rebecca elia.com - It's All Greece to Me

Are You Artemis or Athena?

Mon, 23 Nov 2009 00:22:06 +0700

How well do you know your Gods and Goddesses?

See blog post Are You Artemis or Athena? to find out.

Blessings and Generosity

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 01:33:52 +0700

Gifts from the Greeks
I especially love the dwarf pencil sharpener, given to me by a
4 1/2-year-old Greek girl

There are so many endearing Greek traits, but if I had to pick my two favorites, they would be blessings and generosity.

Greeks have blessings for every occasion imaginable. Every holiday, every birthday, every name day…these are to be expected. But what about each new week, new month, weekend, even the three-day weekends? All are preceded by the word “good,” as in “Good week,” “Good month,” “Good weekend (Saturday-Sunday),” “Good three-day weekend.” The time of day determines the greeting, another blessing: “Good day (morning),” “Good mid-day,” “Good afternoon,” “Good evening,” and “Goodnight.” But it doesn’t end there. “Good appetite,” “Good time,” “Good rest,” “Good sleep,” “Good trip,” “Good vacation,” and “May you pass your time well (good).”

Did you recently purchase a new article of clothing? Then you will hear, “Meh yah!” (“With health!”) from the sales clerk. If you’re at a wedding and related to the groom or the bride, you will hear a blessing that means, roughly, “May they live!” (said in the same vein as Spock’s “Live long and prosper.”) The same at a baptism. The usual blessing for New Years, name days and birthdays is “Many years!” At birthdays, you may also hear, “May you live to one hundred years!” Basically, there is a blessing for every occasion imaginable.

The lovely part is that it is said with meaning and kefi (passion). You really do feel blessed.

Add to this that Greeks are generous to a fault. From the moment I landed on my first Greek island, I had all of my needs provided. My first Greek boyfriend provided me with a place to stay, transportation, clothes to wear, and food to eat. He also protected me from all of the other Greek men and introduced me to some of my closest Greek friends. And he wasn’t the only one. It was years before I paid for a single drink. Even today, twenty years later, I was not allowed to pay for my hot chocolate. The owner of the café also disappeared before I could pay him for my breakfast. When I approached him the next day, he said “tomorrow.” Did I ever pay him? We have both, long-since, forgotten.

I will never forget one meal on the touristy Sporades Island of Skiathos. Greece was in the middle of a two-month strike. Nothing was functioning. Even the electricity was on strike and would turn off, predictably, right around dinner time. The restaurants were scrambling to keep the food warm. A group of European tourists at the table next to ours was complaining loudly that their food was lukewarm, not hot. They continued to give the waiter a bad time. My girlfriend and I were cringing. The waiter was so relieved that we, too, didn’t yell at him that he kept bringing us little treats…first some fruit, then some yogurt with honey, then some ouzo, then Metaxa, then more ouzo. We had to finally decline his overwhelming generosity.

I remember some of my earlier days on the island of Skopelos. I have always stayed in the same neighborhood, which used to be home to several elderly women. It would take me hours to traverse the last twenty feet back, because each little grandmother would offer me coffee, then sweets, then nuts, then more sweets. Just today, a dear friend who functions as my mother-away-from-home, invited me to dinner. I apologized because I felt that my joining her was an imposition—I wanted to have dinner with her family, but I felt guilty that they couldn’t have a meal without me. She thought that I was apologizing because I could not join them—and told me not to worry, that she would invite me again soon when they were having something nice. I was too surprised to clarify.

In just three days of this current trip, I received two bowls of fresh grapes (from two different people), two plates of fresh figs, three meals, several free drinks, a large painted water jug, fresh eggs, nuts and two vases of fresh flowers. I turned down additional offers of several meals and drinks. I also received discounts on five different purchases. I remember my mother commenting that Greek generosity stems from their mythology of Gods traveling as visitors. “But,” I retorted, “These Greeks know that I’m not a God!

Each year when I prepare for my return trip I must purchase an additional bag in which to carry all the gifts that I have been given.—gifts which are usually heavy, large and breakable, if not perishable. (See: Greek Duffle Bag Contents-or-What the Heck is in This Thing?) And each year when I return home, I am struck by the generosity of the Greeks and, in comparison, our almost sterile American encounters. I am, frankly, shocked when an American stranger offers a blessing. The most we can hope for in California is, “Have a good day.” And I recall a handful of occasions that I was given the gift of a free cappuccino or pastry at my local coffee shop; each time was such an unexpected surprise that I remember each occasion in detail!

We can learn a lot from the practice of Greek blessings and generosity. How different our day and our world would be if we remembered to extend both to mere strangers! Because, you never know—they could be visiting Gods, disguised!

La-i-ki

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 00:33:06 +0700

Where am I, and what, on earth, is that man screaming?

I rolled over and almost fell onto the floor. Two red cats slinked by. Couch…red cats…must be Thessaloniki.

I thought that I had closed the door out to the balcony, so where was all the noise coming from? The door was closed, but another door in the kitchen was open…for the cats. The noise was coming from outside. It almost sounded like the laiki (pronounced “lie-ee-kee”), the Greek street market that occurs once a week—except for that man’s voice. Weird. It was like a combination of podosforo (European football) and the laiki. Take away that irritating male voice that sounded like a broken clock tower bell, and it would be a laiki. The bustling noise of the neighborhood crowd was discernable. Even his irritating voice was familiar, but instead of yelling “ANGANARES!! (ARTICHOKES!!)” or “FRESKA PSARIA!! (FRESH FISH!!)” or “OLA ENA EVROOOO!! (ALL ONE EUROOOO!!)” he was yelling something else, something that my sleep-deprived brain couldn’t quite make out.

I remembered back to my first laiki experience in Athens. I thought it was the best, even better than the Acropolis! Apparently, my shopping addiction extended to fruits and vegetables, but to say that the laiki is composed only of fruits and vegetables would be misleading. The laiki is to a Greek home what a periptero (kiosk) is to all of Greek life. Beyond fruits and vegetables are plants, little trees, flowers, olives, fresh fish, olive oil, nuts, grains, household items for the bath and kitchen, bedding, pillows, rugs, clothes (from bras to jeans) and Bunsen burners. Between the peritero and the laiki, you’ve got just about everything covered.

I remember spending hours wandering up and down the four packed street blocks, squished between vegetable stands and mad Greek women pushing upright shopping carts. (A word of advice: Wear strong protective shoes, such as those for hiking, and “steer” clear of those shopping carts on wheels. Part of me wonders how many laiki customers have lost toes…) I was mesmerized by the assortment, the quantity, and the prices. More words of advice: If you buy less than a kilo of anything, the sellers will take pity on you and refuse to charge you—since anyone who buys so little must be devastatingly poor. The longer you wait, the lower the prices. After my first trip, my thoughts were filled with just what could I do with two kilos of lemons? (other than make lemonade, of course).

But even the vast display of fruits, vegetables and wares was eclipsed by the bizarre cacophony of voices screaming just about everything one could imagine. One of our first assignments in Greek class was to attend the neighborhood laiki and write down what we heard.

Cigarette smoke pierced my nose, and brought me out of my daydream. My friend was up. I appeared in the kitchen as he asked me if he had woken me. I answered “no.” He said, “It must have been the laiki, then?” I answered that it was that man yelling God knows what. He said, “Oh, the one yelling “OLYMPIAKOS!!”?

That’s why it sounded like podosphero! Olympiakos is one of the Greek teams; they had evidently won the night before. Why he was yelling it at the laiki the next day is still a mystery.

Octopus Lovers

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 22:24:12 +0700

Thank you, @greekfood, for this link.

Greeks Eat Mice!

Fri, 09 Oct 2009 00:00:00 +0700

When you envision Greek desserts, what do you see? Baklava? Loukoumades? Anything with fillo dough, honey, and nuts? What about mice?

I was reminded of the extraordinary array of Greek sweets this week when one of my friends asked me if I had eaten a sweet boughatsa yet. Sweet boughatsas have a creamy custard filling, encased in fillo dough, served sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon. One should not visit Thessaloniki without experiencing one; miss this, and your taste buds will never forgive you.

Okay, so we all know about delicious delicate leaves of pastry doused in honey and nuts or encasing creamy custards. But do you know about the other Greek pastries, or about their chocolate, or--when you put both together--their chocolate pastries? When it comes to these confections, every pastry chef is an artist. I remember being surprised by a sweet Greek boyfriend who, knowing that I was a bit pissed off at him, showed up one night with the most beautiful heart-shaped chocolate cakes I had ever seen. They were almost too beautiful to eat…almost. Or another time, during my first trip to Greece after my mother came for a short stay, on the island of Hydra. What does she remember the most about her Grecian travels? The pastry shop that was hidden from view, several hundred winding meters from the port. We turned a corner, and there it stood. It was something out of her gourmet chef dreams. Every pastry was a little miraculous fantasy, daring all to eat it. I don’t remember how many different ones we tasted. There were tarts with every fruit imaginable, hazelnuts galore, caramels and chocolate…lots of chocolate. Then there are the chocolate-covered sweets wrapped in foil that should read, “Surprise inside,” because you never know what you’re getting. My fav are the Volos figs wrapped in chocolate…a sheer dream. And there’s the homemade sweets from any and all things imaginable—quince, sour cherry (another fav), watermelon...even olives!

Sorry, my concentration was disturbed by some of the locals (goats) passing by. Bet you thought that only cows wear bells.

Where was I? Ah yes, Greek sweets. As a rule, I stay away from most za-cha-ro-pla-stee-o-s (sweet shops) out of necessity. I’m so bombarded with daily offers of sweets that it is a bit overwhelming. Anyway, I was reminded of this yesterday when my Greek friend treated me to a mouse. She said that her boss would bring us two mice—one for her and one for me--and that she would place mine in the hotel refrigerator with my room number on it, because she did not trust that the nightshift personal would know me by name. I was mildly curious as to why she was offering me a mouse to eat. She went on to say that the mice are so very cute that she could not help but devour hers, instantly and completely, as soon as it arrived.

So I ate my overstuffed two kilo souvlaki in pita with tzatziki (yogurt-garlic sauce), onions, tomatoes and fried potatoes and forced myself to walk around (looking for an evil eye pendant) to make room for this mouse that was awaiting me in the hotel refrigerator.

I got back, announced to the hotel clerk that my friend had left me a mouse, and gave him my room number.

I had no idea that mice tasted like this, and I, like my friend, devoured it whole.

I think that I may come back as a Greek cat in my next life.

Mouse from Itea Zacharoplastio, 28th of October Street #121

The Evil Eye

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 04:11:17 +0700

Who do these eyes belong to? Click here to find out: The Evil Eye

Ena Frappe Sketo meh Gala—Horees Kapnos! (One Iced Coffee without sugar, with Milk--No Smoke)

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 07:23:49 +0700

Less than twenty-four hours in Athens, and I was feeling rather proud of myself…wait, this feeling was more than pride; it was arrogance. I had managed to pull myself out of bed at 10:00am (midnight California time), drag myself through the heat to the trolley, ride to the center, and pick up the numbered white slip of paper from the machine at the National Bank. Being the only traveler who still uses travelers checks has its advantages. Although the twenty Euro charge per exchange is a bit hard to swallow, when one is paying rent, that translates to less than two percent—and it’s rare to find a debit card that allows more than $1000 (translated, 690 Euros) withdrawal per day. Even better, what used to be a four-hour stent at the bank is now accomplished in less than one. The exchange had gone without a hitch (job longevity, a third advantage, means the same two tellers for the last fifteen-plus years—so they both knew me already…helpful when you’re handing over $2100). The Euro prize was now safely stored in my money belt—which could only be stolen through personal violation.

I was seated in my usual chair at the cheap but good coffee shop Gregoris (which roughly translates “the one who is quick/prompt/fast”), sipping my cold frappe (with milk, no sugar), eating my cinnamon and powdered sugar-drenched bougatsa (crème pastry) and reflecting on how well my morning had gone. Barely noon, and I had accomplished so much. But, wait, something was off. What was it? Something was different. Surely this was just a trick of my mind—the same trick that made me check my personal belongings repetitively in the Frankfurt airport during my four-hour layover. It felt like I was missing something…but, no, it was just lack of sleep and that ungrounded, uprooted feeling. It didn’t help that my mind and spirit were in Athens from the beginning of the fires, days before my body joined the rest of me.

No, something was different. I looked up and saw this:

“We kept the enjoyment; we left the cigarette.”

Oh my God! No smoke!! I could breathe. It wasn’t a fantasy. It had actually happened—the taste of a pastry, of a coffee, unsmoked!

Heaven!

Italian-American Goes Greek: Interview with Patricia Volonakis Davis, Author of Harlot’s Sauce

Wed, 19 Aug 2009 19:14:32 +0700

You may have noticed by now that I have a love-hate relationship with Greece, one that I value immensely. Whenever I’m there I want to be here, and whenever I’m here I want to be there. If only there were some great books to transport me there. It isn’t that there aren’t books available about Greece, but most modern attempts fall short, way short. Foreigners just don’t get it, even when they live in Greece. They fall into two categories. There are those who love everything Greek, fantasize about everything Greek and ignore things like the 3:00am earthquake garbage collection or the bin of used toilet paper that stinks up the bathroom. And then there are those who thoroughly detest everything about Greece and Greeks (Why on earth, then, do they go there?).

This means that most books are disappointing, at least to me…since I know the real story. It is so rare that someone “gets Greece” that my expectations have fallen deplorably low. As a matter of fact, the last Greek book I read, which happened to be recommended by a trusted friend, was so hideous that I had to force myself to finish it. Even worse, only one out of every ten Greek words was correctly translated or accurately reflected its phonetic equivalent. Sorry, one of my pet peeves. The Greek language is so extraordinary that I feel like I’m the one suffering the rape, along with the Greek tongue.

So, you can only imagine my absolute joy when, after the first ten pages of Harlot’s Sauce, I was not feeling my usual arrogant disgust but actually marveling could it be true? Had I finally found a book that would not disappoint?

Patricia Volonakis Davis gets it. She gets Greece. She gets the Greeks. And she gets the arrogant foreigners. She gets all of it. What a joy! And, today, you are all in for a treat, because Patricia has actually agreed to share her brilliant insight into all things Greek with us!

[Rebecca Elia] What about Greece/Greek life/living do you miss the most?

Patricia Volonakis Davis: The more relaxed pace, the endless sun, the family relationships, the political discussions, the food, the frappes, the taxi drivers driving by recklessly as you shout at them to stop for you, please. (Okay - I’m joking about that last one)

[Rebecca] What is the single most important thing that a foreigner needs to know when traveling to Greece? when moving to Greece?

Patricia: Same thing you need to know and accept when you travel/move anywhere – you are not in your own place, so expect surprises in the food, habits, store hours, perspectives, etc. And when they occur, don’t sniff, “That’s not the way we do things at home.” If you want home, stay home.

[Rebecca] What “pearls” can we learn from the Greeks and their way of life?

Patricia: They value both children and education very highly, more than they do money or fame. I sure wish it were that way here.

[Rebecca] What can the Greeks learn from Americans and our way of life?

Patricia: Not to be so steeped in traditions that they drag you down like quicksand. If you’re not happy with the way government is, education is, your global position is (and many are not) allow them to change. Welcome some change, instead of viewing change as the end of “all things Greek”. Keep the 'good Greek things', and discard the things that, though they may be what you’re used to doing, are holding the country (and its youth) back.

[Rebecca] What are the most important things that your experience in Greece (including your relationships there) have given you, personally?

Patricia: The idea that a life ─a simple life, can be lived so passionately and regally. For example, in Greece, a person who is “only a mom” is as revered for what she does as is a priest or a doctor. People don’t have to multi-task, or be financially successful, politically powerful, in order to earn respect or to be considered crucially important to Greek society.

[Rebecca] Do you have any other Greek projects in the works?

Patricia: Yes! Right now, we are working on podcasting a number of chapters of Harlot’s Sauce, with actors, Greek music, the whole works! I’m looking forward to it. It’s going to be terrific fun!

[Rebecca] Thank you Patricia!

Patricia: THANK YOU, Rebecca! I so enjoyed this interview!

So, if you haven’t read Harlot’s Sauce yet, you’re in for a treat! And for those of you who have, hurry over to Amazon.com and post a review of her book there or on your website to be entered into a drawing for dinner for two at your fave Italian or Greek restaurant!

For more information about Patricia please go to her website at: www.patriciavdavis.com

You can also follow her on Twitter: @HarlotsSauce

Greece Prep 101

Sat, 15 Aug 2009 17:56:14 +0700

Don't expect this

Expect this

***
If you’re traveling to Greece from the United States or one of the many “civilized” European countries, you may be surprised by unique, independent Greece. Although Greece has been accepted into the EEC, to assume that Greece is like any other European country will, alas, leave you grossly unprepared.

But, don’t worry. I’ve put together a brief list of helpful preps for your next trip. It’s best to give yourself plenty of time—some recommendations require three to five years to be effective—so read this list early. Oh, and, WARNING: many of these recommendations are, indeed, hazardous to your health, but, hey, your trip to Greece will be so much more enjoyable:

1. Noise Pollution—Greece is the poster-child for pollution, all types of pollution. The EEC has published noise standards for all of Europe, and Athens fails these standards, miserably. Combine screams, traffic, horns and the 3am garbage collections from hell, and you’re well above the decibel limit. At one point I contemplated whether or not all the yelling that goes on is because everyone is deaf. But don’t worry, we have a plan. Take your iPod ear buds, place them in your ears, and over the next four weeks gradually increase the volume until close to max. (This will most definitely destroy your hearing, but will come in quite handy when in Greece-as you will be yelling as loudly and effortlessly as the rest of the population.

2. Nefos (air pollution)—move to Los Angeles or next to a coal plant approximately three to five years before your first Grecian trip. If neither of these is possible, then move to that town in China where our used computer parts go—yes, the one with the green water where everyone is dying of cancer.

3. Lower your time expectations--Purposely stand in very long crowded lines that do not move for hours. The only difference in Greece is, well, there are no lines.

4. Conversely, avoid standing in lines; practice elbowing your way to the front of every crowd, especially if you are elbowing older pushy women out of the way.

5. Cigarette smoke—If you aren’t already smoking or breathing in second-hand-smoke on a daily basis—what are you waiting for?

6. Prepare to stop for goats—not sure where or how you would practice this. Suggestions, anyone?

7. Do not telephone anyone or conduct any business between the hours of 3pm and 7pm.

8. Skip breakfast, unless it’s coffee and a cigarette, and eat lunch and dinner later—at 2pm and 10pm. Start napping mid-day and staying up ‘til at least 2am. When you do fall asleep between 2am and 4pm, make sure an extremely loud noise, such as a crowing rooster, or an earthquake wakes you up approximately 1-2 hrs after you have fallen asleep—or as soon as you’ve entered REM stage.

9.   Practice sitting as close as you can to the people dining next to you—and standing as close as you can to the strangers next to you--without actually touching them.

10.   Practice saying, “Ooh-hee! Then say thel-loh (No! I don’t want you)” as you click your tongue and jerk your head up. And “Ooh-hee! Then sah-gah-poe (No! I don’t love you).”

11.   Withdraw all of your money from the bank in cash and store it under your mattress (just in case the banks strike for the next two months).

If you successfully complete all of the above, you will have a fighting chance of truly enjoying your Greek experience. Good luck, and remember, no physician in their right mind would suggest #1, #2, #5 or #8.

***For those of you who made it to the bottom of the post without a migraine, I apologize for the cut-off left margin. I have reported it to the Weebly police, and, hopefully, it will be corrected soon. Now, please excuse me while I take a Maxalt.
I can't believe it! When I went to post this apology the left-hand margin reappeared!

Opening Ceremony at the New Acropolis Museum

Wed, 29 Jul 2009 16:15:18 +0700

Can't wait to be there! Not to miss on your next trip to Athens: