There seems to be a sense of urgency in the air as this holiday comes to a close. We feel as if we can't afford just to lie around. By the time I'd woken, Helen had returned from the school run, checked email and it was up and out. Doxa, Chris and their family were off to the celebration of St Luka's day at a church close to their home.
I'm used to saints days being celebrated by people on the closest weekend, and didn't expect the huge throng that met us there on a work thursday. It was an unbearable sun that beat down on us and a great wave of deja-vu swept over me...Sunshine in Melbourne. The smoke, the crush of the crowd, the scents wafting out of the church.. it was all familiar. The only thing that seemed different was the endless stalls of china made tat that wound its way up the hill to the church.
We soon became separated and I kept a strong grip on Andrea, Doxa's youngest daughter. The local school must have declared a "curriculum day" as there was no shortage of small boys buying plastic pistols and assault machine guns, then launching raids on their peers (yes, very Christian). Some vendors were selling a variety of loukanika and other cured meats and dried fish. To my astonishment, there was not a refrigeration unit in sight. The local monastories are also into maximizing income selling icons, bracelets with various religios symbols etc in their street stalls. Still, the majority of the people were fixated on the idea of entering the church to say a prayer and light a candle, so the religious significance of the day was not lost on most of the people there. Police had used their vehicle to block off the entry to the street and a couple of young officers wandered from stall to stall, clipboard in hand looking as if their minds were more on cadging a snack than launching a prosecution.
It was an opportunity to learn the difference between authentic and fake soujouko. Some shysters add extra flour to the mix, so that they don't have to use as much of the grape juice. It's only stupid visitors like me that might be fooled. The locals just turn their nose up and go to the "right" stalls. By now you must know that I have very little control when it comes to food. Soon I was tucking into bourekia filled with a sweetened ricotta cheese and dusted with icing sugar.
The Bunigiri is an opportunity to catch up with friends, buy supplies, and bring out your aged and infirm for special prayers (probably in that order). Through the crowd walked people begging for a donation for various institutional or personal causes.
This celebration has been going on for a couple of days, but is expected to wind up tonight. Church/ religion plays a big part in the lives of people across the full spectrum of society. People are robust in their declaration of belief and positively enthusiastic in their following of ritual...however odd or unlikely some of the rituals seem. Still, it's all part of the rich fabric of human behaviour, and (at least in theory), I'm all for diversity.
It was an opportunity to learn the difference between authentic and fake soujouko. Some shysters add extra flour to the mix, so that they don't have to use as much of the grape juice. It's only stupid visitors like me that might be fooled. The locals just turn their nose up and go to the "right" stalls. By now you must know that I have very little control when it comes to food. Soon I was tucking into bourekia filled with a sweetened ricotta cheese and dusted with icing sugar.
The Bunigiri is an opportunity to catch up with friends, buy supplies, and bring out your aged and infirm for special prayers (probably in that order). Through the crowd walked people begging for a donation for various institutional or personal causes.
This celebration has been going on for a couple of days, but is expected to wind up tonight. Church/ religion plays a big part in the lives of people across the full spectrum of society. People are robust in their declaration of belief and positively enthusiastic in their following of ritual...however odd or unlikely some of the rituals seem. Still, it's all part of the rich fabric of human behaviour, and (at least in theory), I'm all for diversity.
The whole bunigiri show snakes up the hill between the houses. Those with houses along the main road hang out over the balconies with a proprietorial air. The door are open and passing friends and relatives just sweep in. Heaven help the "housewife" that hasn't cleaned the house within an inch of its life or can't turn on a feast at a knock on the door!
Weaving my way between the crowd, wearing my white cowboy hat and armed to the teeth with cameras, there was no disguising the fact that I was not a local. In a spooky recall of the Australian bunigiri experience I developed a blazing headache and took refuge in the kafenion, ordering a diet coke to wash down some panadol. Finally we caught sight of the rest of our party, and called Helen to come over. She'd made her way back up the hill to the car to look for us. We all felt a bit more human after a cold drink.
Oops, it was pick up time, so Helen dropped me off, cooked a pot-full of spaghetti and charged off into the traffic to bring Danae home.
I've done a trial pack and everything fits. I thought I might buy some BBQ fittings to bring back with me, but that might have to wait for my next visit. I don't think I'll be waiting another 20 years before I return.
Dimitra lit a small oil lamp amoungst the greenery and I was thinking as the darkness of the night closed in around us, that the little flicker of that light seemed vastly more powerful than the oppression of that dark blanket that was enveloping half the globe. Dimitra's vitality, optimism and open, loving nature was like that small flame; undiminished by the magnitude of the darkness that life had repeatedly thrust at her. I'll keep you posted, Love, Lily/ Mum
Weaving my way between the crowd, wearing my white cowboy hat and armed to the teeth with cameras, there was no disguising the fact that I was not a local. In a spooky recall of the Australian bunigiri experience I developed a blazing headache and took refuge in the kafenion, ordering a diet coke to wash down some panadol. Finally we caught sight of the rest of our party, and called Helen to come over. She'd made her way back up the hill to the car to look for us. We all felt a bit more human after a cold drink.
Oops, it was pick up time, so Helen dropped me off, cooked a pot-full of spaghetti and charged off into the traffic to bring Danae home.
I've done a trial pack and everything fits. I thought I might buy some BBQ fittings to bring back with me, but that might have to wait for my next visit. I don't think I'll be waiting another 20 years before I return.
Just before I close I have to post the news from OZ. Strange goings on...and they do come in threes
1. there has been yest another double tram crash on the same stretch of road on St kilda Rd (again)
2. Johnny was woken in his Shepparton motel room by something chewing on his leg and drawing blood. Apparently the bedsheets were splattered with blood. Once he was up and tearing at the sheets to see what it was, he couldn't find anything.
3. And this is the MOST peculiar...there has been a break-out of good humoured cooperation at 298, with Perry singing the Sesame Street co-operation song whilst volunteering to do the vacuuming, meals being provided, and civilized behaviour in general evidence. Maybe Johnny and I had better go away more often...NO! I'd miss you all TOO much.
We had one thing to do today. On the day I arrived, Helen's friend Dimitra went into hospital for radical cancer surgery. Over the last month she has been mending both physically and emotionally. Dimitra is a popular and much loved person and her friends have been clamouring for information, but what she needed was space and solitude. At last there was a phone call asking Helen to come over. We sat in her most beautiful baliese inspired garden, all banana plants, and fan palms, chatting about anything and everything, as the sun set. I'm not the only one that thinks Dimitra is an inspitration. She has been featured in a womens' magazine, in an article warning young women to regularly check for breast lumps. There is a full page picture of her looking as glam as any South Yarra mum ready to "do lunch". As well as having a bevy of diverse day jobs, she has taught herself how to paint icons, and now teaches other people how to paint in this intricate byzantine style.
Dimitra lit a small oil lamp amoungst the greenery and I was thinking as the darkness of the night closed in around us, that the little flicker of that light seemed vastly more powerful than the oppression of that dark blanket that was enveloping half the globe. Dimitra's vitality, optimism and open, loving nature was like that small flame; undiminished by the magnitude of the darkness that life had repeatedly thrust at her. I'll keep you posted, Love, Lily/ Mum
