01-01 Cover_Layout 1 17/09/2015 17:23 Page 1

The Basman-Sale Variati on is a relati vely unexplored weapon for Black in the Sicilian Defence. Aft er the perfectly normal moves 1.e4 c5 2.♘f3 e6 3.d4 cxd4 4.♘xd4

Black lashes out with 4…♗c5! Compared to the complexity of mainstream Sicilians it requires litt le theoreti cal preparati on, while you don’t run excessive risks. That is why the Basman-Sale Variati on is ideal for club players who don’t have much ti me

to study opening theory (or are not too fond of hard work anyway).

paperback 208 pages £14.99

Surprising, aggressive and easy to learn

NEW!

a A publicati on – available at the London Chess Centre - www.chess.co.uk/shop

www.chess.co.uk 3

ContentsEditorial.................................................................................................................4Malcolm Pein on the latest developments

60 Seconds with... ...........................................................................................7Grandmaster David Smerdon

New Faces ............................................................................................................8Tomashevsky and Goryachkina are the new Russian Champions

The No Stress Chess Holiday ....................................................................14David Smerdon tried a tournament with a different pace of life

Opening Trends...............................................................................................19A King’s Indian brilliancy from Hikaru Nakamura

Latvian Delights .............................................................................................20John Foley very much enjoyed a return to Riga

The Return of Aronian .................................................................................22Levon Aronian bounced back to form at the Sinquefield Cup

A Surprising Pawn Sacrifice ......................................................................27Dragon expert Junior Tay on a dangerous idea in the Classical

The Great Ladies of Devon Chess ..........................................................30Bob Jones concludes his investigations with Rowena Bruce

The Dark Horse ...............................................................................................32Dan Staples enjoyed the film about the life of Genesis Potini

Back to Basics .................................................................................................33Nick Ivell on a deceptively difficult rook and pawn endgame

Never Mind the Grandmasters................................................................34Carl Portman suffered a travesty of justice

How Good is Your Chess? ..........................................................................36Daniel King pays tribute to Walter Browne

Forthcoming Events .....................................................................................39

Still Going Strong ..........................................................................................40Mark A. Jordan looks at the remarkable success of Golders Green

Find the Winning Moves .............................................................................42

Masters of Control .......................................................................................46Positional masterpieces from Keith Arkell & Magnus Carlsen

Home News.......................................................................................................48It’s been a busy end to the summer for Mark Hebden

Overseas News ...............................................................................................50Success for Granda Zuniga, Karjakin and our Executive Editor

Solutions............................................................................................................54

New Books and Software...........................................................................55Sean Marsh enjoyed Simon Williams’ latest DVDs

Saunders on Chess ........................................................................................58John has been busy delving into old newspapers

Photo credits: Edijs Ancupans (p.21, top), Andorra Chess Federation (p.50), Chess Cluband Scholastic Center of Saint Louis (pp.5, 6, 22-26), John Foley (p.21, centre andlower-left), Eteri Kublashvili (pp.9-12), Ray Morris-Hill (pp. 4, 48, top), Lennart Ootes(p.7), Adam Raoof (p.40), Matthew Read (p.48, lower), John Saunders (p.49).

ChessFounding Editor: B.H. Wood, OBE. M.Sc †Executive Editor: Malcolm PeinEditors: Richard Palliser, Matt ReadAssociate Editor: John SaundersSubscriptions Manager: Paul Harrington

Twitter: @CHESS_MagazineTwitter: @TelegraphChess - Malcolm PeinWebsite: www.chess.co.uk

Subscription Rates:United Kingdom1 year (12 issues) £49.952 year (24 issues) £89.953 year (36 issues) £125

Europe 1 year (12 issues) £602 year (24 issues) £112.503 year (36 issues) £165 USA & Canada1 year (12 issues) $902 year (24 issues) $1703 year (36 issues) $250

Rest of World (Airmail)1 year (12 issues) £722 year (24 issues) £1303 year (36 issues) £180 Distributed by:Post Scriptum (UK only), Unit G, OYO Business Park, Hindmans Way, Dagenham, RM9 6LN - Tel: 020 8526 7779 LMPI (North America)8155 Larrey Street, Montreal (Quebec), H1J 2L5, Canada - Tel: 514 355-5610

Views expressed in this publication are notnecessarily those of the Editors. Contributions tothe magazine will be published at the Editors’discretion and may be shortened if space is limited.

No parts of this publication may be reproduced without the prior express permission of the publishers.

All rights reserved. © 2015

Chess Magazine (ISSN 0964-6221) is published by:Chess & Bridge Ltd, 44 Baker St, London, W1U 7RTTel: 020 7288 1305 Fax: 020 7486 7015Email: info@chess.co.uk, Website: www.chess.co.uk FRONT COVER:Cover Design: Matt ReadCover Photography: Chess Club and Scholastic Center of Saint Louis US & Canadian Readers – You can contact us via ourAmerican branch – Chess4Less based in West Palm Beach, FL. Call toll-free on 1-877 89CHESS (24377).You can even order Subscriber Special Offers online via www.chess4less.com

Printed in the UK by The Magazine PrintingCompany using only paper from FSC/PEFC

suppliers www.magprint.co.uk

03-03 Contents_Chess mag - 21_6_10 17/09/2015 17:43 Page 3

October 2015

“Oh yes,” our loveable hotel manager replies with her seeminglypermanent smile, “the bus to the main town leaves pretty regularly.About every hour.” Good news I guess, but – “about”? Does it leave at the same timeevery hour, and when? “Ah, you’ll see it,” she continues with a cheery shrug. “There’s onlyone street in Therma. The bus comes, and then later, it leaves.” Shepauses. “The driver, he will be sitting in one of the cafes drinkingcoffee and chatting. He’s usually playing tablas, err, backgammon, soyou’ll have to, how you say...” – she makes a small poking motion withher finger, as if prodding someone’s belly – “...remind him to drive.” Shefinishes with a hearty laugh, which, despite my surprise at thescheduling information, is irresistibly infectious. Such is the way in Ikaria, a charming Greek island in the Aegean Seaclose to the coast of Turkey. Perhaps you’re familiar with the Greeklegend of Ikaros (often spelled ‘Icarus’), after which the island isnamed. Ikaros and his father Daedalus, the creator of the Labyrinth,were imprisoned on the island of Crete. In order to escape, Daedalusconstructs wings made out of feathers and held together with wax.He cautions Ikaros not to fly too close to the sun, but Ikaros ignoreshis father’s warnings and flies too high, upon which the wax melts.Ikaros falls, fatally, into the Aegean Sea, concluding a tragic taleintended to warn the listener against the perils of hubris. Or perhaps you’ve heard of Ikaria in relation to the phenomenallongevity of the local inhabitants, most famously detailed in anexcellent 2012 New York Times article entitled ‘The Island WherePeople Forget to Die’. While scientists have not been able to identifythe silver bullet for why most locals live well into their nineties and

beyond, a combination of factors are believed to play roles. The sun,sea air and a healthy diet of garden-grown fruits and vegetables,complemented by the famous Ikarian wine and hearty doses of oliveoil are undoubtedly important influences. However, there are two unusual idiosyncrasies of Ikaria that areperhaps more notable. Unlike most of the more than 200 inhabitedGreek islands, Ikaria has a volcanic origin, which has led to a different,greener type of landscape to its neighbours and, significantly, thermalfissures. The natural springs contain saline radium, which has beencredited for providing the therapeutic benefits that drive the unusuallyhigh survival rate of victims of cancer and other ailments on the island. The second factor is less tangible, but perhaps more important: thefamous Ikarian attitude. Locals live a stress-free lifestyle, particularlycharacterised by their uncanny attitude to time. In this, the bus driveris no exception; locals often arrange to meet “in the afternoon”, whichcan mean anything from after lunch until midnight. People oftenprefer to walk, even substantial differences, along the winding hillyroads that circumvent the island. Work hours can be described at bestas ‘flexible’, which often translates through to service. It’s notuncommon to wait for long periods to be served at a restaurant orcafé, but the upside is that occasionally you will come across an ownerwho is feeling so relaxed that they can’t be bothered charging you foryour meal. I’m visiting Ikaria with my girlfriend for our annual ‘holidaytournament’, which translates as her holiday, and a 50/50 chess-holiday split for me. It’s early July 2015 and Greece is at an importantcross-roads in its economic crisis: a day earlier, we were caught up ingovernment protests in Athens. All Greeks are still subject to a €60

Grandmaster David Smerdon takes a break from the traditional circuitto try a tournament with a different pace and an amazing view

The No StressChess Holiday

14

The Ikarian town of Therma (Greek for ‘hot springs’). Aboard the ferry from Athens one could easily spot the blitzmarathon between Maria-Ioanna Lemoni and ‘Mister Nikos’.

14-18 Ikaria Smerdon_Chess mag - 21_6_10 17/09/2015 18:32 Page 14

www.chess.co.uk15

daily cash withdrawal limit, but the Greeks we encounter on our tripstill seem positive and in good spirits. For the locals of Ikaria, theeconomic effects have been somewhat tempered; little can affect thecost of growing vegetables in one’s own backyard, nor the leisureexpenses of ocean swims. The organisers accidentally confuse our ferry booking from Athensto Ikaria; instead of the middle-class, sleep-friendly quarters, we arebooked on the ‘cheap seats’. There are no actual assigned seats,although plastic garden chairs are available, squeezed in betweenyoung partygoers en route to the notorious festival islands of Naxosand Mykonos. While sleep is no longer an option, the atmosphere iscertainly more entertaining. In addition to the young clubbers, I spot acouple of passengers who have that vague air of chess participantsabout them. Some are even more obvious in their association; acrossthe deck, an elderly man plays blitz with a young girl for hours on end,seemingly oblivious to both their fellow travellers and the spectacularocean scenery. The ferry takes a solid eight hours, and we arrive on the north sideof the island, exhausted, to find that the bus to our destination on thesouth side has been overbooked. We and four more from the overflowstand on the roadside and wait for an hour and a half for taxis. By thetime we arrive at our accommodation in the small southern town ofTherma – so named for its thermal waters – our estimated 3pmarrival has turned into 6.30pm, and I’m beginning to get concernedabout the 7pm first round. Knowing only too well that I am prone tounreasonable irritation during chess events, my girlfriend leans over,trying to hide a smile. “Remember our pledge,” she whispers in my ear.Before our trip, and having read up about the legendary stress-freelongevity of Ikaria, we had decided to attempt a completely worry-free holiday, regardless of the inevitable logistical bumps. “We’re livingIkarian now,” she continues, her tone mock-serious. Perhaps noticing my furrowed brow, our Greek colleagues from thetaxi brush aside our fears. “Don’t worry; they never start on time,”says one. That’s... good, I guess? Do they often start late? “Oh yes,” he cheerfully explains. “In past years it could get quitebad. Three, four hour delays for the first round. But not anymore; nowit’s much better.” Better? “Oh sure,” says his colleague, flashing a triumphant grin. “One hour,one and a half, tops!” I shoot my girlfriend a quick glance. She’s staringat me with sparkling eyes, her smile stretching from ear to ear. The venue is a small local sports hall. When I arrive at 7pm, thesingle basketball court feels like a high-school reunion. People arehugging and slapping each other on the back. Children bound throughthe tiered seating or bang out moves on the chess tables. Old friendsexcitedly debate who-knows-what, gesticulating wildly as they rattleoff expressive Greek, while nursing ‘frappes’ (the local chessplayers’drink of choice: ice coffee made with Nescafe powder). A tall, slim man with ginger-cropped hair is sitting by himself, andblatantly stands out from the tanned Greek crowd. Relieved to findanother outsider to latch on to, I introduce myself; he’s a Danish ‘chesstourist’. I’m eager to show my local knowledge by recounting the storyof the anticipated starting time. We joke together about the Ikarianapproach to the start of a tournament, a world away from the punctual,formal Scandinavian style. He’s also here to embrace the Ikarian lifestyle,a welcome break from a computer programmer’s schedule. Sure enough, the first round starts ‘as expected’, at 8.30pm. Acheerful, elderly Greek man tries desperately to rouse the attention ofthe reuniting participants. With last year’s tournament T-shirt stretchedtightly across his slightly corpulent belly, our chief arbiter contrasts withhis assistant, a female arbiter who looks every day like she’s stepped outof a Summer fashion catalogue. Together, they make slow progress incollecting the players together. Even as the round is to commence,players from neighbouring boards laugh and joke, bouncing from chair to

chair to the point where, although having memorised the round onepairings, I have no idea of which player is which. But eventually the games begin, and the atmosphere quietens tothat of a standard tournament hall. Besides the Dane and myself, thereare few foreigners, which surprises me. I’m told that several strongplayers who had withdrawn had planned to play this tournamentimmediately after the Greek League, which was cancelled due to theeconomic crisis. My first-round opponent is a Spaniard on holiday withhis wife. There’s a smattering of young Belgian men who seem to bewell-known to the locals for some reason, and two older Czech friendswho I’m told comprise an IM and a GM. There’s a group of tough-looking Serbian men, their gang punctuated by an ebullient female. Ontop board is Peter Prohaszka, a strong young Hungarian GM. He tellsme he’s back for the third time: “I come for the food and theswimming,” he says with a shy shrug. I later learn that he convincinglywon on both previous occasions, most notably with a gobsmackingnine out of nine in 2014. I’m exhausted after the round, despite an easy win, but the localslook genuinely perplexed when I opine that I’m heading back for anearly night. “We usually go for a drink in the cafes,” my former taxicolleague informs me with a worried tone that implies that myparticipation may not be entirely optional. Eventually I acquiesce. Inthe cafes, the lively locals switch between exuberant Greek andbroken but excitable English, with the smoothness of a glass of Ikarianred wine. I allow myself one ‘professional’ drink and then excusemyself at 11pm; I’ve heard a dozen new names, but they all mesh intoone Alex-Dimitros-Nikos amalgamation by the time I fall asleep. Theother chess players will drink ouzo and play tablas into the early hours. We sleep in. In the late morning, I see a strange text message fromthe organiser. Can I be part of the appeals committee? Of course, Ireply via SMS. Thirty seconds later, there is a knock at the door. Asmall Greek man who looks about sixty is standing expectantly

The local bus. Needless to say, the driver is inside a café to the left.

14-18 Ikaria Smerdon_Chess mag - 21_6_10 17/09/2015 18:32 Page 15

October 2015

outside. I politely ask him what he wants, and he gestures: “Come!”.Rubbing my eyes, I follow him outside, trying to keep up with thesprightly man as he bounds down the stairs. Another Greek man with a long, frizzy grey ponytail is waiting inthe passenger seat of a car. I ask his name; “I am Nikos, and this,” hegestures at the older man, “he is Mister Nikos.” Of course he is. MisterNikos drives us up and along the winding mountain roads to the venue,zipping around corners and across hair-raising, unsupported cliffdrops. The two Nikoses have a lively conversation in Greek; from ourhigh vantage, I can see the sun shimmering across the sapphire-blueAegean Sea, and I haven’t had breakfast. We arrive at the tournament hall to find the chief arbiter, organiserand the Hungarian GM, Peter. There was a dispute towards the end ofthe first round, and an appeal has been made. Peter, the Nikoses and Iapparently comprise the appeals committee. The appeal is ahandwritten piece of paper that is entirely in Greek. All of the presentGreeks are conversing with some animation; Peter and I sit dumbly andgive each other a perplexed smile. The appeal is finally translated for us; it’s frivolous, and Peter and Iknow we can be done with it in five minutes. But there is wailing andgnashing of teeth – in Greek – by the others. I ask what the matter is.Ponytailed Nikos grabs two tuffs of his hair and leans forward, amorose look on his face. “I am so sad,” he says, and his face says hemeans it. “So sad. This tournament is – you understand – it’s a family.We are a family. Brothers, sisters. It makes me so sad that there isfighting. So sad.” The older Nikos nods in agreement. Yes, I understand, but can wereject this appeal now? “So sad. This is a tournament for children, andfor families, and for friends. You know?” He goes back to discussing inGreek with the arbiters and organisers. Without the aid of a translator,an observer might imagine old-timers railing about how things were‘back in my day’. I ask ponytailed Nikos how many times he’s playedthe tournament. “Oh I don’t know,” he says, throwing up his hands.“Ten? Twenty?” Mister Nikos nods in agreement. I turn to the olderman and repeat the question. He flashes a toothy grin and exaggeratesthe nodding. “Many,” he replies. “Many, many.” This is a conversation that I repeat many times during my visit.There are far fewer first-timers than at a normal tournament; the vastmajority of the participants are repeat visitors; some have nevermissed a year in their chess careers. Some even come just to spectate,like my ever-optimistic taxi companion, who lives in Athens. “I comefor the swimming, and the eating, and to meet the people,” he tellsme. Does he also play? “Yes, yes,” he smiles, “but not this time. Just fordrinking, and the eating, and the –” he mimics breaststroke in case I

haven’t gotten it yet, “swimming!” At the end of the tournament, I askPeter – by then a three-time champion – if he comes because it’s aneasy Open. Even the successful professional admits, “Even if I didn’thave chances to win, even if I knew I’d lose Elo, I’d probably still come.”He pauses, and then with that same slightly embarrassed half-smile,he further explains: “I like the thermal baths.” Back at the appeals committee, eventually I interrupt the Greeksand politely suggest a resolution. I verbally propose our statement,which rejects the appeal in an extremely diplomatic fashion. There is ashort, animated discussion in Greek, and then ponytailed Nikos placesa piece of paper and pen in front of me. “Write”, he says simply. Writewhat? “What you just said.” “Exactly, what you say, write what you say,” Mister Nikos adds. Ilook at Peter, but he just smiles and shrugs back. Exactly what I justsaid? You are sure? “Write!” Nikos insists. You don’t want to addanything? “Yes, one thing: the players must make the hands.” I enquire:Make the hands? Ponytailed Nikos clasps his hands together andmakes a handshaking motion. “Yes”, he repeats, “The two players, theyshould make the hands. A symbol. We are one family.” He pauses, andadds with a smile: “Gens una sumus!” I start to write, and pause – but don’t you want to translate it intoGreek? “No, no, English; write!” they respond in unison. So I continuemy diplomatic statement, humbly include a request for the players toshake hands, and then pause; I’ve just realised I don’t know how tospell the Latin motto of FIDE. When I sheepishly confess my failing, theroom erupts into jovial laughter, and the good humour of mycolleagues is finally restored. The appeal finished, Mister Nikos drives back to Therma, whileponytailed Nikos drives us to one of the local beaches. The youngerlocals now start referring to him as ‘Mister Nikos’. In Greek culture,formal speech dictates that an older person be referred to by theirhonorific followed by their first name. I ask ponytailed Nikos why hestill uses ‘Mister’ to refer to his friend, who couldn’t be more than adecade older than him. “Oh, Mister Nikos, he’s eighty, you know? Mister Nikos – ” hemimics bicep-flexing – “strong!” I’m momentarily stunned. I couldbarely keep up with the energy of our driver; this is my first personalexperience with the island’s famous longevity. Later, I find out thatMister Nikos is something of a Greek legend, having sparred withBobby Fischer at an Olympiad half a century ago. It seems half the tournament has congregated at the beach.However, being such a small township, I will soon learn thateverywhere on the island during this fortnight feels like it’s almostentirely populated with the chess folk. Every café, every restaurantand yes, every beach. A table and chairs has been set up for somechess, but naturally there’s no clock; no one’s in any mood to hurry.The group by the board greets us, and one man delights and surprisesmy German girlfriend by introducing himself in flawless Deutsch; heonce studied in Hamburg. While they revel in a spirited comparison of the German and Greekcultures, I’m wading into the sea, mesmerised by its appearance. As anAustralian I feel qualified to talk with some expertise about beaches,but this is the clearest ocean water I have ever seen. Within a smallsquare, the deepest navy slides effortlessly next to a strip the colourof sky-blue, alongside blotches of cobalt, cyan and indigo. From theedge of the pier, next to a group of boisterous local boys, I stare downto the ocean floor that surely could not be more than a metre deep.Suddenly, the thundering splashes from the dive-bombing ladsmomentarily scatter the illusion, before the surface of the sea quicklyrepairs itself. With a small sigh and an accepting smile that will cometo epitomise my Ikarian visit, I shrug my shoulders, and jump. We quickly adapt to the common routine of the participants,assisted by a most forgiving tournament schedule. Each day, we aredriven by some of the locals to one of the many beaches that traverse

16

A statue of “Ikaros contemplating flight” – or, as Mister Nikos calls it,“Deep thought”. There’s certainly plenty for the tourist on Ikaria.

14-18 Ikaria Smerdon_Chess mag - 21_6_10 17/09/2015 18:32 Page 16

the southern coast of the island. We swim, we lounge, we chat withour new friends about everything: philosophy, politics, economics,religion, and even a bit of chess. Peter challenges my girlfriend and Iwith engrossingly addictive brainteasers, while throwing me a coupleof maddeningly difficult chess studies. We follow the beach time witha leisurely lunch, Greek-style, whereby a preposterously large butdeliciously fresh Greek salad is ordered ‘for the table’. If we have theenergy, we join Peter in the thermal baths near our hotel; he’s therewithout fail every day. I do some short chess preparation around 5pm, and Mister Nikosdrives me and his 14-year-old female student, whose room is next toours, to the venue just before 7pm. With large eyes and wavy hair, hisstudent’s angelic complexion contrasts sharply with the steely,concentrated expression she employs at the board. Her English is a littlerusty, and I’m slightly taken aback when I ask her name and she replieswith what sounds like “Marijuana” (it’s Maria-Ioanna). Her and the 80-year-old Mister Nikos make an unlikely, jovial pair, and later it will dawnon me that these were the two Greeks I saw playing blitz throughoutalmost the entire eight-hour ferry ride from Athens. It’s hard to say howmuch the legendary Mister Nikos influences her chess, but Maria-Ioannawill gain a staggering 210 rating points from the tournament. On one of the mornings, we are driven to what we are told is a veryspecial beach: Seychelles (pronounced ‘Say-SHELL-ays’). It’s quite atrek to get there, with a long, winding drive followed by a hike downan ankle-testing rocky decline. But as we round the final bend, theview – it’s indescribable. It’s the purest, most picturesque beach I haveever encountered, and my sample is anything but limited. The wateradds shades of blue and green to my colour spectrum that I didn’tknow existed. The rocks and sand look as if they have been painted onto the landscape. Our companions are grinning at me; they expectedthis reaction, and are gratifyingly satisfied. The Serbian lads are already there, skylarking around in the water.Their lone female, usually just as boisterous, is sunbathing on the beach.Her name is Marija, and she explains that she is the reason for the influxof Serbian players. She lives on the island – the only foreigner-turned-local we meet during the trip – and invited her chess friends from “backhome” to join the tournament. I ask her how an extroverted girl living inBelgrade ends up moving to the sleepiest of Greek islands. Marijaexplains that she met her boyfriend, a local Ikarian, at a previous editionof the tournament. Now she works with him in the family-run sweetsfactory, and as a zumba instructor. “The winters can be a little boring,”she says with a rare tone of seriousness, before grinning broadly andthrowing up her arms: “The things we do for love, eh?” The contest for first place in the tournament quickly becomes a non-event. Peter grabs the outright lead by easily besting me in round five,and will continue to demolish the field in the second half. But, in starkcontrast to most other tournaments, the spectators and otherparticipants seem less concerned in the race for the title. Instead, theirinterest is piqued in each round by engrossing games, absorbing contestsbetween old friends, and, I freely admit, gripping battles between alllevels, where it often seems that no result is a foregone conclusion. Quite a lot of observers can be seen around the three ‘blind boards’,where the three visually impaired participants impress us all with theirstrong play. Alongside the main tournament are side events such asproblem solving and, towards the end of the tournament, a verypopular team-rapid event, which takes place on the night of thePaniyiri, a traditional annual festival. Greek festivals are famed in general, but this particular one isespecially noteworthy, celebrating Ikaria’s independence. After thechess, everyone congregates in the main square along long woodentables spread with local food and strong wine. I turn to the local besideme. Independence?, I ask. Waving a plastic cup filled to the brim withdark red liquid, he begins to colourfully explain the history to me.When Ikaria broke free of Ottoman rule in 1912, the island was

independent for half a year before signing a one hundred year treatywith Greece. When the treaty expired in 2012, apparently many localsbegan somewhat cheekily celebrating their new-found‘independence’, but although apparently no new treaty was signed,the hype would eventually die back down to business-as-usual. “Listen”, the local says, pointing to his ears. There is a small bandplaying loud music in the centre of the square, where some of thetownspeople have begun to dance. All of the songs mesh into one longGreek medley to my untrained ears, but the man points again to his earand grabs my shoulder with his free hand. “Listen,” he repeats. “This song– this is our anthem, you know? The anthem of Ikaria! And look – ” hepoints to a flag, draped behind the musicians, that looks like a blue-and-white version of the Red Cross flag, with a small ‘1912’ printed at thebottom, “this is the flag. The flag of Ikaria! So you see, we areindependent” – he flashes a mischievous smile, and grabs my shoulderswith both hands – “even now!” He bursts into deep guffaws of laughter,and suddenly I’m joining him, and we’re drinking and laughing – thoughin the back of my mind, my discourteous subconscious wonderswhether, in 2012, the rest of Greece even noticed. As we eat and drink heartily, streams of familiar friends flow in andout of the seats around our table. I note to my girlfriend how thesemany faces were all unknown to us just ten days earlier; now we’vebegun to really feel like part of a crazy, mercurial family. We spot ourcharming hotel manager standing near the musicians, chatting amiablywith friends. The chief arbiter sits near the tables across the other sideof the dance floor, engaged in vigorous debate with others from theorganising committee. Back on our table, Peter has found a chess board, and he sits oppositeone of the younger participants, a Greek boy of about 10 who speakslittle English. They are surrounded by his father and some of the otherparticipants, watching, mesmerised, as Peter dazzles the boy and themwith some impossibly beautiful chess studies. Peter has his audiencecaptivated; although he has already won the tournament, he later tellsme that he’s still motivated for a last-round victory, which would notonly give him an unimaginable nine out of nine for a second year in a row,but also restore his rating above 2600. Still, there is something morerelaxed about him tonight – he drinks for the first time during thetournament, screws in the key moves of his puzzles with a flourish, andallows himself to be carried away by the festive atmosphere. To his right, the ponytailed Nikos has captivated another audience.He is telling my girlfriend and me of his latest published book – “I’vewritten over fifty – five-zero, you know?” – from his series ofpublications on Homer’s Odyssey. It is a theoretical discussion ofArgos, the dog of the book’s protagonist. He balls his hands into twofists: “What sort of dog was Argos?” he asks us. We look back silently,expectantly, to find that he is mirroring our expressions; it dawns onus that he genuinely wants us to answer. “A German shepherd?” mygirlfriend hopefully offers. I struggle to ponder this question that I’venever before considered, and quickly get distracted. The wine is good, but strong; unexpectedly, I recall an obscure factfrom our guidebook that the first recorded Greek writings about theisland, dating back to 350 B.C., were written chiefly to promoteIkarian wine. I turn back to find our rhetor has his fingers threadedthrough his frizzy hair. “What sort of dog? Who knows? How can weknow? I wrote this book because I had one simple question.” He bangsthe table with his free hand to emphasise each syllable: “What – sort– of – dog – was – Argos?” As the festival progresses, there is no slowing down. Nobodyleaves. By midnight, the small smattering of dancers has balloonedinto countless concentric dancing circles, Greek-style, as the localswhirl themselves around, arms draped around the shoulders of theirneighbours, legs alternating between energetic can-can kicks and deftfootworking patterns. Everyone’s in there, from the pre-schoolers tothe retirees.

www.chess.co.uk17

14-18 Ikaria Smerdon_Chess mag - 21_6_10 17/09/2015 18:32 Page 17

October 2015

Off to the side, Mister Nikos is leading one of the rings, bouncing,turning and kicking with the enthusiasm of a man a quarter of his age.Marija has convinced the Serbians to join the gambolling, and theirinitial reluctance quickly fades, perhaps aided by the recent success inthe rapid tournament. I spot Maria-Ioanna hanging out at one of thetables with a group of teenagers from the tournament, before she isgoaded into the dancing circle of Mister Nikos. Soon Angela, the girlfriend of one of the organisers, sweeps me intoone of the spirals. She’s a trained dancer and I’m saddled with two leftfeet, but with her persistence and direction, eventually I become arespectable part of the ring, dancing the local ‘Ikariotiko’ dance, handsand shoulders linked with the Nikoses and my girlfriend and our taxicompanions and the Serbians and a hundred locals, tapping and kickingand whirling to the sounds of the violins and the guitars and thebouzoukis and the clapping of another hundred euphoric spectators. As the winding spiral of rings begins to rotate faster and the musicstarts to speed up and whoops and whistles begin to join it, I’mremembered of a Greek word Marija taught me on the Seychelles beach.“Kefi”, she said, and spells it to me in Greek: “Kappa-epsilon-fi-iota. Youcan’t explain it, but you can only” – she wafts her hands towards her likeshe’s smelling a bunch of flowers – “experience it.” “Kefi is when you’ve eaten and drunk and the music takes over andeveryone – the young, the old, everyone – is dancing, and moving,and everyone is feeling the same, everyone shares the same joy, thesame passion, the same happiness, the same sadness. Everyone istogether, the same spirit, and you know that your live is being livedand not wasted.” As we dance and sing long into the night, the kefi begins to flow asfreely as the wine and the dancing, and, as I’d somewhat naively pledgedat the outset, I finally lose track of time and my worries completely. The day after the last round, my girlfriend and I spend the daydriving around the island with Daniel, the one American of thetournament, and who lived for a while in Athens. As we reminisceabout the Paniyiri and I ask him about ‘kefi’, he tells us of anotheruniquely Greek expression: “I am full.” What does that mean? Heexplains: “Greek people often say it to mean that they’re full of life, orfull of kefi. It can be happy or sad, or both – it just means that yourspirit is full to the brim. It’s the way Greeks want to live life.” We pass the day without a chessboard as genuine tourists,eventually making our way to the largest town on the northern side ofthe island. We sit by a café and watch a departing ferry from the port,and I wonder if somewhere on the upper deck Mister Nikos andMaria-Ioanna have started their return-journey blitz marathon. As the boat leaves, we spot Marija and her Ikarian boyfriendreturning from the main pier; they’ve just seen off her Serbiancompatriots. Her eyes are slightly misty and we ask if she’s okay. Shestraightens herself. “Yes, yes. I’m just – I’m just full,” she replies.Suddenly she beams a thousand-watt smile: “Let’s meet tonight for adrink!” Then they’re off. Daniel throws us a knowing smile, and thenwe’re all grinning. My girlfriend catches my eyes and we swap a lookthat acknowledges that, finally, we get it. We drive back to Therma across the hilly roads with a spectacularMediterranean sunset in our wake. As we pass by the Rock of Ikaros,the spot where the legend tells that Ikaros fatally landed from his fall,I wonder whether the moral of that story has been somehow lost overthe years. Perhaps it wasn’t hubris that caused Ikaros’ tragic demise. Maybe itwas just a foolhardy desire to enjoy the most out of every experience,to live his life to the full, without mind to worry or concern. Perhapsthe true lesson is that if one subscribes to this philosophy and wishesto embrace this lifestyle, then there’s no better place to land than thelittle island of Ikaria. And I’m beginning to understand why people keep coming back.

ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊ

18

Many shades of blue - even in Australia we’d be proud of this sea.

At the prize-giving (left-right): Milos Stankovic (second), PeterProhaszka (first, with a whopping 9/9!), and David Smerdon (third).

Your author and Daniel Parmet attempt an Ikarian chess-piece sunset.

14-18 Ikaria Smerdon_Chess mag - 21_6_10 17/09/2015 18:32 Page 18