Back in 1976, one of the residents of Boynton Beach (Florida) was climbing the stairs. He was stopped by a sudden attack of shortness of breath. It seemed as if the lungs were squeezing an invisible vice, the air was sorely lacking. After a few minutes, everything passed, and the man, with a sigh of relief, continued on his way.
At noon he had to quit his job because his health deteriorated sharply. The doctor looked at the X-ray and shook his head sadly: lung cancer. The same diagnosis was subsequently confirmed by nine other specialists.
At that time, war veteran Stamatis Moraitis was just over sixty years old. And he really didn't want to die. In this world, he had a loving wife and grown children, whom he adored. But to live, according to doctors, there were at best nine months. So little! Despite the fact that Stamatis tried all sorts of methods, the cancer progressed. Aggressive and painful treatment completely wore out his already exhausted body.
Desperate to change anything, Stamatis decided to leave to die in Ikaria - his native island, where large beautiful stars shine over the quiet graves of his ancestors, and from the cemetery, where he is soon destined to rest, overlooking the Aegean Sea.
Together with his wife, Elpiniki, he settled in his parents' small house, which was friendly white on the northern side of the island among endless stepped vineyards. He spent his first days in bed. I didn't even have the strength to move. And on Sunday morning, to the surprise of his wife, he suddenly got up, dressed and hobbled up the slope - to the tiny Orthodox Greek chapel, in which his grandfather had once been a priest.
Having learned that the patient felt a little better, childhood friends began to come to the house more and more often. They brought a bottle of wine with them and sat for hours at a cozy table, recalling endless stories from their past lives. In those days, Stamatis thought he would die happy.
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Several months passed in this way. Little by little, the man began to come to his senses. I even planted some vegetables - of course, and not hoping to harvest, because the X-hour was approaching. Stamatis spent his days in peace and quiet, basking in the sun and breathing in the fresh sea air.
Another six months passed, and he still lived and lived. He worked in the vineyard until noon, then dined and dozed. He loved to pamper himself with local "mountain" tea made from a mixture of herbs - oregano, sage, mint, rosemary, dandelion leaves - with lemon wedges. In the evenings I went to the local tavern, where I played dominoes. Returned after midnight.
Stamatis's health continued to improve. He added a couple of rooms to his parents' house so that the children would have a place to sleep when they came to visit their parents. He set up a new vineyard and took up winemaking - 400 liters of selected wine a year.
After 25 years, he specially came to America to ask doctors for an explanation. But I couldn't get it. Because the doctors who once measured out such a short life path for him were no longer alive at that time.
In the spring of 2012, his beloved Elpiniki passed away. Moraitis himself died on February 3, 2013 at the age of 102.
Ikaria is a Greek island located about 30 miles off the coast of Turkey. According to studies, people on it live up to 90 years or more 2.5 times more often than other Europeans. A unique lifestyle and extraordinary optimism, friendly gatherings late into the night over a bottle of delicious wine, late awakening, working for pleasure, quality products without pesticides, herbal tea with honey rich in antioxidants, wonderful beaches and medicinal water sources - these are not all the features of this wonderful place.
One 101-year-old woman from Ikaria, when asked what the secret of her longevity is, replied, "We just forget to die."
Elena Muravyova for neveroyatno.inf o