathos, which you sometimes see in the distance as you fly from one place to another. They live a great life, and have a lot of fun with us. They simply don’t care.

So what to do? Well you are damned if you do, and damned if you don’t. So I normally do a mixture of both, and live with the consequences, whatever they happen to be.

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So after I managed to free myself from the laptop screen I joined my brother as he completed his explorations (and another swim), and we discussed what we would do that evening and for the rest of the weekend.

So on the Saturday, with nothing immediately popping up on the phone we took a taxi to the old Kavala, in the hills over towards Drama, having decided to then hike back to Kavala, where at least half of the route would be along an ancient waterway which delivered water from a spring in the hills right into the heart of the old city, which has no natural fresh water source of its own. The aqueduct carrying the water over the valley into the old town still dominates the eastern part of the city and is very impressive.

But just as impressive is the piping and construction that takes the water down there, at a gentle gradient, so there is just enough pressure to deliver a steady flow, but not enough to cause too much friction and erosion on the pipes themselves. This means the piping (slabs of rock laid into a U-shape which were then plastered over to maintain waterproofing and avoid leaks, before being covered by another slab to prevent blockages) follows the contours, and as well as the final massive aqueduct, goes over lots of mini ones – bridges for carrying water really – maintaining the even flow. As a feat of engineering, both in design and execution, it is very impressive. The gentle slope also makes for an easy downhill walk.

Again, I wondered whether this was another lesson I was being given. Something like when a great deal of preparation and thought goes into something, and it is designed properly and maintained well, will continue to deliver life – in this case, water – over centuries. That in other parts of my life I shouldn’t be in a hurry to get things done, and perhaps take more time in designing how I want things to work, and how I wish to live, and then life would just flow fruitfully and naturally. But I dismissed this almost immediately. I live a life ruled by the shipping gods, and their rules, as we know, are different.

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The weekend has been a success however. The food was good, we have walked, talked, drank, relaxed and slept. As I write this from Thessaloniki airport, thinking over both the weekend and the week ahead, I think that I will go back to Kavala. There is so much more to see and learn, about Romans and Byzantines, about Ottomans and Bulgarians, about Philip and Alexander, about Saint Paul and Brutus, about tobacco houses and tobacco workers. I shall read up in the meantime: there is a lot of ground to cover.

But what I am thinking about now is the shape of water. We all need fresh water in our lives, and have it without thinking about it most of the time, but from apparently late Roman times until the early part of the twentieth century, ancient wisdom and expertise provided the port of Neapolis (now modern Kavala) with the means to survive. This water passed downhill through ducts, pipes and cisterns, over aqueducts and under slabs, using only human ingenuity, and the management of gravity, as its driving force.

I am also thinking about the shape of the sea as it folds around me as I swim, warming me, cleansing me, refreshing me, relaxing me. And the shape of the sea, the boundless sea, as it carries the ships that I buy and sell for my clients to trade to places far and wide. And how we need water for all of this, and of how little I think of it.

There may be something deeper, a lesson, a further metaphor that would enlighten me and amuse or entertain you. I don’t think it’s necessary right now. I am happy to have spent a long weekend with my brother in a part of Greece I did not know and make further connections between disparate parts of my knowledge and experience. All this I will let seep into my mind, memory and consciousness, like rain falling on the parched hills and mountains of northern Greece, and see how it percolates and emerges in a spring, ready to flow and be used again for human use.  In the meantime, I have those ever-present and ever-malicious shipping gods to deal with.

Simon Ward