A Wedding in Nymphaio

Saturday, June 27, 2009

On our last full day in Greece, Chrysostomos and Roula drove us all to the wedding of Eirini, daughter of our mutual friends Tassos and Christina. It was held in Nymphaio (say “Nim-FAY-oh”), a medieval village in northern Greece, cradled among the highest mountain peaks up along the border with the former Yugoslavia. It overlooks five lakes.



View Nymphaio and Edessa in a larger map

Nymphaio is about a three or four hour drive from Thessaloniki. We left around 10:30 in the morning and came the scenic route, past fields and vineyards and especially orchards, peach and nectarine and apricot and cherry orchards. We stopped at a roadside fruit stand and bought cherries and the very best apricots I’ve ever eaten, squishy soft, very juicy, very sweet. Now I know how apricots are supposed to taste!

It’s the area where Alexander lived. I mean the Alexander, of course, the Great. Several of the towns and villages along the way are named for his generals. Pella, his actual city, was also along our route.

We passed through Edessa (“ED-es-sah”), a mountain village famous for its waterfalls, greenery, rivers and rivulets, and panoramic views.

Nymphaio was founded in the year 1385. In 1942, it was torched by the Germans, and since then has had modern utilities added, but it still looks the same as it did in 1385. The houses are of stone rather than stucco, and they don’t have the usual flat, red-tiled roofs. Instead, on account of the snow, the roofs are steeply gabled, and they are tin. They all have white Battenburg lace curtains at wood-framed casement windows and fancy wrought iron bars outside the windows and sometimes the doors. Inside, the traditional colors for household linens (rugs, upholstery, tablecloths) are red, white, and black. The streets of the village are paved with the same kind of stones used in the houses, and of course they are narrow and winding and sometimes steep. Here is a photo of the school, now a museum. (There are no more permanent residents in Nymphaio; only summer people live there, so there's no need of a school now.)



Chrysostomos wanted to find a particular house, where friends of his were waiting for us to come and freshen up beforehand. It was too late to do that, but we stopped anyway, where we saw some other people dressed in wedding clothes, to ask the way.

And that’s where Demetrios met – can you guess?—another Old Friend! It was a man named Kostas, whom he had known in medical school.

Okay, so the father of the bride is a cardiologist who was in med school with Demetrios. So it stands to reason many of the people he’d invite would also be doctors, yes? Yes. So Demetrios and Kostas had a joyful, if short, reunion.

We heard music up the street some and followed the sound, to find a band consisting of a trumpet, a saxophone, a clarinet, and a bass drum. “They’re bringing the bride!” I exclaimed. That’s how it’s done in Greek villages: everybody gathers at the groom’s house, and then, accompanied by music and sometimes dancing, the party makes its way to the bride’s house. They pick her up there and escort her to the church to be married.

The whole village seemed to have been invited to this event; the streets were thronged as our procession moved toward the church.

The new bishop of the area (Florina) presided, the successor to the widely-loved Bishop Augustine Kandiotis. Bishop Augustine is still alive, but has profound dementia nowadays. The new bishop was his choice to succeed him.

Fr. Gervasios was also there, who has a famous prison ministry. He raises money to pay the debts of people who are in debtors’ prison, and has already released tens of thousands of them.

It was the first time we had seen the mother of the bride, Christina, since she lost her hearing. At that time, she was too depressed to see anyone. Today, of course, she was radiantly happy, and she has learned to lip-read very well.

The reception was huge; there were 50 tables, each seating ten, under tents on the lawn of the main hotel in town. The buffet was lavish and beautiful. We sat with or near several friends, including Andreas the poet and his wife Thomai; also Vasilios and Maria. Also sharing our table was Harry Truman! Or at least his double. Not only his features, but also his facial expressions were eerily like Truman’s. When we asked him, he said yes, the resemblance had provoked much comment.

I danced once before we had to leave, to the tune played at virtually every Greek wedding, “Beautiful is Our Bride.” We were to leave Greece the next day, so wanted to get home early, and Chrysostomos wanted to have coffee in Edessa on our way back. We got there just as the twilight was beginning, found the waterfalls, and a taverna situated between two of them. Two rushing rivers, each making an impressive roar, and then falling away down the mountain, on either side of us.

Here, courtesy of Wikipedia, is a picture of the terrace below where we sat, where we went to have a closer view of the falls.




As usual, after a while the men fell into a discussion of Greek and world politics, so Roula invited me to have a walk with her. There was a tiny church nearby she wanted to show me, hardly more than a shrine. So we walked across part of a park to it and she explained the icons, depicting local saints.

There was something going on a little further along the walkway; there was a lot of children’s laughter, and there was a big, white sheet set up. “Karagiozes,” said Maria. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized that name. He is the main character in Greek shadow theater. There are set characters in traditional Greek shadow puppet theater; find photos of them here. There are also several set tales; this one was a farce falled "Karagiozis the Doctor".



Demetrios had told me about Greek shadow theater for years and years, and has fond memories of performing it in some neighbor’s yard, behind a borrowed sheet, the characters lovingly cut out of paper glued onto sticks. He had to see this! I ran, yes ran, to the table where he and Chrysostomos were sitting and told them to come quickly for a wonderful surprise.

We couldn’t stay to watch very much of it because we had to hurry home, but Demetrios was delighted I finally got to see what he has been describing almost ever since I met him. So was I. It seemed the perfect “nightcap” after a perfect day.

Long life to the bride and groom, Eirini and Vasilis!

Hiatus?

Monday, June 22, 2009

Our time in Greece draws to its end while my paid-for hours of Internet time are approaching zero. That’s another way of saying I don’t know when I can post again.

Our only other big plan (only other thing I plan to write about) is a wedding in the ancient and very picturesque village of Nymphaios, high up in the mountains, in “The Balcony of Macedonia,” very near FYROM (which is what people here still call the Former Republic of Yugoslavia). We will pack on Friday, leave here very early Saturday morning, God willing, attend the wedding and some of the reception, and come home again the same night, courtesy of Chrysostomos and Roula. Then after church on Sunday, we’ll head for the airport and England.

I think our hotel there has free wireless Internet access. If so, I’ll write from there; otherwise I don’t know.

We are scheduled to return home July 8.

OH – Demetrios decided to replace half our windows and doors after all! So two sliding glass doors and one window are scheduled to be put in Today, the ones facing north, which is where the wind comes from. Well, with that and packing, it’s going to be one hectic day!

After that, what will remain to make this house properly functional is to replace two more sliding glass doors and one window, the stove, the refrigerator, and the television. After that, all that’s left will be various beautification projects, most of them comparatively minor.

I hope, if we find a house in England, it will already be more or less as we like it.

Basil, Part 2 of 2

or, A Happy Ending for Kitty

To spare you unnecessary suspense, I tell you ahead of time that it has a happy ending.

But what a problem, trying to find kitty a home! I walked all over the neighborhood three times, with kitty on my shoulder, asking everybody I dared, “Do you want a kitten? He’s very friendly, as you can see,” while kitty would rub against my cheek.

Nobody wanted him, precious as he is. There are thousands of homeless cats in this city, tens of thousands.

I met some very nice people in the effort, though, Earlier this week, I met a kind monk, who stopped to say, “What a lovely kitten!” and who wanted to pet him. Of course he couldn’t take it, and he didn’t know anybody else who would, either. I met some very pleasant shopkeepers, sitting on the sidewalk out in front of their establishments. I met a woman with a toddler in tow who said she loved cats and would love to take this one, but she was leaving, same as me. She was French, living here most of the time, but going back and forth to France for vacations. I met another woman who was fussing at her toddler, and when I stopped to ask an old man sitting on a stone wall whether he’d like a kitten, he smiled and nodded toward the woman and said, “Ask her. She can throw away the kid and take the cat.” So I laughed with him. I met two very sweet young women sitting at a sidewalk café, and they told me there was a lady across the street who loved cats, and I should ask her. They were just showing me which apartment was hers, when she appeared on the balcony. Or perhaps I misunderstood and it was not she, but a neighbor fed up with all the cats. At any rate, she called down to me: “Kyria, Kyria!” Lady, lady! When I looked up, she took off her shoe and kicked her bare foot at me. (You remember about shoes and the East, don’t you, from the incident wherein an Iraqi threw at shoe at President Bush?) “Go away!” she yelled. “Go away! Go on, get out of here!”

I think if I had it to do over again, I might have said, “I go where I please” and have sat down. But as it was about to rain, I shrugged and walked sadly away. That is the one and only Greek, here or in America, who has ever been rude to me.

This morning, Demetrios got up at dawn and caught a cab to the village and church of St. Anthony, to arrive in time for services beginning at 7:00. Ioannis the theologian and Chrysostomos are both cantors in that parish, and had proposed that Demetrios join them today. So he did, and if he hadn’t, we wouldn’t have found a home for kitty. Because they all went out for coffee afterwards, and the priest joined them, together with his sympatheros. (Your sympatheros is your married child’s father-in-law.) And when Demetrios thought to ask whether anyone knew someone who could take our kitty, the sympatheros said he would! He already has several cats, including two litters of kittens, but he said it would be no problem to take our kitten as well.

Well, now I’ve got to go clean up my cat carrier, which will go with him, a donation to his new owner, and tomorrow (the shops all being closed for the rest of today), I’ll buy a big bag of cat food, too.

Kitty will be a yard cat, not a house cat, but that’s better than being a street cat. And he will be guaranteed a living; i.e., food, although it will most likely be table scraps. He probably won’t get regular medical care, but he will if there’s anything seriously wrong with him. He won’t be neutered, so I have explained to him that he is just going to have to be the toughest, strongest tomcat out there, to do well in cat fights over females. To that end, to express that hope, he now has a name: Basil.

Basil, Part 1 of 2

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Last night, at last, I got to meet Demetrios’ old friend Vasilios (That’s Basilios, because the Greeks pronounce their “beta” as a “v”. And for short, it’s just Vasilis.) In English, it's Basil.

Vasilis is a friend from medical school, now a retired orthodpedist, and also a friend from the para-ecclesiastical movement Demetrios was so involved with, called Zoe. Chrysostomos had told him we were here, and he immediately got on the phone and wanted to see us. So did their other friend, Christos, who remembered Demetrios from Zoe. He says Demetrios also came to examine him after he’d had a little stroke some years ago. (The embarrassing thing about that is, Demetrios does not remember Christos at all, either from their youth or more recently.)

Vasilis, even in his youth, was a very large, very powerful fellow, and I’ve heard stories about his strength for as long as I’ve known Demetrios. The friends here still delight to tell about the time one of their classmates said, “I’m not sure I exist,” whereupon Vasilis knocked him to the ground and shouted, “Now what do you say? Do you exist or not?” (To me, the cool thing about this story is that if the other guy had answered, “I exist!” then a big thank-you to Vasilis would have been in order, while if the answer had been, “I don’t know!” then he also didn’t know who had been punched, and there would have been nobody to punch Vasilis back, not that anyone would have tried.) There was another time that is still talked about, when a certain student, who used to mock the other boys for being Christians, carried his taunts just too far for Vasilis to bear. Vasilis knocked him to the ground, then picked him up, lifting him horizontally to shoulder height, and then just dropped him. Well, not just dropped him, but kneed him, too, on the way down. There is always great hee-hawing when this story is recounted.

Vasilis became an orthopedist and married a pediatrician he had met in medical school, who turns out to be another long-lost friend of Demetrios’, Maria.

Last night, Christos picked us up in his car, recognizing Demetrios immediately and swearing he hadn’t changed a bit, and drove us to the home of Vasilis and Maria, up on the heights near Thessaloniki, a town called Panorama, for its spectular views of the city and the sea.

Vasilis and Maria have a house there, a single, detached dwelling with a grassy back yard and a vegetable garden.

Vasilis is still a large man, although somewhat reduced in size now from prostate cancer. He has been very ill, and was at once at the point of death, and another time was thinking of suicide, but now says he is growing daily better and better.

It wasn’t very long, of course, before I said, “Vasili, I have a problem I wanted to tell you, to get your advice.”

“Oh, yes? What is it?”

“I’m not sure I exist.”

Demetrios began laughing, but nobody else did. After a moment, Vasilis smiled. He doesn’t remember those stories with the same glee the others do. He remembers them with tears (literally) and repentance. He said, “When the teacher came to try to revive that boy, I thought I had killed him.” And he shakes his head, sadly.

We changed the subject quickly.

The conversation, besides including some religion and some politics (as conversations here always do), was mostly about the course of his illness, which began in September. It seems to have done him some good to tell the whole story.

Both Vasilis and Christos speak excellent English, and both have lived in America, so, since they are both such considerate gentlemen, I was able to be included in most of the conversation. Sometimes they’d get carried away in Greek, but as it was important to them, and as it was about medical matters, and since it was 4 old friends getting together again, I just sat happily and watched.

Once in a while, Vasilis would say, “Anastasia is tired; this is so boring for her,” and I’d reply, “I’m fine.” But eventually we caught on that this was his way of saying he was tired, so we got up to leave just after 10:00. Just before we departed, out on the front porch, they all sang one of the old Zoe songs, one of those songs almost militaristic in tone, that sounds like it belongs at a pep rally, the type of song young would-be Heroes of the Faith would be fond of singing, the kind that used to make our neighbor, Thomai, suspect that Demetrios and all his young friends were Protestants, in fact, probably Jehovah’s Witnesses. They sang it for old times' sake, with the vigor it required, but mock vigor now.

I learned something important from that visit. It’s something I already knew on account of my sister Barbara, yet needed to learn again. When I first heard that Vasilis was very sick with cancer, three or four weeks ago, I felt disappointed, and subconsciously, I thought, “Well, then, we won’t be seeing him.”

Why not? Was it not going to be enough “fun” to visit him if he were ill? Did I already consider him as good as dead? Did I imagine that if he were sick he was no longer one of the old gang? What? Please note, besides the hideous self-centeredness of such an attitude, what twaddle it is! Pure nonsense! Vasilis is not as good as dead; he’s as good as alive and well, because he IS alive and we hope getting well. He’s a wonderful person. He’s still very much part of us, part of everyone. And even if all that were not true, now would still not be the time to abandon him! Now is when he most needs his friends. And it clearly did him good to have them around.

We all hope to see one another again at the wedding on Saturday.

Getting Together

Let’s get together, yeah, yeah, yeah!
We can have a swingin’ time.
Let’s get together, whaddya say?
Why don’t you and I combine?

She leaned across the table toward him, her eyes aglow with love. He leaned across the table toward her, his eyes bright with lust. He was handsome; her main attraction was being clearly available.

Their knees touched. Each hand found its counterpart. There were smiles and whispers, sweet nothings in her ear. She was soaking it up. He virtually had her.

And then her cell phone rang. And she answered it! She held a lengthy conversation with some third party, while under the table, he tapped his heels impatiently, making his knees jump up and down in frustration.


Hint from Helen for Adults

Your cell phone, during a date, should never be used to allow a third party to intrude upon your time together. Turn it off as soon as your date begins (not before, though).

First Exception: It’s okay to find ways to share a cell phone, as in looking together at photos stored on it or texting each other messages you’re too shy to say out loud.

Second Exception: Your date turns out to be a dud and you need a third party to rescue you.

Third Exception: You are a doctor on call, or some other emergency worker who really, truly, does need to be reachable. (Courtesy requires this to be made clear when the date is first arranged.)

Hint from Helen for Teens

Ignore the above advice for adults! The day will come soon enough when you, too, can turn off your cell phone. For now, take it with you on every date, keep it on, and use it! Answer your phone every few minutes (that is, each time your parents call you), and in between times, be sure to call them to let them know you are okay. Encourage your date to do the same.

Don’t talk to anyone else on your cell phone, though, unless you want to let your date know you aren’t interested. Even then, perhaps you can find a more polite way to do convey your message.

Christos, Max, and We

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Demetrios has spent the past two days taking care of people, principally his brother. He found him a good dentist and a good gastroenterologist, and made appointments with both. First there were X-rays of the teeth, and while they were at it, they had a bone scan done. Christos has lost 45% of his bone mass (!!!) and has two collapsed vertebrae. I could have guessed the former, because I noticed him recently clutching his thigh, and he had his fingers almost the whole way around it!

Next, to the dentist, who will adjust Christos’ dentures so they fit properly and don’t hurt. Then he should be able to eat more things. There are two natural teeth holding those dentures, which we will try to preserve, but they aren’t in good shape.

The gastroenterologist did a gastroscopy and found nothing worrisome. Christos doesn’t currently have ulcers, although he has them chronically, and has bled from them 14 times in his life. Probably a colonoscopy will follow. Poor Christos has never been in good health. He has never been inclined to look after his health, either.

We’ll be back in September, God willing, to make medical appointments for him and make him keep them, and to be sure he follows through with doctors’ orders instead of saying, “I tried those pills for two days and they didn’t help, so I threw them away.” So much for coming here to try to gain some emotional distance from sickness and death in the family.

I spent the day grocery shopping, cleaning out the refrigerator, and sweeping and mopping all the floors. Also trying to give away this kitten.

I took him downstairs to our tiny park and the children there all crowded around. I got to meet their mothers and/or grandmothers, sitting on the park benches, watching over them. None of the grown-ups wanted the kitty, although they all wanted to pet him. I explained I had to give him away, as I lived in America and was leaving Greece in about 12 days. (So little time! I can’t believe it!) And I was enormously flattered when one of the women asked, “Have you lived in America many years?” She actually mistook me for Greek!!!

“What is his name?” asked a little boy named Stephanos.

“He doesn’t have a name,” I replied, in Greek.

“The cat has no name,” he said, in English. Then, in reply to my unasked question, he added, “Frondistirio,” which is a place where you can get tutoring. He was taking private English lessons.

“That’s very good, “I said, “Bravo!”

Another little boy, Antonios, pointed to the cat and said, “Max!” So that, apparently, is my kitty’s name now.

I had a lot of fun chatting with the children. I don’t need a huge vocabulary for children, although of course theirs is still vastly greater than mine.

After that, I walked, with the kitty on my shoulder, all the way to the pet shop, about a mile and a half away (even without Sylvia making me!) and asked about 20 people, coming and going, if they wouldn’t like a free kitten. I asked women carrying shopping bags, men sitting at sidewalk coffee shops, street sweepers, anybody who looked even vaguely friendly. One of them said, “When it is a kitten, it is a joy, but when it becomes a cat, it’s ‘Panagia mou!’”

(“Panagia” means All-holy, and is a title for Christ’s Mother, so it’s an exclamation something like, “My God!” but taking her name in vain instead of His.)

I also left at the pet shop a hand-printed notice: “Free, Kitten. Small, very, very friendly. Male. “ Plus my telephone numbers and first name. I asked the customers in the pet shop if they wouldn’t like a kitten, but of course they were there because they already had cats or dogs or both.

I left my little notices, all hand-printed, at other places, too, the butcher, two greengrocers, Nikoletta’s general store, Demetra the veterinarian, and Nektarios at “Nek-Net,” his computer store.

KONSTANTINA, surely you want a kitten, don’t you??

Demetrios also took Leonidas to his doctor today. I only heard that the results were good. But afterward we met him and Ianna at a taverna owned by one of his countless nephews. Mena and Kostas came, too, so we had a jolly good company.

Near the end of our meal, a thunderstorm came up, very unusual, with driving, pelting rain, strong winds, and the kind of thunder that is so close you jump. We were outdoors, but in a covered area. We just moved our table another foot inward and were fine.

Then the lights flickered two or three times, and the next moment, everything around us was blacked out. I don’t know if it was the whole city or only the neighborhood we were in.

The proprietor brought two or three candles to each table and we continued our fun, uninterrupted and glad for the cool brought by the storm.

It was after midnight when the rain finally stopped so we could go home. Mena drove us to our house.

Kitty was dry, in spite of having been banished to the balcony during our absence. Demetrios had lowered one of the awnings all the way. The litter box, with brand new litter in it, also stayed dry.

Kitty was extra happy to snuggle up to my chin tonight, especially when the next line of storms passed through, thunderously, a couple of hours later.

The Garbage Strike is Over, Thank Heaven

Monday, June 15, 2009

Around here, there is a different arrangement for trash and garbage than we have in Richmond. In Richmond, every household has its own garbage can(s) and we hire one of several companies to come around and empty them every week.

Here in Thessaloniki, there are dumpsters at every intersection (almost) and everybody takes his trash and garbage in bags or boxes and tosses these into the dumpsters. The garbage trucks come around every day or every night, depending upon your neighborhood.

Well, the garbage workers have been on strike for a week now. They are distressed about the site of the dump. I don’t know why. Perhaps for ecological reasons. Perhaps they are quite right. I don’t know. All I know is, a garbage strike in June is not pleasant. With small mountains of garbage building up everywhere, several times what the dumpsters can hold, this city has become increasingly stinky for several days now.

I also don’t know what ended the strike. (Our television has died, so we don’t hear news.) But it’s over, and what a relief!

I spent the day putting the house back into order. After the fact that you miss your company, that’s the second worst part of having them leave – or the only good part, depending upon your point of view. The disorder resulted from our having removed so much of our stuff from the master bedroom, which we gave to them for the duration. Also from not having had time to fold and put away all the laundry we had to do, and also from having too much laundry because the kitten – well, kitty cried and cried to go outside and I have no idea why we were stupid enough not to let him, but he in desperation scraped together a few layers of a bed sheet and used that instead of his litter box. And after that, he thought that was an acceptable alternate place. So we went through three times as many bed sheets as would have been necessary…

I still have the floors to wash, the refrigerator to clean out, and the bathroom to scrub, but at least there is order now. As Demetrios remarked, “The house almost has back its former shape.” Yup.

Holy Mountain

Sunday, June 14, 2009
Our guests departed at 7:00 a.m. The taxi arrived at our front door and we said our goodbyes and away they rushed. It was sad to see them go. Their visit was the highlight, for me, of this stay in Greece. Sylvia tells me they arrived home safely and with no problems, other than the last flight being delayed a couple of hours.

At noon, Chrysostomos and Roula came in their car to pick us up. We had no idea what the plan was, but were delighted when told the program for the day was to visit Mount Olympos!

Okay, so who can tell me three significant facts about Mount Olympos?

• It is the highest mountain in Greece (9,570 feet).

• It is the original home of the Olympic Games.

• It is the stuff of fairy tales, of legend, of myth, because it is the home of the twelve gods of ancient Greece, of Zeus, the father of all the gods, and his wife, Hera, and the rest. At the top of Mt. Olympos was (and still is, as a rock formation) the Throne of Zeus, from which he hurled his lightning bolts and thunder-hammers. That’s the throne upon which he invisibly sat to watch the Olympic Games on the plateau spread out before him.

And I’ll tell you a fourth significant fact about Mt. Olympos: a saint lived there in the 1500’s, named Dionysios, who built a monastery there. The Germans destroyed it on suspicion it was harboring resistance fighters, and now there is a new monastery nearby, but the old one is also being restored, ever so gradually.

Our first stop was for lunch in a village at the foot of the mountain. We sat outdoors on a perfect day, admiring the views of the snow-capped peaks.

Then we entered the Mt. Olympos National Park. A ranger at the gate jots down your license plate number, “in case of fire,” Demetrios told me.

“Do they have fires very often here?” I asked.

“Oh, yes! Every year. They can’t prove it, but they think there are arsonists.”

Oh, great.

It’s a beautiful mountain, actually a group of peaks, heavily forested with hardwood and evergreen trees, with ferns and all sorts of other flora and fauna. Roula picked a handful of herbs and handed them to me, saying, “Rigani.” Oregano! Imagine, finding oregano growing wild. Roula says many species here are unique; they don’t exist anywhere else.

We stopped at the new monastery of St. Dionysios, had a look around, and continued on our way, stopping at one or two scenic overlooks. The road is somewhat narrow, with hairpin turns and no guardrails; Chrysostomos drove nice and slowly, so I was never scared. We weren’t in any hurry, after all. The idea was to enjoy ourselves, and we were definitely doing that!

We stopped beside a mountain stream and Roula and I went to collect a few pebbles each. We didn’t find any smooth ones, probably because that’s where everybody else also stops to look for pebbles, but we took three of four apiece anyway.

You can’t go all the way up the mountain by car, only as far as a café a little less than halfway up. You have to hike the rest of the way. I’m told it’s about a 4-hour climb for experienced people, plus four more hours back down. We just stopped at the café and had cold drinks.

On the way back down, we came to the older Monastery of St. Dionysios of Mt. Olympos. It is interesting to walk around through the ruins. The main church has already been restored, and so has the refectory, where meals are served to pilgrims after church; donations accepted.

What they do is shoot cement into the old stone walls with a compressor engine, and it spreads through all the cracks and dries into concrete, sealing and strengthening the structures. There are piles and piles of the original stones, which are used for re-building the destroyed parts.

There was a kindly priest-monk there, who chatted with us, then disappeared with Demetrios in tow. Demetrios returned to us 20 minutes later, his face all radiant, so we knew he’d had Confession.

Then, continuing back down the mountain, we came once again to the new Monastery of St. Dionysios. This time, Chrysostom made a request for the museum to be opened for us, and is request was granted. A monk took us there and unlocked the door and showed us around. The museum contains some very old, valuable manuscripts, some hand-written New Testaments, some very old vestments and church vessels. But its main treasure is a room full of bones. They range from a couple of large bones, a couple of skulls, to tiny slivers, most being somewhere in between. They are relics of 40 saints: St. John Chrysostom, St. George (yes, THE St. George), St. Paraskevi, and I cannot remember who all else. The elaborate silver reliquaries in which these bones are kept are of course also treasures,in their own right, of an altogether different sort.

Demetrios bought a book in the gift shop before we headed home.

We didn’t get there until midnight, the traffic was so heavy. The drive, which should have taken less than one hour, took four. The highway between Mt. Olympos and Thessaloniki was bumper-to-bumper, stop and go, and so were the city streets. Sunday night is when everybody returns from their weekends in their villages. Lesson learned.

But what a wonderful day, what a dream come true, to stand upon the shoulders of this legendary mountain, this mountain of ancient lore! And to do it with such dear people as Chrysostomos and Roula made it a hundred times more wonderful yet.

(Roula says someone recently mentioned to her something about wanting a cat. She will ask for me.)

Chronicles of the Visit of Dwight and Sylvia, Part 6

Thursday, June 11, 2009
Phillipi

Today we went to Kavala, where Demetrios was born. More importantly, it is the same city that used to be called Neapolis, where St. Paul and St. Silas first set foot in Europe to bring Christianity there.

It’s a beautiful and quaint town that either spills down to the sea or climbs up from it to huddle under its castle, depending upon your perspective. It has a harbor that receives anything from fishing boats to pleasure crafts to cruise ships. It has a swimming beach. It has an a Roman aqueduct. It has a monastery where Sts. Paul and Silas (Barnabas) are said to have rested on their way to Philippi. Philippi, founded by Philip the father of Alexander the Great, was his capital city, and the book of Acts describes it as the principle city of the region.

We arrived in Kavala in the early afternoon, checked into our hotel, napped for an hour, and decided our first objective should be Philippi.

“It’s a ruin, you understand,” I said, to avoid their being disappointed when we got there. “Nobody lives there today.”

Wrong! It’s still a thriving little town. It’s only the ancient part that is in ruins.

We didn’t know where to go, what to see, but we spotted a priest, and stopped to ask him. It was Father Peter, the American priest who serves the church in Petrokerassa! He was there with, apparently, guests of his own. “Well, the prison is that way,” he said, pointing, “and the oldest basilica in Europe is over there, and the Octagon, the first church ever named after St. Paul, is in that direction…”

The prison! The prison where the Apostles had been held, the prison whose doors were opened by an earthquake, but the prisoners stayed put, from love of the jailor, so he wouldn’t commit suicide. The prison where the Philippian jailor had asked, “What must I do to be saved?” (And note, St. Paul did NOT say anything like, “Nothing at all, and the very idea that you could is downright presumptuous.” There is indeed something you must do. Granted, you can only do it by the grace of God, yet it is you doing it; it is an act genuinely yours, and not merely God acting in you, leaving you a puppet. Believe and be baptized.)

The prison was what we had to see first. It is still there, still in pretty good shape, and it is obviously a prison, more like a dungeon. And among the reasons the prisoners sat up all night praying and singing hymns is that there wasn’t room in that cell for more than about 5 men to lie down. We just stood there in awe, tears in our eyes.

Then there was the amphitheatre, the High Place of the Day which Sylvia had to climb, so of course I did, too, although I only arrived as she was coming back down.

Ancient Philippi isn’t just a city block of ruins, it’s block after block after block. It would take two days to explore it all adequately. We had a much shorter time than that because it began to rain. We dashed for shelter and had a light supper at the visitor’s center there before heading back to Kavala.

In Kavala, we wandered the winding, stone-paved streets. Of course they all go uphill. We went as far as where the house used to be where Demetrios was born, pretty far up. En route, we passed the beautiful, glistening mosaic depicting the sections of Acts 16 in which St. Paul dreams of a Macedonian man saying, “Come over here and help us.” In the mosaic, the dream is shown in a kind of oval halo. The Church interpreted this dream as from God and sent Sts. Paul and Silas (aka Barnabas) to Macedonia. They landed here, at Kavala, and the landing is also shown on the mosaic. Sylvia tried to take some pictures, but the flash got in the way and I think she got some better ones the next day.

We also passed the aqueduct and walked under it. Sylvia wanted to touch it, and did. It used to carry water from the mountains to I don’t know where. Someone said to the castle, but the castle was built centuries later.

The castle was lit up, dominating the landscape.

We decided to make it our first objective in the morning.



Friday, June 12, 2009
Kavala

We had thought of making an excursion today to the island of Thassos, in sight of Kavala and said to be very beautiful. But Sylvia and Dwight said Kavala itself was too good to miss; they would rather spend the day there. They were right; you can indeed spend a whole day just exploring this town, and still have things left for your next visit.

The houses are all old-fashioned and I think not allowed to change in style. They are very picturesque with their carved wooden doors or wrought iron doors, their shuttered windows, their balconies, their red tile roofs. Sylvia especially admired the doors. There are little alleys full of flowered balconies and shady terraces. There are tourist shops and real shops, and we stopped at both.

The lady in the tourist shop, after chatting with Demetrios, said there were still some people living here with the same last name as his grandparents, and one of them looked like him and she felt sure he must be related. She told us how to get to his house. So, winding around the narrow streets and asking our way, we did find his house.

He isn’t related, so far as anybody can tell.

Along our way, we passed the Imaret, which was once a Turkish prison but today is a luxury hotel. Last I checked, on the Internet, rooms ranged from 500 to 1500 Euros per night. Maybe it's cheaper now, due to the recession. Our hotel in Kavala is. So the dreaded, horrific place has now become a source of wealth; how’s that for sweet “revenge”?

Sylvia got her camera ready and then darted inside long enough to take one photo. We had already told her how we were escorted out of there once when we ventured into the lobby without reservations.

We also passed the old mosque, now a music hall. And Sylvia and I, while the men waited, climbed about 100 miles back down that hill (okay, 100 meters) to see where the Turkish ruler of the district used to live. Couldn’t see much, but the gardens were lovely. Then we hiked back UP those hundred miles to find – nobody waiting for us. We called out and found them, but it was a frightening moment or two. All part of the adventure.

Finally, we arrived at the castle, the High Climb of the Day. By then we needed a cool drink, and of course the locals are smart enough to have figured that out, so drinks and fast food are served within the outer keep of the castle. We had water and sodas.

After that there was more climbing to do, if you wanted to walk around the ramparts. We did, even Dwight. They are narrow, high, and rough and there are no handrails, so the experience is just scary enough to be that much more fun, especially if you are afraid of heights. Sylvia and I both are, though in her case you’d never know it.

Getting up the hill is only part of the battle, as you know. Eventually you have to come back down, the part Sylvia doesn’t like but I do. We came down, spent some time in a café, retrieved our luggage from the hotel, and took the bus home to Thessaloniki.

Saturday, June 13, 2009
The Baptism of Irene Semirami Theodosiadi

Katerina and Nikos, daughter and son-in-law of our friends Renna and Theodosios, invited all four of us to the baptism of their daughter, which took place today at noon.

She’s an adorable little girl, 9 months old, who looks a lot like her older brother, Spiros.

I don’t know what to tell you.

In “My Fair Lady,” Professor Higgins sings:

Why can’t the English teach their children how to speak?
Norwegians learn Norwegian, and Greeks are taught their Greek.

Well, that’s not true, strictly speaking. The Greeks nowadays are only taught the language of the gutter, the Greek equivalent of Cockney, with the result that they can no longer read either Homer or Aristotle, or any other philosophers, or the Bible, or the Fathers of the Church, or any of the classic, immortal literature that forms so much of their heritage.

But my own gripe is,

Why can’t the Greeks teach their kids to stand in line?
To be quiet when in church and not to chat or whine?

The kids grow up to be adults, and still act like toddlers. (The toddlers, however, behaved very well!) I’d like to propose the following bits of etiquette when in an Orthodox church:

• Find where you want to stand and stand there, reverently. Move around as little as possible during the service.

• Refrain from conversation in church.

• Take pictures but be discreet about it; don’t push your camera in people’s faces.

• Pay attention to what’s going on.

Now in an Orthodox service, because there are children present, who are most welcome, and because there may be no chairs to speak of, a certain amount of quiet disorder is normal and in fact inescapable. But the behavior at this baptism was a disgrace, and I say so even understanding Katerina and Nikos may read this. It was total chaos. The priest had to ask the congregation three times to be quiet, please, but to no avail.

It was an embarrassment to have brought our Baptist guests to this service.

The baby was named Eirini (Irene), after her grandmother, whom we call Renna. Middle name, Semiramis. I know that is the name of a piece of pretty music...

I gave Katerina the pink baby blanket I had knitted for Irene, and we left after milling about the outdoor reception for about an hour.

Chronicles of the Visit of Dwight and Sylvia, Part 4

Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Touring Thessaloniki Day

The new kitchen was at long last installed today! Demetrios stayed home to supervise the workers while Sylvia and Dwight and I set out for a tour of Thessaloniki.

We started with the triumphal arch of Galerius Maximianus Caesar, simply because there’s a bus stop right there. Some of the stone carving on it is fairly well preserved. You can’t touch it as you could a couple of years ago, as it is roped off, but you can get very close and you can walk under the arch. Sylvia got some good pictures.

Next, we saw the Rotunda of St. George. It was built in 306 A.D. by the Emperor Galerius Maximianus, then only a tetrach, who moved the capital of his province to Thessaloniki. Galerius intended the Rotunda to be his tomb. I don’t know why it isn’t. Maybe he changed his mind when he became Emperor, and thought Rome would be a more appropriate location for his gravesite.

It is a round structure, 75 feet in diameter, with walls more than 13 feet thick, and is crowned with a dome more than 90 feet tall at its height. The early Christians converted the Rotunda into a church named for St. George. The Turks converted it into a mosque, building a minaret beside it. When this city was liberated from the Turks, on the feast her patron saint, St. Demetrios, 1912, the process began of restoring the building to a church.

It has magnificent mosaics with lots of gold and azure tiling. They are in the process of being restored to their original bright, shiny condition.

If you stand in the center of the Rotunda and tap your foot, the tap echoes around the room: tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Today there was scaffolding in place that blunted the effect; you heard only one or two echoes instead of a whole volley.

The great earthquake of 1978 did a lot of damage to the Rotunda, most of which has now been repaired.

From there, we went to the late Byzantine Church of St. Panteleimon. It was built in the 1200s and, like most Byzantine churches here, was a mosque during the Turkish reign and is now again a church.

There we met two Greek women who appeared to have been tending to the beautiful garden and potted plants. Maria and Margarita were very kind to us and recommended we should go next to the church “Theotokos, Made Without Hands,” which was visible a couple of blocks away. “Made Without Hands” has a double meaning. It refers to an icon of the Theotokos which simply appeared one day, not seeming to have been made by anybody. But more importantly, it refers to the Theotokos herself, who became a temple of God made without hands.

The church “Theotokos Made Without Hands” dates from circa 450. It is the first church built in Thessaloniki. In 1430 it became a mosque, and in 1930 it re-opened for Christian worship.

One of the columns still has a Turkish inscription on it: “The Sultan Murad Han captured Thessaloniki in the hegira year 833.” (That’s 1430 on our calendar.) Some of the original mosaic work is visible, and splendid. Again, the mosaic workers seem to have been fond of turquoise and gold.

In 1345, some members of a political movement known as “Zealots” were slaughtered in this church.

Our next stop was the White Tower, which Thessalonians flatter themselves is to their city what the Eiffel Tower is to Paris. That is, it is the emblem of the city. It is part of the ancient fortifications, which stretched from the mountains behind the city all the way down to the sea. The White tower is at what used to be the intersection of the sea wall with the east wall. It is 34 meters high, so something over 112 feet, and 22 meters in diameter, making it somewhere around 70 feet wide.

Inside is a broad, stone staircase you can climb to about six different levels. Did I mention Sylvia always makes me climb high places? And did I mention it’s all part of – yes, I did.

The inside is a museum of the history of the city, with sound and light shows, most of which we did not understand.

Sylvia climbed into the bay of one window and noticed a pigeon’s nest containing one egg. Later she saw the pigeon sitting on the egg. She took a picture, which I will post when I get it, if it turned out well.

There are wonderful views of the city, naturally, from the top of the tower. There is also a little café where you can get a cold drink. You’ll need it.

By now, it was already after 7:00 in the evening, and we had agreed to meet Demetrios at 7:30 in front of St. Sophia, considered the most important church in town, probably because it is a Byzantine Church and partly because it is (I believe) the largest of them – and partly because of its central location. In fact, it used to be the cathedral church in ancient times, until its conversion to a mosque in 1524. For a while before that, it was even used as a Roman Catholic Cathedral during the Frankish occupation (1204-1224), a.k.a. Crusade. It became an Orthodox Church once again in 1912.

So to St. Sophia we headed next. It’s actually Holy Wisdom (Agia Sophia), a reference to Christ, the Wisdom from on High. It is supposedly a copy of the great Agia Sophia in Constantinople, but on a smaller scale. I haven’t been there, so I can’t personally tell you how good a copy it may be.

It has, above the apse, the most beautiful icon of the Theotokos I have ever seen, although in the evening light it wasn’t clearly visible.

It was built probably somewhere between 714-741 on the ruins of an earlier church of St. Mark which was probably destroyed in the great earthquake of 620. (It seems this town is always having great earthquakes. What are we DOING here?)

Next we walked over to the Church of St. Demetrios, this city’s patron saint. You shouldn’t visit Thessaloniki without going there!

Holy myrrh (scented, oily stuff) used to flow from the body of the Saint, for hundreds of years, until the relics were stolen by the Catholics. (What’s this? How did they manage to feel comfortable with their stolen booty for several centuries? Did they think of it as “Holy Loot”???) When the relics were returned in the 1980s, if memory serves, they were no longer putting forth the myrrh. That should have told the Catholics a lot.

The myrrh used to flow from the sepulcher through a pipe constructed for the purpose to a pool also specially constructed for the purpose, and from there to two side pools, where people used to help themselves to it. From there, through channels, it flowed out of the church and down to the sea. Today the sea is a mile and a half from the church, but it was considerably closer then.

All these things are in the crypt of the church, although what we today call the “crypt” was originally the ground floor. Anyway, it wasn’t open. Only the main church was, because a vespers service had just concluded when we arrived. We had just time enough for a look around the nave and to venerate the holy relics of the Saint.

Our next stop was the ruins of the palace of Galerius, that same Roman tetrarch, eventually Emperor, who built the triumphal arch and the Rotunda. His palace (circa 300 AD), occupied now by feral cats, is an outdoor archaeological site about a city block square, it being understood that this is a very large city block. It’s of brick and during the daytime (but it was nearly dark by now), you can walk around inside the ruins. It has a throne room and storage rooms and baths and I don’t know what all, very complex. You can see remains of floor mosaics and catch a glimpse of the splendor that once was here.

Near here, but unexcavated, lies the ancient hippodrome (race track, as in horse races). It’s under modern buildings which cannot be destroyed. Someone once told us that some test digging had been done at the hippodrome but the partial excavation showed nothing of interest or of value, so the dig was filled in again. Nothing of interest? Here is where St. Nestor, with the blessing of his teacher, St. Demetrios, fought the anti-Christian giant, Lyaeus, in a gladiatorial contest, and won! That infuriated the Emperor, who had backed Lyaeus, and who promptly had both Nestor and Demetrios executed.

We also saw the ancient agora, market, also dating from Roman times. It’s another big city block full of ruins, including an amphitheatre, rows of shops, a public square, a mint, archives, etc.

Sometime in the midst of all this touring, we also had supper, but I no longer even remember when or where.

I do remember coming home, late, to admire my new kitchen! It looks very much as it originally did, except it is no longer a place for midgets. It’s a couple inches taller than it was, much more comfortable for me. And there are about 6 more inches of counter space than there used to be, and there’s one more drawer.

Sylvia and I thought of putting things back into the drawers, but decided it could wait until morning. We settled for just bringing in our laundry and hanging out the next load before falling into our beds, dog tired but happy.

Chronicles of the Visit of Dwight and Sylvia, Part 3

Saturday, June 06, 2009
A “Take-it-Easy” Day

We breakfasted late and sat around our table for a very long time, trading stories and generally enjoying ourselves. Breakfast at the Hotel Arethusa is lousy, although the hotel itself is rather nice, but of course, it’s all part of the adventure, isn’t it?

Demetrios and I went back to the Benaki Museum and saw all the fabulous treasures we had missed the first time. It wasn’t free this time, though; it’s only free on Thursdays. That’s okay; the admission price was well worth it. Six Euros each, I think.

Sylvia and Dwight found a beautiful public garden where they wandered. It had various domestic animals in it, and there was a stone structure that looked just like an igloo, which turned out to be a goat house. Many flowers are currently in bloom, notably the bougainvillea. There;s a lot of flamouria, too, whose English name I've forgotten, but to me, this is the most sweetly scented of all the flowering trees. The Laburnum has started, too.

We met at the museum for a long, lazy, late lunch, which we ate at the museum’s café, out on the terrace. Sylvia commented that we were “eating our way through Greece,” but as I’ve already noted, it takes a large supply of calories to support the hard-driving kind of touring we do!

Demetrios said he’d just go check at the train station to see if we could possibly get an earlier get a train after all; the one we were scheduled to go on would depart at 9 p.m. and arrive in Thessaloniki at 2 a.m. When he came back, he said, “If we hurry, we can catch a train in 20 minutes!”

There was no discussion, just “Let’s do it!” We jumped up from the table and ran, literally ran, to the hotel, some three blocks away, where two of us retrieved our luggage while the other two hailed a cab, and off we raced. Sylvia said we looked like a bad Keystone Cops episode.

The train pulled away just as the cab arrived, but we still managed to get one that departed at 7:30 instead of 9:00. We enjoyed the mountainous scenery part of the way, until it grew dark outside. We got home at midnight and into bed just before 1 a.m.


Sunday, June 07, 2009
Pentecost

Today was a “down” day, a day to rest and recover.

We went down to the sea in the early afternoon and just sat there, admiring the water and the sky and the green trees and the busy sparrows. Other than that, we just lazed around.

Kitty did fine without us. He still had some food and water left when we got home. Christos had come to check in on him.

Dwight is teaching the kitten bad manners, hand-wrestling with him all the time.

Monday, June 08, 2009
Life in Greece Day

Yes, it’s still Pentecost weekend! Everything is still closed.

This was to have been “Let’s show the guests a typical day of our life in Greece” day, but not quite. We couldn’t go around to the butcher, the baker, the greengrocer, etc. because they weren’t open.

The market at least was still on. It’s what Americans would call the farmers’ market, but here it’s just the market. There are fresh fruits and vegetables and fish, olives and jams, honey and other edibles, along with clothes and shoes and tee-shirts and sunglasses and such. It’s a small market in this neighborhood on Mondays; there’s a larger one on Thursdays nearby.

So we went shopping at the market and had fun looking over the wares.

Then we came home, hung out the laundry (theirs and ours), started another load, and cooked the main (midday) meal. It was vegetarian, as the butcher shop was closed. We had Greek green beans and fried potatoes and salad and fresh bread, with fresh, ripe cherries for dessert.

Then we hung out the next load of laundry and took our siestas. Dwight and Sylvia slept long and hard.

In the late afternoon, we decided to go downtown. Of course everything was closed, and as it was after hours, would have been even if it weren’t a holiday, but at least Sylvia and Dwight got to see the outside of some of our landmarks. Tomorrow we’ll see the insides.

Chronicles of the Visit of Dwight and Sylvia, Part 2

Friday, June 05, 2009
Greek Island Day

We wanted to go to the island of Hydra, which we had heard was very graphikos, picturesque, and upon which there are no automobiles. But by the time we had taken the subway to Pireaus, the town that serves as Athens’ seaport, and had arrived at the harbor, having been distracted along the way by a church or two, all the boats to Hydra had already left for the day. So we went to Aegina, the nearest island, pronounced "EGG-ee-nah," approximately.

The church that mainly distracted us was the Cathedral in Athens, with its blue-veined white marble.

We went to the island of Aegina by hydrofoil! I don’t know how a hydrofoil works, but from the name I assume it uses the water as a foil for air. The boat reaches a certain speed and then just rises above the water, all but a frame under it, and skims over the air. I don’t know whether it’s just air flowing under the prow in a certain way that creates this effect, or whether the boat also shoots out compressed air, but it’s fun, and the boat doesn’t rock when it’s flying. It’s still a bumpy ride, so I don’t know if not rocking cuts down on seasickness; I’m not very prone to that anyway.

The boat ride took about 40 minutes and then we landed in the main town, also called Aegina. Here we were looking at the blue sea, the blue sky, old stucco houses with balconies full of geraniums hanging over narrow, stone streets. Sylvia said, “Now THIS is the Greece of the movies!” (Athens decidedly is not, and neither is Thessaloniki, both being quite cosmopolitan and sophisticated.)

We ate lunch in Aegina and walked around its picturesque streets for a while. We found a stone fort a couple of centuries old. I'll post a photo or two of it later.

Then we had two choices for our afternoon. In one direction was the grave of St. Nektarios. In the other direction was the town of St. Marina, with an ancient temple nearby and pretty beaches. We chose the latter, since our non-Orthodox visitors could have no great interest in the grave of St. Nektarios.

Agia Marina was half an hour away by bus. There were only a few seats left on the bus, so we didn’t get to sit together. I sat on the back set next to an English retired couple. They were from “50 miles north of London.” They were on a one-week holiday in Agia Marina. They had been visiting the town of Aegina for the morning. We had a lengthy and charming conversation, and Sylvia took a picture of us chatting.

The bus landed us right next to a place that sold ice cream, so we stopped there and had some, striking up another conversation with the waitress, and Englishwoman who had lived in St. Marina for four years, but was about to return to England. Why would anybody who had become accustomed to this warm, sunny, friendly place want to go back to the drear and rains of England? She had family obligations. And living and working here was not as wonderful as it might sound. The trouble is, you worked during the summer months, just when you’d prefer to be off, to do some holidaying of your own. And then during the winter, when the sea is gray and the sky, dismal, when you may as well work because there’s nothing else to do, that’s when all the tourists have gone home, and all the summer residents, too, and there is no work. In fact, there’s nothing much going on there in the winter, she told us. Except that there is a rather substantial English community, and they do things together, like have a Robert Burns night when they all wear kilts, and so forth. We wished her luck and went our way.

Demetrios negotiated with a cab driver, who agreed, for 20 Euros, to take us to the temple, to wait 15 minutes for us (“or even 20,” he said when we got there), and take us back to Agia Marina. So we went and climbed around the temple, a copy of the Parthenon on a small scale, and enjoyed our 17 minutes. The cabbie told us this temple and one other, to Poseidon, made an equilateral (or isosceles?) triangle with the Parthenon, and this had been done on purpose.

Sylvia wanted to dip her toes into the sea, at least. We hadn’t brought our swimsuits, so that was about all we could do. So we climbed down a short but steep and rocky path to a small jetty where she could sit and dangle her feet in the water. She didn’t see until too late that the top of the jetty was concave and contained water, so she sat in it and came out looking as if she’d had a bladder control problem. All part of the adventure.

We found the easy path, flat except a few stairs to the sea, on our way back to the bus stop.

Time was up; we had to take the bus back to Aegina, the hydrofoil back to Piraeus, and the metro back to Athens, where more adventure awaited us.

We had supper at a lousy taverna where the food was terrible; I left my moussaka mostly uneaten. Afterward we wandered about in the Plaka again, the touristy district.

In one broad alley, numerous illegal immigrants from Africa were selling their illegal (stolen?) wares, mostly designer purses, or at least designer rip-offs. They were sitting on the ground, their goods spread out on bed sheets in front of them.

Suddenly, as we walked among them, they began to look panicked. There was a loud shuffling sound. They gathered up their sheets by the corners, handbags and other items spilling out, and ran as if for their lives. Four or five policemen came running after them. Passersby began picking up the purses, but in a few more moments, the police were rounding up the loot.

Sylvia observed that if the police had really wanted to catch anybody, they could have come in from both ends of the alley simultaneously and then they would have caught them all. As it was, they all got away and only a fraction of their wares was confiscated.

We passed a stall selling trinkets and souvenirs. Sylvia bought a –, well, I’d better not say what she bought, either, as it may be intended for a surprise. The point is, we began conversing with the vendors, a young girl and her mother. They were from Serbia. We sympathized with them, aloud, over the plight of their country. They were very glad to meet some Americans. They were even more glad when Demetrios told them I was Orthodox. They gave Sylvia more change for her purchase than was expected, and then they gave us each some pretty, sparkly worry beads. We were very touched by their kindness, refugees who had so little.

We were again exhausted by the time we got to bed, sometime around midnight.

Chronicles of the Visit of Dwight and Sylvia, Part 1

Wednesday, June 03, 2009
In Which our Guests from America Arrive

Sylvia and Dwight landed in Athens in mid-morning! We took a train to Athens and met them at our hotel just after 4:00 in the afternoon. Sylvia was waiting for us in the lobby.

“Syb,” I said, “You do turn up in the most far-flung places!” That was a reference to the fact that this is our fifth trip together. Our first trip, with our two daughters (who were classmates for years) was to London and Paris. Our second was to southern England and Cornwall. Our third was to Hawaii. And somewhere in there we also went to the beach together, on North Carolina’s Outer Banks. So much traveling together, and we’re still friends!

“I’m in Greece!” she exclaimed. “I’m in Greece, I’m in Greece!”

After half an hour for freshening up, we all went back to the train station to see if we all four could get tickets on the same train home. The difficulty was that very few seats were available. There’s an election campaign in progress, and all the parties’ operatives and candidates had taken up all the seats between Greece’s two major cities. Plus, it’s going to be Pentecost, a 4-day holiday weekend, when many people travel. We spent nearly two hours, I think, at the train station, waiting in a long line. I was a little put off by this. Sylvia said, “You always used to say, ‘It’s all part of the adventure!’” She’s right; that’s what I always did say. So I decided to adopt that attitude this time, too.

When we had bought tickets for the late train, we struck out to explore Athens.

The first thing we encountered was the Parliament Building, all lit up. There were guards in traditional Greek costume, brown skirts and shirts, red hats with long tassels, shoes with curled-up toes. Sylvia snapped some pictures of them, which I will add to this account sometime next month.

We asked our way to the Plaka, an old and quaint but therefore very touristy section of Athens. We had fun exploring the souvenir shops and even bought a thing or two, which cannot be specified here as they are to be gifts.

The Parthenon was lit up, atop the Acropolis, so we admired it from below and made plans to go up there tomorrow.

Sylvia had never seen an olive tree and was eager to see one, so we pointed out several to her and showed her how to recognize one, promising her she’d see thousands of them before she went home.

She was also amazed to note that the grapevines decorating the arbors were real. She had to touch them to be persuaded they were not fake.

We ate in a picturesque little taverna in the *Plaka district and then went back to the hotel for a good night’s sleep, knowing the next day would be very full and very tiring.




Thursday, June 04, 2009
Acropolis Day!

Of course the Acropolis is the first thing most tourists in Athens want to do, including us. Sylvia is forever making me climb high places. It’s all part of the adventure.

On our way to the Acropolis, we stopped at an impressive building with a bronze plaque by the door that said, “Onassis Foundation,” and had a picture of an ancient ship. We were just deciding that it must be THE Onassis, and Sylvia had just said, “And look at that wonderful door!” when a stranger’s voice said, “I have a model of it in my museum.” And that is how we met the most charming Professor Andreas, a Greek-American professor of economics in Pennsylvania and Athens. We had such a wonderful talk with him about economics and politics that within a very few minutes we all felt a deep kinship of hearts and minds. He gave us his card and we fully intend to keep in touch with him.

Then it was on to that big hill or small mountain, depending upon whether you are going down or up. We went up the back side, as it were, stopping periodically to let some of us (not including Sylvia) get our breath.

It isn’t just a hill crowned by the Parthenon. There’s much more up there and along the way: amphitheatres and other temples and assorted ruins that are either unmarked or we were too tired to bother finding out what they actually were.

The top, too, is a complex of buildings, of which the Parthenon itself is only the main one. Of course the marble statues are gone, Lord Elgin having removed them and taken them to England. The gold and ivory statue of Athena, one of the Seven Wonders of the ancient world, is also gone. But the main temple still stands. You can almost, but not quite, go inside. You can certainly see inside very well.

The views of Athens are, of course, spectacular. We discovered, from one angle, that there are people who live literally in the shadow of the Acropolis.

We also spotted a tall rock where a number of people were gathered, that we thought would make a nice picnic spot. Turns out to have been Mars Hill, where St. Paul stood when he preached to the Athenians. That was the soap-box provided by nature. The Athenians were very interested in what the Apostle had to say, until he got to the part about the Resurrection. That was too, too absurd; they practically laughed him out of town. (And after all the considerable trouble he had taken to get there, too! If you ever see the mountains he had to traverse, you will marvel at the love that prompted his trip.)

Demetrios and Sylvia went back there to stand on the actual spot; Dwight and I, exhausted, were content to have laid eyes upon it. (Anyway, Dwight only learned who St. Paul was a few days later, so naturally his interest was limited.) We sat and waited for them on a little stone wall, beside an English gentleman who had arrived that morning on a cruise ship. He was from “40 miles north of London,” and he taught me how to pronounce “Scousers.” That’s the nickname for the people in the Liverpool area, where we are headed in three weeks. It rhymes with “trousers,” except the middle “s” is pronounced like an “s” and not a “z”.

What else can one say about the Acropolis? It’s all been said a thousand times. Sylvia took bunches of pictures and we came down, which was the only part she found difficult.

We found a taverna and had lunch, making sure our guests got to taste different Greek food each meal.

After lunch, we went looking for the archaeological museum, but it was our good fortune to find the Benaki Museum instead. It didn’t look interesting from the foyer. There were paintings of prominent figures from Greek history on the walls and I really didn’t feel like spending my afternoon looking at paintings, and said so. Sylvia wasn’t keen, either. Dwight, as usual, said nothing, but I don’t think he had any use for the place. Only Demetrios was keen to see it. Finally I said we could at least find out how much it cost and then decide. It was free. So we thought okay, let’s see what’s here, and if it isn’t interesting, we’ll leave and no harm done.

Well, the Benaki is room after room after room of treasures, dating all the way back to more than 6,000 years ago! It’s billed as an art museum, so what you see are figurines, decorated pottery, carved marble statues and bas-reliefs, carved wood, costumes, jewelry, icons, books, fabrics, beadwork, glass, anything decorative. And the word I kept using over and over was “fabulous,” because that was the most apt word. A close second was, “magnificent!”, followed by “awesome”. Every single item was of inestimable value, priceless, a fabulous treasure. I caqn hardly wait to show you pictures from it, but that will have to wait until mid-July.

The stone-age statuettes drove it home to me that those prehistoric people may not have had as much information as we have and never walked on the moon, but they were the same sort of people we are, even all those thousands of years ago.

The gold jewelry was beyond imagining, so intricate, so extravagant. There were filigree diadems and necklaces and earrings and belt buckles, huge and glistening with gems. There were crowns of laurel or oak leaves, with flowers, fashioned from gold beaten as thin as paper, and centuries old.

There were several rooms of Greek costumes, wedding apparel and court dress, with astonishingly elaborate handmade lace, embroidery, needlepoint. Each costume must have taken years to complete, or else have been worked on by several women at once, still for a very long time. Sylvia took two pictures before she was asked not to use the flash, so had to stop.

There were two complete 18th Century reception rooms on display, with amazingly detailed wood carvings and gilt and frescoes and tray ceilings with 5 layers of depth, stuff to rival any castle or palace in Europe.

The sculpture of Greece’s Golden Age (circa 500 BC) also rivals any in the world at any time. It even rivals Michaelangelo. It’s beautiful. It’s minutely detailed. It’s astonishingly lifelike. It is intended to display the beauty of the human form, and does. The ones most fun to look at were the portraits of real people, because they were clearly individuals, with real instead of idealized features.

Sylvia was the only one who saw it all. Demetrios and I never got off the first floor, the Stone Age and Iron Age and Bronze Age and Classical period items; the rest we only heard about from her. She came down the stairs jaw agape, and said, “All I could think was, ‘We almost missed this! Demetrios had to MAKE US see this!’”

We promised ourselves to come back before we left Athens, and then went out for supper and finally back to our hotel rooms to collapse for the night.

Just Checking In

Sylvia and Dwight are still here, leaving early in the morning. We've been having a great time, but have been too busy to write it down! I will begin doing that on Monday and publish stuff as I'm able. Sylvia took a lot of pictures, so our trip "chronicles," as we've been calling them, will be illustrated for once, but not right away. Sylvia is going to send me a CD of the photos to my Richmond address and I'll add them later.

We spent 3 days in Athens, did the Acropolis/Parthenon, saw where St. Paul stood to preach to the Athenians, went to a fabulous museum, spent a day on the island of Aegina.

Then we spent a few days showing them around Thessaloniki, and finally, we spent two days at Kavala, the ancient Neapolis mentioned in Acts 16. We also toured the ruins of ancient Phillipi, acres and acres of them, including the town jail, the prison where St. Paul and St. Silas were held, which was opened by the earthquake, where the Philippian jailor was ready to commit suicide. We climbed around inside Kavala's castle, wandered along its aquaduct, did many other fun things.

Sylvia, as always, every trip I've ever been on with her (this being the fifth), made me walk at least 5 miles every single day, half of it uphill. We've now climbed the Glastonbury Tor (500 feet at a steep angle), Diamondhead, countless castles in England, our favorite being Tintagel, and now we've climbed the Acropolis and other hills here. (We've been up the Eiffel Tower together, too, but that was on an elevator. We only remembered, as the elevator doors were closing, how afraid we both are of heights...)

It takes a lot of calories to keep up that kind of pace, by the way. We were forced to replenish our calorie supply frequently! (Sylvia says we ate our way through Greece, and that's what she no doubt means.)

Kitty is still with us; once our guests leave I will begin a more concentrated campaign to find him a home. He thinks I'm his mother and tries to nurse on my ear.

More as soon as I can get to it, as in perhaps the day after tomorrow.

My Would-be Mugger

Monday, June 01, 2009

It was 9:30 at night, barely dark, and I wasn’t even carrying a purse, just my house keys and my flash drive, on my way to the Internet Café. I wasn’t expecting to be mugged.

He was waiting in the shadows, waiting and watching. When I came even with his hiding place behind a fence, he leapt at me. I spotted him a split second before and took a step backward. So instead of landing on me; he landed on the sidewalk in front of me.

I stared at my assailant. “Well! You are quite a dirty thing,” I said, in Greek so he’d understand.

“Niaou,” he replied, which is also Greek.

“And you’re not handsome, either.”

“NiAAAAou!”

“Kai esai poly mikro,” I said, “And you’re very small.” Much too small to try to mug anybody.

I tried to get away from him but no, he hasn’t going to let that happen; he could recognize a sucker when he saw one. He followed me, begging all the while, chanting a loud, plaintive little rhyme: “Niaou, niaou, niAAou! Dos mou kati na fao! ”Give me something to eat!” (Note for all you Greek students: Modern Greek, being an irrational language, lacks the dative case.)

Or at least that’s what I thought the little thug was saying.

Finally, knowing it was no good, I said, in Greek, “Come here.” So he did. And as I bent down toward him, he took a flying leap and grabbed me by the shoulder. He hunkered down, dug in his claws, and held on firmly as I walked. I could feel and hear him purring in my ear.

The night manager of the Internet Café said no, I could not just quickly check my e-mail, not with a kitten on my shoulder – or in my lap, either. never mind the creature was behaving very well. And no, he didn’t want any cat. As Ogden Nash, the humorist, once observed,

The trouble with a kitten is that
Eventually, it becomes a CAT.

Somehow I also remembered another little ditty of his:

If called by a panther,
Don’t anther.

So I went home and gave him some cat food from a new bag. He purred the whole time he ate.

We don’t have a litter box, so now what? I thought a few minutes and then remembered we have a huge pot out on the balcony, big enough to plant a tree in, and it is filled with potting soil. That would do until morning. I set the kitten in it. He just sat there. I took his paw and used it to scratch at the soil, and then he got the idea.

I found a very small ball of leftover yarn and made him a toy with it and we played until he was exhausted. Then we went to bed. I spread out a baby blanket at the foot of the bed and he liked that.

The nervy little guy attacked me twice more during the night. Once, my toe twitched and the next thing I knew, a prickly ball of fur had slammed into it. The other time, I got it between the eyes when I made the mistake of opening them. His philosophy is, if it moves, pounce!

He is only about 10 weeks old. He’s mostly white with not-very-symmetrical, dark gray markings. There’s gray on his head and back; his tail is all dark gray except for the white tip. His left eye has pink rims and his right eye has black, making his eyes appear to be different sizes. But what he lacks in looks, he certainly makes up in affection. He even comes when called, provided you call him in Greek. Comes running, every single time.

When he isn’t sleeping or attacking, he’s snuggling. As a matter of fact, such extreme friendliness is suspicious. I’ll bet he more or less belongs to somebody. I’ll ask around.

He’s taking a little catnap right now, leaving me free to type. I have no idea what I’ll do with him, either short-term (the rest of today, tomorrow) or long-term. Even if I didn’t have two cats back in Richmond that I already don’t know what to do with, and even if we were to do our homework and find out how to get him through customs when we get back to America, there’s still the fact that we’re planning to spend 10 days in England before that.

I will try my best to find him a home here, but if I don’t, he will have to go back where he came from.

Or else I will choose some dark night and slip him into the back yard of the cat-loving, retired pathologist who lives across from the Internet Café.

Stay tuned.


MINOR UPDATE: In the afternoon, I took kitty to Demetra, the nearest veterinarian, together with a fresh stool sample. I told her I was afraid he might have worms. Demetra unwrapped the foil, examined the specimen, and said, “Gemati.” Full (of worms). I thought you had to look under a microscope to tell that, and I thought you had to know what *kind* of worms, in order to give the right medicine, but what do I know?

Apparently she had a one-for-all kind of pill. She broke it in half and we gave it to him. She gave me the other half, to be administered “after three days”. Then she tried to spray some stuff between his shoulders. I haven’t seen any signs of any fleas, but may as well be careful.

The spray nozzle was stuck and the stuff wouldn’t come out, so Dr. Demetra unscrewed the top and poured some between the kitten’s shoulders. Poured rather more than I usually put between my cats’ shoulders, as in twice as much, accidentally, but again, what do I know? It’s probably Advantage or Revolution, and I’ve read those are very safe medicines. “They’ll all depart now,” she said, referring to both internal and external parasites.

Demetra took my phone number in order to let people know the cat is available.

She says he’s no more than 8 weeks old.

I paid my three Euros and left there with a kitten that has already learned he does not like veterinarians! It’s okay; she doesn’t particularly care for cats, either. She’s a dog person.

A Day in the Mountains

Sunday, May 31, 2009

After church, Chrysostomos and his wife, Roula, picked us up in their car and drove us off to the mountains. It was a bright, clear, very warm day, so perfect for the purpose.

The sweetness in Roula’s face matches the sweetness of her soul, so you can’t help loving and admiring her immediately, and feeling totally at ease in her presence, even if you wear make-up and she doesn’t. She doesn’t seem to need any, she’s so pretty. Her skin is clear and not wrinkled at all. Her eyes are bluish green and her medium-length, thick hair is white.

Our first objective was the Monastery of St. Anastasia the Pharmakolytria, my patroness. (“Pharmakolytria" means “Releaser from Poisons.” She knew how to make potions that cured people. She is depicted, in icons, with a flask in one hand.)

We passed through farmlands with wheat, through vineyards and olive groves and pretty villages, and on up into the hills, all green with heavy forestation. “All these woods,” said Chrysostomos, “were planted by the Junta.” Demetrios says those three dictators did mean well. They were dictators, which mustn’t be forgotten, who seized power in a coup, but most of the people wanted them to, thinking that would be better than the chaos in which the country had been for a long time. And the Junta apparently governed with the country’s best interests at heart (unlike the current government) and tried to do wise and wonderful things. The reforestation of the mountains here was one of those.

The Monastery of St. Anastasia is very ancient, built by a Byzantine Empress, St. Theophano. Her silver-plated icon is on the other side of the door of the narthex from the icon of St. Anastasia. Apparently this Empress later became a nun, but I’m not clear on the details of that story.

There was a baptism in progress when we arrived, of a gorgeous baby boy who received the name Evangelios. He will probably be called Vangelis, or perhaps Angelos.

The relics of Great Martyr Anastasia, her skull and some other bones, are near the entrance to the church, in a sliver box with a glass lid. The sign above the box notes the year of the Saint’s repose: 304. The skull is brown with age.

She was an outspoken saint. She was married to a very wealthy man who abused her terribly, and she used to pray he would either convert or die. He died. And when he did, the Emperor cast a lustful eye upon her. When she was brought before him, he demanded, “Honor the gods of your husband!”

To which she replied she already had; she had melted down their statues to prevent the pigeons from pooping on them. And with the metal, she had made coins, money with which she supported the Christians the Emperor had thrown into prison. You can see why she was a candidate for martyrdom.

Apparently – I didn’t know this – she still heals people, because next to her icon there is a horizontal iron bar, and hanging from that bar are “thank-you notes” from grateful people. These consist of very thin plates of silver, about 2 inches by 3 inches, each hammered to show an arm or a leg or a heart or some other body part. The ones showing babies healed by St. Anastasia are hung by either blue or pink ribbons. There must have been 60 of them. They brought tears to my eyes. I wished I had one to hang there, in her honor. But I’m not aware of any time she may have healed me of anything physical.

Up in the front of the church is a glass-covered casket containing the remains of St. Theonas, a bishop of Thessaloniki. Most of the body is covered with an embroidered cloth, but you can see one hand, complete with some of the skin and the cuff of his original vestments from the early 1500's.

Demetrios went and stood in the receiving line to congratulate the parents and godparents (which must have startled them some); the rest of us waited outside for him, admiring the view of the valley below and the other mountains across from it.

Our next stop was at a taverna Chrysostomos and Roula had heard about but never been to. We got a little lost, but on such a glorious day, with such scenery, getting lost was worth doing! At last, stopping to ask our way a few times, we arrived at the place, on the top of a mountain. It was a large taverna, with a long veranda, and wide, green lawns, a swimming pool, and two hot tubs, not yet filled with water.

We sat at an umbrella-covered table on the veranda for our meal. We watched the children funning and playing. A German Shepherd bitch of doubtful breeding ambled onto the lawn and rolled over onto her back, exposing enlarged teats; the children came to pet her. A mostly- Doberman bitch, similarly enlarged, followed her example. The children petted her, too. As Demetrios said, “Everybody is having fun, including the dogs!” We probably sat there enjoying the warm sunshine and cool breeze, for a couple of hours.

I asked Chrysostomos and Roula what about Greece’s dire political situation? Who, I asked, is going to tell the Greek people to wake up, to understand their government is selling their country out from under them? The army has been scaled back to nothing; military discipline has been relaxed until it is a joke; NATO has placed the defense of the Aegean Sea under the charge of a Turkish general; Turkey violates Greek air space every day with impunity; Mr. Obama called the Aegean Islands “The necklace of Turkey,” never mind they’re Greek, not Turkish. The Greek language is being undermined; Greek history has been revised so that now the textbooks in schools make it sound as though living under the Turks had been a joyous and desirable thing. And on and on; I could give you several more examples.

Roula said half the Greeks already know all this, so nobody really needs to tell them.

Chrysostomos replied by discussing the spiritual progress Greece has made in the past 50 years. A thousand people a day visit the Holy Mountain, he said. And it used to be that many villages didn’t have cantors for their churches; now every village has three or four young men who know Byzantine Chant and love singing it. There used to be only a very few confessors in Thessaloniki; now there are plenty, and people are going to confession a lot more often. In short, his reply was, “Put not your trust in princes, in sons of men, in whom there is no salvation.” He believes God will spare and protect Greece if and for as long as she remains faithful to Him.

I believe that, too. On the other hand, God helps him who helps himself. Why expect God to do it all if the Greeks themselves are not willing to lift a finger? Isn’t that rather presumptuous? But I didn’t ask.

St. Paisios prophesied that the Greeks would retake Constantinople. So did St. Kosmas, I believe. Well, neither of them has ever been wrong in his predictions before. St. Kosmas, a contemporary of George Washington, predicted the people would fly around like birds, “and drop fire upon one another from the air.” He also said people would one day be able to speak to one another from far away and hear one another as clearly as if they were in adjoining rooms.

Oh, and by the way, Alexander the Great made his appearance in the conversation. Last weekend, I was teasing Kostas and Demetrios. I was sitting with them on Kostas’ balcony, listening to their conversation, and during a lull I said, “I haven’t heard mention of Great Alexander yet.”

Why should you, they wanted to know? Well, I always do, in any discussion of Greek history. Oh, that’s nonsense, they said, not so.

But it is. It wasn’t half an hour later they were using Great Alexander’s military strategies as an example of something. And today his name came up again, as it virtually always does. You could safely bet money upon it. This is Macedonia, Alexander’s home, and nobody here ever forgets that. Alexander the Great is very much alive in the inhabitants’ memories and imaginations. He founded this city, naming it after his beloved sister, Thessaloniki (“Victory of Thessaly”), and both their portraits and their names show up regularly in hotels, restaurants, posters, lectures, political speeches, etc.

Roula told us a story about St. John the Russian. His remains are in a church on some Greek Island she and Chrysostomos visited. Now his body, although blackened from the time the Turks tried to burn it, is otherwise more or less incorrupt, but his vestments go bad and need changing about every five years. Roula and Chrysostomos happened to be visiting during the time when the vestments were to be changed, and the priest of the church there told them this story. He said that during the time of his predecessor, the bishop had come to participate in the changing of the Saint’s vestments, and the bishop worried aloud how they were going to do it without the whole body perhaps falling apart. The priest told him, “Be patient and you will see how it is done.”

So they placed a sheet under the body and gently placed it on the floor. And then, the corpse sat up and stretched out its arms, making the removal of the old vestments and the slipping on of the new very easy. When it was done, the remains lay back down.

After our leisurely meal, we drove back down the mountains, most of the way, back through the farms and vineyards and orchards, past Manolis’ and Vasilea’s place, to Chrysostomos’ and Roula’s little spread. It’s three Greek acres, which is something less than three American acres. There are to large houses on it. Chrysostomos and Roula live on the ground floor of one; their son and his wife and four children live on the top two floors. The other house is occupied by their daughter and son-in-law and their four children. There is a vineyard, an olive orchard, a vegetable garden. There are several adult turkeys and 15 turkey chicks, rabbits of all sizes and ages, and there used to be sheep and goats. There are cherry trees, fig trees, almond and walnut trees.

We sat at an outdoor table next to the vineyard and had a little supper. (!) Roula brought what looked like spanikopita, but the filling was of meat instead of spinach, followed by tsoureki (Pascha bread, sweet), followed by candied figs and limes.

The children, having lived several years in England, all spoke very good English and were quite charming.

Ah, what an idyllic life! Isn’t there some Bible verse about sitting in peace under your own tree and your own vine, surrounded by your children and your children’s children? Isn’t that in the wedding rite? Well, that’s exactly the blessing this couple enjoys. It has come true for them. And everybody is happy. The children have three acres to run around in, plus the panoramic views of the mountains. They learn how to tend the vineyard and grow grapes, how to prune the trees and grow olives and the rest, how to care for poultry and rabbits, how to plant and maintain vegetable gardens, how to make fig jam and cherry jam, and a jillion other things. They have their cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents on the same property.

The other four of Chrysostomos’ children are monastics, three nuns and a monk. One of them is the identical twin of Christina, mother of four of the children. She confirms what a special bond identical twins share, says there is nothing like it. Asked whether she gets to see her twin sister often, she replied, “No, unfortunately, not often at all. Only once a month and I count myself lucky.”

I also asked how they manage to keep the fruit away from the birds. “Ahhhh,” said Roula, “We beat them to it!” They watch it carefully and decide exactly when to pick it, ahead of the birds. The magpies, Roula says, can open the walnuts and the almonds. Chrysostomos adds that they also pierce his garden hose with their beaks when they are thirsty.

By the time Roula offered us some of her homemade fig ice cream, we were so full we had to decline. We were also getting chilly in the evening air, so they drove us home, first loading us with gifts: olives from their own trees, dried plants that smell like lemons and make wonderful tea, and 9 roses “for your house”.

We are simply going to have to have a party at our house to thank everyone. Actually, given that it is such a small house, we are going to have to have two parties. I think maybe we’ll wait until Sylvia and Dwight are here, so they can also meet our other dear, dear friends.

EEK!

I wrote that Sylvia and Dwight were coming in about 3 weeks, but I misunderstood. They will arrive in Athens on Wednesday morning -- that's tomorrow! We will spend Wednesday and Thursday and part of Friday in Athens, returning here by the scenic route; viz., by train sometime Friday.

Lots to do in the meanwhile.

I may not post for several days, although I've scheduled a couple of things to post automatically between now and then.

We are going to hve a BALL!

Friends and Neighbors

Friday, May 29, 2009

George the carpenter came in the morning. He says something else has come up for Monday and could we postpone the installation of our new kitchen sink/cabinets/drawers until Thursday. Yes, we can. The plumber agrees to come then. He has to come twice, once to disconnect the old sink, and later to connect the new. George, meanwhile, re-measured a few things a few more times, despite the fact that the work is all done except for the installation. I know for a fact it is, because we went to his shop to inspect it a few days ago. George showed us everything about it, proudly. He has even put on it a removable kickboard, so I can clean under the cabinetry!

Thomai, our downstairs neighbor, came later to visit. She had just been to confession, and was relating all the wonderful advice the priest had given her. It’s interesting how, when you’ve truly repented of your sins, you don’t mind other people knowing them. Well, that doesn’t mean telling everything is wise or prudent, but you lose much of the embarrassment.

Then she told us us, with great pleasure, all about the new, double-paned windows she and Zisis have had installed in their house in their village. The same man is going to replace their windows here, she said. He had quoted them a price that was just over half what anybody else has quoted us. So we said when he comes, please let us know so we can talk to him.

An hour later, Zisis came to say the window man was on his way. We phoned Demetrios, who was with Christos at their favorite kafenion and café, and he came right home. The man measured our windows. Zisis stipulated that we must keep the old shutters, to maintain the external appearance of the building. As he is the building “super”, his word goes. No problem.

Demetrios is now deciding if he wants to spend the money now or wait a while until we save up a bit more of it.

I went with him when he returned to the café and to Christos, and we all had supper there.

Christos drove us home, and as we arrived, I noticed that Vasiliki was back at her fruit stand after an absence “for reasons of health” of more than a month. The stand wasn’t open, but she was setting up some of the non-perishables, such as jams and honey, that she also sells.

“There’s Vasiliki!” I yelped. So after we had said goodbye to Christos, we went to see her.

Turns out she has problems with the disks in her spine, and so does Anestis. His pain is in his legs and neck, hers is only in the legs. The doctor told them to change jobs, as things like potatoes and onions and melons are heavy, “But what else are we supposed to do? This is what we know.” Then she invited us to have a cup of coffee with her across the street. We were tired, but this definitely seemed the thing to do, so we sat there with her for half an hour. We told her how worried we had been, how we had prayed for her, and she almost cried. She’s another one like Thomai, who does whatever she does with her heart, and her whole heart, too.

Shed said, as we left, “Truly, from my soul, it seems to me we are brother and sisters.”

It seems that way to us, too.