Zones” in the world. The other four,’ he continued, more informed and much calmer this time than the day before on the phone, ‘are Nicoya in Costa Rica, Okinawa in Japan, Loma Linda in California, and Sardinia in Italy.’
Calli of course already knew that – she had done her homework – but she still wanted to hear what David had to say. ‘Research shows that the environment in these five areas is conducive to old age.’ He continued with his explanation.
‘Do you think it’s due to the easy pace of life and to eating habits?’ she asked, musing that as far as she knew most of rural Greece was conducive to old age.
‘Well . . . not only . . . Food and lifestyle obviously are both factors, but more causes than that seem to be involved.’ He reached for his laptop and turned it round so that Calli could see his screen showing images of the island.
‘I know, I’ve googled it and I’ve seen the pictures,’ she told him. ‘It looks like paradise – but to me most Greek islands are paradise.’
‘The thing is, Calli’ – he peered over his glasses at her – ‘apart from people living a very long time, research on the island indicates that on Ikaria instances of cancer, diabetes and heart disease are much lower than other places, and dementia is almost non-existent. But they don’t really know why.’
The more Calli was learning about the place, the more her interest was aroused. She loved Greece. She had spent most of her childhood summers on Crete with her grandmother, and what better opportunity to ease herself back into her old life than a trip to an Aegean island? She liked nothing more than a travel story with bite.
‘So, what do you say? Interested?’ David asked, treading carefully. He was aware of Calli’s recent problems and her reluctance to take on lengthy assignments. ‘What do you think?’ he added hesitantly. ‘Are you up for it? Do you feel well enough?’ He smiled gently, gauging her reaction. ‘I can’t think of a better person than you to go and discover the secret of Ikaria.’
5
Calli arrived in a small, noisy plane around the time when, apparently, all of Ikaria’s inhabitants were taking their siesta, except for a few taxi drivers outside the little airport. She had taken an impossibly early flight from London to Athens, where she then boarded a plane the size of a bus for a connecting flight to the island. From the air, Ikaria looked like no more than a massive rock rising from the sea, yet once on land and starting to explore, Calli was to discover an altogether more interesting world.
Her hotel, which had been booked by the newspaper, was a good hour and a half away in the village of Armenistis, and the taxi driver who approached her as soon as she walked out of the terminus was more than eager to drive her there.
‘Kalosorisate,’ he greeted her, using the polite plural tense but quickly adding an English welcome, unaware that Calli spoke perfectly good Greek. Her response in Greek caused his face to break into a broad smile and he reached for her hand.
‘Very nice to meet you, miss,’ he said with evident delight. ‘I am Theo.’
‘Very nice to meet you too, Theo. I am Calli,’ she said, returning his vigorous handshake and relishing this island familiarity which she knew so well from her visits to Crete. If ever she had to get a taxi to her grandmother’s house the driver would invariably try to find out everything there was to know about her in the hour it took to drive to the village.
She liked to travel light for her work; she had only two small cameras, her laptop, a notebook, and her mobile as a recording device. ‘I like to feel free and not be weighed down with too much gear . . .’ she would explain when people were surprised that she carried so little equipment with her. ‘The kind of photography I do is spontaneous, not very technical, I could do it on my phone,’ she would laugh.
‘Are you on holiday, Miss Calli?’ Theo enquired right on cue as she settled herself in the back seat. ‘Most young people come here as couples for a romantic holiday – or old people come in groups from Athens for the therapeutic waters.’
‘I’m here to do some work . . . take photographs,’ she replied, wondering if perhaps she should start