photo by Sayyid
THE KASTRO HOUSE
– A THOUSAND AND ONE GREEK EXPERIENCES…
Four years after falling in love with Skopelos – the people and the place – we decided to buy a house. This was six years ago. In the town was preferable, but how did we find one? Back then, the only way was by word-of-mouth, or contacting telephone numbers painted on the walls. The latter did not seem to work very well because the prices seemed to increase after every call. One of our friends found us one house close to where we had always stayed, but we could not view until very late at night, and we were leaving extremely early the following August morning. I returned in October with our daughter Kayt for a second look – Lesley could not come – and we decided that this particular house was not ideal. Our circle of good friends spread the word that we were looking. We then viewed several newly built houses around the town, and an older one near the Kastro.
We returned home to think about all we had seen and several weeks later it was time to make a decision. We went for the 200 year old house overlooking the Kastro. Early considerations included no-through-traffic, ease of access by road without having to rely on deliveries by donkey, a good sized balcony with a beautiful view, and a supermarket close by. In our deliberations we referred to it as ‘The Kastro House’ and this continues, although it might have been more aptly called something more dramatically appropriate, following one mind-blowing experience!
I went out in January with my Banker’s Draft to complete the formalities. I only needed three days, I was told. Once I had arrived the weather turned so bad that the island was cut off for a number of days preventing the Tax man coming from Volos. This was a problem because taxes had to be paid before completing the purchase. The day arrived and I went to the bank to draw out the money. ‘Your money is ready’ a voice behind me said. On the counter was a huge pile of Drachma. ‘Do you want a paper bag to put the money in?’ I was asked. Off to the Notary’s office with the bag tucked under my arm, and the purchase was completed within a couple of hours. This was so different from England. Imagine ringing the office and saying that you can’t get into work because you are marooned on a Greek Island! What an excuse!
