Recently, I’ve traversed all manner of bridges and scary experiences. Thankfully, I’ve lived to tell the tale! Read on to find out what I’ve been up to.
Actual Bridges
Hi everyone!
It’s been a busy (and somewhat perilous) time since Alex decided that our new hobby should be scaling every mountain in northern Greece. Not just walking up them, mind you—oh no—she insists on dragging me up gravel tracks so steep that even a mountain goat would give up, shake its head, and say, “Not today.”
And what, you may ask, were we in search of on these death-defying tracks? A bridge. Yes, a bridge. Now, I did point out—very reasonably, I thought—that we had been crossing bridges all day. Every single time we found one, I’d say, “Look, Alex! A bridge! Let’s go and have lunch now.” But, no, apparently those didn’t count. It had to be the bridge, the “right” one, because apparently, any other bridge just wouldn’t do.
So where was this mystical bridge? Naturally, it was tucked away in the most inaccessible corner of the mountains, where it could only be reached by risking life, limb, and possibly a few nerves I didn’t know I had. According to Alex, it was a “landmark” and “definitely worth the trek.” Personally, I’d have been happy with a postcard.
When we finally found it, standing on this thousand-year-old structure was, well, an experience in itself. It looked ancient—and by that, I mean crumbling—and the whole time I was standing there, gazing down at the stream below, I found myself hoping it was deep enough to break my fall if the bridge decided today was the day to collapse. But, miracle of miracles, we survived! So, there’s that.
Bridges of another sort
Now we’re back in the UK. We flew back to London to perform an act far scarier than dangling on a crumbling bridge—I gave a speech to a live audience about my books. I had to cross the bridge between writing alone at my desk to standing in front of an audience to talk about it. What was I thinking? This time, there was no stream, nothing that could possibly break my fall.
The talk was at the prestigious Hellenic Society of London. You know, the place known for scholars and academics presenting their research on Greek history and ancient values? And then there’s me, talking about my books filled with the chaos of real life and the occasional existential crisis involving bridges. I still have no idea why they invited me.
My co-presenters were esteemed writers and academics. There was Professor Gonda Van Steen, the Chair of Modern Greek and Byzantine History, Language, and Literature at King’s College London—a true authority on all things Greek history and culture. And Dr. David Wills, an expert in travel literature and author of The Mirror of Antiquity: 20th Century British Travellers in Greece (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2007), with insights into how British travellers viewed Greece.
And… there was me. Just a guy who writes books about Greek village life and the gossip that floats around the local taverna. Safe to say, I was feeling a little out of my depth.
I was scheduled to speak last, which meant I had the dubious privilege of sitting through my co-speakers’ profound intellectual presentations, feeling my confidence shrink with every passing minute.
Bridging the gap
First up was Professor Van Steen, a true academic heavyweight. She spoke about Greece with such authority, diving into historical layers I didn’t even know existed. Her vocabulary alone was a workout for my brain. I sat there, nodding like I understood every word, but secretly wondering if I’d made a terrible mistake by agreeing to this.
Then came Dr. Wills, who discussed The Mirror of Antiquity and the way travellers viewed Greece through their own cultural lenses. I kept nodding and smiling, even throwing in a few thoughtful chin strokes to look engaged, but my mind was racing. How was I supposed to follow this with stories about village gossip and trying to order a coffee without offending anyone?
Finally, it was my turn. As I made my way up to the podium, my stomach did somersaults. I looked out at the audience, most of whom were now wearing expressions of deep thought, as if they’d just attended a masterclass on Greek culture and philosophy. Now that I stook on this metaphorical bridge, I wondered, would it crumble under me? I was fairly certain I was about to shatter the illusion of the evening. My talk certainly couldn’t measure up to my esteemed co-presenters.
But there was no turning back. So, I took a deep breath, opened my mouth, and started talking. I’m not entirely sure what came out. Words were definitely involved, and I think they were mostly in English. I remember mentioning life in a Greek village, the local taverna gossip, maybe a goat or two—I honestly can’t recall. The important part is the audience laughed in all the right places.
At one point, I even got a round of applause, which completely threw me. I looked behind me, half-expecting to see Professor Van Steen giving a spontaneous encore. But no, the applause was for me! When I finally wrapped up and sat down, I was met with smiles and a few nods of approval. A small victory.
And yet, even now, I have no idea what I actually said. I might have just read them my shopping list or given an impromptu lecture on the merits of Greek olives. Did I successfully bridge the gap between humour and the intellectual? I can’t say. So many bridges to cross. All I know is, I somehow survived—and I’ll be sure to leave “intellectual presentations” to the experts next time!
New book!
But here’s some good news! My fourth book was published last week. Well, technically it’s my first book, but with a bit of a makeover. Originally, it was released by a vanity publisher—a mistake many naive writers, including myself, make at least once. I paid a small fortune for the “privilege,” of having my precious book badly edited, poorly typeset, and released with loads of spelling mistakes. Guess what? It didn’t sell very well. I’ve kicked myself every day since. Fast forward a few years, and with a bit more wisdom under my belt, I took back the rights, handed the manuscript over to a real editor, and a proper publisher, and voilà—now it’s my fourth book!
The book is all about life during lockdown. You remember those strange days when we were allowed just one walk a day, could only buy “essential” items (beer was obviously top of my list), and the whole country was imprisoned behind locked doors. Instead of succumbing to the panic and uncertainty, I decided to make people laugh. It’s my take on the 53 days of madness—world leaders with no idea what was going on, daily press briefings full of conflicting advice, and the best wisdom we were offered — “Wash your hands while singing Happy Birthday twice and, oh yeah, try not to pick your nose, and don’t eat bats.” Incredibly helpful…
So that’s where we’re at: four books, countless mountains, crumbling bridges, and a fair share of public-speaking-induced heart palpitations.
As for public speaking… I think I’ll leave that to people who actually know what they’re talking about. One near-death experience at the podium is enough for me! Can I leave all the actual bridges behind, too? Stay tuned for our next adventure.
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Read more tales of Greek life & love:
Travelling with Alex in Lefkada: A Masterclass in Risk and Regret
The Beauty of an Anglo-Greek Marriage
Learn about Peter’s books