Safe and Sound in the Suburbs

I've been receiving a lot of emails in the past few days to inquire about my well-being while these riots are going on and I'm writing to let everyone know I'm safe and sound, far from the rioting on central Athens. Erin (my roommate) and I live in a Northern Suburb (Halandri) and the school where we work is in another suburban area called Psychiko. In short, we're far from the action. No need to worry. 

Haven't written for a while, my apologies. But somehow I got wrapped up in the school's Thanksgiving play (traditional Mayflower journey/first Thanksgiving/cultural stereotype type deal) and immediately after that ended, I began work on the Christmas play, as well as putting in a few hours coaching a girl for a speech competition. Basically, I've been really busy lately, but I've still been thinking of you, my dears. 

A brief list of things that are different in Greece, for better and worse:

Better: 

Kiosks everywhere -- these are small permanent structures scattered around Greece's sidewalks that are something like newspaper stands but with a much better supply of snacks. You all know how I feel about snacks. Downside: this country does not believe in fruit candy, only chocolate. 

Lax punctuality -- I never have to worry about being late, because even if I am, whomever I'm meeting with be later. 

Long coffee breaks -- when you say you're going out to get coffee, you aren't expected back for hours, people sit on the sidewalks outside cafes for hours watching beautiful people go by and imbibing an unreal amount of caffeine. 

Hand-held shower -- doubles easily as microphone. As if it were made for that reason. 

Worse: 

Bathrooms -- shower curtains are not to be taken for granted, people. Erin will attest to the fact that my shower-singing skills are matched only by my flooding-the-bathroom skills. Also: no flushing toilet paper allowed. 

Lax punctuality -- everyone is always late.

Love to you all, thanks for checking in.

Finding places.

I have finally found the perfect bar. Small, dimly lit, haphazardly decorated with black and white photography and model cars from the 1950s. It's right in my neighborhood, and isn't filled with the typical Athens bar crowd of waifish women and burly men. I love finding places like that, sort of tucked away in plain sight. Over the weekend I also came across a wonderful bookstore with an entire floor of English wares. There's one in my neighborhood, but it's a bit too heavily stocked in Romace novels and Science Fiction. This new one is a trek to get to, but has an entire section of contemporary literature. True love.

Greek homework awaits! If any of you have Skype, let's have a date! 

Love you all! 

Learning to Sound Words Out, or How I learned to stop worrying and love cognates

Even if you don't read a lot, you do read a lot. Here is a sampling of written items the comprehension of which you take for granted on a daily basis: street signs, ingredients on food packaging, labels that distinguish products such as fabric softener and detergent from each other, movie posters, The Watchtower (I assure you, Jehovah's Witnesses are everywhere), the backs of cereal boxes, posters having to do with the Communist Party, graffiti, billboards, subtitles, name tags, and menus. 

In the past two and a half months I have found myself incapable of discerning any of the writing on the above items. To add insult to injury, it's not just the words I can't get a grip on, it's the letters too. Sure, now I'm beginning to recognize that the one shaped like a v sounds like an n, and the one shaped like a p sounds like r, but stringing together words full of unrecognizable letters leaves me speaking at a snail's pace, and on one occasion telling a sweet elderly woman on the bus not "I don't know" but rather "not out," which, frankly, made no sense. Thankfully, over the course of my Greek class I am beginning to understand to some extent the alphabet, diphthongs and how accents effect pronunciation. 

So now I can sound words out. The same skill level as a precocious kindergartner. However, when kindergartners sound out a word, they tend to recognize the meaning contained in the sounds they produce, however slowly they produce them. This, unfortunately, is not the case in my situation. I get to the end of a word having strung all its sounds together, and I am left with that: the sound of a word whose meaning I do not know and can oftentimes not hope to obtain from context. 

This is no life-threatening obstacle, I won't perish if I can't read some poorly spray painted graffiti or a movie poster starring Cameron Diaz and that guy who's dating Demi Moore. Even the Watchtower ladies finally offered me one in English (only after a Polish one, which I've gotten twice now), so I'll survive even I'm not one of the 144,000. Yet the joke between my roommate and I that we'll have to take remedial English upon reentry to the U.S. seems like it may be in large part due to the absence of linguistic comprehension in our everyday lives. 

The experience of not knowing what I'm looking at when I'm looking at words is making me think about language a lot more. One aspect of the study of language that didn't click for me until maybe senior year of high school is that in order to really learn a language you have to stop thinking of it as code for your native tongue and start thinking of it as it's own system of meaning. "Chat" does not mean "cat" it means small, furry quadrupeds with anti-social tendencies. Cat means the same thing, but still the two subjects do not equal each other just because they equal the same object. Cat is too simple an example; I'll have to get back to you on this. 

Those few words that look suspiciously familiar, those are the ones keeping me scanning the backs of food products, the insides of disregarded instruction manuals, the jewelry descriptions of Greek QVC. Along with the rare cognate, I find hope in my favorite literal translation so far: "translator," a word that in Modern Greek looks something like μεταφραστές and which I think of as "metaphorist." 

Wedding on Crete and transition to something new

Agios Vasilis Church on Crete

(Agios Vasilis = Saint Basil = Greek Santa Claus)

Empty church before the wedding I went to on Crete this past weekend. Incredible religious murals covering every inch of the walls and ceilings; standing room only crowds that didn't stop talking throughout the entire ceremony; the christening of the couple's daughter (as my friend Sevi who invited me said "it will be their making-things-right-with-God day"). Despite the gunshots going off over head, everyone was incredibly friendly and welcoming to all of us who went, despite the fact that they had never met any of us before. I'm getting lazy with positing on this thing (hence the long absence, my apologies) so I'm excerpting some stuff I wrote recently in an email to a friend:

Thursday night we take an eleven hour boat ride, sleeping on the floor and arrive exhausted. Sleep all day, which is necessary because the wedding on Friday night lasted until Saturday morning at six. Dancing, eating WAY too much food (including goat...didn't know that until after it was consumed), drinking Raki which is a foul, foul substance (on par with ouzo). Traditional circle dancing encouraged by said Raki drinking (absurd pictures available on facebook). Finally, sometime around 4:30 in the morning, I, Elaine McMillin Driscoll, caught the bouquet. There is photographic evidence, however, that my main competition was a horde of six or seven year old girls -- not my fault they were too short to compete. 

The rest of the weekend was essentially spent recovering from the wedding, though we did get to explore Knossos which is the ruins of a Minoan palace where the throne of King Minos, son of Zeus, sat. Interesting fact: because King Minos is said to have retreated to the surrounding hills to receive teachings of Justice from his father, a replica of his throne is now used as the President's seat in the International Court of Justice in the Hague. Interesting facts from history! Generally, Crete was beautiful, even (or especially) with slate skies overhead and ocean winds keeping us chilly. Here are a few more photos before some talk of transition:

Back alley in a village near Heraklio

Coastal promenade in Chania

Alright, moving on. I've been thinking that writing exclusively about my travels in Greece, work at Psychico College and daily life in Athens will get a bit monotonous and/or mundane -- not only for you all, but for me as the writer. Not to say that I'll stop writing about what's going on around me, because that would be silly, but I do plan to use this space more generally from here on out. 

Love you all, and please remember to vote! 

-EMcD

Saturday mornings and your weekly dose of beauty

Hello loves,

Safely nestled into Saturday afternoon, I thought I would write you about Saturday mornings. I can't think of the perfect analogy for the joy they bring me, but here's the closest I've come: Saturday mornings are to the week what the smell of onions sauteing downstairs is to waking up from a nap -- you're not quite sure what you've done to deserve it, and you almost never remember how good it is until it happens again. So goes my Saturday. 

Daylight has switched to it's autumn routine here, which means that five days out of the week I wake up in darkness and get dressed in half-light. Not until I leave the house can it properly be called daytime. This is fine, because after leaving the house I've still got another hour of commuting before I need to form coherent English sentences. But let me tell you, after five days of waking up to the tail end of nighttime, there is nothing like being woken up by daylight. Open window. Prop too-long book on my belly. Scrunch down under the covers. Read. 

The best past hasn't even started yet. After a couple chapters of Russian military strategy and social climbing, the sound of a wandering accordionist floats through the open window. These men (I've only seen men doing this so far) wander slowly around the streets on weekend mornings playing what I am forced to imagine are the most beautiful Greek love ballads ever written. As far as I can tell their main goal is to tug at the heart-strings of people clinging to the last haze of sleep. Today and a week ago, this music has been the first thing to compel me out of bed. I've fallen in love with an old accordionist from four stories up. 

In conjunction with my Saturday morning swoon, here is this from Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino:

When a man rides a long time through wild regions he feels the desire for a city. Finally he comes to Isidora, a city where the buildings have spiral staircases encrusted with spiral seashells, where perfect telescopes and violins are made, where the foreigner hesitating between two women always encounters a third, where cockfights degenerate into bloody brawls among the bettors. He was thinking of all these things when de desired a city. Isidora, therefore, is a city of his dreams: with one difference. The dreamed-of city contained him as a young man; he arrives in Isidora in his old age. In the square there is a wall where the old men sit and watch the young go by; he is seated in a row with them. Desires are already memories.

Happy remembering.

Of late: subbing, diphthongs and R.E.M.

I received a birthday card this year that read "You're officially too old for rock concerts." And as I sit here writing this, sniffling and thinking about what tea to drink before bed, I'm worried that may be true. I'll come back around to this sometime. 

Last week I substitute taught a couple of classes. One of my favorite teachers was absent and had asked me to cover for her for the day. Highlights include teaching Greek 11th graders about the Black Panthers in a segment on MLK Jr. and the civil rights era, interpreting an excerpt from the Joy Luck Club with precocious seventh graders and general feelings of competency in the classroom. Only two guys in one class gave me any trouble, and it was both harmless and somewhat amusing, though I tried to keep my amusement under wraps. Two boys sitting front an center in an exam skills class kept talking when they were supposed to be taking a practice test. Then one of them begins telling me that the other is swearing at him in Greek. I offer my condolences but admit that I speak no Greek and advise his friend to swear in English so I can understand. He declined. So it goes. I still only know one Greek cuss word. I didn't hear it.

Speaking of Greek: our classes began this evening. Way, way too many vowels -- 6 e sounds, 2 o's, 2 a's and a variety of vowel combinations that sounds like other vowels. Our teacher seems great, and is mostly interested in our learning conversational Greek at first, and catching up with the grammar later on if we decide to stick with it throughout the year. I'm hoping to -- I keep having great conversations with cab drivers who are eager to teach me a couple of words. I should keep a notepad for new vocabulary. I'll get on that. 

So! This weekend. In high school I studied in France for a summer with a group of about 12 Americans, one of whom happened to be coming through Athens over the weekend. We met up on Sunday and went to the Monastiraki flea market which is incredible. I want to go back sometime by myself to really snoop through the piles of antique jewelry and old Greek comic books. We went to the Roman Agora, Hadrian's library, the ancient marketplace, and my personal favorite: the temple of the winds. It's a stout hexagonal tower at the foot of the Parthenon that was used to measure the winds, the time of day and the rain. Each side has a different personification of various winds beneath which lines have been carved into the marble to act as sundials. There was also something on a plaque about how on days without sun, the rain measured the time of day. This is either the best mistranslation in the history of historical plaques, or proof that Ancient Greece was not only the birthplace of modern democracy, but of magical realism as well. Probably (hopefully) both. 

It's still Sunday: post archeological sites we head through the National Gardens to the Panathinaiko Stadium where the first modern Olympic games were held. This was not the last stop on our tour of ancient ruins, but rather a return to the 21st (or at least the 20th) century. You see, Greece has recently gained its very own MTV station, a station which, from what I've seen, plays repeats of Rihanna songs with the occasional Madonna/Justin Timberlake dreamteam combo. Perfect. So, in celebration of this new station, R.E.M. played a FREE CONCERT. Their latter-day uber-politico-rock seems only OK, but "Losing my Religion" and "End of the World as We Know it" more than compensate. A fantastic Sunday. 

And yet, that birthday card. I was way underdressed, not having planned on staying out until the wee hours when I first left the house. Excuses, excuses, I know, but now I'm sniffly. 

And it is time for tea.

"Miss, Miss" and thoughts on foreignness

Life in the classroom continues to keep me on my toes. The classes have finally, FINALLY been split up into smaller sections based on language skills and there appears to be a inverse ratio between students per class and the ability to hear yourself think. Now the average class size hovers around 10 or so which is perfect. The kids are all eager to have a native speaker in the room and have with startling accuracy guessed my accent as "either Canadian or American," about as close as you can get to Maine. 

Something funny happens to vowels when native Greek speakers use English -- for instance i's become ee's and so when the students are trying to get my attention what I end up responding to is "Mees, Mees." No last name, I don't think they come across many Driscoll's in Athens. But generally they are very interested in the U.S. and many of them know a great deal more than I remember knowing about American politics. In a current events course one student expressed the idea that if the earth is a body, the U.S. is the pulse -- with this kind of perspective it's no wonder they're closely following the election, the falling market, and all the other weary stateside news. Overall the classroom has been great -- I've been able to teach small sections by myself (Dead Poets Society and "The Road Not Taken") and the kids seem pretty receptive. It is reassuring to have actual teachers in the room, though, as I'm not exactly one for disciplinarian measures. We'll see how long I can get away without them. 

I've been thinking a lot recently about why people choose to do things like this -- leave home, leave the country and separate themselves an ocean away from everyone they know. Consider the so-called "Lost Generation" and the expatriates who made Europe seem like the U.S.'s glamorous and free-spirited alter-ego. Isn't it strange that now when college grads pack up and move abroad they're oftentimes doing so under the pretenses of "finding themselves?" I think I have to reject the term. Wouldn't it be easiest to find yourself where your self has always been, safely in the context that you grew up in, nestled in among your roots? Maybe people do things like this not to find themselves, but to lose themselves, even if only for the duration of their stay. To not have the stability offered by hearth and home, to not know where they ought to be going and to literally not even know how to ask. Are we finding ourselves or are we hoping to wake up not knowing where we are or what we've gotten ourselves into? Of course, as any well-trained (think Pavlov) liberal arts graduate will tell you the answer is probably "both." In letting oneself be lost, eventually, inevitably you find your way. 

Or so I hope. 

Psychiko/Halandri Double Feature

Two days into the first full week. The seventh graders have finally taken their placement exams to figure out if they'll be in EFL (English as a Foreign Language), ESL (Second), or ENL (Native). I've got the graded grammar sections with me -- my first official teacherly duty -- and now we're only waiting on their compositions. But, since they haven't actually been placed yet, their classes haven't started. We've been watching films during most of the middle school class periods and discussing them to a small extent. Essentially filler until the smaller classes are determined. 

Other notes on the school. So, the Hellenic-American Educational Foundation is actually two schools on one campus. If both are Ivy League (everyone's favorite standard for discussing educational grandeur), Athens College is Harvard or Yale and Psychiko is Brown or Columbia. A.C. was founded decades earlier (1925 to Psychiko's 1980) and sort of tastes like it: a bit stale, dusty, and nearly all the teachers are closing in on retirement. Classic prestigious institution. Psychiko has a more innovative philosophy and a somewhat more relaxed classroom dynamic. I'm glad to have been placed in Psychiko. As for the teachers there: they've hired a lot of new people this year and when I say people what I mean (with no exceptions to my knowledge) is beautiful women in their early 30s. This is apparently nothing new according to a friend who did the program a few years ago.  Maybe the Greek teaching demographic just happens to be gorgeous? Maybe. 

Back in our neighborhood, Halandri, Erin and I have continued our explorations for nice coffee shops, restaurants and really any place that can offer a few hours of air conditioning in the afternoon. Halandri is a northeastern suburb of Athens, but not suburban at all by American standards (at least not those I've known). The streets are bustling and beeping until midnight, there are shops, great places to eat -- mostly Greek food (it is possible to get sick of gyros, by the way) -- and even its fair share of Athens' notorious stray dogs. We're still on the hunt for an English language bookstore and Indian food, but maybe we'll find them this weekend. 

In other news: all of the fellows were cleared for a day off to go to Crete for a long weekend at the end of October. Sevi, another of the fellows, has a cousin who's getting married and we've all been invited. Greek wedding! Something to look forward to.

Offer still stands on the snail mail, I've been annoying the mailroom guy daily. All I need is an address. 

Love.

First days & birthdays

Hello loves.

School started on Thursday and so far the kids seem great. The seventh graders are tiny little things and because here middle school doesn't begin until seventh grade, they are as of yet unscathed by perpetual malaise and cynicism. They are all so doe-eyed  at their new school. The other classes I've worked with are a 10th grade  Drama and the Arts course and a senior exam skills class to prepare for all the placement exams for American and British schools. Drama and the arts is covering "Trifles" which I acted in for a one act competition in high school. There are some girls in that class whose English is so nuanced and easy that I wonder if they are perhaps native speakers. The seniors are less interested in English only because it is not a part of the Greek national assessment exam in the spring. So it goes at Psychiko College.

At home, and the apartment is slowly beginning to feel like home, all is well. Our laundry machine finally works and for lack of a drier we hand things up on our back porch. An instance when the relentless heat comes in handy. We had everyone over last night for my 23rd birthday celebration -- fancy cake, strong drinks -- and then went in to Psiri, an area of downtown Athens. Late night, but a nice was to bring in 23. 

Photos of the apartment have been requested, but so far I only have a few of my bedroom and the views from the balcony. I'll add more later. If anyone has a spare digital camera (!!) feel free to send it my way. I hope everyone has a lovely, lazy Sunday wherever you are.

Here are the photos:

My beautiful quilted bed.

View out front, through pine trees.
My desk and one of the sliding doors onto the balcony.
View from the side of the balcony, to Athens and mountains beyond.

The first week seven hours ahead 9.9.08

Hello all, 

Andres hassled me last night to post something here because that's what this is for. So here it is, Mr. Millan.

The first week has been fantastic, the transition has been much easier than I expected. The fellows are all finding their close friends among the group and still everyone is getting along very well, how long the uber-friendly phase will last is yet to be seen, but we are still safely in it for the time being. Greeks are a wonderfully welcoming people who love to hear silly American girls try to speak their language what what I'm sure can only be described as brutal accents. I've been trying my best with the language, and I'm picking up a couple of words

 a day. Still limited to the bare basics, of course, but I did manage to tell a friendly cab driver that "I want two gyros, please," unable to provide them, he still laughed an said "excellent."

This past three day weekend we all went to Naxos, an island in the Cyclades range which is known for the white washed houses, blue shutters, teal seas. It didn't disappoint. We spent at least seven hours everyday at beaches, swimming, climbing rocks, and I finished a couple hundred pages of East of Eden. The perfect weekend. 

Back at school today, we met the Psychiko English Department teachers all of whom are young and excited to have some native English speakers around. Classes begin Thursday after the state required Holy Blessing of the school year which I'm looking forward to a lot -- wouldn't exactly have flown at Deering or Kenyon. Overall, the classes seems like they'll be a lot of fun, and I will probably also be working on the literary journal, and perhaps with the French club -- vying for the annual trip to France! 

I'm sending some stuff in the mail later this week, so send me me your address and I'll send you some Greek love notes. 

A late-added arrival entry (Written 8.29.08)

So, I made it. Hardly a glitch in travel, slept a good deal on the New York to Athens leg. Arrived this morning at 10, went to campus to get our orientation package, met the other fellows and then headed to our apartment for the year. The fellows seem quite nice, very friendly. The final fellow doesn't arrive until tomorrow, but Im sure we'll all find our friends in the group throughout the first few weeks. Erin and I are living together in a neighborhood called Halandri, north of Athens, and about half an hour bus ride to school. 

The apartment is incredible. My room has two sliding doors that open onto a balcony that wraps around the house. I'm sitting there now, looking at swaying pinecones (have I even left home?) and arid mountain landscape on the horizon (yes, I have). Erin and I spent the afternoon unpacking and taking naps -- very easy to do with a warm crosswind in your bedroom. The air is dry and there is some sort of creature making a loud scratchy noise in one of these trees. A frog? A bird with emphysema?

Tonight we're heading into the city for dinner and exploration. With the jet-lag we're not yet brave enough for Greek dining time (9 or 10), but soon we will be! This weekend we're hopefully heading to beaches and I'll let everyone know how they compare to Higgins. 

Love you all, thanks for all your well wishes upon my departure. 

Only sort of kidding

I'm leaving the country for a year. Well, I'll be back for Christmas but then not again until July. Seems like a long time, seems far away. I'm starting one of these online journal deals because it seemed to work for mass communication when I was in Kenya a few year ago. This way I don't feel neglectful in correspondence. 

I'm leaving August 28th, less than a week from now. Not yet packed, not yet positive where I'm living, or what I'm going to be doing the week after next when school starts and the students arrive. I'll figure that out later. Right now, I'll figure out blogger.

Love.