Greece in Review: In Which I Prove Either My Keen Observation Skills or My Reckless Ignorance

I went to Greece not just for a wedding but also to experience a new place and culture. Here I present what I've learned about the Greeks, a gross generalization that is probably offensive and also at least partly inaccurate. But please understand that it comes from my own observations, which are rooted in nothing but endearment, and which are mine for the judging (and sharing). And after all, I came back with respect and admiration for these people.

1. They won't scold their male children. That's all there is to it.

2. They won't scold their grown-up children for breaking silly rules that only exist to provide an opportunity for scolding anyway. ("Ladies and gentlemen, we have not arrived at the gate. The seat belt sign is still illuminated. If you do not take your seats, the pilot will not move the plane. We will wait here until everyone is seated." You can bet it wasn't on Greek soil I heard that.)

3. They're not above bending the rules in the name of a happy ending. On my last day, I went with the bride and groom to the priest's house so they could sign the marriage license. In looking it over the groom discovered that his names were inverted and that the best man had signed in the wrong place. Not about to let this rain on anyone's parade, the priest ushered us into his garden, took out his pad of marriage licenses, and began filling out a new one. As the best man and witness had both already returned to the States, a fellow friend who was with us forged the best man's signature and I signed as the witness. (At least my witnessing wasn't totally bending the rules; I did actually witness the marriage. Through a window with bars on it, but I witnessed it nonetheless. And while I may not have understood a word of what was being said other than the bride's and groom's names, I got the gist, didn't I?)

4. They do things much later than we do.* This includes waking up, going to sleep, and eating. If we ate dinner at 11:00 p.m. it was a good night. This seems to come from being social, carefree, and fun-loving. Plus, if everybody else is out you don't want to miss an opportunity to socialize (see below).

5. They are endless gossips and are never without what to say. (I only experienced gossip of the good kind, but I've heard plenty about the other kind.)

6. They are warm and generous people to whom family means the world.

7. They have absolutely no idea what they're talking about when it comes to serious things like airport security, as proven by the airport cashier who wouldn't let me purchase the prepackaged candies for sale at Duty Free (where I had to show my boarding pass to shop) because honey was an ingredient in said candies and liquids above 100mL aren't allowed for transport to the U.S.

8. They're in no hurry.** And why should they be? They only laid the foundation for civilized society. They put in their time some 2500 years ago; they deserve to coast now, don't they?

9. Please don't expect them to be on time. This is not only ignorant but also a bit rude.

*Farmers and the elderly excluded
**Except on the road. Oh boy, look out.

Ah, Greece, thanks for the hospitality

Night 4 (Chios): Wait, There Was A Wedding, Wasn't There?

Saturday evening in the town square the men congregated at long tables, perhaps drinking or perhaps telling stories about the groom, or perhaps both. The women gathered at the bride's house, ostensibly to help her get ready. But she was already ready when I arrived, and those who weren't eating were fawning over her. (It's always about eating, isn't it?) Watching the bride being bounced from one cousin/aunt/friend to the next was like watching someone being passed around a mosh pit with different but no less harrowing potential consequences, e.g. her dress being stepped on and dirtied or torn, tears ruining her makeup, someone's dress getting stuck to hers and causing a run (this actually happened), etc. The flower girls darted around the room, rambunctious little things who sat still long enough to have a photo snapped but not long enough to coordinate synchronized smiling. After about a half hour of this commotion, a collective excitement overtook us as someone shouted, "The men are here!" The congregation of men filled the narrow alley leading up to the bride's grandparents' house, fronted by a three-piece band and the eager groom, who was holding her bouquet to offer as a gift.

The serenade begins

I had been prepared by the bride for this but seeing it happen was really thrilling. All the women gathered on the two balconies -- except the bride of course; she had to remain inside playing hard to get -- and smiled and waved down as the band played and the groom stood in front smiling optimistically. (The point of the serenade is to convince the bride to come down to join him, but she doesn't show herself to the groom until she gets to the church. He stands at the entrance waiting for her, not sure until he sees her that she'll actually show up.) After about twenty minutes of serenading, the groom and his entourage "gave up" and started for the church, which was about a half mile away. Once they were gone, the bride and her family descended and the rest of us followed her.

The scene at the church was unlike anything I'd ever seen at an American wedding. The church itself was tiny, accommodating the the bride and groom, their families, and about 15 or 20 other people. As the entire village showed up, it meant most of us remained outside (a blessing anyway, as it was about 100 degrees inside) while the ceremony was broadcast to us. It was entirely in Greek and I had no idea what was happening, but that didn't stop me and a friend from perching on a ledge and staring in at the proceedings through a small window. Other guests milled about, socialized, snapped pictures, and explored the surrounding monastery. No one seemed to pay any mind to the wedding ceremony going on (I think they were anticipating their favors).

Waiting for the ceremony to finish

After the ceremony was the receiving line. (Entering the receiving line also entitled you to your wedding favor of Jordan Almonds and an almond-flavored cookie, so this was mayhem.) It seems a wedding in Greece is as much about getting face time with the bride and her family as it is about celebrating a union. The poor girl didn't get a break.

The tail end of the receiving line

Between the ceremony and the reception we had a couple of hours to kill and spent them in stressful search of gas to fill our empty tank. According to the conversion given to me by one of my friends, gas came out to be about $8.50 per gallon on Chios. (I would check this but I'm terrible at math.)

The reception was as I expected: delightful. An entire seaside village was shut down and tables were set up in front of the harbor. The bride herself arranged for the lamps and candles that served as simple decor, and we couldn't have asked for better weather. The first dance lasts forEVER, as anyone who wants to dance with the bride takes a turn doing so. A group of us took our turn together, and while I had no idea what I was doing attempting to follow the traditional dance of Chios, I sure enjoyed making a fool of myself trying. I loved hearing the Greek music and watching the traditional dances. After more wine came more dancing, and the 450-person-strong party was still going when we left a little before four.

A video of the first dance between the bride and groom:

After waffling on whether or not to go (no surprise here), I'm so happy I was there to wish my friends the best and have a blast doing so. There was every opportunity for cliche (I am very much avoiding the words "big" and "fat" here) but the whole experience felt so authentic and laid-back that I think even the bride was satisfied.

Day 4 (Chios): Another Non-Beach Activity

After spending a few hours at Agia Dynami beach on Saturday, we drove through the medieval village of Mesta, which, according to my friend the local, is one of the most beautiful and charming villages on the island. All crowded stone houses and winding, narrow alleys, it was also a driving hazard. We took what was in retrospect a wrong turn and ended up stuck in an alley waiting for a tour group's leader to finish his spiel and herd the group on to the next attraction. Not surprisingly, our presence in no way motivated the tour guide to hurry his subjects along or even to encourage them to move to the side of the road so we could pass. Here, a photo of whatever he was talking about, taken after we had the road back:

Mesta alley

Day 3 (Chios): A Non-Beach Activity!

Finding ourselves with some time to kill before extending our car rental, my friends and I did a little exploring. Armed with a map of the island marked up with "what to see" by our friend the bride, we decided to visit the Cave of Olympi, a 200,000 year-old natural wonder filled with stalactites resembling pipe organs and wedding cakes. As we descended into the cool, musty interior, our bi-lingual tour guide described (via a script from which he didn't dare stray) the climate and chronology of the cave. He ushered us along grumpily, almost as if he resented our presence. Humorless tour guides always amaze me. Why and how do they get into it? If you would rather play with rocks than talk to people, wouldn't you be a geologist and not a tour guide?

Cave Interior

It looks gooey but it's not.

Days 2, 3, 4, and 5 (Chios): A One-Track Mind

Chios is a medium-large (as far as I can tell by Greek standards, anyway) island in the eastern Aegean near the coast of Turkey. The island's claim to fame is the mastic tree, a small shrub-like evergreen that when wounded produces a sap used as, among other things, varnish, chewing gum, and body lotion. (There are even mastic-flavored yogurt and soda.) While mastic trees grow in other locations, the one that produces the valuable sap grows only on the southern side of Chios.

The summertime population of Chios, according to a local source, is almost four times its winter population (can that really be or did I misunderstand?), so making a living there isn't easy if you don't farm. A lot of people live in Athens most of the year and spend their summers on Chios running a business catering to tourists. Happily, there are few tourists on Chios and most of them are Greek. (In fact most Americans haven't even heard of it.) Knowing this in advance, I worried Chios would be lacking in the natural beauty we imagine when we hear the words "Greek island." Happily again, I was wrong. For four days in a row my only concern was getting to the beach (and hoping my camera battery didn't fail me). Here I'll let the pictures do the talking.

Vroulidia beach

Vroulidia water

Vroulidia rocks

Vroulidia sunset

Mavra Volia part 1

Mavra Volia part 2

Mavra Volia cliff

Emporio harbor

Agia Dynami from above

Agia Dynami lagoon

Agia Dynami water

Only in trying to do a little retroactive Chios research did I discover that that on Chios there is a UNESCO World Heritage site -- an 11th century monastery called Nea Moni -- which apparently has some of the finest mosaics around. I LOVE mosaics, so to have missed seeing these makes me hurt inside a little. I would have skipped the beach one afternoon in a heartbeat to go to Nea Moni.

Day 1 (Athens): It's F*cking Hot As Balls Here

I landed at Athens' Venizelos Airport* on the morning of July 23, far from rested but full of excitement (and caffeine!). This was to be my "alone" day -- my day of solitary adventure, which is the kind in which I suppose I take the most pride. Having perspired many a bullet over the potential closing of the Athens Metro beginning in July, I was relieved to find it running. Better than just running, it was actually efficient and extremely easy to navigate!

The Metro took me (with one transfer) to the very Acropolis of Art History lore. After exiting from the underground, I surveyed my surroundings to momentary panic: there was nothing but tourist shops in every direction. In desperation I looked up, and in doing so caught my breath. Rising above the schlock was the Acropolis, with the corner of the magnificent Parthenon peering out from over the top of the hill like a street cat, afraid to show too much of herself but unable to resist scoping the action.


In my wildest, nerdiest dreams, I could not have imagined being so impressed. To mount the Acropolis I followed the crowd, popping in at every incorrect entrance (why don't they just have an all-Acropolis ticket?) until I finally found the main one. Half a mile and twelve Euros later, I was on my way to the top.

The Parthenon Restoration Project, according to a sun-worn placard I read, began in 1983 (I was four). An article in February's Smithsonian magazine adds 8 years to the project's life and illuminates the obstacles and disctractions encountered by restoration team members (and the gaffes of turn of the 20th Century "restoration" attempts, which did far more harm than good). It also gives props to the ancients for genuinely baffling us moderns by the scope of their ability.

The iconic Parthenon view, iconic tourists included.

After not hearing "American" for a solid two hours, I had my first taste of home when a group of young Americans walked by me and one of the girls observed to her friend, "It's fucking hot as balls here." She was right, but I had long forgotten discomfort. Surveying the panorama of Athens, I tuned out Americans, Germans, and Italians alike (okay, maybe not the Italians) and inhaled the history and fresh air. I snapped photos of the Erechtheion and its famous caryatids, which I giddily recalled having studied in freshman Art History class. After gawking at the caryatids I noticed a hunk of stone on which was carved a blurb about the Erechtheion. To my great disappointment (although had I paid closer attention in class, this may not have come as such a surprise), I learned that the original caryatids (along with other archaeological finds from the Acropolis) had been removed and placed in the Acropolis Museum (ALSO under construction!); what I was marveling at were in fact replicas.

Imposters!

In order to get back to the airport in time for my flight to Chios, I had to cut short my Acropolis visit. In looking back, though, it's safe to say I got my money's worth. With more time I'd have entered the Agora and the various other temples that appeared to be on separate entrance tickets. The truth is that the signs are mostly inadequate and relatively scarce, which, given the Acropolis' status as THE Greek ruin to see, surprised me. On the one hand, it assumes you're well-prepared, with a guide, or have a guide book. On the other, it leaves so much of the history of the site open to interpretation. I get the impression that most people are disappointed, or at least underwhelmed, by the Acropolis. Putting aside the signs' deficiency, I can see why, given the ubiquitous "improvements." Scrutinizing the buildings' skeletons, I noticed just how many of these modern touches there were: a cement filling here, a metal rod there, a stray dog, a construction crane, and an umbrella salesman here, there, and there. . .

Maybe it was that I hadn't counted on making it, or maybe it was that I'm a bit of a history geek, but my Acropolis visit didn't disappoint or underwhelm. I value elation at learning and imagining, and I hope I never stop experiencing it.




From the airport I took the Metro line 3 (the blue line) to Syntagma Square and switched to line 2 (the red line) to Akropoli, just one more stop. Armed with my Wiki printout, I made it in 45 minutes with no wrong turns. On the way back to the airport I spent about 20 minutes browsing the Syntagma Square station, where excavation finds (and plenty of informational signs detailing them) are displayed. The coolest one was an aqueduct piece placed just right to show where Classical-era Athens street level was. I've chosen, however, to display the photo I took of a thousands-year-old skeleton as I'm probably the only lame-o who'd get excited about an aqueduct.


Back at the airport, I caught my flight to Chios. My friend (the bride) picked me up at the airport and I spent the next 8 hours pining for sleep until I was finally allowed it, while we ate, drank, drove around, and ate some more. (In Greece you can get chicken souvlaki AND french fries in the very same pita!) Chios photos in the next post.

*Anyone not sure how to maneuver the picking up of their bags from the baggage carousel should consult this very helpful guide (scroll down), chock full of advice on everything from claiming the best real estate for baggage-spotting to getting the most out of people-watching during this ordeal.

Distraction

I just got back from a week-long trip to Greece, time I intended to use not only to attend my good friend's wedding but also to reflect on my desires and implement at least the workings of a plan I would stick to for Changing My Life. (It needs the capital letters, it does.)

Instead I went to the beach every day and forgot about my life in New York. This, of course, while not being productive, was therapeutic in its own way.

Travel is something in which, no matter how low I've felt, I have never lost interest. What better way to learn simultaneously about yourself (am I really that square?) and others (wow, the Greeks eat dinner really late)? There are few places I wouldn't want to experience at least briefly. Of course it was financially irresponsible, but it would have been a crime against self-actualization to pass up the opportunity to see a new place and share in a friend's joy.