My first cousin on my mom’s side is the second son of my mother’s brother, Mimi, and brother to the cousin I have already written about. His name is Antoni. I remember him when he was a teenager and younger. He lost his dad when he was 16 years old, and for whatever reason, the image of him in my mind has been stuck though I have seen him in the 12 years since our loss of Theo Mimi. Mimi was the car nut in the family. He loved them. He worked on them. He knew everything about them. He said, “If I could put wheels on my wife, I would love her all the more.” He bought a 1960 Mini Cooper that his widow and Antoni still have. It has more than 1,000,000 miles on it, because Mimi would take it apart and rebuild it. My love of cars sprouts from him and my love for him.
Mimi also rode bikes. Here they are called “michanakia” or “little engines.” My mom has told me a story from back then, when she visited Greece and rode on a bike with Mimi. He instructed her to put her purse between them and close her eyes. My mom remembers going so fast along Syggrou Avenue that she couldn’t open her eyes if she wanted to, and of course she wonders to this day how on earth Mimi could drive! But that was Mimi, and there was only one Mimi.
Today, there are many more cars and michanakia in Greece. And when you’re driving anywhere in Greece, but especially in well-populated areas, the michanakia are what can take you by surprise. Here, they go wherever they want. In traffic, they move between slow-moving cars. Without traffic, they do the same, just at higher speeds. At stoplights, they flood the crosswalks to be first in line. At left turn lanes, they bypass the waiting cars and head to the front of the line to make the turn first. Of course the benefit for having a michanaki is the ease of getting around and above all else finding a parking spot. My American eyes, however, can only see the disadvantages—the lack of safety standards, the absence of helmets—and the speeds at which they weave through traffic horrify me.
I saw Antoni this week. Now, I think I finally have an updated mental image of him. He stands at 6’2” and has filled out. Even though I remember him when he was 16 months old when I was a tiny 9-year-old myself, he nears 30, and his goatee is a reminder of how far we’ve both come since then. Antoni invited me out with some of his friends. They meet every Thursday night. Sometimes they gather on Sundays too. You see, this group that he is a part of rides bikes. In further redefining my image of him, Antoni owns a hog and is a member of the Harley-Davidson Club of Athens.
I’ve only ever ridden on a scooter. That was in Greece too, back in 2004 when Freddie and Jordan came to visit and we wanted an easy way to get around Mykonos. I never drove the scooters, but chose to ride with one of the boys at any one time. While on the island, we ponied up for helmets.
“Wear pants.” When Antoni called to tell me he was waiting down below, I arrived, purseless, in jeans and closed toe shoes. He rides a Harley, but not one of those huge ones with back supports; it’s a sporty one, with a black matte finish. And no room to house a second helmet. With my mother watching above from the veranda, I climbed on the bike, helmetless. I thought that the only way I could be making the choice that I was making was to be in the hands of Mimi’s only surviving son. He had my full trust—and my life—in his control. (Only upon my safe arrival home did my mother confide in me her thoughts as she watched us zip away.)
“Hold on to me, because there is nowhere else to hold on.” I didn’t know where we were headed. But because of where we live, we had to get on busy streets. I hugged Antoni and rested my head on his shoulder. Worried about losing my contacts, I did not open my eyes for a bit. When I finally did, I chose not to look at the speedometer, but it did make me wonder: what was I doing exactly?
“Lean with the bike.” We were headed to Piraeus, so we were traveling on one busy avenue to get to another. We weaved in between cars, and sped through them as they merged from two lanes into one. (I had the opportunity to drive in Corfu a couple of years ago, and I likened it to being in a video game with the one difference being that my life was literally at stake. I think I just reached Level Two of that video game.)
As we approached Piraeus, I squinted to have some idea of where we were. I could feel and hear the gears changing. Click! We’d pull away from cars or other bikes. My one open eye watched as we passed between buses and cars and whizzed pass shops. I saw the headlights of oncoming traffic Click! as we traveled along the median to bypass a line of cars. The reflection of streetlights became a dotted line I could follow in Antoni’s helmet. Reminding me of my cranial exposure, the wind cooled my face, and I could occasionally feel it at my back when we came too close to a bus. Click! Click!
I’ll tell you about the details of meeting the gang when I see you next (the 20 or so bikes of all sizes, Antoni taking me by each one to match the person I just met to the bike as well as to inform me of the differences in the bikes themselves, my experience with the three other women that were there, a bus knocking a bike over, the members of the gang who directed traffic between buses and cars along the “steno”). Antoni took me home—I can only imagine before going out again—and I thanked him for the experience. I told him that it was the first time I had ridden a michanaki, and he was delighted that it was done properly. On a Hog.
More to come...
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
“Italy” is misspelled.
I am not at all sure where to begin with my trip to Italy. Explaining how it should be “Eataly” could be one starting point. However, I will tell you about this experience instead.
Many of you know my close friend Bernie. Bernie married Roo six years ago in Vernazza, Italy, have a daughter Ruby about 2-1/2 and little Mei, who is weeks old. Roo’s parents, Ruthie and Richard, spend a part of the summer in Tuscany each year, and this year, I was part of the lucky few who got to stay with them.
As my arrival time was a little unpredictable (is there any hope for a flight from Athens to Rome to run on time? This is why the world needs Germans or least the Swiss), they sent a cab driver who came to get me. He spoke no English and I no Italian, so the ride was quiet. But however quiet it was, it was as breathtaking. I was stunned with every turn we took (my amazement only interrupted by a moment of envy when I saw two women driving a 2010 Z4, top down). About ¾ way through the drive, the driver Anileo turned to me, head cocked downward, big brown eyes upward, and asked, “Bootifool?” And drawing on my extensive Italian, I said with great enthusiasm, “Si! Si! Molto!” He grinned broadly, nodding in agreement.
Just before sunset, I arrived at the house, waiting for the family to come. Bernie called to let me know they’d be late. They were coming from Montepulciano, where they had enjoyed a medieval wine-barrel rolling festival. Naturally. They arrived: Roo & Bernie, their daughters, Ruthie and Richard, and Roo’s brother Bo. We enjoyed sunset from the wall, and we had a light dinner. I enjoyed a great rest with the windows open, giving way to as much fresh air as I possibly could.
Breakfasts were spent under the tree at a long table, where good coffee and conversation never ran short. We made a quick one that morning, because we were off to the coast to see some more of the Rogers clan. A two hour drive included a pit stop in a tiny town for, what else?, espresso. We made our way through wine country. We arrived to find another Rogers brother, Ab, his wife, Sophie, and daughters Ella and Lula, who doted over their cousin Ruby. Cousin Ernesto and wife Arianna greeted us with broad smiles and hugs to match. Their 18-month old twins, Martino and Teo, were being minded by Roxie and Rocco (pardon me as I cannot remember the relation of these two!). We changed into our suits (big thanks to Ruthie here!) and off into the sea we went to cool off.
The swim and beachtime were followed by lunch. Ernesto and Arianna had prepared Linguine di Mare and Octopus. The table of 15 was set outside, or al fresco, under pine trees. The conversation was as spirited as one could imagine. I felt right at home, with multiple conversations happening at once, the wine pouring as freely as the intra-family ribbing. The conversation turned toward the “Toto,” a type of toilet that cleans one so well that no paper is necessary. I will spare you details of the conversation, only because this is a story better told in person. Suffice it to say that I really enjoyed myself, the family table conversation only enhanced by the family table wine.
We spent the next couple of days using the house as a base. Simply watching the sun play with the shadows across the countryside made me so content. Bernie described the countryside as “Playmobile: Tuscany” as we felt we should be able to reach out to move the bales of hay or the tractors along what looked to be a completely fake landscape.
Ruthie is the owner and chef of a famous restaurant in London, and so we ate very well. We talked about food being simply prepared, without lots of sauces or complicated flavors. We talked about being on stuck on an island, and discussing what would you take with you if you just had one food to take. Bernie added to the mix of asking “butter or oil?” We enjoyed eggplant, roasted tomatoes, fresh arugula, and porchetta. Oh and the porcini mushrooms! When more guests arrived, Ruthie greeted them with her famous fried zucchini flowers which is a hit with everyone, especially Ruby. Ruby is a fan of all things fresh, including the blackberries we were picking along our walk.
Good eating aside, I am reminded at how fortunate I am. First, I was visiting a friend I have had the good fortune to visit with in Zihuatanejo, Tuscany, and Rome—this year alone. She is a friend and confidante I have had for 25 years. As I told Ruthie, Richard and Bo in the car ride to the coast, I have had the benefit of Bernie’s good counsel for all of those years. She is a wonderful friend, and I am so very lucky to have her as a friend, and now her husband Roo too. And that I got to play with Ruby and hold Mei for as long as I did, well, I am reminded at how precious life is, and that no matter how much how may have materially, relationships are what make life worth living.
Link to full Italy photo album (including time with Ernesto in Viterbo!!) Some of the captions didn't come through (will have to fix...)
More to come...
Many of you know my close friend Bernie. Bernie married Roo six years ago in Vernazza, Italy, have a daughter Ruby about 2-1/2 and little Mei, who is weeks old. Roo’s parents, Ruthie and Richard, spend a part of the summer in Tuscany each year, and this year, I was part of the lucky few who got to stay with them.
As my arrival time was a little unpredictable (is there any hope for a flight from Athens to Rome to run on time? This is why the world needs Germans or least the Swiss), they sent a cab driver who came to get me. He spoke no English and I no Italian, so the ride was quiet. But however quiet it was, it was as breathtaking. I was stunned with every turn we took (my amazement only interrupted by a moment of envy when I saw two women driving a 2010 Z4, top down). About ¾ way through the drive, the driver Anileo turned to me, head cocked downward, big brown eyes upward, and asked, “Bootifool?” And drawing on my extensive Italian, I said with great enthusiasm, “Si! Si! Molto!” He grinned broadly, nodding in agreement.
Just before sunset, I arrived at the house, waiting for the family to come. Bernie called to let me know they’d be late. They were coming from Montepulciano, where they had enjoyed a medieval wine-barrel rolling festival. Naturally. They arrived: Roo & Bernie, their daughters, Ruthie and Richard, and Roo’s brother Bo. We enjoyed sunset from the wall, and we had a light dinner. I enjoyed a great rest with the windows open, giving way to as much fresh air as I possibly could.
Breakfasts were spent under the tree at a long table, where good coffee and conversation never ran short. We made a quick one that morning, because we were off to the coast to see some more of the Rogers clan. A two hour drive included a pit stop in a tiny town for, what else?, espresso. We made our way through wine country. We arrived to find another Rogers brother, Ab, his wife, Sophie, and daughters Ella and Lula, who doted over their cousin Ruby. Cousin Ernesto and wife Arianna greeted us with broad smiles and hugs to match. Their 18-month old twins, Martino and Teo, were being minded by Roxie and Rocco (pardon me as I cannot remember the relation of these two!). We changed into our suits (big thanks to Ruthie here!) and off into the sea we went to cool off.
The swim and beachtime were followed by lunch. Ernesto and Arianna had prepared Linguine di Mare and Octopus. The table of 15 was set outside, or al fresco, under pine trees. The conversation was as spirited as one could imagine. I felt right at home, with multiple conversations happening at once, the wine pouring as freely as the intra-family ribbing. The conversation turned toward the “Toto,” a type of toilet that cleans one so well that no paper is necessary. I will spare you details of the conversation, only because this is a story better told in person. Suffice it to say that I really enjoyed myself, the family table conversation only enhanced by the family table wine.
We spent the next couple of days using the house as a base. Simply watching the sun play with the shadows across the countryside made me so content. Bernie described the countryside as “Playmobile: Tuscany” as we felt we should be able to reach out to move the bales of hay or the tractors along what looked to be a completely fake landscape.
Ruthie is the owner and chef of a famous restaurant in London, and so we ate very well. We talked about food being simply prepared, without lots of sauces or complicated flavors. We talked about being on stuck on an island, and discussing what would you take with you if you just had one food to take. Bernie added to the mix of asking “butter or oil?” We enjoyed eggplant, roasted tomatoes, fresh arugula, and porchetta. Oh and the porcini mushrooms! When more guests arrived, Ruthie greeted them with her famous fried zucchini flowers which is a hit with everyone, especially Ruby. Ruby is a fan of all things fresh, including the blackberries we were picking along our walk.
Good eating aside, I am reminded at how fortunate I am. First, I was visiting a friend I have had the good fortune to visit with in Zihuatanejo, Tuscany, and Rome—this year alone. She is a friend and confidante I have had for 25 years. As I told Ruthie, Richard and Bo in the car ride to the coast, I have had the benefit of Bernie’s good counsel for all of those years. She is a wonderful friend, and I am so very lucky to have her as a friend, and now her husband Roo too. And that I got to play with Ruby and hold Mei for as long as I did, well, I am reminded at how precious life is, and that no matter how much how may have materially, relationships are what make life worth living.
Link to full Italy photo album (including time with Ernesto in Viterbo!!) Some of the captions didn't come through (will have to fix...)
More to come...
Daily Life
I am back in Athens, and have started and stopped writing blog posts for numerous reasons. Daily life here does not mimic life in Seattle. And it's okay that it doesn't. At times I find things that do and do not make me miss Home. Last week, mom and I went to an outdoor cinema by foot and saw Inception. I was glad that it wasn't dubbed, but it did have Greek subtitles, so in addition to trying to follow the storyline, I was practicing Greek. The Cinema has tables and refreshments, so if you want to enjoy a kalamaki souvlaki with a beer, you may. The photo above was taken from our veranda yesterday morning. Please note the single orange cone to alert speeding traffic that workers are near.
Mom and I took a weekend trip with close friends to Agoriani, a small village up in Mt Parnassos. In addition to taking in the sights and local fare, conversation included differences between the States and Greece. We brought up safety as one, and how much the American is concerned for his fellow man's safety and security, whereas the Greek, well hey, if you weren't looking while driving and you fall over the side of the road, it's your fault. (Did I mention that we drove up a mountain to about 850 meters vertical height?)
I spent the day today going to the post office and to the grocery store. I love going to the grocery store here. It's a little insane. There is an entire section devoted to "Wheat Rusks" which are actually pretty good. Also there is a deli counter for Cheese, and a separate one for Feta, as there about as many varieties at each. Food is relatively inexpensive here (a red onion was .11 euros, a kilo of the finest Kalamata olives at 5 euro, fresh bread at .90 euros a loaf from a bakery, and juice at 2.50 euro). Those of you who have visited here will appreciate today's purchase of 7 cans of beer, with a FREE GIFT of an eighth can. The supermarket even delivered it all within an hour, so I didn't have to haul it home for my 15-minute walk on the heat. I feel like a local!
Speaking of the heat it's been perfect at about 85 degrees F. On our weekend getaway, we got a taste of the village--rain and fog and temps hovering between 55-60--but it was absolutely dynamite. There is something about heading up to the Mountain, putting on heavier clothes, warming yourself with good wine and better conversation, and enjoying the different environment that offers.
Breakfast there was hortopita, think cheese pie but replace the cheese with fresh local greens. The pita was handmade and we ate it with our morning coffee. Although our traveling companion, Kostantinos, prefers bread. I surprised myself in my enjoyment of this dish at that hour! We made a brief side trip to Kaloskopi, the village where my grandads and dad were raised. My dad's little brother is there during the summer with his wife, so we stopped in to see them though all too briefly. That village only has about 20 year round residents, so it's a dying village. The village where we stayed has about 350, and it's becoming more of a tourist site. We met some locals, one a driven young lady named Effie, who is in real estate among other things. She's the glue that holds a town together. She took us to see a hotel that was opened a few years ago by a Greek-Italian (got passion?) lady named Teresa. Teresa fundamentally is an artist. She has put together a beautiful hotel that includes only 4 rooms, all of which are different, but also a wonderful bar/common space, where the ceiling in unnaturally high, the menu is written on the window, and all of the details are hers (she made the clock for example, and the water basins that serve as sinks in some areas are carved from wood by her hand). It is AWESOME to see young women drive commerce wherever you are, and it was really fun for me to see how energized my mom got by seeing them. She sang their praises and gave them blessings. I think the differences she sees in her generation and mine spur her to encourage anyone to make a better life for themselves, but especially to the young women she meets.
I hate to cut this short, because I HAVE SO MUCH MORE TO TELL YOU! But I think some should be left for the trip home, no? I have to get going because (1) strikes going on today will make it harder for me to get around the city, (2) ouzo awaits in Thissio with my cousins and (3) I am pretty much done with the couple in the corner who have been making out since I arrived here. Though the window washer doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he just lit a cigarette.
Link to full album for weekend trip.
More to come!
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Only the Truth is Funny
I am writing to you from Viterbo, Italy, so pardon the mistakes from this Italian keyboard. I have left Bernie for Ernie. In fact, I left the peace, serenity, and private double + bath of Montalcino for the noise, activity and bunk bed of a Roman suburb.
September 3rd is the religious festival celebrating the patron saint of Viterbo, Santa Rosa. There is a structure that is nearly four stories high that will be paraded through town by 150 men. The monument to Santa Rosa (who I am told will weep rosewater) is reconstructed every several years; last year it was new, so the Pope himself--Popemobile, too--came to help in the celebration!! Sidewalks are being roped off as we speak, and prime parking spots are giving way to bleachers. Ernie, whose blog I follow at left, is the big brother of a dear friend, and who is also teaching math here at a study abroad program for American students.
Ernie picked me up from the train station last night, and I was so glad to see another familiar face here. (I will have to back track later on my time in Montalcino with the family Rogers.) We left the train station to head to the main bus stop (he really is a Grade A tour guide) and along the way I saw the first thing that I don't understand. The following description should now end in the word that it does and yet it does: an open-toe, stiletto-heel, suede boot. Boot. Boot? Really? Ernie assured me that I would find more things that I do not understand and encouraged to make note of them. Number two on the list? The short bus we took home. Seating only nine passengers, it qualifies as the smallest public transportation vehicle I have ever been in.
Ernie has a flat in town above the school where he teaches. However, he has made an effort to move out of his comfort zone and challenge himself (a nice reminder for us all, no?) and is living at least part time with a host family. The bus dropped us off, and we walked along a dark road for about a kilometer until we reached the house. Skeptical, I asked Ernie where was he taking me exactly? Doubts of seeing my mother and Greece again danced through my thoughts, and then we saw the gate. His host mother, Anna, lives high above the walled city, protected by the sweetest German Shepherd you'll ever meet. Ernesto is sharing his small space with me, which puts me on the top bunk (really? really.). Apparently later today we will be shopping to make the place a little less Spartan and a little cozier. I will let you know how that goes, especially as Ernie is relying on ME to lead the charge.
I met Anna, and she ushered us immediately to the kitchen for dinner--stuffed tomatoes, roast potatoes, and a tortilla with argula and sour cream. Part of the dinner ritual is watching local Italian TV. The show Anna and Ernie follow takes place in an outdoor ampitheatre--naturally--with an aged Italian host in brightly colored button-down shirts--of course--and features older women dancing to songs, we believe, they themselves choose. As the train was late, we caught the program nearing its end. We saw a few grandmas compete (think Dancing with the Stars without the Stars, or the professional partners, or the glamour...), the most alarming of which was a lady in her 70s who started dancing on a chair, then zipped away her dress to show a two-piece, satin pink number with fishnets to boot, while dancing to the theme song--and no, I really am not making this up--the theme song to The Pink Panther. She continued dancing with the chair, and sometimes it wasn't her face that was captured by the camera. In competition with her was a very enthusiastic lady (same vintage) in a ruffled black and white skirt who could not stop smiling while shaking her hips ergo ruffles, and another, even older lady, who was so very short but wearing European-issue-for-older-ladies black, open-toe slingback lifts to help, which didn't. While the Macarena was playing, she shrugged her shoulders and put her hands behind her head, but did not accomplish much else because she was--as I imagine based solely on the fact that she seemed to be lacking most of her teeth--so very old. With the crowning of the winner, Signora Pink Panther, came our brightly colored host, an attractive young lady (who earlier in the program was dressed as an accordion next to a guy who was dressed as a popular Italian dessert), and a mascot of some sort that resembled the big purple thing from McDonalds.
My condolences to Peter Sellers.
More to come...
September 3rd is the religious festival celebrating the patron saint of Viterbo, Santa Rosa. There is a structure that is nearly four stories high that will be paraded through town by 150 men. The monument to Santa Rosa (who I am told will weep rosewater) is reconstructed every several years; last year it was new, so the Pope himself--Popemobile, too--came to help in the celebration!! Sidewalks are being roped off as we speak, and prime parking spots are giving way to bleachers. Ernie, whose blog I follow at left, is the big brother of a dear friend, and who is also teaching math here at a study abroad program for American students.
Ernie picked me up from the train station last night, and I was so glad to see another familiar face here. (I will have to back track later on my time in Montalcino with the family Rogers.) We left the train station to head to the main bus stop (he really is a Grade A tour guide) and along the way I saw the first thing that I don't understand. The following description should now end in the word that it does and yet it does: an open-toe, stiletto-heel, suede boot. Boot. Boot? Really? Ernie assured me that I would find more things that I do not understand and encouraged to make note of them. Number two on the list? The short bus we took home. Seating only nine passengers, it qualifies as the smallest public transportation vehicle I have ever been in.
Ernie has a flat in town above the school where he teaches. However, he has made an effort to move out of his comfort zone and challenge himself (a nice reminder for us all, no?) and is living at least part time with a host family. The bus dropped us off, and we walked along a dark road for about a kilometer until we reached the house. Skeptical, I asked Ernie where was he taking me exactly? Doubts of seeing my mother and Greece again danced through my thoughts, and then we saw the gate. His host mother, Anna, lives high above the walled city, protected by the sweetest German Shepherd you'll ever meet. Ernesto is sharing his small space with me, which puts me on the top bunk (really? really.). Apparently later today we will be shopping to make the place a little less Spartan and a little cozier. I will let you know how that goes, especially as Ernie is relying on ME to lead the charge.
I met Anna, and she ushered us immediately to the kitchen for dinner--stuffed tomatoes, roast potatoes, and a tortilla with argula and sour cream. Part of the dinner ritual is watching local Italian TV. The show Anna and Ernie follow takes place in an outdoor ampitheatre--naturally--with an aged Italian host in brightly colored button-down shirts--of course--and features older women dancing to songs, we believe, they themselves choose. As the train was late, we caught the program nearing its end. We saw a few grandmas compete (think Dancing with the Stars without the Stars, or the professional partners, or the glamour...), the most alarming of which was a lady in her 70s who started dancing on a chair, then zipped away her dress to show a two-piece, satin pink number with fishnets to boot, while dancing to the theme song--and no, I really am not making this up--the theme song to The Pink Panther. She continued dancing with the chair, and sometimes it wasn't her face that was captured by the camera. In competition with her was a very enthusiastic lady (same vintage) in a ruffled black and white skirt who could not stop smiling while shaking her hips ergo ruffles, and another, even older lady, who was so very short but wearing European-issue-for-older-ladies black, open-toe slingback lifts to help, which didn't. While the Macarena was playing, she shrugged her shoulders and put her hands behind her head, but did not accomplish much else because she was--as I imagine based solely on the fact that she seemed to be lacking most of her teeth--so very old. With the crowning of the winner, Signora Pink Panther, came our brightly colored host, an attractive young lady (who earlier in the program was dressed as an accordion next to a guy who was dressed as a popular Italian dessert), and a mascot of some sort that resembled the big purple thing from McDonalds.
My condolences to Peter Sellers.
More to come...
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Good to Great
I am coming to you live from the business class lounge, only because I have dumb luck. My 100% Greek blood shown so boldly when I waited and waited and waited and then had a hard time finding a seat that I didn't know until CHECK IN that I purchased a business class seat! So I am happy to be in an air conditioned environment writing to you.
My thought for you is simply this: I am humbled and blessed at the outpouring of love I have felt here. And think of all the family I haven't seen yet!! It's an absolute amazing thing to be in a place so incredibly far away, and yet to have so familiar and familial. Amazing.
I have said to many of you before that my life at any point in time lies anywhere between good and great. And of course, I do what I can to keep the needle as close to "great" as possible. However, in moments like these, I realize how fortunate I am, for so many reasons, simply by my birthright to have what I have, and to have the needle point to great without any doing of my own.
More to come...
My thought for you is simply this: I am humbled and blessed at the outpouring of love I have felt here. And think of all the family I haven't seen yet!! It's an absolute amazing thing to be in a place so incredibly far away, and yet to have so familiar and familial. Amazing.
I have said to many of you before that my life at any point in time lies anywhere between good and great. And of course, I do what I can to keep the needle as close to "great" as possible. However, in moments like these, I realize how fortunate I am, for so many reasons, simply by my birthright to have what I have, and to have the needle point to great without any doing of my own.
More to come...
Saturday, August 28, 2010
I really do love the heat.
We made it! After a relatively easy trip and a lot of sleeping by yours truly, we arrived in Athens, greeted by my mom's dear cousin Pepi. It was 10.30 am and already 90 degrees. We were strategic in our travel outfits to be able to layer up for the trip and peel away for the arrival.
We got to Pepi's house, and were greeted by her 90+ year old mom, Thea Maria. I am hoping that we can record Thea Maria while we're here so that we can develop an oral history of both sides of my mom's family. In addition, the family that visited us earlier this summer stopped in, and Pepi had prepared a huge lunch. Sorry there's no photo (obviously, I was not prepared), but included was: fresh fish soup (sounds horrible, but it's made with plenty of rice and avgolemono and it was DEElish), xorta (greens), boiled vegetables, yuvarilakia (classic meatball dish also with avgolemono sauce), homemade bread, olives and feta, and the main course of fresh fish prepared with arugula and mayonnaise. I am telling you *I* was surprised at how much I liked everything. We ate. I napped. We headed to our place that night.
I woke up at about 6 am to spot a ferry coming in (prob from Crete or Santorini). This is the view from our veranda, and no, it doesn't grow old.
We got settled and in and by 4 pm that day (after a nap and more yuvarilakia - we had some at 3 am), we were on a ferry boat that was getting a fresh coat of paint to Aegina. The mental image of Aegina for me is a hug by my Uncle NIck (who passed a couple of years ago) and my Aunt Anthoula. Anthoula is in her late 70s and swims several times a day. She's AWESOME and so easy going. It was so great to be with her. She has 6 grandkids from her two boys, ranging in ages from months old to 26. I feel so very fortunate to be so close to her. And though we were only there a couple of days, there is great joy in knowing that we'll be back very very soon.
We also got to see, though briefly, my cousin Christoforos. He runs a bar/restaurant there, called Anassa. You should try it. Of course, we ate very well, but only got to visit with him briefly. We are going to try to coordinate a trip to the village with him later on when he is able to get away. My mom and his dad/Anthoula's brother used to do that trip all the time when my mom visited here, so it would be very special for us to do it together.
Mom, Anthoula and I spent some of the time wandering around the town of Aegina. I never tire of this, as we visit the same shopkeepers and have established a routine so far away from home. Aegina is known for its pistachios, and so we get them from a particular harvester/roaster. I will try to snap photos of him and his shop, as he is a bit of a riot. The Pistachio festival on Aegina is in September. Since I will be missing the Seattle Greek Festival, maybe I should make it there!!
I did wander around the Port of Aegina while mom and Anthoula caught up at a kafenio. I took some shots of the port, but one I would like to point out is the "ouzeri" down below on street level, and the octopus hanging on a clothes line high above on the roof. Common practice in Greece, and we had some (at my cousin's) that was prepared over the coals and absolutely delicious. Seriously, you should try Anassa. I'm just sayin'.
Some moments are captured here, and as I have finally figured out some kind of internet from home base, I hope to post photos as I go...so check out the photos of the first days here.
I leave Greece tomorrow for a week. My cousins are less than pleased with me, as I am missing 3 birthdays, an anniversary, a baptism, and God only knows what else.
More to come...
We got to Pepi's house, and were greeted by her 90+ year old mom, Thea Maria. I am hoping that we can record Thea Maria while we're here so that we can develop an oral history of both sides of my mom's family. In addition, the family that visited us earlier this summer stopped in, and Pepi had prepared a huge lunch. Sorry there's no photo (obviously, I was not prepared), but included was: fresh fish soup (sounds horrible, but it's made with plenty of rice and avgolemono and it was DEElish), xorta (greens), boiled vegetables, yuvarilakia (classic meatball dish also with avgolemono sauce), homemade bread, olives and feta, and the main course of fresh fish prepared with arugula and mayonnaise. I am telling you *I* was surprised at how much I liked everything. We ate. I napped. We headed to our place that night.
I woke up at about 6 am to spot a ferry coming in (prob from Crete or Santorini). This is the view from our veranda, and no, it doesn't grow old.
We got settled and in and by 4 pm that day (after a nap and more yuvarilakia - we had some at 3 am), we were on a ferry boat that was getting a fresh coat of paint to Aegina. The mental image of Aegina for me is a hug by my Uncle NIck (who passed a couple of years ago) and my Aunt Anthoula. Anthoula is in her late 70s and swims several times a day. She's AWESOME and so easy going. It was so great to be with her. She has 6 grandkids from her two boys, ranging in ages from months old to 26. I feel so very fortunate to be so close to her. And though we were only there a couple of days, there is great joy in knowing that we'll be back very very soon.
We also got to see, though briefly, my cousin Christoforos. He runs a bar/restaurant there, called Anassa. You should try it. Of course, we ate very well, but only got to visit with him briefly. We are going to try to coordinate a trip to the village with him later on when he is able to get away. My mom and his dad/Anthoula's brother used to do that trip all the time when my mom visited here, so it would be very special for us to do it together.
Mom, Anthoula and I spent some of the time wandering around the town of Aegina. I never tire of this, as we visit the same shopkeepers and have established a routine so far away from home. Aegina is known for its pistachios, and so we get them from a particular harvester/roaster. I will try to snap photos of him and his shop, as he is a bit of a riot. The Pistachio festival on Aegina is in September. Since I will be missing the Seattle Greek Festival, maybe I should make it there!!
I did wander around the Port of Aegina while mom and Anthoula caught up at a kafenio. I took some shots of the port, but one I would like to point out is the "ouzeri" down below on street level, and the octopus hanging on a clothes line high above on the roof. Common practice in Greece, and we had some (at my cousin's) that was prepared over the coals and absolutely delicious. Seriously, you should try Anassa. I'm just sayin'.
Some moments are captured here, and as I have finally figured out some kind of internet from home base, I hope to post photos as I go...so check out the photos of the first days here.
I leave Greece tomorrow for a week. My cousins are less than pleased with me, as I am missing 3 birthdays, an anniversary, a baptism, and God only knows what else.
More to come...
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