A Joyous Easter Holiday
So much to say, so little internet! Here I’ve been off having adventures, and leaving all my anxious readers (if I have any) in the dark. Well, no more.
About two weekends ago, I went to Mistra on my last CYA excursion. Little did I know that Mistra is actually right next to Sparta, so I was able to spend the twilight hours in the ancient site — now a most tranquil place of olive groves, overgrown wildflowers, and wide cobbled paths. Prof. Coulson, advanced in years though she is, even jumped a fence to get us into the ruins of a Byzantine church.
Not that the next day wouldn’t be full enough of the things. We made sure to stop by the church Prof. Coulson did her thesis on, which actually left me completely enthusiastic for our on-sight final. Half Eastern, half Western, it was an intriguing puzzle… at least for those with at least a few weeks of background and an unusually excited guide.
The on-sight final was a similar project, describing a little church at Mistra in an attempt to argue whether or not Byzantine architecture was stagnant or truly creative. I went for the latter, but it’s hard to see why with the untrained eye. However, whether or not one likes Byzantium, one must certainly fall in love with the fairy-tale-like ruins of Mistra, with its brick-red churches and castles giving way to a spring of lush greenery and a kaleidoscope of flowers, all buzzing with honeybees. I saw a lizard, a lumbering beetle two inches big, a donkey, and came face-to-face with a grasshopper the size of a weta.
I also met a young man who didn’t know what pollination was… It’s still too painful to talk about.
Mistra, in fact, soon leapt to the top of my favorite locations in Greece, immediately followed by Meteora. However, you are in Greece for Orthodox Easter, do not miss pension Carlos in Akrotiri, Santorini. I’m sure glad I didn’t.
My Easter holiday was cold, windy, and rainy. Naxos provided me with hours of wanderings through the Old Market, a series of alleyways between white buildings with blue trim and dozens of little shops spilling out onto the pedestrian street. Naxos town was like a clean white labyrinth set on a hill, a pleasant enough place to stop for a day or two before moving on to Santorini.
But at the port of Santorini, I was picked up by Maria, and driven up to the modern town of Akrotiri and her family-run Carlos pension. I didn’t actually realize it was Akrotiri until I went for a walk past the (unfortunately closed) archaeological site, but wouldn’t you know it: a swallow flew right across the road in front of me, looking just like the famous Minoan wall-paintings. I am quite the Classics geek: It took my breath away.
I became fast friends with Maria, and her mother Eva. I helped Eva set up breakfast one morning for the big group of Icelanders, and we talked of vegetarianism: “Do you do this for God?” “No, I do it for myself.” It turns out Eva had been vegetarian herself for a time; “When I am on my own, I would like to give up meat again.” She made me some delicious fried vegetable patties.
The lambs, though… I almost had to leave the room. The night before Maria made candles for everyone, and we went to church to be mortar-bombed by fireworks. Now was the Sunday feast, and they brought in three whole lambs on spits, their white teeth grinning horribly from holocaust-charred faces. And there was Eva, honing her knife theatrically, and she and her son just started hacking those bodies to pieces. I stared at my water, waiting for the carnage to render them shapeless and meaningless.
Fortunately, it was uphill from there. I filled myself with potatoes, vegetables, bread, and Easter cakes. And then, oh then! Five hours of dancing: we watched the Greeks do individual Zembetiko, some of them quite amazing performances; and everyone joined in the line dances, and we eventually even picked up a few real dance steps. The Icelanders and I took center stage for a short bout of Western and Latin American music, from Wild Thing to Ricky Martin. By the end of the night, my feet hurt, but I was the happiest, most unselfconscious thing in the world!
I even managed to keep my spirits up for the 11-hour ferry ride I had to suffer through the next day, passengers sitting on the floor in the hallways like refugees. I might have gotten a little stir-crazy towards the end, when I started getting the urge to wear the fire-extinguisher cover as a pope-hat… er, let us never speak of this again.