Death to Death: Greek Easter on Sifnos

Spring on Sifnos

We returned to Sifnos, thrilled to unpack more permanently and reconnect with the community.  Gerhard and Karoline arrived a week earlier to find the cottage in excellent condition.  We cannot say the same for the landscaping.  Not many of our ex-pat friends are yet on the island.  Nevertheless, we are happy to be with local friends who survived a particularly cold winter and the woes of Greece.  While Gerhard and Karoline were settling in I attended dad’s funeral services. This required six days of travel to allow for six grieving days in the company of extended family.  Now it is Easter season, the highlight of the Greek year.

Coincidentally, my own state of sadness mimics the dolorous yet, ultimately, uplifting community experience of Easter in Greece.  Schools and many businesses shut down during the two weeks surrounding Orthodox Easter.  This is a time when Sifnos usually experiences a burst of visitors who wish to celebrate in traditional island style.  However, the economic woes are distressing most families and many cannot afford even the price of a ferry ticket.  In addition, many chose to avoid unreliable ferries triggered by inconsistent weather and strikes.  While Easter celebrations are subdued this year, it is likely more authentic to the original purpose of honoring Jesus’ sacrifices and example of faithful living. 

Red dyed Easter eggs

During each day of Holy Week the village churches host two multi-hour services.  Each service focuses on a different station of the cross.  Good Friday is perhaps the most dramatic when a candlelit procession carries the epitaphion (symbolic coffin of Jesus) from the church, through the village, to the cemetery, then circles back to the church.  Participants chant mesmerizing hymns along the way.  Devote women remain in church overnight for ritualistic mourning.  At midnight on Saturday a church service culminates in a brief display of fireworks (one set per church).  Earlier in the day the flame has arrived on Sifnos from Athens, having originated in Jerusalem.  Congregants carry home the flame in lanterns where the blessing protects the family until the following year.  For older godchildren, godparents cleverly decorate candles (labatha) to encourage practice of this ritual.   Younger godchildren tend to receive a new pair of shoes.  Unique to this night, all businesses and homes are lit up in celebration.  In the wee hours of Sunday “death to death” is declared and the 40-day Lenten fast is broken.  As a game, possessors of dyed red eggs hit one another’s, hoping theirs remains the last to be fully intact.  If so, they are the one blessed with good luck for the year.  Many enjoy eating a traditional stew of lamb offal, dill, rice and egg.  Later in the day the extended family gathers for a big feast, the centerpiece of which is a whole spit-roasted lamb.  On Sifnos it is equally common to serve Mastello which is a stew of lamb in red wine.  Traditional dessert is sweet Easter bread, usually presented as a braid with a red dyed egg nestled atop.  From a friend’s veranda we entertained ourselves by watching from afar as family clusters ate, sang and danced on their own verandas.  

Spring in Kastro

To be a Greek housewife during this period requires the utmost of endurance when practicing all the traditions.   Or so I found.  I am sure that attempting to make red dyed eggs, knead Easter bread, prepare Mastello, and create a labatha for the first time required more effort than if it were habit.  Having said that, unlike the more devote, I did not attend church daily or observe the Lenten dietary restrictions.   Even so, having contentedly survived, I feel a strong need for re-energizing and de-toxing spa treatments.

A few unique Sifnos experiences along the way:

·      Yiannis the goat herder stopped by for his daily coffee and kept us abreast of news.  He says “simera”, and intones “baa, baa”, then swipes the flat of his hand across his neck, screwing up his face with a fateful look – all code for “I’m slaughtering the lamb today.”  He promises a small gift of said meat.

·      Through word of mouth I learn that septuagenarian Kateh offers for sale freshly slaughtered lamb.  In her farm store I watch with admiration as she expertly lifts the huge cleaver.  With full body force she whacks at bone and meat, repeatedly.  I receive half of a lamb, 5.4 kilos, neatly cut into pieces. 

·      Kateh also sells her son’s locally produced sweet red wine. I follow her into the farm’s kitchen that serves both family and business needs.  Moving aside layers of filled egg cartons and drying mounds of homemade cheeses, she reaches for the siphon from the wine vat to fill my plastic water bottle full of the wine. 

·      Kateh teaches me how to prepare Mastello.  It is super simple.  In a large clay pot place grape vine branches on the bottom to act like a frame. Layer fennel fronds and portion-sized pieces of lamb that are seasoned with salt and pepper, (bone and some fat included).  Pour in some wine.  Cover and bake on low heat for 6 hours, ideally in one of the island’s ubiquitous outdoor wood burning ovens.  Considering how simple the technique, the dish is deliciously rich.  It tastes better after resting for a day.  Leftovers freeze well.

·      Our rental car broke down.  While waiting the five days for parts to arrive by ferry, we walk everywhere.  Escorting Karoline home from Greek school, we stop by Flora’s farm to see how this octogenarian is faring.  Before our departure in mid-December we found her ailing and in bed.  I was fearful of the worst.  Instead, she was reigning over her farm stand, complaining only of a sore hip and leg.  Requesting greens, I follow her into the fields to help select horta, (similar to collard greens), arugula, dill and broccoli.  We also buy fresh eggs.  Shyly, Flora asks for payment and I eagerly oblige, relieved not to be paying the otherwise exorbitant store prices.

·      Being the excellent saleswoman that Flora is, I am persuaded to buy the clay pot used for Mastello from her grandson’s adjacent pottery workshop.  Her grandson Yiannis teaches me how to cure the pot:  1 cup of olive oil and water to fill the pot.  Leave in the sun until all water has evaporated.  Voila!

·      As Karoline and I take the daily hike from town to home, I forage for fennel fronds as seasoning for the Mastello.

Labatha for sale

·      On the island for Easter vacation, friends from Athens stop by for café und kuchen.  While the kids play, we peer into the dramas and stresses that are common in Athens today.  The family construction business is in dire straits.  Selling assets allows them to pay off loans that failing banks insist must be redeemed pre-maturely.  The portfolio shrinks.  What does survive is underwater.  Neighbors on Sifnos complain about the eyesore that is their half-built construction project.  The view limits tourist appeal and thus affects villagers’ business.  Otherwise healthy relationships are now tarnished.  The saving grace is investment from a Saudi family.  The only capital available is from the Middle East.  The investors expect a return so work must go on.  While building on Sifnos is cheap now there are too few buyers.  The best hope for the new houses will be to temporarily offer them as vacation rentals.  However, nether is this promising considering that there is a glut in vacation rentals.  Perhaps they can take the business to the Middle East and build where there is demand.  When income is generated, it is unclear how much is available to manage cash flow because the Greek tax regulation is in a constant state of flux.  Their three children continue with private schooling, even when the school is failing.   Most parents can no longer afford the tuition.  Ex-pats who had filled the school have returned to their home countries because they lost their Greek jobs.  If this family is forced to pull out of private school, then they will emigrate and start over again, likely in Germany.  At least, for this multi-culti, multi-lingual family, emigration is a realistic option.  They notice that the people around them are not taking responsibility for the need to change.  A common sentiment is: “This situation is not my fault.  It is everyone else who must change.  Not me.”  It would be different if there were hope.  Yet, “as thinking people”, it is quite clear that there is no reason to place faith in the country’s leadership—business, political or religious —to find a successful path forward.  We haven’t seen the worst of it yet.  But, hey, the apple crumble is delicious.