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Something Old, Something New

11/29/2009

 
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The New Acropolis Museum Rests on Ancient Ground
Athens is a paradox. A big bustling modern city exists a few meters above ancient land. No matter how hard you try, you can’t ignore evidence of civilizations past. It awes me still, walking on Athenian streets, wondering which next obscure view of the Parthenon will suddenly be revealed between the 1950’s maze of concrete buildings. I feel the same thrill in the evenings when the moon somehow manages to appear every single cloudless night, in the most unlikely positions. And even when the Acropolis isn’t visible, there is something quite unsettling when I’m reminded that I’m walking directly on top of an ancient city. Strange feat, to decide to build an underground metro that stumbled through ancient ruins, every few meters.

And yet most modern Greeks appear oblivious to this unusual juxtaposition of old and new. They go about their everyday business--running red lights, shouting at the person crossing the street, narrowly avoiding the motorbike that just whizzed in front of them, carrying on heated political debates with their new Amerikanaiki acquaintance, stopping for a casual five-hour frappe (iced coffee) and their third carton of cigarettes.

I was reminded of this paradox when I visited the new Acropolis Museum. I was unaware that it had been built with clear floors so that when standing on the top floor one can look all the way down to the ancient ruins underneath. Hype for the new museum was centered on the modern physical structure, not so much the ancient ground…so its structure took me by surprise. In fact, there was a debate going on. Several purists feel that the building is too modern, that it is in conflict with the treasures that it showcases. They also argue that more attention is being paid to the beautiful modern structure than its beautiful ancient contents.

What do you think? Should the new museum’s architecture have been more consistent with its internal treasures? I, for one, love this paradox, but it is difficult not to pick sides. It is so much easier to choose new over old or old over new. To live embracing both is an unusual challenge—one that most Americans have never had to face. Ours, let’s face it, is a very young nation.

Are You Artemis or Athena?

11/23/2009

 
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How well do you know your Gods and Goddesses?
See blog post Are You Artemis or Athena? to find out.

Blessings and Generosity

11/11/2009

 
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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

11/4/2009

 
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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.


     

     
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    Global Greek World: For a bit of everything Greek!

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