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.