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We spent a wonderful weekend in Kastoria (Kah-stor-YA) with Rena and Theodosius and their relatives.
Kastoria is named after the kastor, that flat-tailed, fur-yielding, dam-building mammal that lives here and nowhere else in Greece.
It sits on the edge of, and partly in, Lake Kastoria (see map, clicking two or three times on the plus sign to enlarge as necessary). It occupies the western part of the peninsula you see, and spills over and spreads out on both sides of the peninsula, so it has two different waterfronts, separated at the narrowest point by about a kilometer.
Kastoria used to be one of the riches cities in all of Greece, because it was the center of the fur industry. People got rich trading furs. The furs came from Scandinavia and Russia, but it was here, In Kastoria, that they were fashioned into coats, hats, and myriad other goods for sale.
It seems sad to say all this in the past tense, but in the 1990s, the Chinese came with cameras and videocameras, and asked to learn all about the fur trade, and the furriers laughingly showed them everything they knew. Now the Chinese sell fur items more cheaply than the Kastorians can, so although the city is still a big fur center, with an international fur show every Spring, the population has shrunk and the economy is beginning to shift, painfully, toward tourism.
We arrived around 11:30 and immediately phoned Nikos to let him know we had arrived. Nikos is Rena’s and Theodosios’ son-in-law, and if you want to know what he looks like, well, in face and hair he looks very much looks like this.
He was busy working, but said he would come for us in an hour or so.
We spent the time walking along the northern lakefront on a December day so gorgeous I left my winter jacket in the car. A sweater was enough for me. The sun was glinting off the deep-blue water and shining through the leaves of delicate orange. (I think the trees may be birches, from the white bark.) We passed between the Lake and the little eateries and shops selling fur and leather capes, mittens, gloves, hats, and toys.
Birds and other wildlife are more prolific and varied here than in most other places in Greece, although the bears and wolves have been rounded up into managed wildlife preserves. We spotted a variety of ducks, plus geese and swans, which swam up to us evidently expecting to be fed. Cormorants (which I mistakenly told everyone were condors) were standing on buoys and rocks spreading their wings to dry. There was even a floating birdhouse, with room for eight birds or pairs. Surrounding us and the lake were green-and-brown mountains, shining in the sun.
Our destination was a little outdoor café enclosed, this time of year, with heavy, transparent plastic “walls”, where we could sit and have coffee and be warm and still have a view of the lake and the mountains.
We hadn’t been there long before Spyros telephoned us. Spyros is Rena’s and Theodosios’ sympetheros; he is the father of their son-in-law, Nikos (think David). Rena told us Spyros, 75, had just been diagnosed with early Alzheimer’s. This is doubly sad because Spyros is such a kind, gentle, meek, (some say holy) man.
He looks like a smaller version of my maternal grandfather, very dapper, with white hair and bushy eyebrows over blue eyes, and he looks (to me) as if he had been born in a three-piece suit. The difference between Spyros and my grandfather is, Spyros has a somewhat self-effacing and melancholy demeanor. He used to be a millionaire fur trader, but he is generous and lent out much of his money and was never able to get it back. Now he is upper middle-class. (My grandfather’s company invented fake fur, so there’s even a parallel there!)
In short, he’s someone you most especially do not want to develop Alzheimer’s.
Spyros joined us after a few minutes, arriving in his dusty, black Mercedes. (He still drives, and very well, too.) After we had had a pleasant refreshment by the lake, he guided us along steep, narrow streets to our hotel, where we deposited our luggage and freshened up before heading over to Katerina’s and Nikos’ house for the midday meal.
Now if Nikos is among the handsomest men in Greece (and Greece is a land full of handsome men), Katerina is, in my, opinion, the fairest of her sex in the whole country. She is very feminine, with fair skin, dark hair, large, brown eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. Katerina has to be one of the sweetest women around, as well.
And if you take a live version of the David and marry him to the prettiest woman in the land, what sort of a son would you expect them to have? You’d expect their son to look just like little Spyros, that’s what. (This is just a very good-looking family, every one of them on both sides!) When Spyros opens those enormous, bright blue eyes of his (now turning pale green), it’s as though two lanterns had been lit. When he was a baby, people literally used to gasp. Now he’s 25 months, still gorgeous. Those eyelashes must be ¾ of an inch long. His personality is equally charming. He couldn’t say “Anastasia” so he shortened it to “Sia” and gave my cheek a kiss. Demetrios was introduced as “Takis,” his nickname, and little Spyros was excited to find a word very easy for him to pronounce. The result was, every few minutes all afternoon he would call out, “Taki!” Demetrios would say, “Yes, my sweetie!” in English and Spyros delighted in the discovery that he could elicit such a response. (Why is that? I ought to be jealous. Animals and children all take to Demetrios first, before they take to me.)
Katerina and Nikos and Spyros live in a brand-new, three-bedroom flat on the edge of Kastoria. It is light and airy, with modern furnishings, to be replaced, gradually, with more traditional furnishings if I have correctly understood Katerina.
We were joined presently by the elder Spyros, his wife, Naomi and her mother, who is the same age as Spyros.
Naomi lived in Canada until she was 15. They called her Norma there, and it has stuck. Of course she speaks excellent English, and speaks only English to little Spyros. Spyros therefore understands English almost as well as Greek. (Both his parents speak excellent English, too.) In fact, little Spyros’ favorite book is his illustrated, Greek-English dictionary!
Norma was sporting a hairdo I take to be the latest in Greek chic. It is parted, with bangs, brushed down in front. At the nape, the hair is very short, becoming progressively longer is it approaches the top of the ears, where it is rather long. This tapered hair, at the back and sides of the head, is all brushed upward, and spreads out rather like a fan around the head.
I am not even going to describe the dinner, it being the fasting season. But the courses were many and delicious. Katerina and Nikos, being very kind, made Demetrios and me sit at the head and foot of the table.
After dinner, Theodosios and Rena, Demetrios and I went back to our hotel for a much-needed nap. We plunked our weary bones onto the bed at 5:30 and got up and dressed at 8:30. Time for some wining, dining, and dancing! (Yes, I know, I know!)
But Norma, you see, is the president of the Philoptochos (although it goes by a slightly different name here). It is the church women’s organization in support of the poor. And this year, Norma had organized this annual Christmas ball, a charity benefit, of course, and we four were to be her special guests. (I KNOW, I know!)
Well, we were some of her special guests, the least special of her special guests, the others including two Parliament members, the County Commissioner, and the Mayor, to whom she introduced us. There was no priest present, that I saw anyway. There’s a clue there.
Ah, a nice, small supper, I thought to myself, sampling a platter on which had been laid very small servings of several Kastorian specialties. Just right, after Katerina’s feast. I only took one bite of my dinner roll. A waiter came to take my plate away, but he just couldn’t stand it; he lowered my plate again and asked me, “Don’t you want to keep your bread?” So I did. I don’t care what else Greeks serve you, even if it is roast lamb or chateaubriand; the bread is always the entrée. I did not eat any more of it, but I kept it, not to scandalize the man.
I was just taking the last sip of wine and thinking that had been perfect, when the waiter reappeared to set another plate before me! The first, Katerina explained, had only been appetizers!
No way. I took one, small, polite bite out of each item and left the rest. And it was mouth-watering, too, or would have been.
Not counting the company, what I liked second-best about the evening (first best coming up later) was that so much of it was specifically Kastorian.
Several of the women and children wore traditional Kastorian dresses. Did I mention Kastoria was once a very rich little city? Well, the clothing reflects that. The dresses were long and green, with very short jackets to match, everything trimmed with embroidery, the dresses adorned in front with large, gold coins.
The music and the dances were Kastorian, too. Although many of the tunes are known all over Greece, many others are not; they are strictly local, and you cannot hear them anywhere else. I was especially pleased that the children joined the dances and knew the steps. They, of course, were not conscious of continuing a special heritage; to them, these were simply the dances they knew, and they were having fun. The little girls displayed some graceful and fancy footwork, too! We danced the dances we knew and were able to pick up one or two of the local ones besides. One of them was, in effect, a slow version of Hava Nagila. Instead of kicking, you just gracefully lifted your leg, and without hopping on the other leg at the same time.
Then there was Spanish music. An older man stood alone on the dance floor and spread out his arms and began to dance for us. Gradually, he began more and more to imitate a bull. Then another man, having borrowed his wife’s shawl, stepped onto the dance floor and waved it the way a matador waves his cape and the rest of the dance was a mock bullfight! The man with the cape had an especially wonderful face, full of fun, kindly, gentle.
Next thing we knew, he was singing the next song, in a very rich voice, and motioning to the rest of us to sing along, which everybody (except me) did.
Then it was time for the Kalenda, a Christmas carol. This one was a specifically Kastorian Kalenda. Everybody who wanted to sing was given a sheet of paper on which the words had been written, plus a candle. (No need to write the melody; everybody knew that.) The ballroom was darkened and this candle-lit group went from table to table, led by the kindly-faced, singing matador, to serenade each table with a different verse. I did not join the group, because the writing on the song-sheet was in cursive. Little Spyros will probably learn cursive Greek before I do.
Nikos didn’t sit with us for very long. He had organized a special event. He had brought several gynecologists to town who were going to give a presentation the next day on the latest test for cervical cancer and were going to offer to do this procedure for free on any women who would request it after the presentation. This new test is to replace the infamous Pap smear. Before you rejoice, ladies, it is every bit as unpleasant and for the very same reasons. It’s just more accurate.
Anyway, the physicians had arrived in town and were attending the ball, and Nikos had to do his duty as their host, so he sat with them most of the time.
Now I promised to tell you my favorite part of the evening. It was watching the elder Spyros dance. That old man danced with all his heart, all his native dances. He often led the circle, and often elaborated upon the basic steps. As I watched him, I thought of my dad, and wondered how long before Spyros will be in the same condition, unable to remember the steps. So it was especially joyous to watch him so hugely enjoying himself now. It’s not that life is about enjoying ourselves but still, what my heart whispered to him was, dance, dance and sing and pray (and fast – ouch!) and live fully in every way now, while you can. Carpe diem!
