Writings from 2001: SakaMaka Stories
Saka Maka Stories 2001
Photo 2001-1- Caravasillis Family, Ierisoss, Greece
Today, August 26, 2001 is Asterios G. Kefalas’ 65th
birthday. He is having lunch as I
type this in Watkinsville, Georgia with the five people in this photo. They are the Caravasillis Family, the
most important family to us. From
left to right they are Vassilly, Georgos, Maria, Elaini and Nicos. This is their kitchen where we have
enjoyed innumerable meals and happy times. On my last evening in Greece, they presented me with a beautiful
necklace.
Their home is very small. It has only one bathroom, and these five people share it
with Nicos’ parents. The parents
essentially live in a one-room efficiency next to this room. The brothers are a year apart in age,
25 and 24, high school graduates who have completed their obligatory military
service. Elaini is completing high school.
People often ask us who takes care of our home while we are
in Georgia. This is the
family. Maria, the mother, and the
boys’ girlfriends, Demetra and Anna cleaned our house this year before I
arrived, and planted petunias, begonias and a few other colorful flowers around
the patio. Nicos brings us water for the water depository. He hauls it in a huge tank with his
tractor up the dirt road to the house.
The main employment of the family is a small butcher shop,
but Stell has helped them financially to construct a much more modern and
larger butcher shop that should open in December.
Both boys will want to marry in the next few years [although
just before I left Vassilly and his girlfriend of five years, Demetra parted
ways.] Getting married in Greece like here can be an extremely expensive
proposition, so the family has really got to work hard to make the butcher shop
profitable, since the expectation will be that the boys will live in apartments
above the new butcher shop after they marry. Although they have only a high school education, they both
speak English enough that we have some good conversations. Unfortunately, although they are charming
young men, like the great majority of young adults in Greece, they are already
heavy smokers. Marlboro has done
an excellent job enticing smoking along with several international tobacco
companies.
Maria is a compassionate, religious, and extremely
hardworking mother [in addition to being a fabulous cook.] She has been diagnosed recently to have
two ovarian cysts and is weighing the thought of having surgery to remove them. Elaini has just barely passed the
horrid national education exams that will determine what she can pursue as far
as completing her high school and beyond.
She’s very popular with the young men, and very much “her age” related
to the typical social life of a teenage girl in the village.
Nicos is a marvelous father and capable farmer in addition
to being central in the work of the butcher shop. He and Maria have a superior, warm relationship with all
three of their children, and Elaini clearly is infatuated with her “baba”. Nicos planted “Margaret’s Vineyard”
this year. A longer story about
the vineyard is forthcoming.
Photo 2001-5- Goats Near Stavraqu
These goats are crossing the dirt road we take to and from
the village every day. They are a
common sight and normally I affectionately call them
"feta-makers".
This particular herd is large, about 200 goats. They are owned by a villager but most
frequently herded by young Albanian boys who are willing to do the work that
the Greek youth avoid. The
situation is parallel to the influx of the cheaper labor the U.S. engages from
Central America and Mexico.
My immediate loss of affection for goats is inspired by a
now humorous, but not so funny at the time encounter with this large herd one
hot August afternoon. We had
followed our normal daily pattern of going to the village around 11 a.m.,
enjoying an ouzo and mezze (appetizer) with the old men at the KAPE [pronounced
Kapee]. These are small cafeterias
in most Greek communities funded by the government as places for older citizens
to come play cards, drink beer, retsina, ouzo, cokes or coffee and gossip about
the old days. The inside room is
full of tables that seat four men who get louder and louder as they get into
the card games.
After about an hour at this establishment we head to the
beach for at least an hour of swimming, reading, and chatting with old and new
friends. Then we enjoy a much too
filling lunch around 2 p.m. We
head home for siesta. On this
infamous day as we started to wind down our long pine-holly-cedar- mimosa lined
driveway, I noticed a horse near our patio and a person. I wasn't too pleased because I wanted
to start my siesta, but thought we'd need to do the hospitality routine with
somebody.
It turned out that the visitor was a goat herder, and the
large herd had entered our property and proceeded to eat my roses, and the
begonias, petunias, and other flowers Maria Caravasillis had planted to border
the patio. As if this wasn't
enough to make me furious, these creatures had just started to nibble on the
vines in my newly-planted vineyard, which even bears my name! I had a hissy-fit. I was yelling at the goats and the
young, little herder not fully realizing how difficult it might be to be a 12 year
old boy who really doesn't speak Greek or English attempting to control the
will of 200 goats who as far as they are concerned have located nirvana in the
form of my flora.
After a time to cool down, and a deep sleep, the entire
event because a source of much laughter and in the evening we met the owner who
truly was apologetic. I had to
remind myself of Stell's wisdom - "never come unglued in life over things
that are reversible." Even
before I left for home on the 25th, the roses and many of the
flowers were making a speedy recovery and it looked like most of the vines
would rejuvenate. I'm back to
enjoying feta and I would be sorrowful if I couldn't hear the joyful sound of
little bells as these animals move across the commons. I read fourteen books while I was in
Greece this summer and a couple of them really caused me to reconsider the problems
created in life when people feel compelled to "own property". I have a sense of some shame in my
reaction on that afternoon, and the only consolation was the amusement
expressed by so many of my village friends who have a deeper and more respectful
grasp of their interconnection with these itinerant nibblers.
Photo 2001 – 18 – Nectarios/The Story of His Name
The young man in this picture is a new friend I met this
summer, as he was a waiter at the restaurant on the bay where we almost always
have lunch, “Jimmy’s”. He has an
unusual name, and actually he is the first and only Nectarios I’ve met in
fifteen years. I had a chance to
talk with him for about an hour on the beach one afternoon, so I learned the
story of his name. First, it is
important to tell you that he does not have a grandfather named Nectarios. Almost all the children are named for
their grandmothers and grandfathers.
So if you meet someone and immediately don’t know their name but you
know their grandmothers and grandfathers’ names it won’t take long to know what
to call them.
Nectarios was born in Germany to Greek parents. This is not uncommon, since for many
years Greeks have migrated to Germany for work. There are very large Greek communities in all the major
cities of Germany, and many of the people I’ve met in Ierissos currently live
in Germany or they have some connection with relatives there.
Nectarios’ mother like most Greek women wanted to have
children, but the doctors explained to her that it was not likely that she
would ever be able to have children.
So she prayed and prayed and prayed, and she became pregnant. Nectarios is named for a famous monk,
because his mother’s prayers were answered. When people feel that something they regard as a miracle
occurs, they often respond in ways like naming their children after some
renowned religious figure.
Nectarios told me that l4 months after his birth he got a brother!
He attends a technical school just outside of Thessaloniki
and is studying something in the computer area. He’s had some problems adjusting to life in Greece after so
many years in Germany where things run so much more smoothly. He displayed a more serious and “sober”
demeanor than many of his Greek counterparts. He said he was having a hard time deciding whether or not he
would go back to Germany. His
parents now live in Greece, and like most Greek parents I’ve met; they want
their children really close by [for their entire lives].
He did tell me that he liked American music a lot, but he and
his friends were disappointed because there is one band they’d really like to
hear live that won’t travel in Europe – Lyndard Skynard. I wonder why they won’t travel in
Europe? He was reading a Stephen
King novel but said he needed to put it aside to study for his examinations
that were on the horizon.
He was a terrific waiter, and believe me it is not easy
being a waiter with many Greek customers who have a tendency to want to “boss”
the waiters too much. I find it
very offensive, and I make a point of speaking to all of them, asking about
their days, and if they are open to conversations like Nectarios, engaging them
in some discussions when they aren’t too busy.
I’m glad his mother’s prayers were answered.
Photo 2001 – 25 – Makis kai Antonia
The people in this picture are Makis [his real name is
Thomas] and Antonia. They are the
parents of two sons and one daughter.
Maria, the daughter, is engaged to be married. This is good for many reasons. One is that brothers are not supposed to marry until their
older sisters marry, and the other is that the number of people living in their
house is going to increase when Makis’ brother and family move there soon. I think the reason Antonia’s expression
is pained in the photograph is the stress associated with the expansion of her
household in the near future.
I don’t have all the details, but in Greece parents tend to
leave their homes to their sons – although dowries are by law illegal, they
still are in full operation especially in villages. This means that Maria will move with her dowry into the
in-laws complex. Makis’ brother
has been living in another place that is now being given to a son, so he and
the rest of his family will return to his father’s house, which is occupied, by
Makis, Antonia and their children.
Generally the house is divided into apartments, which for poorer and
older families are very, very small.
I can definitely understand the importance of these practices for the
good-ole-days, but in the year 2001 I can tell you for a fact that generally
there are extreme tensions when people have to live under such close quarters
with their relatives. More often
than not what I’ve witnessed is not one big happy family.
Makis is a small, feisty, clownish guy. He works for the city, mainly as a
garbage collector, so I see him often riding about the village on the back of
the garbage truck. He does other
odd jobs for the city, but this is his main assignment. Therefore, he is a good source of
information about EVERYTHING that is going on. His home is one of the first we come upon when we make our
way down our dirt road to the village.
Many nights he and friends are having an ouzo and mezze on their patio,
so we stop and this is how we get most of our evening news. Keep in mind we don’t have a
television, and we generally don’t listen to the radio. Our news source is MAKIS.
He loves photographs and at times at the St. Elias Festival,
I begin to feel like he is my director because he pulls me around from spot to
spot wanting me to get shots of people he likes. The city workers have a major responsibility for cooking for
the day-long event, and of course they assume the massive cleanup when the
festivities end.
From my first year in Ierissos he has been very protective
of me, and if I should ever need assistance or be in an emergency situation,
he’s definitely one guy I’d ask for help. He gets agitated when he feels Stell
is teasing me too much. He really couldn’t understand why I had to leave to
come back to Georgia this year. I wish my photographs could display the drama of his
many facial expressions and you could hear him talk and gesture. Of his three children, the one who has
picked up on his humor is his daughter, Maria.
Antonia has his number, and one night when he had a little
too much to drink she told us she’d put “the baby” to bed.
Photo 2001 – 35 – Pandelis the Pirate
Attention ladies.
This man, Pandelis, advised me this summer that he would like to meet an
American woman! The problem is I
don’t know him well enough to make any recommendations. I know his brother, Nicos [Kourka,
trans. Turkey] much better. Those
of you who have been in Greece and heard Kourka entertain us with tricks (like
dancing with a little bottle of ouzo on his head) and playing the mandelin will
know at least the connection as Pandelis is one of two brothers to Kourka.
Pandelis is intriguing to me because I have seen him every year that I’ve been
in the village. I think Stell told
me he works on the boats, but I really don’t know what kind of work he does at
sea. He’s a bar fly on land. So I’ve seen him hanging out at Vlassis
and Jimmy’s in the afternoons and evenings but no place else. He doesn’t seem to frequent places that
are very far away from the sea.
He always is dressed like you see him here, with the scarf
on his bald head and he is barefooted.
He wears pants that remind me of those worn by the pirates in Peter
Pan. Actually I keep looking for
Captain Hook and Tinker Bell when Pandelis appears. There are probably about 20-25 people I would call real
“characters” in the village, and he is definitely one of them. I’ve not seen
another person in similar attire.
I think Stell told me that the third brother is very religious and
conservative. This is so hard for
me to believe. What an intriguing
novel could be written about the three brothers who turned out to be so
extremely different from one another.
As I’ve mentioned before the village is really fascinating
for so many reasons. I’m not sure
that my numbers would be right but it seems that about half of the natives are
connected to agriculture and half to the sea. Once in awhile there’s a crossover. I would just love to know more about
how they exchanged products in the past – how they bartered in exchanging fish
and wheat. Even when the older men
are retired they continue to hang out with their former occupational
colleagues, fisherman at Sultana’s and farmers and other land lubbers at
Olga’s.
Pandelis is wearing a cross. I would say 70 percent of the men, women and children I see
are wearing a similar necklace to indicate their Christian orthodoxy. Many of the people in Greece are trying
desperately to maintain their homogeneity, but it can’t work – too many people
are immigrating into the country who are not Greek Orthodox. Increasingly, we hear people in the
streets of the villages and cities who are clearly Albanian or Serbians who are
definitely planning on making their homes in this country despite the wishes of
the natives. The Congressman from
Halkidiki is focusing attention on the Greek diaspora, because of his concern
that the Greek language, Greek religion, and other cultural indicators may
disappear as Greeks leave for the United States, Australia, Canada, Germany,
and South Africa.
So if any of my women friends are looking for a pirate-like
Greek, I will be glad to carry your pictures and other descriptive information
to Pandelis. He doesn’t speak much
English, but I think he’s “teachable.”
I think you’d have to be attracted to his outfit and not come undone
when he sets sail for other
Mediterranean ports.
2001- 39 Two Marias
I’ve just developed seven pictures [that’s the most I can
get on a single disk], and I’m having a difficult time deciding which one I
want to use for a vignette. The
first is of one of the many Marias who live in the Village. I am guessing that her full name is
Maria Bless. She is Maria
Caravassillis’ sister-in-law, the wife of “chicken poop” [Kortsula]. We can only speculate how a child got
the name chicken poop, but that is what everyone calls her husband,
Yannis. Stell told me this
summer that everyone in the Village used to have a nickname, but not
anymore. I know men who are called
Lover, Rambo, Cairo, and
Turkey. Olga’s husband calls
Stell, The Tall One.
At this particular lunch, the beautiful mother-in-law to
Maria, Sultana, called one of her grandson’s, Baby Fusca. He really voiced his objection. I would too, although for me calling
him Baby Fusca is actually funny.
A fusca is a bright yellow oyster-like sea creature that is very bitter
in taste. The seamen especially
like to have these with ouzo when they are working on their nets. They are full of iodine. I’ve tried them and found them so
disgusting that on many occasions when I’m asked what I’d like to eat, I say
anything but fusca. [pron. Fooska]
Two of the pictures on this disk are of Sultana. In one she
had her eyes closed, but the other is a beauty. She is delightful.
I tease her that I am in love with her husband, George. He plays cards every day at the center
for older people. When I find him
in the smokey den of men, I always give him a big kiss for good luck. I have no idea if it works. They don’t play for money – just for
the socialization. Although
Sultana and George are salt-of-the-earth people, without speaking a word of
Greek you will understand why they raised such fine children [adults now with
their own families]. They are both
easy-going, loving people. I have
told three of their grandchildren repeatedly how fortunate they are to have
both sets of grandparents. This is
extremely unusual in this village.
I’ve selected the photo of the two sister-in-laws, the
Marias, because I love to watch them when they come together for a dinner. They are friends as well as relatives,
and as I’ve reported before this isn’t so easy to achieve for many in a small
village. I also think the younger
Maria on the right has a deep admiration for the older Maria. For sure, both have had to endure
Chicken Poop, and he is as much a character as his name indicates. He’s a life-loving truck driver, and if
you see him out and about, you will say, now there is a man who is full of piss
and chicken poop. I will be
forever awed at how hard these women work to manage their homes and
families. You might think if you
observed them for a short time that others take advantage of them, but if you
can stay in their orbits for a longer time frame, you will discover that their
husband and children are well aware of their importance and their strength.
The only problem, which is minor, that I’ve mentioned before
is when you want to make reference to a Maria in Greece. Unless it is immediately clear by the
content of the conversation, you will soon say or hear “which Maria”? Nicos’ Maria? Or Chicken Poops’ Maria?
2001- 67 – Kouritsi
Some dear friends of mine, John and Kim, who work at the
Kettering Foundation in Dayton, have just returned from China with their
daughter, Eleanor Ying Dedrick, who will be one in late October. Many of us who have connections with
China are especially concerned about the fate of little baby girls. I am not going to enter the dilemma in
U.S.-China relations related to the charges of what is claimed to have
occurred. Instead I will focus my
attention on the pleasures I find in knowing people like Kim and John, and the
Greek cultural generally as it values children. The Greeks clearly adore both
female and male kids despite their reputation as a macho culture. I’m so fortunate to have been able to
witness the value of girls and young women in Greece, and to see for myself how
fathers responded when their offspring were all female.
Girls are not discriminated against in competing for
excellence in schools and universities.
It is as common to see women in medicine, dentistry, engineering, law,
agriculture and a myriad of others areas as to find them in education, nursing,
and social work. I do still
see some evidence of a Good-ole-Greek-boy kicking in when people are out of universities
and want to advance in their professions.
However, there are clearly more and more and more women rising to high
levels of professionalism, and they appear to me to be respected. Stell has
given some attention to what happens to daughters and sons when they are
entangled in a family business. It looks more like Judging Amy than Ozzie and
Harriet.
I am like Barbara Kingsolver [expressed in one of her essays
in High Tide in Tucson], a little perplexed by people who appear to
dislike children in U.S. society.
These are ones who choose not to support school bonds, move into
communities that forbid the presence of children, are unglued with kids who
disrupt their silence on airplanes, and are traumatized if they have a party
and someone has the gall to show up with little people. Obviously to have no interest in
children, is to have no interest in the future. I have no problem with people who are bothered by some
children who lack any civility and discipline. My concern is with people who would find the world a better
place if there were no children.
Grinches, one and all!
Fortunately I married a man who is as mesmerized by little
people as much as I am. It is such
a good thing that we are not kidnappers, because you can be sure where this
beautiful little girl would be now!
The nice thing about most Greek people is that they are very willing to
give you access to their kids, we get to hold and play with many little girls
and boys like this one. I’ve
written before that Greek fathers who have only daughters may be lightly
teased, but there really is no pressure to have sons. All the men, and there are many I’ve met in this
circumstance, seem rather delighted with their families, proud of their wives
and daughters, and as committed to the education and well-being of the women as
others are to their sons. So this
is not a culture, where one need
fear that a little girl is going to grow up with lesser opportunities or
advantages than her male counterparts.
Yet like many places on the planet, Greece is in the midst of
significant social family transitions, so who knows what the social shifts will
mean for both sexes in this new century.
Photo 2001-72- Costas, My Hair Stylist
Rounding out seven weeks in Greece, swimming every day, and
more often in direct sun than not, my hair screamed, “do something!” Usually I give some professional
attention to my hair just before leaving for Greece and immediately on return,
but this year my stay was longer, so I had to identify someone to rescue me in
Ierissos. The rescuer turned out
to be Costas, and I do wish he would move to Watkinsville. I like this picture for lots of reasons
– the feeling of relief I had with this haircut, and the composition of Stell
in the mirror taking the picture of Costas and me and capturing himself at the
same time.
The first year I was in Greece in the mid-80s my experience
was very different with haircare.
Some women took me to a shop, where I only requested a shampoo and
comb-out. They invited me for
coffee, but I declined.
Mistake. Come hell or high
water I was going to have coffee while they worked on me. Soon into the procedure, a woman came
along to read my coffee grounds.
She explained that I was going to get involved with someone with the
initial “S”, and I was going to get a long distance phone call in the near
future. Oh give me a break, my
mother used to have her tea leaves read, and the fortune teller would advise
her that she was going to have another baby and we would be moving. In those days after World War II,
almost every married woman was having another baby and moving. And tell me who isn’t going to get a
long distance call in the near future!
Actually, I thought it was clever to have a beauty parlor fortuneteller,
and I’ve tinkered with the idea of volunteering as one for a few months just
for the fun of it. Getting your
hair worked on in a foreign country is dicey, so some insight about your future
is desirable.
Costas’ shop is much more modern than the bobby pin place I
landed in years ago in Larissa.
And instead of coffee or tea, he serves ouzo. Also, he doesn’t get into the ordinary shampoo and style
functions – he has an attractive young, “Maria” who does this, and she’s the
one by the way who gets the “tips.”
Stell bothered to explain to me that Costas’ is a
Communist. My experience in Greece
has been that all the barbers are Communists. I don’t have a clue as to why this would be true or
matter. I needed a haircut so
badly that I would have been willing to let a skinhead cut my hair [I
think]. The hilarious part of
Costas being of this persuasion is that his son who is majoring in finance in
England [not what you’d expect of a Communist’s son, right?] is engaged to a
Capitalist’s daughter. The two
families have met in their respective countries, and according to Costas
they’ve really hit it off grandly.
Especially after he introduced his daughter-in-law-to-be’s mother to
ouzo. No wonder our world is so
politically confused.
Meetings of the respective families when a couple gets
engaged are much more serious functions than it is in the U.S. When it is established that the
engagement is firm, the parents travel to one another’s villages, cities, or
like with Costas’ -countries, and stay for several days together. These visits continue once the couple
weds. If you want to have some fun
try contemplating many folks you know who are the in-laws experiencing or
enduring these mergers. The
derivation of the word “outlaw” will become clear to you.
Photo 2001-80- Margaret in Her Vineyard with Cow on Edge
Stell requested one afternoon that I become “outstanding in
my field” by standing in the middle of “Margaret’s Vineyard” to give people
like Malcolm Sumner some sense of how the vines were doing. Malcolm surveyed our property and visited
several vineyards in the area when he and Priscilla were with us and determined
that this particular site would be ideal for grapes. He did teach us to add a little [like a teaspoon] of boron
near the trunks of the vines for a healthier grape. What Malcolm did not project was that every day the cow that
is on the edge of the vineyard just to the left of me in the photo would leaver
her herd and try and make this field her home.
You can barely see the fence in the background. The stream of trees and shrubs on the
left border the driveway. Everyday
this cow who clearly had fallen in love with Stell would disregard the fence
and find her way to the field. She
was even presumptuous one day to bring a friend! Stell cursed at her and threw stones near her to frighten
her away. I did neither, because I
don’t know enough appropriate cow curses, and I believe in following the verse
about she who is without sin casting the first stone. I would chase her and wave my arms, but I guess she just
thought I was talking to her or that I was mad and should be ignored, because
when I did this frantic gesturing, she would turn, face me, and stare with a
look that I read to be saying, “Woman, you should get help.”
If we can keep the cows and goats away from the vineyard
with a new fence which is being ordered now, then we should have some grapes
next year and wine in three years.
Stell has promised that we can harvest some of them the old fashioned
way. I’ve always wanted a chance
to jump in one of those huge tubs and squish grapes with my feet. I hope they are white and not purple,
though. I probably shouldn’t be
saying this out loud because if you are offered a bottle of wine, you may
reject it if you are aware of the processing.
This is the same field where we most often see the allapoo
at dusk. An allapoo is a fox. Actually one evening at cocktail hour
we saw two loping along to their den.
They are extremely curious and will stop and stare at us as we stare at them. We do not offer them a scotch because
we are not certain of their ages, although Greece has no drinking age, so I
guess it wouldn’t hurt. One of the
hunters, another Stellios, has informed me that he promises not to shoot them
if I will bring him a bottle of Johnny Walker Black [mavros] from the United
States. The Greeks are not convinced
that the scotch in the Johnny Walker bottles in Greece is really Johnny
Walker. I’m undone by the deals
people want to make with me for expensive U.S. booze.
The other most dramatic wild life we have are the birds –
glorious hawks and streams of swallows.
Sometimes the swallows get so carried away you feel like you are at an
Air Force air show. Stell is
confident that the discontinuation by farmers of using so many poisonous
chemicals has meant the return of many forms of plants and animals. We do have an enormous supply of
grasshoppers. Occasionally they
sneak into the house, so it isn’t too unusual to find them on a bath towel or
limping across the living room.
We’ve seen a couple of cats around the house, too, but we have no idea
how they find water.
Photo 2001-85- Tolis on a Sunday Afternoon
In continuation of my willingness to devote some time to
international match making allow me to introduce Tolis, who like Pandelis shown
earlier, is requesting a relationship with an American woman. I believe Tolis real name is
Apostolis. He is very much
considering being a candidate for mayor in Ierissos this year. The current mayor can no longer run
because he’s had the two terms permitted.
Tolis belongs to the liberal party, the PASOK. I saw him huddling with
others of this party on several occasions throughout the summer. He’s very much
an environmentalist and frequently seeks Stell’s guidance on what can be done
with an International mining operation, TVX, going on in the village next to
ours and believed by many to be adding toxins to the water in the area. I believe bauxite is the number one
product mined, and the company operates out of Canada.
So for sure I can tell you that Tolis is politically active
and liberal and that he plays the guitar very well and sings – and although his
English is sketchy, he sings many popular older American songs. He’s a sailor, and I believe
academically trained like his brother Yannis as an engineer. I think they work together, but I don’t
know if this is one of the years they are on good terms or not. Tolis is divorced, and I believe has
two grown daughters. He lives and
works in Thessaloniki during the winter like many from Ierissos.
I know that he is successful often with fishing, because
with Stell I’ve been invited to his backyard for a fish fry in past years. The drink that evening was some
wonderful red ‘kokino’ retsina.
The white is much more common, so it was a treat to try the red. This gathering was serendipity, very
typical for Greece, but sometimes difficult for some American visitors. Often Americans start their holidays in
Greece, we have discovered, by saying, “so, what are we going to do
today?” This drives Stell
absolutely crazy. He’s tried to teach people the concept he has named “GAGA” –
Go Along, to Get Along. In other
words, we don’t have a clue about what we are going to do, we just let the day
do what it wants and we enjoy the surprises of the journey. It is fascinating to realize that the
psychological makeup of some people is such that they can’t cope with this
“what will be, will be” approach to a day.
Sometimes Stell will suggest that something is going to
occur, that we will go a particular place, or meet particular people, but more
often than not it doesn’t pan out the way he describes it. I’ve adapted very well, and I simply
don’t give any plans much regard and love the suspense of not knowing what will
unfold. Responding to days like
this is really very freeing when most of your life is spent following some kind
of staccato schedule. Tolis’
personality and manner completely parallel Stell’s modus operandi. Americans seem to panic if you have
told someone you are coming to their home or meeting them, and then it doesn’t
happen. I think Greeks understand
from the get-go when you make these arrangements that the probability that they
will play out is about 20%.
So does Tolis really want to meet an American woman? Where? What time? “What ever will be, will be.” The poem to read to fully
understand the spirit of this is the one Jackie Kennedy asked be read at her
funeral by C. P. Cavafy, “Ithaca,” the destination of a journey, where he tells
us “Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage. Without her you would never have taken the road. But she has nothing more to give you.”
Photo 2001-107- Eleni - Helen- Beauty
The young woman in this picture is Eleni Caravassillis. I have pictures of her over many
years. She's a high school
senior. Her name follows Maria in
importance in Greece. She is
Helen. All quotations below are from Katerina Servi, Greek Mythology,
1997
"The fourth race to live on the earth was the heroic
one. It was made up of the
demi-gods who fought below the walls of Thebes, and of those who traveled to
distant Troy to bring back the fair Helen."
So they [Theseus and Pirithous] went to Sparta, where they
met Helen, the beautiful twelve year old daughter of Zeus and Leda, and
abducted her. Later, after they
had drawn lots and Theseus had won Helen, they descended to the Underworld to
bring back Persephone for Pirithous.
In every ancient times, a prince of Troy, Paris, abducted
the Queen of Sparta, Helen, a woman famous for her beauty.
When Hera, Athena and Aphrodite began to vie for this title
[the fairest], Zeus ordered Hermes to take the goddesses to Mt. Ida, where
Paris, the son of Priam, King of Troy was grazing his flocks. He would judge which of the three
deserved to win the beauty prize.
As soon as Paris saw the goddesses before him, he was deeply perplexed
and wanted to run away, but Hermes stopped him and told him of the command of
Zeus. So Paris was forced to
resolve the dispute. In order to
bribe him, each of the goddesses offered him a different gift. Hera told him that if his vote went to
her, she would make him rule of the whole of Asia and Europe, Athena that she
would make him an invincible warrior, and Aprhodite that she would give him the
most beautiful woman in the world - who as none other than Helen. Without much further thought, Paris
chose the offer of Aphrodite and gave her the apple. The first step leading the outbreak of the Trojan War had
been taken.
Helen the most beautiful daughter of Zeus by Leda, was the
cause of the most destructive of all wars in the ancient myth - the War of
Troy.
When Helen was twelve years old, Theseus, beguiled by her
beauty, abducted her and shut her in fortified Aphidna. But her brothers, Castor and Pollux,
have fought hard against Aphidnus, the local hero and defender of the fortress,
managed to rescue her. After the
experience of Aphidna, Tyndareus decided to find Helen a husband. Since her beauty had become known
throughout the length and breadth of Greece, the most powerful rulers who vied
with each other in wealth and power, presented themselves at Sparta. Only
Odysseus, King of Ithaca, failed to make an appearance, but he sent messages
from his island to Helen's brothers.
Tyndareus now found himself in a very difficult position; he realized
that whoever his daughter chose, she would make enemies of all the rest. So, following the advice of Odysseus -
according to one version - he made all the suitors swear that if at any time
anyone dared to steal Helen from her husband, they would all hasten to punish
that person. . . .
So what's in a name? Ask Eleni.
Photo 2001-118- Vassilly and Wife Having Dinner
This is a typical
young couple in Greece having dinner.
It’s probably about l0 p.m., which is actually an early dinner. They have two small children about a
year or two apart in age. This is
typical for Greek couples. Rarely,
rarely do you meet any couple with more than two kids. As you can observe from the expressions
on their faces, Vassilly is a very cheerful person. I met him several years ago, and the mood he is in here is
the mood he seems to maintain. His
wife is much more sober. There are
several reasons – one is the hard work of managing two little people in really
a small space. This is the
downstairs of a building that has several families living above them. They live right next to a fairly busy
butcher shop, which means little privacy if you sit outside like this. Most people do have all their meals
outside in the summer, because the insides of homes are generally not
air-conditioned, and Greece is a country of natural breezes. Greek people are very savvy at locating
tables and sitting areas where the breezes are best. They buy these
plastic tables and chairs off the gypsy trucks. Gypsies are plentiful in Greece.
The other reason
Vassilly’s wife is somber is because her father was in extremely poor health and
probably will not survive. Her
father isn’t terribly old [in his early fifties], but he has been a typical
Greek smoker and at the time this picture was taken he was encountering the
consequences of his multiple packs a day, probably of Marlboros. Smoking is a tragedy in most of Europe
and definitely in Greece. Older
men and younger men and women are highly addicted, and it is not uncommon to
see a young person pick up three cartons at a kiosk on the way to the beach for
the weekend. The cigarettes are
just as expensive or more as they are in the U.S. Despite the fact, that her father is dying probably from
excessive smoking, notice that she has her cigarettes on the table. Both she and Vassilly smoke despite the
toll on their health and the money it takes away from other things they might
buy for their family.
Interestingly enough, most young women are able to stop when they are
pregnant, but they will resume smoking immediately after they have their children.
In the newspaper on
the way home from Greece, I read in the Financial
Times that R. J. Reynolds and international companies have been lacing
cigarettes with honey and sugar to market them in Eastern Europe and Asia,
where there are no laws prohibiting young adults from purchasing cigarettes. They discovered that young adults who
first pick up cigarettes actually don’t like the taste, but by adding the sugar
and honey they find them more palatable and initiate their inhaling to death
habits. The cigarettes from these
companies are freely distributed at concert-like events by young, attractive
women.
Stell’s brother,
Yannis, requested that Stell buy his niece, Despina, a car this summer. Since both she and her husband work it
would be helpful to have two cars.
Stell responded that he would consider this as soon as she and her
husband, Costas gave up their cigarettes.
Between the two of them they smoke at least two packs a day and probably
closer to three. As for me, I
think the best thing to do is invest in the cigarette companies and anything
medically related to lung cancer, because I have no confidence that people will
kick the habit. I can take my
earnings and invest them in endeavors I want to support. Robin Hood Investing.
Photos 2001-165-166- “It’s Like Herding Cows”
A lot of people want
to know what it is like living at Stavraqu – for us it is not like herding
cats, it’s like herding cows.
Many herds and flocks of animals move around the countryside, so it is
most usual to see sheep, goats, and cows every day. Since we don’t have television, we call them our ABC, CBS,
and NBC. At night if we see the
fox, I suppose we could call her our Fox Network.
Although these are
by far not great photographs, they are priceless memories for me of several
hilarious afternoons. The property
problem is that our fence is old, and even the least clever cow can find her
way into graze on the remains of the wheat field. Actually this cow was far from clever, she would arrive
almost daily and Stell in his bright red bathing suit and blue Braves baseball
cap would chase her across the field tossing rocks in her direction. This action did not get her moving at
any high rate of speed. She would
just amble toward the driveway.
You can see the butt of another cow in one of the pictures, because she
even had the nerve to bring a friend on this day.
For some reason I
thought also being a woman, I might be more effective in getting her to depart
the property. So rather than
throwing rocks, I started yelling and waving my arms, even though I realize she
has had no ESOL classes. I was
even less effective than Stell.
She simply turned around in the driveway and faced me calmly not batting
those big cow-eyes. I’ve looked at
this picture recalling vividly her look but perplexed with the translation. Was
she saying, “What the hell is
wrong with you people!” Or was she
reminding me to be glad she and her fellow creatures were still roaming these
parts, not victims of foot and mouth?
Perhaps she just wanted a better look at a woman who would live with a
man who ran around the property in a skimpy red bathing suit.
I know we must fix
the fence, and that project is definitely high on the list for this year, but
in a bizarre way I’m still hoping once in a while that a cow or two will find
their way inside just to remind us that they are players on the planet and that
everybody needs to weigh the downside of any of us “owning property.” In
earlier days animals and people lived much more closely together, often just a
floor apart. She and her friend were both willing to contribute to the
fertilization of the field and driveway and as far as I know we were never
billed. Of course, it may be
just vanity at work. She saw that
I carried a camera and concluded that this for her was a Kowdac Moment.
Followup Report: Stell has explained that
this cow is actually a reincarnation of a cow from his youth who was also in
love with him. I had never thought
about this before but probably this is how the brand name for the condensed
milk company “carnation” was
created after some cow reinvented itself in a new age. When you think about it long enough,
you realized how much cows have influenced our language: Kowtow: Being pulled by a cow when you’ve
broken down and Co-ward: A
person like Stell who is cared for by a cow. And trust me Elsie Ierissos really cares for Stell. You can see she is in udder delight
whenever she finds him outstanding in the fields.
Photos 2001-175 & 145- The Last Supper
Here are two
pictures that really will demonstrate how things can change “over night”. The first photo is taken on a Sunday
evening in August at a popular restaurant in Ierissos on the bay. Everyone who has been to Greece with us
has eaten here many times for lunch and dinner. I think the restaurant until this August had been leased by
Christos Yackos for something like twenty-five years. Stell says he remembers vividly Paris, “Bunks”, running from table to table as a little
boy in his diapers, and I certainly remember him enjoying the company and
cuisine when he moved into his 20s.
He knew he could always “run a tab” at this spot no matter where we
were, if he was hungry.
For all of us it has
been a place where we have connected to many people - family, friends, and
often new friends from other countries.
We’d often stop quickly on the way to the sea for a glass of nice cold
water, then be back around 2 p.m. for lunch which often lasted for several
hours. I saw young women waitress
who now are physicians, and I met the very young Albanian couple who needed so
much their employment at this location to “survive.” Once we spent a good time chatting with a charming French
family with whom we communicated over a couple of holidays, and this summer a
young Black man from Nigeria was marketing wooden tables and statuary from his
country.
Yackos was also the
setting the past two summers for the Class of People Born in ’36- a revised
form of a class reunion started by Stell to bring together his peers. The first picture above shows the table
setting for the party. I think the
table had been set more beautifully and carefully than I’d ever seen it set
before. Christos had prepared a lamb on the spit in the kitchen which he
proudly took me to see and so he could be photographed. It was a grand evening – the company,
the meal, and the music and the dancing.
But it was also “the last supper” at Yackos.
If you look at the
second photo selected above you will be looking at exactly the same sight as
the tables in the first photo.
This photo was taken on Monday morning after the Sunday night dinner. The restaurant has been completely
rased. It no longer exists. The city wanted taxes from the property
that no one was willing to pay. It
was a most startling vision. We
had no warning. Sunday night it
was a place of great joy. Monday
morning it was a place of vast sadness.
For a couple of days there was a sort of wake underway. We’d walk by and see some of the final
disassembling. We sipped retsina
and shed tears recalling so many happy hours spent in the company of those
whose passed had crossed in this intersection of lives.
This place was a
switchboard and a post office for us.
If we had been invited to lunch and we were late, people would call and
a scout from the restaurant would relay the message. We thought it would be “forever” place, but once again we
have been reminded of how temporal is our world. I’m sure as long as we are in it, though, we will
every summer raise a glass to the happiness we found so often at Yackos by the
sea.
posted by Margaret Holt | 8:30 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home