That’s Life (In Greece)
Ups and downs, naturally. Two weeks of
Easter vacation for all Greek students are great for the kids, but not for the
moms who are expected to do a considerable amount of holiday prep work on top
of the extra childcare—unless grandmothers are available for that--whether or
not they have paying jobs. Driving up to the supermarket to stock up on tissues
and paper towels while they’re 40% cheaper than usual, I came up behind a
pickup truck full of sheep that was following two other pickup trucks full of
sheep—perhaps part of the same flock that blocked the road into our
neighborhood as they were herded through the streets one evening. Heading back
down the hill to build tissue and paper towel towers in my bedroom, I trailed a
small, slow motorbike whose two passengers seemed to be engaged in an animated
discussion or argument, judging by the expansive gestures that could be
confused with frequent left and right turn signals and the way the helmeted
driver kept turning his head back to look at his un-helmeted passenger. That’s
driving in Greece for you.
On the “up” side: new flowers and fruits increase the rewards of foraging in the neighborhood. Since some fruit seemed to be dropping from my neighbor’s tree and spoiling, I asked if I might pick a few of her loquats, which are called DESpoless here and known elsewhere in Greece as MOOZmoola—a word I enjoy almost as much as karPOOzee, or watermelon. The yellowish or light orange loquats range from cherry to plum size, pear to plum shape, with a taste that combines apricot, peach, plum, and grape—a taste I’d never experienced before moving here. Kyria K responded to my request by inviting me into her yard, getting out her ladder, and encouraging me to pick all the fruit on the tree and give her just a little of it. So instead of a few minutes and a few loquats, I ended up with an hour’s activity and two large bags of fruit, one for us and one for her! I’ve also harvested even sweeter, larger loquats from a very productive tree in an unoccupied lot which doesn’t seem to interest anyone else. This is a fruit that is both expensive and much better when eaten fresh off the tree; then it can hold the sweet taste of the Cretan spring--and of Greek generosity.
Showers of Blossoms, Meadows of Thorns, Winds of Change
Multitudes of tiny olive blossoms fall on me in little showers of white if I bump a branch, landing on the ground like a light snowfall. It’s no longer so easy to search the field next to an olive grove for the wildflowers to which I'm addicted, since it’s more a matter of wading through tall, dry seeded grasses and cautiously picking my way between sharp and thorny plants than walking blithely through the shorter, greener grasses of our winter and early spring in search of a bouquet. Anyhow, there aren’t too many flowers left there aside from the treacherous purple thistle, now that a farmer has mown the grass, weeds, and flowers--even my favorite bright pink field gladiolas--that would otherwise draw nutrients away from the olive trees or prove a fire hazard in the dry summer. But while the ubiquitous color of abundant early spring is already being replaced by hardier, less friendly plants now that the sun has become stronger, some fragrant, brilliantly orange and yellow nasturtiums escaped from gardens, and the large lantana (or shrub verbena) bushes full of tiny pink, yellow, orange and white blossom clusters are flourishing now, along with the geraniums that bloom here year-round, adding color to the drama of partly cloudy skies on windy days. I still occasionally discover new species of wildflowers, as well, including strange flowers such as a dragon arum and another arum plant I can’t identify, which looks like an elongated candle flame protected by a large white, pointed hood edged with dark purple and shaded by huge leaves.
Strong island winds (22-34 mph,
or more, at times) have kept us allergy sufferers inside a lot lately as olive
branches wave wildly, and dust and pollens scatter. At least recent days have
featured more westerly winds rather than the southerly gusts that bring African
sand and an eerie semi-cloudiness that limits visibility and coats everything
in light films of dirt. On one windy walk around the Old Port of Chania, we
were treated to impressive shows of sea spray as waves crashed against rocks to
the west of the port. With such strong winds, the weather can change suddenly. Just
a little rain blew in to replace the earlier sun today (unlike
the serious spring
showers of another week) before the clouds blew away to reveal the sun again—and
then returned to hide it. During Holy Week, we had two or three days in the 80s,
but as soon as I washed the winter coats my kids had barely worn since January,
intending to retire them for the season, they were needed for a chilly Good
Friday evening service.
Greek
Orthodox Easter Traditions
Easter is by far the biggest
holiday of the year in this predominantly Greek Orthodox country, considerably
more important than Christmas, with at least as long a school vacation (2 weeks,
just finished). A minority of Greeks fast during the entire 40 days of Lent
(not eating animal products, including fish and dairy, with limits on oil and
wine); most do not fast, or do so for shorter periods, such as one or two days
before communion during Holy Week. Highlights of the holidays include Good
Friday’s candle-lit processions around neighborhoods following a flower-covered
bier that holds an icon depicting the preparation of Christ for burial and
represents the tomb of Christ (epitaphios); the midnight celebration of the resurrection
with its singing of “Christos anesti” (Christ is risen) and spreading of the
symbolic eternal flame from candle to candle through the darkness, followed by dangerous
fireworks and gunshots into the air outside some churches, and the burning of an
effigy of Judas (clothes filled with dried grasses) near others. On Easter, it’s
the custom to hit a red boiled egg against another’s egg, to see whose cracks
last; lamb (or sometimes goat) is roasted on a spit as part of the Easter feast
with friends and family. Greeks don’t just say “Happy Easter” or even “Hronia
Polla,” their universal holiday wish for many years (of good health,
presumably); on and after Easter, they first greet each other not by saying
Kalimera (good morning, good day), but with “Christos anesti,” Christ is risen,
and they respond to that with “Alithos anesti,” He is truly risen. It’s not all
about chocolate bunnies and Easter eggs here; they’re part of the celebration,
but less important than the fancily decorated candle (the lampada) that
children receive from godparents and light during or after the celebration of
the resurrection, and of course far less important than the resurrection itself.
After an Easter feast at the home
of good friends, we left with another dozen or so fresh eggs from their hens to
top off our collection of colorful boiled eggs. Last year, fed up with eating the
questionable ingredients in commercial egg dyes that always stained egg whites,
I vowed to try vegetable dyes this year. So I spent a whole afternoon experimenting
with beets and purple cabbage (the biggest success, for a reddish color, and
blue), red wine with balsamic vinegar (an interesting deep mottled rust color
after a night dying in the fridge), spinach with green tea, and cumin (a waste
of time). Although most Greeks still dye all their eggs (which are often brown,
to begin with) the traditional bright red (reminiscent of the cloak of Christ
when he was crucified, or a miraculous color transformation of some of Mary
Magdalene’s eggs to convince a doubter that Christ had risen from the dead),
some now use a variety of colors, as I always have. I think I’ll use the beets,
purple cabbage, and something orange next year, since I couldn’t seem to make
brown eggs turn green, let alone yellow. No green eggs OR ham here—red eggs and
goat or lamb instead. Rebirth from the Ashes, Escape from Care: The Botanical Park & Gardens of Crete
This is my favorite place to go to
escape worries about the financial crisis, decreasing health insurance benefits,
the health of my aging mother in law, the dumping of the remains of chemical
weapons in the sea where we swim (which is strongly opposed on posters and in
rallies), and my children’s education (given questionable policies, teaching
methods, strikes, and occupations). I have not seen or heard of any evidence
around here to support the government’s claim that the economy is improving. But
at the Botanical Park, I can escape thoughts about the 27% of the population
that’s still unemployed, the people without health insurance or any regular
income, the immigrants facing increasing ethnocentrism and poverty, and even
worse problems and deeper pain in such places as Syria, Korea, Washington state,
and perhaps now parts of Ukraine. I keep reminding myself how fortunate I am to
have the means, location, and ability to escape such worries, instead of being
overcome and imprisoned by the grim reality that defines so many people’s
lives.
About a half hour from Chania, driving toward Mt.
Omalos through unremarkable villages until we reach expansive orange groves and
approach the foothills of the mountains, we find the Botanical Park and Gardens of Crete. The park was conceived about a
decade ago, after a wildfire destroyed all the olive groves and orange orchards
in the area. Since then, acres of fire-ravaged hillside have been wonderfully transformed
by a hard-working, knowledgeable, dedicated team of four brothers who decided
to create an organic paradise of various microclimates below a hilltop
restaurant that features windows and patios overlooking the foothills and
gardens. As I’ve watched the fruit trees, orange groves, and grapevines grow during
repeated visits over the years, I’ve found that the restaurant has also
produced increasingly sophisticated and tasty dishes using organic produce from
the gardens and orchards. Two dishes I’ve eaten there--one plate of pork
tenderloin with figs and Metaxa brandy sauce and another of chicken with citrus
sauce--were so strikingly ornamented (one with tzatziki and tropical fruits,
another with rose petals and orange slices) that I couldn’t begin eating until
I had photographed them. 
But I really love to go there for the walk: starting
with a view of hills and valleys dotted with neatly spaced olive trees, down
the terraced hillsides with tropical fruit trees and exotic flowers, into the
cool shade of chestnut and cherry trees, up again through fragrant herb
gardens, around and down past the tadpole pond, the Japanese maples and calla
lilies, the giant papyrus, the dogwood, and the only bamboo I’ve seen in Greece
(flourishing, like almost everything else in those gardens!), down into the
valley’s lush green of nut and plane trees, through the orange and tangerine
groves to the large pond, around the pond and past the roaming peacocks to
visit the Cretan goats (kri kri), the deer, and the donkey, then up the
terraces on the far side of the hill, through nectarine and apricot orchards
and a vineyard, walking on paths edged with colorful geraniums and magnificent
rose bushes, meeting more surprises on the way. 
Alongside common Greek herbs and flowers, we encounter exotic trees and unusual, showy blossoms, such as the striking bird of paradise and others I’d never seen anywhere. Every year, I notice that the four brothers have made improvements: added more informative signs (with one in Russian this year!), distributed more picturesque vessels, sculptures, tools, tables, rustic wooden seating, or antique farm equipment alongside the path, and this year expanded the parking lot, provided a canvas sun cover for the small amphitheater, and planted a terraced vegetable garden just below the restaurant. It’s still early in the season, so the restaurant wasn’t too busy when we ate there, but it gets very full some Sundays at midday, both in winter and summer. The adult admission price of 6 euros for the walk is worth paying, and so well used. Someone there—maybe Kostas, who studied organic agriculture, but says he’s still learning from experience—thinks of everything from the informative and philosophical (on signs scattered alongside the trail) to the amusing (a tree hung with gardening implements in an orchard). We often linger for two hours on a walk that could take half the time (with great discipline and far less curiosity and interest in flowers and photography). While our children may need reminders that we can feed the ducks and geese we often see near the pond, or rewards and incentives of dried fruits and chocolates on the long climb back up the hill, there is so much to observe that I don’t even notice that I’m walking until I reach the uphill switchback return through orchards and a vineyard spotted with daisies, geraniums, artichokes, and other flowers. I emerge from the path tired but rejuvenated: that’s an invigorating place to spend a spring (or fall) day.
