We Had A Sifnos Day

Photo:  Pigeons seem to come out of hiding in October.  This is one of their houses.

The day epitomizes our acclimation to Greece.  It began with a church festival and continued into an unexpected gathering for lunch.  In between, we learned a bit more about how to party and make progress in the Sifnos way.  

Photo:  Whitewashing church below our house

Seasonal changes are dramatic in October, most noticeably with the landscape.  After the August intensity of withering sun and whiplashing wind, September seemed to be a month of recovery.  Now in October I sense a second Spring.  Surprising to me, crocuses, naked ladies, and plenty of other unlabeled flowers paint the landscape on a blanket of green.  With this back drop, men turn attention to weatherizing structures for winter:  white washing churches, new construction, laying drainage channels and preparing rooftops to capture the anticipated rains that will flow into cisterns.  Harvesting continues; now it is aubergines, courgettes, onions, garlic, the last of the peppers, and a great variety of dark greens.  After a week of heavy winds and occasional rain, today is so calm and clear that I can see a church on the distant island of Ios across a reflective glass plate that is the sea.

Friends we encountered last night while doing errands alerted us to one of the island’s most exceptional annual church festivals that took place at 8:30 a.m. on a Tuesday, (?!).  “Yet another panagria”, thought I, choosing not to attend, preferring instead to continue with my yoga practice and drafting a page for the book while quietly nursing the morning coffee cup.  Karoline, too, did not break her daily stride as she conquered yet another lesson’s worth of Calvert studies, muttering to her computer screen while drinking echinacea tea.  Meanwhile, Gerhard’s curiosity compelled him to pump uphill on his motorized bicycle to the celebration, brow glistening with effort.  

Photo:  Gerhard cycles to errands on his Bionx motorized bike, (Bionx motor $600 carried from U.S. on a 300 Euro mountain bike purchased in Athens)

It is considered polite to make phone calls only during certain hours of the day.  These are 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. and then again between 6 p.m. to 9 p.m.  I find this terribly constraining when trying to use time well.  In any case, I rushed calls to squeeze them into acceptable hours, striving to arrange for this week’s Greek, piano and flute lessons.  The teachers do not wish to set a schedule of a certain hour, on a certain day of the week, at a certain location, for a certain number of pre-planned weeks.  Instead, they prefer to set a unique time, day, and location shortly before each lesson.  The hour of the lesson can range from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m. ANY day of the week, (this includes Sundays).  Thank goodness I have only one child for whom to juggle the family schedule!  It occurs to me how odd it is that the island cannot supply its own teachers and instead these particular teachers come from Athens via the 3 hour ferry ride for a couple days every other week.  Even well planned days can be disrupted by bad weather, strikes, or an unexpected mechanical failure on the ferry.  Or, as happened today, some port authority found the ferry’s paperwork not in order, therefore, grounded it to a Pireaus dock.  I wonder if video conferencing via Skype can overcome these impediments?  The ambiguity and inefficiency is trying for me, someone habitually land-bound and spoiled by the American system of advanced and simplified planning.  

 Photo:  Music school in Kato Petali, a 15 minute walk up donkey paths from the house

Calls completed within the confines of politesse, I jogged down the hill to deliver a gift for our departing Norwegian friends; congratulating them on a job well done with their newly installed IKEA kitchen.  When Chi Walking upwards home I passed the time by “repeat after me” the Pimsler’s Greek lesson pumping in my ears from an iPod. Arriving home in the nick of time, I drove Karoline to the Greek gymnasium, (school), where she was looking forward to joining mid-day classes in biology, German and music. She was especially looking forward to peering at organisms through the lens of a microscope that is part of a surprisingly well equipped computer and science lab.  

  

Within minutes after the drop-off, and while grocery shopping, I was surprised to find Karoline at my side.  She exclaimed, “There is no one -- absolutely no one -- at the gymnasium.  What should I do?”  Expressing my surprise to our friends Antoni and Tessi, they inquired….in the Greek that I do not yet possess…of Ursula, the cashier…where are the students?  They walked to Artemone, (a town reached through pedestrian paths about 30 minutes distance).  Why this change in plans?  She did not know.  And so the information was translated to us.  Not being deterred, we drove to Artemone and easily found the favorite cluster of girlfriends who beckoned to Karoline, “Ela, ela”, (come,come). 

Evangelina, the music teacher, was passing by and paused to deliver a message:  She very much hopes that Karoline will stay in the school choir, “Karoline was the only one during auditions who could read sheet music and sing in tune.  Karoline can be my assistant.  Please?”  I was taken aback.  Completely.  The previous week Karoline had vented, in post-audition dismay, how she had thoroughly botched it.  Paraphrased:  She didn’t understand that the music class that day was actually a choir audition.   She didn’t understand the (Greek) instructions for what was expected.  She simply took the songbook thrust in her hands, and, when prompted, sang the lyrics (in Greek alphabet) as best she could decipher, and did a lousy job.  She was mortified to be put on the spot in front of her peers.  Only at the end of the class, when the teacher repeated, this time in English, “Congratulations, you passed and will be in the choir,” did Karoline realize that she had auditioned.   As Karoline was conveying her dismay to me, she wept in embarrassment of herself.   Therefore, the teacher’s rendition was yet another example of this feeling that I am only half catching on to what is going on around us.  There is still plenty of learning to further integrate into this village life.

 Photo:  Karoline's Greek God series designed for center of porcelain dinner plates

As we were chatting Antoni the potter passed by and signaled for my attention.  The new dinner plates were ready for Karoline’s attention.  She is to come by the pottery workshop and apply the cobalt pattern before the next firing.  In need of more dinner plates to support our more frequent house parties, we decided to create Karoline’s idea of a Greek God series.  Based on ancient Cycladic pottery designs we photographed in Athens’ Archeology museum, we designed motifs to represent six of the major Greek Gods.  

Are you noticing a trend here?  Why is it that people don’t pick up a telephone, or send an email, or, for that matter, why is there no form of local bulletin board advertising events on the island?  This word of mouth communication is lovely– real eye-to-eye people contact is so heart warming and, well, human.  Yet, it is hardly efficient.  To ‘get along’ I keep teaching myself how important it is to be visible in public life and how to lower the value placed on productivity.

With Karoline on the field trip and Gerhard at the church festival, I concocted dishes with vegetables harvested from departed Victor’s restaurant garden.  After tourist season, he has closed his inn and returned to Madrid for the winter, granting me rights to gather what I may. Simultaneously, the iPod prompts me to repeat into thin air, “Hello Mister.  How do I get to Victory Street?” (in Greek, of course).  The phone interrupts and I take a call from U.K. Button who is advising me on how to propagate lavender, (Augusta Folia), from her own local oil-production farm.  

Photo:  Pop quizz!  What does this spell?  (Answer:  My name in Greek, (Mrs. Karen Gilligan)

A car horn brings an end to that phone conversation and announces the arrival of our friend, also named Antoni.  Cigarette dangling from nicotine stained fingers, he brings a smoke cloud into the kitchen throwing air kisses, right then left, and announces that he has arrived to give Gerhard a Greek lesson.  Waiting for Gerhard’s arrival, we relax at the café table on the veranda to enjoy the view with our cups of espresso, glasses of water, and biscuits.  He takes a drag from the cigarette then launches a Greek lesson, guiding me through the alphabet, both written and oral.  I am grateful.  

The impromptu lesson is interrupted by, first, the return of Gerhard and Karoline, then by the arrival of friends Ingerd and Raidar bearing foul-looking faces.  With anger not yet dissipated, they explain, in a Norwegian’s second language, that the ticket seller bungled things and they missed their ferry.  They cancel their evening dinner plans with friends in Athens, wait another 6 hours, route themselves through another island to take sleeping berths on an overnight ferry.  Antoni hears this story and says, “Calm down.  This is how it goes in Greece.  No worries.”  So I prepare a big lunch of “Chinese” stir fried rice for our unexpected guests.  Given that one cannot find Chinese foodstuffs on the island, (Karoline is the the island’s one resident Asian), this dish is highly improvised to give the aura of being Chinese-like.  Karoline is off the hook as this was the meal she was to have prepared for us later in the evening while Gerhard and I attend our Greek lesson.

 Photo:  Resident hen greets us on the way to piano lesson

Over lunch Gerhard describes the earlier church festival.  Several years ago Spyros, the island’s only large scale excavator, had heart problems.  After specialized surgery in England, he recovered his health and vowed to say his thanks to God by hosting an annual church festival.  The ritual is as follows:  The evening before, the icon (gold framed antiquity) of the island’s patron saint is ceremoniously delivered from its normal resting place in another church to his home church.  Launching the day’s festivity at 8:30 a.m., incense-dispensing priests and cantors harmonize blessings for an hour, (roughly).  Members of the congregation place offerings of coins in a basket circulated by a deacon.  Everyone transitions to a café where the gentleman survivor – rich with gratitude-- hosts a coffee hour.  If coffee is not one’s pleasure, then a Metaxa 3 star cognac or siporos is served, (recall:  this is about 10 in the morning).  The drinks are accompanied by ornately wrapped sweet cakes and chocolates prepared by the local sweets shop for this occasion.  For several hours a good time is had by all.  

As I heard the recitation, it occurred to me what could be the likely reason for the students’ unplanned walk to Artemone’s main square.  The church is located directly on the square where we found Karoline’s girlfriends.  The teachers probably did not wish to miss out on the festivities and so declared the day a Field Trip.   Well, why not?  “This is Greece,” they would tell me.

 Post Script

As I prepare this post Karoline inquires about the meaning of ‘steal’ in this classic Alexander Pope poem.  To address her question I read… and realize… how fittingly descriptive it is for a still existent Sifnian way of life.

The Quiet Life

Happy the man, whose wish and care

A few paternal acres bound,

Content to breathe his native air

            In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,

Whose flocks supply him with attire;

Whose trees in summer yield him shade,

            In winter, fire.

Blest, who can unconcern’dly find

Hours, days, and years, slide soft away

In helath of body, peace of mind,

            Quiet by day.

Sound sleep by night; study and ease

Together mix’d; sweet recreation,

And innocence, which most does please

            With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;

Thus unlamented let me die;

Steal from the world, and not a stone

            Tell where I lie.