Let Us Live My Dear Lesbia, and Let Us Love

We were up early on Friday morning to make use of our hired car.  I needed to call into the marina office before we left, and Richard waited for me outside. He wasn’t hard to find as he had used the time to pair his iPhone to the car's media system. Alongside Google Maps, he had “Bla Bla Bla Cha Cha Cha” blaring out.

I suggested we put the music off until we were outside the town, as it’s easier to navigate in a bit of peace. Unfortunately, this was impossible. We would close Spotify, the Google Maps navigator would say “Turn right”, and after the manoeuvre, “Bla Bla Bla Cha Cha Cha” would start playing again.

We started to bicker. Richard said he was quite happy with the music playing. I wanted some quiet to make sure we didn’t take the old road to Sigri, which was apparently the road from hell, instead of the new, straighter road. “Bicker, bicker, bla bla bla. Bicker, bicker, cha, cha, cha”. You get the scene.

The petrified trunk of a pine tree

We managed to kill Spotify, and to find the new road. We traversed the island east to west to find the petrified forest, the museum of which we had looked around in Sigri. We walked around one of the paths around the almost barren moonscape, looking at the trunks of fossilised pines and other exotic species such as Sequoia.

Next, we drove to the small and pretty coastal town of Mythimna (or Molyvos), nestled below its imposing castle.

Oil factory at Molyvos converted to boutique hotel

Molyvos castle

But you can’t visit Lesbos without looking around a museum of olive oil production. Richard enjoyed it, but if I’m honest, it wasn’t my favourite. I already knew the one major fact; that for olive oil to be extra virgin, it has to be cold-pressed within 48 hours of picking. After that, the olives are re-pressed using a hot-press. The hot-water kills the bacteria, but also gives it a higher smoke-point, which means the oil can be used for higher-temperature frying.

People struggle onto a boat at Smyrna, almost capsizing it

What fascinated us more, was the temporary exhibition at the museum, showing the Great Catastrophe of 1922. The pop-up had original black and white film of the exchange: trains full off refugees passing from the interior of Asia Minor to the Aegean coast; large refugee camps of teepee-like tents; the great fire of Smyrna (modern day Izmir) which destroyed much of the Greek and Armenian quarters; and poor souls jumping in the sea trying to get to the allied shipping lying at anchor just offshore. It was heartbreaking.

To uplift us when we emerged, there was a white stork sitting on its nest atop the old boiler-room chimney.

White stork atop the chimney of an old olive oil factory

We followed up this lucky bird-spotting event by visiting the salt flats next day. This is a marshy wetland area, but had been turned into salt pans largely to help in the olive processing. It is now an important site for migratory birds. We were lucky enough to see very pink flamingos - obviously enjoying their shrimps - black storks, and unbelievably, a pair of huge Dalmatian pelicans.

Wetlands/salt pans

What we didn’t see anywhere was any reference to the poet Sappho, who lived in Lesbos around 630 to 570 BC. Her poems were lyrical, i.e., were meant to be sung rather than recited. She has gained a reputation for being sexually attracted to other females, from which we get the words Sapphic and lesbian.

However, little is actually known about her life, and some historians refute the sexual claim, stating that it arises only from a single line in one poem. She allegedly threw herself off the Leucadian cliffs in Lefkas (in the Ionian), due to her unrequited love for the ferryman, Phaon. That site has now become infamous as the location for other lovesick souls to jump to their deaths.

Keeping on the literary theme, I also didn’t see any reference to the Latin poet Catullus (c. 84 to 54 BC). Catullus wrote a variety of poetry, some about his friends, some about a boy to whom he was attracted, and some rude or lampoon-style poetry about former friends or public figures.

Some of his poems were about women, and in particular, emotional ones about his lover, Lesbia. Lesbia was a married woman in Rome, and Lesbia was the “nom de plume” that Catullus gave her to protect her identity. Lesbia was said to have the same number of syllables as the real name of his lover, Claudia. It is generally accepted that Lesbia was Claudia Pulchri, wife of a Roman consul, and sister of the notorious Publius Clodius Pulcher. He was said to have disguised himself as a woman to infiltrate the winter ceremony of the female-only Bona Dea celebrations (Bona Dea was the Roman goddess of chastity and fertility.)

Unfortunately for Catullus, he was not Claudia’s only lover; among others, she is said to have slept with her brother. Catullus’ poetry about her ranges from soft, tender words (in which Lesbia plays with her pet sparrow, and then mourns the sparrow’s death,) to an invective flow in which he accuses her of satisfying Romans’ lust in the gutters of the city.

Which is how we translated it for Latin O-level. Sometime later, I saw a translation which stated how she gave blow jobs to Roman citizens in the gutter! Mrs Daniels would never have allowed such a translation! The title of this blog, “Let Us Live My Dear Lesbia, and Let Us Love” reflects the need to make the most of our time on earth before we succumb to perpetual sleep.

Our final day in Mytilene was spent doing boat chores: cleaning, washing, oiling the teak, and so on. There we were, out on deck, when saw what we assumed to be an English family, passing Missy Bear carrying a Waitrose shopping bag. We said “hello”, and admired the bag. The Germans, in perfect English, explained that it was a bag from their home Waitrose in Dubai! Never assume...