I know I shouldnt be doing this... but Im doing it anyway. Matt says writing about Greece is Therapy... I do a little tinkering about the keys myself from time to time, and I find it very rewarding. But its in MY language... not exactly a common one, is it? But with the good help of Google Translate I try to describe an experience from a few years back... Easter celebrations in Naxos... just one special evening and one special experience... I hope you all will know and understand. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX ”Andrea… come! Come!”. Before I knew it I had followed Sofias handwaving and earnest solicitation, and taken the step from the wall and into the range of passing people. In a cloud of unreality I rounded the corner of the house and saw the Epitafio up front, and of all things in this world I was suddenly a part of the Greek Good Friday procession. It WAS unreal. The first hundred meters my head was full of doubt and confusion. What in heavens (!?) name was I doing there? I - who swear by Darwin and more than once have declared my godlessness - with what moral right did I join in this train of foreigncultural, God-fearing tradition? Hypocrite !, I thought, and we were at the bottom of the hill before I thought to appreciate my own respect and awe for what I now experienced. Then... well... maybe THAT was a kind of religion, then? The confidence and joy I have gradually learned to feel towards the people I walked with? If I did not believe like them, I believed in them ... I saw Giannis broad back up front, and I saw the pride he carried the stretcher with. Who was I to feel beyond that? The priest and his chanters filled the dark, chilly evening with plaintive tone-clean singing. Sofia smiled and looked happy, while she held on tight to little Katerina. Around me everyone was talking to everyone, while the train slowly moved around the village of Angidia. With intervals the procession came to a full stop. Loud singing. Sign of the cross and mumbling words. Obviously something or someone who was greeted and remembered. The old lady next to me looked at first surprised, then she nodded and beamed and her warm Xronia Polla sounded like singing. The next fifteen minutes I caught myself doing the same. Albeit with a little more care and a little less vigor ... but I nodded and I smiled and I said Xronia polla to strangers. I was a real part of an unreality ... I probably got some debris in my eye. When the stretcher was solemnly placed over the entrance to the church, and the train of people went through the gate I stood still and gently pulled back against the wall. How happy they all looked? So worthy, but still so eager to be a part of this? Even the youngsters in the back - with their laughter and their crackers - they went silent and entered the church steps with reverence. Pretty sure I got some debris in my eye. It was probably just the cold night wind, and all the swirling dust that made me wipe my cheeks for a second there. That the flags hung limply and that the small square was probably cleaner than in a year might well be ... it was probably just debris on the eye. XXXXXXXXX Saturday, April 3. The time is half past ten and the sun warms the clear blue sky. The first rays lit up the room and lured me up two hours ago. My forehead is sunburned and I’m really okay wearing long pants. It could have been any morning at Sofias terrace ... but it is not. Its Easter Eve. Yesterdays experience is stuck in my head. The desire to describe and to explain and to paint and to tell is overwhelmingly present. I have to seize the moment ... may others believe what they like. It is so so quiet. The last few days there has appeared the occasional travelers in the houses around me. I even have two Norwegian ladies on either side of me! When I arrived late Monday night, I was probably the only person who slept on this side of the mound. The “tourist side”. Agios Georgios. ZOOM is closed. Fotis has not even begun thinking of opening. Asteria is in the middle of intense renovation, and the same goes for half the rest of the city. The trees are leafless and cropped. Just doves and chirping birds are as they always have been. And Im like Ive never been ... For I am filled with wonder and curiosity and ignorance. I know so little about what is going on around me. I understand so little and my grasp is so small ... and then I get debris in the eye again because I remember the moment when Giannis introduced me to his mother as file mou ... I drink my morning coffee wondering more if I deserve it than if he means it ... there flew Greek words back and forth across the table and although I hardly understood a word, it was not so important. She said so much with the warm eyes and warm hands. Maybe that was why I ate grilled octopus? Because Lent is not at all over, so there was no sumptuous meal after the service (even though us Norwegian travelers were treated to some extra service) ... or maybe it was only the pitchers with ouzo and raki and other devil brew that made me do what I’ve always thought that I would never do? I remember it anyway. And I remember it with pleasure. Though perhaps with a hint of shame and embarrassment too ... I guess I was a little uninhibited with both mouth and video camera, was I not? Did they perceive me as rude and aggressive and disrespectful? I hope not. It seemed at least not at all like that ... the one table after another in the tavern opened up and greeted me... the old ladies loved me, and the old men filled my glass, and everyone said Isigia, and when the great grandson was allowed to play with his sticky fingers all over the camera lens the evening was perfect for all of us. What more could one ask for ...? When the only way to acquire knowledge is to be ever more ignorant? I at least had a BIG evening there in Angidia. I made quantum jumps in my understanding. And perhaps most in my understanding of myself?
Posted on: Sat, 01 Nov 2014 21:55:19 +0000