5 March 2009
Thursday

Last night we set off for town after Jonathan’s run through the valley. We settled on “To Steki” for dinner, the little back street grill that reminds Jonathan of the “old” Greece: a dozen or so tables, an open grill, simple home-cooked food. The girls were tired and everyone was slightly surly from a long day without much to eat and no naps. We mentioned in Greek to Niko, the proprietor, that we were fasting for Lent and he laid out the limited (non-meat, non-cheese) possibilities, which suited the adults fine but generated a mild groan from the kids: kalamari, fried potatoes, cabbage salad, and taramasalata. We compromised with the girls and ordered some grilled chicken for them to share.

With a little food (and a taste of local wine) in everyone’s bellies, the disposition changed for the better. We struck up a conversation with a British couple who have been living in nearby Kamaria for three years and will soon move there permanently; they talked of the “many foreigners” in their area. They were nice enough, Jonathan thought, but seemed to represent the tip of the northern European invasion—people of means inflating local real-estate values, people who are here (fair enough) for the sun and the sea, but who have no real connection to Greece, and won't be bothered to learn even a few polite phrases in Greek. After a bit of quiet reflection, Jonathan recognized his own intolerance—which is not unlike the “local” versus “from away” attitude that permeates our home in eastern Maine—where we have lived for twenty years but will always be considered “from away.” With that said, at least we can say “thank you” to the waiter in the local language.

The sweet shop was our last mandatory stop of the evening. The children, especially, like to peer at the possibilities through the glass displays and point out to the owner which delights they will try this time. We sat around a marble table, enjoyed our dessert, and watched the start of a football (soccer) game—Panathenaikos (Athens) against Olympiakos (Pireaus), the great rivalry in Greek sport clubs. Manny and Jonathan bid goodnight to the girls and retreated to “man land”—the Internet café, a glorified cafeneion that remains the purview of (man)kind and its legion of chain-smokers.

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Ann and Jonathan marched the girls off to the demotiko (elementary) school this morning, our second attempt at enrolling them for the few months that we will be here. It was raining steadily but the air was almost tropical. There was a heavy surf crashing on the shore, with spray hitting the main road--a vertitable tempest (trikimia) battering the village. The warm and the wet has woken the many frogs that live near our house. They are like Maine’s spring “peepers” on steroids, particulary in the late evening.

This time we were “armed” with a small dossier of papers: vaccination records, permission to home school, birth records, and father’s passport. We met with the new principal, Marite, who was satisfied with our documentation.

Finikounda has a two-room schoolhouse, located on a steep cliffside over the ocean, and the classrooms are divided by grades: 1, 3, and 4; and grades 2, 5, and 6. Lucia and Evyenia are in the latter class, so as not to be separated. There are only eighteen students in total. (In Greece, 7th and 8th grade are the first years of gymnasio, or high school.) The principal rolled her eyes when we mentioned that Pembroke (Maine) Elementary School has nearly 120 students—an inconceivable mayhem by comparison.

While Jonathan stood in the corridor that separates the two rooms, he read the instructions for what to do in the event of an earthquake. (This part of the Peloponnese is located near the European epicenter for earthquakes; this time last year a moderate earthquake struck the region, with no injury and little damage. In the early 1980s, however, a devasting earthquake rocked Kalamata, killing dozens.) The instructions state: “If you are indoors, get under a large wooden desk. Hold on to two of the legs [presumably so your “cover” doesn’t vibrate away from you]; get away from windows and mirrors. Don’t shout. Don’t run. Do as your teacher instructs.” The second column reads: “If you are driving in a car, pull over. Don’t pull over or stop your car underneath a bridge [this latter comments seems pretty intuitive to us]. Don’t panic.” Easier said than done!

The school day begins with a prayer, led by a different student each day—there is no “separation of Church and State” in a country where 98 percent of the population identifies themselves as Orthodox Christians.

We thought it might be a nice to idea to pray that there are no earthquakes!

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The girls stayed on at school past the morning session and then continued in the afternoon with Vaso, our friend the butcher’s daughter.

Vaso teaches special needs children and the children of foreigners, whose Greek language skills are minimal: there is a Bulgarian boy, some Albanian children, and several children from mixed marriages—and now Nia and Lucia.

Ann returned with the girls at 4 o’clock—it was a long first day of school and they were tired but happy and proud of their accomplishments. Lucia showed us her work book, with the teacher’s red check marks, and Nia practiced some of her new words.

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Jonathan took Manny for a short run; then Lucia; then Evyenia. They could not agree on where to run with their father, so each received individualized treatment. While Manny and Jonathan were running they bumped into Niko. “I should have called you this morning. My cousin and I dug up our aunt and uncle today.” In traditional Greek society, dead family members are dug up after several years. Their bones are washed in water and vinegar, and then the bones are placed in a small wooden box and stored in the cemetery crypt. Beyond the religious significance, a description of which is beyond our knowledge base, there is a practical reason—so little space for burial—and an ancient historical precedent, dating back three thousand years to the time of Homer. For those who ever read the Iliad or the Odyssey, this practice will be familiar.

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