Old and New

Morning swim

The end times are at hand, or at least the countdown has begun It has been a busy three weeks in the village: working on the house, arranging for future projects, visiting with friends. And, of course, swimming and running everyday. Eating great food. Not drinking alcohol. I feel excceding fit and ready to challenge myself.

The challenge will come next Sunday when I run (for the second time) a 5-kilometer road race in Kalamata, sponsored by the police and with the lofty purpose of reigning in the scourge of narcotics addiction. It’s not just in Downeast Maine.

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Greece is a land of continuity—historical, cultural, linguistic. The folkways—foods, dance, arts and crafts, to name a few—are on a kind of continuum that begins in early antiquity and continues to the present day. For more than 3000 years, an amalgation of attitudes and superstitions, prejudices and biases, a sense of fatalism and inevitability—these are all primary characteristics of the Greek spirit.

The δειπνον

My poet-friend Niko, the unofficial cultural mayor of this medium-sized village, invited me and a few other friends for a δειπνον (“dinner” if you must) in his αυλη (garden). Readers and students of the classics might be familiar with the term--the Deipnosophists, antiquity's thoughtful party animals, were a special breed of deep thinkers, whose philosophical musings were transformative in ancient history. The transformation was largely assisted by massive quantities of food and wine that gave mere mortals special powers of thought and sociability. More lemonadas for me, more wine for them.

There were many delicious offerings, beginning with a kind of wild (pickled) bulb; Niko’s incomparable olives; tsasiki (garlic/cucumber/yogurt) spread; fresh fruit; and fresh village bread. This was followed by Maria’s incredible, homemade dolmadakia (savory rice wrapped in cooked grape leaves), and a very fine dish of baked bakalaria (salted cod cooked with vegetables and a creamy sauce). The seven of us ate and drank, with lively toasts every three minutes, until 1:30 a.m.. Glasses and carafes were broken in the process—all in the interest of steady conversation.

Αγιος Ριγανης—St. John of the Oregano

There is a little chapel deep in the valley that can hold no more than a dozen people. It is the chapel of St. John of the Oregano, whose feast day was celebrated today. All villages have their panagiria (saint day celebrations), some have several.

Carving up the beast for the feast

The hungry faithful

The iconostasis of St. John Rigani (of the Oregano)

By 8:00 a.m. there were fifty or sixty people milling in the courtyard, while the priest and the old ladies and the very young were sweating up a storm in the dark, stuffy chapel as the Orthodox liturgy was performed.

But the main event arrived in the back of a pickup truck, courtesy of Kosta the butcher (and the demos—municipality: a large roasted pig. When the priest said the final Amen, the cleaver divided up this crispy creature, the wine and beer appeared, large hunks of Holy Bread, salads, and toys for the kids.

The entire event was over by 10 a.m., all of the participants departing with pocketfuls of sanctified bread.

I felt Wholely Me.

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