First day of our vacation in Crete in a mountain village south of Rethymnon. We had arrived late at night, so the night covered the landscape, all we could taste was the smell of thyme and the saltiness of the Libyan sea breeze. The cold tsikoudia was ready in the glasses, for the welcome of our country house host and the two daughters of the family, Avgi and her youngest daughter Zacharenia. A little bit of raki, a little bit of fatigue, we were quickly led from the trip to our beds where we admired the heavenly veil from the large open balcony doors until we fell asleep. It was dawning outside and in the absolute silence, mandolin melodies and songs began to reach our ears that grew louder as time went on. We quickly got up from our beds and went out to the balcony. Perhaps the most beautiful picture I had seen in my life was what we faced.
Our eyes hardly focused on the frame of the day that had already begun to light up the surrounding mountains and the sea, because almost under our balcony we saw a “delicate” boy with his eyes fixed on the neighboring balcony where our host’s little daughter was hanging out, Zacharenia (made of Sugar). She looked at us sheepishly smiling, and then she cut a large sprig of basil from the pot on the balcony and threw it at the young man. He quickly scooped it up, sniffed it, and exclaimed “My Zacharozacharenia” while at the same time starting to walk away, continuing to play his mandolin. That morning we witnessed a magical ritual with the most beautiful scenery, the most beautiful music and the most real protagonists… This is how my Zacharozacharenia was written. Dedicated to all those true big and strong loves.
Happy listening George Loukakis!