Domesticity

Greek women iron everything. EVERYTHING. Mr Zeus and I only acquired our washing machine a few months back, and that was because his sister finally bought a new one, so we inherited her old one.

Prior to this great event, I was taking all our laundry next door to his mum's. Out of the kindness of her heart, she had a habit of taking the laundry down and returning it ironed. This drove me to feel hugely embarassed, but also admire her thoroughness. She ironed all the underpants, socks, towels and bedsheets.

Once we got our own machine, I was able to do the grown-up thing and take care of the laundry myself from start to finish. Early on, I did what I normally did, I ironed just the clothes.

"You don't understand." Mr Zeus said, holding up a crumpled pair of clean underpants. "You have to iron them to kill the germs."

The germs? What germs?

"The heat from the iron kills the germs, you have to do it for hygeine."

Riiiight. Because a 60C wash and 40C sunshine won't kill them. God knows why people believe this. Seems like some male conspiracy to create extra housework for women. Oh well, if you can't beat them...

Image: http://i38.photobucket.com/albums/e125/gecko322/housework.jpg

Enjoying the Holidays

Some pics of me enjoying my holiday in Tunisia














Dressed for a bedouin night




















Camel rides in the desert














Riding a moped for the first time after being allowed to do so by our Tunisian friend, Ali. Wheeeeeee!!!

Images: My own

Betrayed...?

I have a feeling I know who one of the people who was leaving anonymous, nasty comments on this blog is.

I have no way of verifying this except some clues that suddenly hit me when I was reading the blog of another fellow Athens blogger.

I hope I'm wrong. This is someone who I respect and admire.

The person who was leaving those comments had an obvious problem with the fact that I moved to Athens with a transferable job and a social network in place. Their solo experience was obviously much tougher, but doesn't justify the things that they said to me.

I know I may not be the gutsiest or bravest of people. I know things were relatively easier for me having been coming to Athens for a while and already having a place to stay waiting for me when I moved here. But I say relatively, because it was still by no means easy. I don't say I am an expert about life in Athens, but I simply thought there may be others out there like me who found they had to move to Athens to be with the one they loved, and maybe they'd like to know they're not the only ones. Being able to keep my job from London was just a case of pure luck and negotiation.

I don't believe that people who move to another country to be with the one they love are cowards. In fact I believe in some ways this decision is harder because you're moving to a place because you have to. Moving to Greece was an impossibly difficult decision to take. I wasn't particularly crazy about living here, I didn't want to face the effort of learning Greek, I eroded my relationship with my parents. Each move is different, each person is different. So it's impossible to say my move was harder than yours, or your experience was tougher/easier than mine.

We're all here and we're trying our best. *Sigh* I HOPE I'm not right about the anonymous poster...

Image: http://www.ebsqart.com/Art/487/287324/Betrayed_275_275.jpg

You Know You're Greek if...

The following list has been compiled from an online student group and on a Facebook group called Greeks Invented Everything, and even though some of it is written from the perspective of Greek-Americans, it's still highly amusing and relevant:

• You make frappe before leaving home, when getting to the office, after lunch, when having guests, before the guests leave, after the guests leave and before going to bed.
• When shops have a sale they call your mom.
• You still have clothes that you used to wear when you were five stored in suitcases.
• You call an older person you've never met before "Thio" or "Thia".
• You hide everything from your parents, but they still think they know everything about you, and make you believe that they actually do.
• You learn how to beg the personnel at the airport to allow the excess baggage you've got as soon as your father stops doing that for you.
• When you arrive home you find 20 people waiting for you at the airport.
• You always curse at Greeks and then when you travel to Europe or the States you only make Greek friends.
• When you come back from college you still have to live withyour parents, and fight over curfew all over again, as if you never left them before.
• Your relatives alone could populate a small city.
• Everyone is a family friend.
• You fight over who pays the dinner bill.
• You teach Europeans/Americans swear words in your language.
• When you go on a date you start thinking of places that you never thought of before to avoid family or family friends. You end up in a lousy place and still bump into the relative with the biggest mouth.
• You think you are liberated when you can't even smoke in public.
• If you are 25 and not married yet, your parents make you feel that you are getting too old.
• Getting married becomes the only way you could escape your parents.
• You tell your friends how to rebel against their parents when you can't stay out past midnight.
• You always say "Open the light" instead of "Turn on the light".
• You ask your dad a simple question and he tells you a story of how he had to walk miles just to get to school with no shoes.
• You're 5'4", can bench press 325 pounds, shave twice a day, but you still cry when your mother yells at you.
• Your uncle owns a restaurant, has $300,000 in the bank, but still drives a '76 Monte Carlo.
• You share a bathroom with your 5 brothers, have no money, but drive a $45,000 Camaro.
• Your mechanic, plumber, electrician, accountant and travel agent are all blood relatives.
• You have a relative that has done something that required the IRS to threaten him.
• Your 2 best friends are your cousin and brother-in-law's brother-in-law.
• You are a card-carrying V.I.P at more than 3 dance clubs.
• Despite the hair on your back, you still try to impress the ladies by wearing your "Just Do Me" tank top.
• At least 5 of your cousins live on your street.
• All 5 of those cousins are named after your grandfather.
• A high school diploma and 1 year of community college has earned you the title of "professor" among your aunts.
• You are on a first name basis with at least 8 banquet hall owners.
• If someone in your family grows beyond 5' 9", it is presumed his mother had an affair.
• There are more than 28 people in your bridal party.
• You netted more than $50,000 on your baptism.
• At some point in your life, you waited tables.
• 30 years after immigrating, your parents still say "Embros" when answering the phone.
• You have at least one relative who wore a black dress every day for an entire year after a funeral... or their entire life!
• You spent your entire childhood thinking what you ate for lunch was pronounced "sangwich."
• Your family dog understood Greek.
• Every Sunday afternoon of your childhood was spent visiting papou and yiayia or extended family.
• You've experienced the phenomena of 150 people fitting into 50 square feet of yard during a family cookout.
• You were surprised to discover the FDA recommends you eat three meals day, not seven.
• You thought killing the lamb each year and having feta, tzatziki and olives on your dinner table was absolutely normal.
• You grew up thinking no fruit or vegetable had a fixed price and that the price of everything was negotiable through haggling.
• You were as tall as yiayia by the age of seven.
• You thought nylons were supposed to be worn rolled to the ankles.
• Mamas main hobby is cleaning.
• You were surprised to find out that wine was actually sold in stores.
• You never knew what to expect when you opened the margarine, after all you thought washing out and reusing margarine containers was normal.
• You thought Orthodoxy was the only religion in the world.
• You thought every meal had to be eaten with a hunk of bread in your left hand.
• Yiayia never threw anything away, you thought seeing washed plastic bags hanging on the clothes line was normal.
• You learned to play tavli before you went to school.
• You have at least one relative who came over on the boat.
• You have relatives who aren't really your relatives.
• You drank wine before you were a teenager.
• You grew up in a house with a yard that didn't have one patch of dirt that didn't have a flower or a vegetable growing out of it.
• You thought that talking loud was normal.
• You thought everyone got pinched on the cheeks and money stuffed in their pockets by their relatives.
• Your mother is overly protective of the males in the family no matter what their age.
• There was an icon in every room of the house, including the bathroom.
• You wear or at least own a gold chunky bracelet.
• Garlic is considered a main meal.
• Olive oil is like a drug - you can't survive without it.
• You don't know half your relatives.
• You have a wedding at least twice a year.
• You or at least most of your uncles own a spit
• You consider soccer the eighth wonder of the world.
• Your cheeks receive their weekly work out every time you visit an aunt.
• Your last name ends with: opolous, os, as, or is
• Your last name consists of the entire alphabet
• When leaving a house, you stand at the front door for a half hour more and talk
• You arrive 2 hours late to a party and think that is normal
• Your church has a fully loaded bar
• No air conditioning is on at the house or you'll get sick... "regma"
• You use plastic grocery bags as garbage bags
• Your parents have never realized phone connections have gotten better in the last 20 years and still continue to scream on the phone when calling Greece
• You expect atleast 600 people at your wedding
• Your 15 year old brother/sister can out drink ANY American guy
• Your only vacation is back to the homeland
• You tell your parents you're seeing someone and they start sending out wedding invitations.
• You're home an hour late and you're already listed as a missing person.
• You're Dad has those old Greek tapes in the car, and plays them on family drives. Especially in the vicinity of attractive members of the opposite sex.
• You break a leg, and yiayia thinks your life is over.
• You tell your parents you're having a party. They buy out the whole supermarket.
• It doesn't matter if people can't hear what you're talking about - you talk so much with your hands that people know what you're going on about anyway.
• You go to a wedding, and take a fancy to one of the guests. Later you discover that the guest is somehow related to you. =(
• You go to a wedding, and are introduced to cousins that you never knew existed.
• You tell mama you're not hungry and she thinks you have an eating disorder.
• You can distinguish between kefalotiri and kefalograviera
• You're an adult and are forced to be with your family at 12 midnight on New Year's eve
• Your yiayia / mama / thia has a miracle cure for everything.
• If you're a girl, your mother still tries to put those pony tail holders with the BIG plastic balls on the end on your hair.
• If you're a guy, your mother still tries to make you wear that super frilly dress shirt with that huge bow tie, because it looked so cute when you were 7.
• Your mother or father still feels the need to tell you, "katse kala" in public
• You have been hit at some point with a pandofla
• You can dance kalamatiano, tsamiko, zembekiko without music
• You go to church picnics pretending you're there for reasons other than to check up / gossip about other Greeks
• You or a family member has been photographed with a donkey
• You are familiar with the phrase, "Sto leo yia to kalo sou"
• You have one or more of those porcelain figurines in your house or you have broken one of those porcelain figurines and mama still hasn't forgiven you for it
• Your parents make up the name of a street / store / TV show because they couldn't remember it or they couldn't pronounce it
• You still get scared when you hear the name "Baboola"
• Upon meeting another Greek you try to find out what village they're from
• You or a family member wears their Sunday best to go grocery shopping
• You were spanked by your friend's parents because your parents gave them permission to
• You go to a wedding or a baptism and complain about the food, but are the first one to ask for a "to go" plate
• You know someone who always feels the need to point out how much something they bought costs
• You have a bottle of OUZO in your house right now
• You have been threatened to be eaten by the Kako/ baboola / yero / pontiki when you were little
• Add aki to the end of any American word, and it becomes Greek
• Someone in your family owns any type of restaurant
• Your family inheritance includes olive trees and xorafyia
• Your entire house is a needlepoint warehouse...

I'm amazed that most of that list would apply if you changed it to: You know you're from the Homeland if... Guess we have more in common than I thought.

Got Coffee?

My trip to Tunisia was the first time I’d traveled anywhere with a hefty group of Greeks in tow. It was hectic, loud, and a lot of fun.

Further to my previous post detailing the life-saving property of frappe, the following conversation took place on our crack-of-dawn chartered flight to Tunisia:

Parea: So what’s Tunisia like?

Tour guide: It’s nice, you’ll enjoy it. Good food, a little spicy though.

Parea: What’s their coffee like?

Tour guide: Different to ours, but it’s nice, they have coffee there.

Parea: Ah so they have cold coffees too.

Tour guide: No, no, not in Tunisia. They drink their coffee hot.

Parea: WHAT?!! No cold coffee? Aman!

(mild panic for a few moments)

Parea: But they have cappuccino and espresso?

Tour guide: Not really

Parea: Aman paedia! What are we going to do? How will we wake up in the morning? How will we be refreshed in the day? With hot coffee? Po po!! What life is this, without cold coffee. How do they live?

But as I mentioned before, they didn’t have to worry in the end.

Since the dog died, the neighbourhood cats have been getting bolder and bolder. There is a corner shop across the road from us which has closed temporarily, and the ladies who own it keep a lot of cats.

Before this was no problem, except for their ear-splitting midnight orgies. But yesterday morning I woke up to find a chicken bone mysteriously out of the rubbish bag in the kitchen and picked clean.

This morning I heard a clang in the kitchen and Mr Zeus startled a cat that was sitting on the counter and making breakfast out of last night’s dinner. On the stovetop. Out of the frying pan.

How long before their midnight orgies move into our bedroom?

Image: http://www.blogigo.de/coffeecat/CoffeeCat.jpg

Touring and Exploring

I just got back from a wonderful holiday in Tunisia, feeling refreshed and full of energy. Mr Zeus, me and two friends bundled ourselves off on a guided tour composed of 3 large busfulls of Greeks.

I found Tunisians to be some of the friendliest people I've ever met, and rightly proud of their country. Tunisia is the only African nation that owes no international debt at all. Tunisians are also very skillful at making guests feel at home.

Hence picture which we took at a remote rest stop in the middle of nowhere. I found that in areas frequented by Greek tourists, the locals had usually picked up the trick of making frappe.

Now, only the Greeks can get away with having a national staple provided overseas without being accused of being too chicken or arrogant to try the local drinks. Sure, the Americans and the British have managed to get burgers and chips and fish and chips to appear on almost all tourist menus, but frappe and the Greeks is different for two reasons:

1) Without frappe, Greeks die. This is a fact. They just fall over and die. No government wants the paperwork that comes with scores of Greek tourists falling dead on the soil of their nation. That's why they provide frappe stations at convenient places, and that's why diabetics pack insulin for their holiday and Greeks pack frappe making material.

2) The Greeks have a history of not really upsetting any country. Thus they can thunder into a cafe and wonder loudly why there is no frappe without pissing off the locals. Almost everyone likes Greeks. That's why they don't want them to die (See previous point)

I loved Tunisia. The food was great, the people were fantastic and they must be doing something seriously right to impress 3 whole buses of Greeks, to the point that they commented on how much calmer the people were and how much more polite they were to each other on the roads. And they said this as a compliment, not as is usually meant which is by poking fun at people who are quieter than they are. Indeed, everywhere we went, the cacophony generated was entirely Greek. We moved in a haze of self generated noise.

It was the people that made the holiday so memorable. One of the funniest moments came when me, Mr Zeus and a lady in our group jumped in a taxi. The lady began fumbling around for the seat belt and realised it didn't work. "This doesn't work?" she asked the taxi driver, to which he replied with howls of laughter and proceeded to drive us back to our hotel dancing in his seat to Tunisian songs set as high as the volume would go.

Image: My own

Sexploitation?

On Wednesday night I hooked up two of my best friends in Athens in a rich part of town I tell you, money doesn't talk in Athens, it screams. If you go to the rich parts of town, it's like a whole other country. So much greenery! Such wide and clean footpaths!

After getting initially lost we finally made it to our destination and proceeded to have a cosy night chatting and drinking wine. We ran through all kinds of topics and eventually rested on women's rights. I know feminism gets a lot of bad rap for wanting to wipe out men, and I can appreciate how men today feel attacked by it. Personally I don't think I'd even bother if I hadn't grown up in the Home Country.

But I did, and growing up in a place where just looking at a boy could potentially get you killed does something to you. Your freedom, your life as a female is so restricted sometimes it's too much to bear, especially when you go back and see no change in the situation. You see women mistreated all their lives going on to mistreat their daughters. Young girls who stay unmarried because of a small scar on the face, or a burn mark on their body, considered not good enough by some guy who isn't exactly an oil painting himself.

On every turn and in everything you do you are reminded that you are less, not a whole person, just a woman. That feeling never leaves you because the concept of a woman as slightly less than a man exists on one level or the other in every country on this planet. It irritates the living daylights out of me when I see women portrayed as just playthings.

So it kind of pissed me off when I saw new posters in my neighbourhood for some new strip club. All good fun, right? Heck if there was a male strip club staffed with illegal immigrants who were bought and sold like second hand books, who were degraded and abused almost daily, I'd be there like a shot!

Normally it's hard to tell who is being exploited in such establishments, the stripper or her customer who's stupid enough to part with all that money with a woman who's faking her desire for him. Maybe I'd take the second view if Greece wasn't such a notorious gateway for human trafficking.

What I am grateful for, though, is that the Sex Sells concept hasn't gone to the same heights in Greece as in Italy, where one coffin manufacturer uses it to sell coffins. I kid you not.

Image: http://www.floridafreedom.org/images/OUTDOOR_ENG.jpg

Foot Paradise

In my greener days, I would wonder what is it about feet that drives people to develop a fetish about them. I mean, really? What's so hot about them? Of course I was wondering all this while looking at my own feet, which look like they were designed by Salvador Dali. No two toes are exactly alike.


Yet again I was attracting scornful looks yesterday when I wandered off downtown in my house slippers. No big deal, I thought, I can't be the only one wearing their house slippers out of the house. Wrong!


Greek women have the most perfect feet I've ever seen. On the metro I decided to carry out my own little survey and see what is the rate of ugly feet. I discovered that the rate of ugly feet is less than 1%, maybe even 0.5%. I wonder what the secret to their plump little toes is. How do they keep their feet so well hydrated? Mine look like dried prawns. I thought it might be because they wear closed shoes, but they don't. So what gives?


Greece must have a higher than normal incidence of people with foot fetishes and who can blame them. My Quasimodo feet had no where to hide yesterday thanks to me wearing capri jeans. They got scornful glances all the way home. When I got home and told Mr Zeus about my ordeal, he laughed at me and said it served me right for going out in my house slippers. So much for support on the home front!

Image: http://plus.maths.org/issue37/features/omega/toes.jpg

Precious Pleasures

A few nights ago I was walking up to my door in the darkness after returning from bellydancing class. As I said, I've not been feeling my best lately and, amongst other things, the sheer nastiness of some of things people see fit to say to me on this blog was really getting me down.

I stood at my door and searched around in my bag for the door keys when I heard a little voice call out: "Yia sou kopela" I looked up and it was the little kid from next door sitting on the terrace with his grandma

"Yia sou agapi mou'" I replied, "what are you doing up so late?

"I'm drawing"

"What are you drawing?"

"A car"

"That's great! I'm going to go inside now because I'm tired, okay?"

"Okay"

"Kalinixta agapi mou"

"Kalinixta"

This sweet little child's friendliness put such a happy smile on my face and ended my day free from all the bad thoughts I had in my head. From even before he could talk his grandma would stop in the street when she'd see me and say to the baby "Look, it's the girl from next door! She's taking a walk too." It was this tiny gesture which made me feel accepted by this lady who knew Mr Zeus but had no obligation to be so nice to me.

I'm grateful I live in such a friendly Greek neighbourhood. If it wasn't for the people I meet on the streets here or Mr Zeus and his smart, funny and articulate Greek friends, I'd be basing my opinion of what Greeks are like from the things some of them say to me on this blog, and that opinion would be very poor indeed.

Image: http://www.middle-fork.org/archives/dDropWater.gif

No More Comments

I've kind of had enough for the time being of being called a bitch, ugly, psycho, racists, a coward and a fake. So no more comments. This blog was set up as an outlet for my thoughts when I first moved to Greece. Of course what I didn't know then was that:

a) I could only write such a blog if I had moved to Greece knowing nobody, with all my belongings tied to a napkin on a stick, roughing it with the dogs in Syntagma square.

b) Only Greeks are ever allowed to criticise Greece

I'm not in a good state of mind these days, so you can all bugger off and stew in your own hatred. I don't want to hear about it.

An Immigrant Experience

I recently read a book called Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri which describes vividly the reality of immigrant life and contains the following passage:

“ .. being a foreigner, Ashima is beginning to realize, is a sort of lifelong pregnancy – a perpetual wait, a constant burden, a continuous feeling out of sorts. It is an ongoing responsibility, a parenthesis in what had once been ordinary life, only to discover that that previous life has vanished, replaced by something more complicated and demanding. Like pregnancy, being a foreigner, Ashima believes, is something that elicits the same curiosity from strangers, the same combination of pity and respect.”

I read this book with the shocking realisation that I have become the Immigrant Woman who I used to see walking along the roads of Birmingham or London, neither here nor there, holding up the queues in the supermarket with her faltering English and insisting on talking to her children in her native language.

What, I would wonder, would possess these women to abandon all they know and go live in a totally alien country for no other reason than that their husband happened to come from there? Why not find someone closer to home?

Without realising it, I have turned into one of them and now I have nothing but respect for these women. Being an immigrant means the sudden contraction of your world. I’m the one attracting curiosity when I venture out in something traditional, I’m the one holding up the queue in the supermarket with my faltering Greek, I’m the one who speaks to my godson mostly in my second language even though I know there’s not a snowflake in Hell’s chance of him knowing what I say.

I’m the one who people speak to rudely on the phone because they quickly deduce that my poor and accented Greek means I’m a foreigner. Today a woman dismissed my query about the price of a holiday telling me only that it was “very expensive”.

Was she just badly trained, or did she mean that it was too expensive for the likes of me?

Image: http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/english/doc/2005-12/15/xin_471202151514968106584.jpg

I wish...

... that me and my Dad could go back to our old problems. Bad exam marks, being terrible at Maths, my bad temper, my leaving sewing needles in stupid places.

My Dad has had a difficult time accepting that his daughter raised in the Home Country would set up house out of wed-lock with a Greek. I know it stems from his worries for his children, but I wish we could both get over our differences.

Three years of a tense under-current in what was once a very close relationship is getting tiring.

Sorry for posting this, but Mr Zeus isn’t around to talk to because he has taken our Big Smelly Dog to the country house to bury him. Poor Big Smelly died this afternoon. Tributes to follow.

Image: http://strange.blogia.com/upload/20051106165549-alone.jpg

El Arte de la Música

Yesterday after finishing work, I got dressed and headed off with Mr Zeus to fulfil my dream of seeing Buena Vista Social Club in concert at the open-air Braxon Theatre.

And what a concert it was! True to the rules of a superb performance, they got the crowd involved singing along and left the absolute best till last.

Last night, when they closed their encore with Dos Gardenias, it was a very special moment, an epiphany of sorts. "Wow," I thought, "How completely different my life is between hearing this track for the first time 4 years ago, alone and miserable in a rented house in Cardiff, and hearing it live, happy and content in Athens of all places."

Muchos besos Buena Vista Social Club, you were GREAT!

Image: from http://www.cineguns.com/divers/cinema/affiches/af00088.jpg

Hairy Godmother

Sunday morning I was in panic mode, trying to get my masses of curly hair washed and presentable and trying to keep my all-white ensemble clean. I managed the first but not the second. White is really not my colour, I had stained the trousers before even reaching the venue.

We picked up my godson, who was in a good mood, and headed off to get toasted in his outdoor baptism. All was well. And then we met the priest.

Let me tell you, religious heads of any kind scare me because I was schooled in the Home Country where religious education is compulsory. Being a bigoted fanatic was part of the curriculum, and so I just don't like being around those types. They draw too many dividing lines between people.

The priest was a jolly Santa-Clausy sort of fellow who asked first of all, in a grave voice, if me and Mr Zeus were married. Uh no, but we're working on it! Ah, he said. Good. And the girl is Christian, correct?

I confess that there, in the Church, Mr Zeus lied on my behalf and said "Yes". Now I know people like Anonymous will probably take great offence to a heathen like me sneaking my way to godmother status but I don't buy into the "My God's bigger than your God" mentality. I believe there's only one God.

Besides, I ended up knowing more about the baptism customs than Mr Zeus thanks to my research, so I was a better fake Christian than he is a real one.

Best of all, because it was a private ceremony I didn't have to read out the Greek prayer. There were various things which I had to repeat after the priest that were explained to me later. It was all very short and intense, ending with the godparents presenting back the baby to his parents, baptised, oiled and dressed in new clothes. That bit was best, not because by then my godson was crying hysterically and wriggling out of my arms, but because I felt established as a part of his life.

So that is how I became an official illegal godmother. Godparenting is a huge deal in Greece, and might I add a very profitable business! Part of the reason things went so smoothly is because we crossed the priest's palm generously as it is customary for godparents to make a donation to the church. Just a tip to keep in mind...

Image: http://movies.sulekha.com/moviepics/godmother1.jpg

Dear Anonymous

If you don't like my blog, don't read it! What part of that don't you understand? Stop leaving bitchy comments on my blog, I'm not publishing them because I don't have to. In the same way you don't have to read my blog if you don't like it.

Guilty Secrets

"You're an old soul." people have told me. It could just be that I'm an old person trapped in a young person's body, if my listening habits are anything to go by.

At about 6pm every day my ears strain for the sounds of Mr Zeus coming home. When I hear him, like a teenager frantically stubbing out an illicit cigarette, I turn down the volume on the computer speakers and close my guilty windows.

You see, I am a closet BBC Radio 4 listener. Being able to access it online has been part of the reason why I am now settling down so well in Athens.

It all began when I developed a crush on someone that bordered on the obsessive. I had just moved to London, and had just come out of a period of depression, so I think my obsession became a hobby to occupy me before I developed a social life. Or, indeed, a life of any description.

Anyway, I discovered this person had a habit of leaving the radio on at night tuned to Radio 4, so I started doing the same, in some sort of creepy attempt to reach him over the airwaves. Not surprisingly, my stalkerish affections were rejected, but the habit stayed with me.

For almost the entire time I lived in London, I would end my day by lying in bed and listening to the creamy rolls of posh English on BBC Radio 4, learning all kinds of things on their documentary slots and using the shipping forecast as my cue that it was late enough to go to sleep.

These days I leave the radio on while I work. The theme to the Archer's, which once upon a time was reason for me to laugh out loud at ridiculous Middle England, now has me listening carefully: Really? So and so is sleeping with so and so? But she never seemed the type! Who'd have thought!

Mr Zeus disapproves because he thinks it prevents me from learning Greek. I think secretly he's more worried that I'll morph into a pearl and pastel twin-set wearing middle aged woman.

So that's my guilty secret. I love listening to BBC Radio 4 and no one can stop me!

Image: http://images.jupiterimages.com/common/detail/83/58/22595883.jpg

People of a Nervous Disposition...

... shouldn't attempt to be freelance journalists.

Every rejection sends me to the pit of despair, making me want to set my portfolio on fire and enrol in medical college.

Image: http://images.jupiterimages.com/common/detail/92/00/23210092.jpg

Hotter! Hotter!

Getting that melting feeling? You and everyone else in Athens!

The temperature yesterday at 9:45 am when I was on my way to Dafni to try find something to wear to a baptism this Sunday (more on that later) was 33C. It wasn't even 10 in the morning!

The weekend is set to usher in temperatures topping 41C. The morning news has a dedicated slot for the heatwave, advising not to go out between certain hours, carry water with you, stay covered up etc etc. Everyone is popo-ing and ach aching at the scorching heat.

But since I have no tolerance to cold weather whatsoever, I am in heaven. So as long as I am observing from a safe distance, i.e. not actually standing out in the sun, I am happy happy happy. These high 30s and low 40s are what I grew up with and I feel goooood!

Summers should be like curries, not so hot that they obliterate everything but hot enough to make you sweat. Let's take it to the limit! Keep going! Hotter! Hotter! Yipeeeeeee!

As for the baptism, I admit that I am stressed out. I meet none of the guidelines of who can be a Greek Orthodox godparent, I have to convince the priest that I am Greek Orthodox or at least Christian, and so I can't wear this or this to avoid provoking them, and to top it all off I have to read out a pretty hefty prayer in Greek infront of everyone.

I keep pronouncing the Greek word for God (theos) like the Greek word for Uncle (theios). 'Son of Uncle'... hmmm, doesn't quite have the right ring to it. Let's not even get into how to pronounce words like συμπροσκυνούμενον or συνδοξαζόμενον.

Image: from http://meltingman.co.uk/images/banner.jpg

My Nomadic Life

There's a rule that goes plant, pet, person. If you can take care of a plant, you can move on to a pet. If you can take care of a pet, you can move on to a person. In which case I'm not doing very well. The dog is sick with a human cold bug which I, quite disturbingly have also caught off him.

The worst fate that could befall any living organism is to be a plant in my vicinity. Very often I'll take them to the brink of death before remembering they exist and frantically watering everything. To the plant gods, I’m sorry.

It’s now been one year and a few days since I officially moved to Athens and things are finally better. I’m not anywhere near expert in Greek, but I can follow and participate in conversations, make and appreciate jokes and other such delights. My life is totally transformed.
If you’re planning to move to Greece, don’t underestimate the power of learning the language. Most of the population of Athens does speak English, but this way you’ll just skip across the surface of Greek life. To really integrate, you HAVE to learn Greek.

I’ve also reconciled my cultural identity. My parents are from two different South Asian countries. I was born in the UK but grew up in the Homeland. Then we moved back to the UK. “So where are you from?” was never a one word answer for me, and never will be. Here in Athens, things got even more confusing for me. Just as I had reconciled who I was in the UK, I moved to Greece and felt like I had to start all over again.

There were times when people asked me where I was from and I replied “I don’t know any more!” which made them think I couldn’t understand the question so they asked in English and got the same answer. Mr Zeus had to endure Bollywood tunes uncut, blazing hot curries and depression over not finding fresh coriander.

I went through weeks of rejecting everything Greek, then everything English, then everything Homelandy, trying somewhere to find something that fitted.

But now I’ve realised my identity doesn’t depend on what I eat, wear or listen to. I am happy that I can appreciate a table being set for dinner with no cutlery, or 6 metres of fabric being turned into an elegant dress without a single cut or stitch, just as easily as I can appreciate wearing denim shorts on a hot day or knowing how to pick good olive oil from bad.

Image: Copyright of Edward Monkton

Food = Spots

Here's an update. My low-processed sugar diet has resulted in me bounding around full of energy, but the rebel forehead spots still refuse to shift camp.

I've gradually reduced one food item or the other to try and identify what is it that is causing these spots and I've finally figured out what it is. It's food. Food gives me spots. If I cut out Food from my diet, I should be spot-free. Yes!!

(Mum, I'm joking)

Image: http://www.victorystore.com/signs/property_management/images/nofood-1.gif

Under My Umbrella Ela Ela

Sorry for my silence on the blogosphere lately. I'm currently out of Greece in the UK, leaving just as the rainy weather in Athens was due to end and landing myself in the middle of gray skies and sad faces.

I held up okay until yesterday when the cemented-over skies plunged me into acute melancholy. At least the weather is better today and I am spending time with my family which I never get to do often enough.

In the last month I finally feel like I passed the biggest hurdles in living in Greece. So that took me pretty much one year to get past the tears, tantrums, doubts and hysterics. Athens now feels like home, and I feel I have come back to something closer to what I grew up with.

A lot of times when something about Athens was getting on my nerves I'd say "I don't understand, Greece is in the EU, why is XYZ like this?" until a friend said: "Bollybutton, you have to remember that Greece may be in the EU but it isn't really European. It's more towards the East in location and mentality"

I hope for my own sake that I really am past the hardest bits now. Settling in a new country takes a lot of energy which I'd rather spend writing my future best-selling novel.

This trip to the UK completely snuck up on me, and so on the night before I left Mr Zeus and me could be found in a local taverna moaning about my ogre-sized carbon footprint and how we didn't manage to buy a galaktoboureko for my family to try.

Well I won't let a small thing like that stop me. If you want to make a Greek custard pie (galaktoboureko) here is the recipe I used to impress my family.

Image: http://i34.photobucket.com/albums/d141/muas_one/ArtCatchMyRain11_6_06.jpg

Monsoon Athens

Sitting on the balcony last night, I couldn't deny that summer is well and truly here. The child next door, who was a toddler when I first came to Athens, is now a full-blown anthropaki (little person) who you can have a conversation with while he munches on his icecream. The myna bird which I thought was dead is back out on the balcony opposite us. As you know, myna birds are great at mimicking sounds. This one has perfected the art of squealing like an excited child, since it lives in a house with an excited child. Every evening the street is perpetually filled with squeals of delight. Such a happy neighbourhood I live in!

The weather is about to change though. In a tribute to the Homeland, things are going to get stormy for the next few days. So don your best sari and flit about between trees as the one you love chases after you. Bring on the bottomless tea and samosas! Rain in the part of the Homeland where I grew up was so rare that my mother had a special menu she would prepare when it did rain. Sadly, 10 years in Britain changes my relationship with rain, but maybe living in Athens will take me back to the good old days when rain was a treat rather than a depressing event.

To refresh anyone who is moving to Athens, you can find a lot of useful info about learning Greek etc. at a previous post of mine: Advice from a Good Samaritan.

Image: http://www.fantastikasia.net/IMG/jpg/monsoon-wedding203.jpg

Eat sushi, not Men

On Monday it was mine and Sarbel’s birthday so we met up and discussed the finer points of his Eurovision performance on Saturday. Just kidding, though it was both our birthdays on the 14th.

Monday was my first Athens-based birthday ever, and it was great. Mr Zeus showered me with a huge bouquet of flowers and giant chocolate cake and took me downtown for some yummy sushi at Furin Kazan in Syntagma. Good Japanese food at prices that won’t bankrupt you.

I’ve noticed that whenever I go out with Mr Zeus, there are women who blatantly and shamelessly flirt with and make eyes at him. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of light-hearted flirting, we all do it, it makes us smile. But I find it the height of bad manners to act so coquettish and provocative when I am very clearly on a date with the man. They act like I’m not even there and it’s open season on trying to bag a catch.

Mr Zeus was mimicking their flirtatious gestures and tone of voice later on and I asked, “Why do they do that, do they like the challenge or something?”
“They don’t like the challenge. They LOVE the challenge,” he replied.

This has happened plenty of times before, but I guess that it happening on my birthday finally tipped my opinion over from “I don’t care” to “Actually, that’s not very nice”

To the ladies who keep doing that, you may be very pretty and have perfect hair and toenails, but learn some manners and show some respect. The good karma might pay you back one day. (I’m being polite, as you can see, but what I really want to say is; BACK OFF, BITCHES! FIND YOUR OWN!)

Further dampening my summer joy is the news that even though I think I have been making a supreme effort to speak more Greek since I dropped the Hellenic American Union classes, Mr Zeus out of the blue said last night that I’ve stopped trying to speak Greek and that when I do speak my Greek has got worse.

Boohoo! Must try harder.

Image: http://www.scenicsigns.com/catalog/images/R-025.jpg

Summer, sweet summer in Athens

If you live in Athens, look outside the window… wonderful, isn’t it?

The first hint that summer was around the corner came about a month ago when I was standing on the sidewalk waiting to cross the road, looking my usual dressed-in-the-dark self, and within 30 seconds two different men had cat-called me. This, my lovelies, is the phenomenon of the Greek summer.

It makes you half-blind, uninhibited and you do all kinds of things which the rest of the year you would know better than to do. And that’s why we LOVE it!!!

I was downtown this morning stocking up on some hair-removing essentials now that summer is here, braving the terrifying world of the Hondos Centre. I admit I have a childish and irrational anxiety around Greek women. Some of them look at me like I’m a little insect, and being in the heart of their home-turf is truly a test for ones nerves.

But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. If Hercules thought Hydra was a bitch to get rid off, he’s lucky he never met my follicles. 10 years of waxing and they still refuse to give up the ghost. How I laugh when I see that stupid Veet advert on TV in which the girls pretend to wax their smooth as a baby's bottom legs. Should've hired me if you wanted visual impact, Veet.

Now I also have to pay some more attention to my habits if I want to see and be seen with any sense of self-worth. I like to think I’m above it, but I’ve got at least some shred of dignity to question my lifestyle of work-from-home-sitting-infront-of-the-computer-all-day-and-watch-my-thighs-spread.

So I cut out sugar from my diet, except for morning tea with one spoon of pure as a baby’s soul cane sugar from sugarcanes on my uncle’s fields in the Homeland. The rest of the day I supplement my sweet-tooth with apples.

This isn't just a health issue. I'm mostly doing it to try and irradicate a clutch of spots that have taken up residence on my forehead for so long now that they might as well declare themselves an independent state.

It’s one week now and my skin is looking much better but I’m developing an acute hatred of apples. I feel like a drug addict craving a fix. Thank God the laiki this time of year is full of perfectly ripe summer fruit like shiny red cherries and fragrant sweet strawberries.

None of this is of any use or interest to you whatsoever, but the next few weeks will be dedicated to all things Greek summery so you can get clued up. Kalo kalokairi!

Image: http://www.e-cart.biz/stores/vintage-metal-art/images/beachbabies.gif

Okay You Got Me

June makes one full year since I officially moved to Athens. So I guess that means that this is home now. Somehow it only occurred to me today.

I can do it. I found a rental shop tucked away downtown that sells double-movie Bollywood DVDs for €2. Who needs Mum's cooking!

Image: http://warchild13.com/images/images/CAPTIVE%20WILD%20WOMAN.jpg

We're Not Perfect

I am flagging this post well in advance to say that there is a chance I'm going to offend Greeks with it. If you're Greek and easily offended LOOK AWAY NOW! You've been warned, don't leave me offensive comments later.

This morning I was watching the news when a story popped up about two elderly nuns who have been strangled in a Greek monastery which was then robbed. It's terrible that two such peaceful women had to lose their lives in such a violent way. But I was very disappointed to see and hear the whole 'It must have been the Albanians' debate again.

Can we please agree that Greece is essentially just like any other society on the planet? There are good things and bad things, good people and bad people, well-adjusted people and a minority of psychotic social misfits with evil and murderous intentions - and yes, there is a chance that such a person is Greek and that such a person killed those two nuns. The 'Let's just blame the Albanians' thing is getting irritating, not to mention it's as racist as America's 'Let's just blame the Young Black Male.'

You can't say that because Greeks respect nuns too much they would never dream of doing such a thing and robbing the monastery afterwards. Every society has it's exceptions to the norm. If you were to follow the same rules, in a society like Greece which adores children, you would expect that children never, ever get molested or abused. But sadly this does happen, and sadly it does happen from Greek adults towards Greek children,because there are some members of society who don't respect any moral standards and yes, THEY COULD BE GREEK!

Let me please declare that I much prefer to live in Greece at the moment than any of my other options (Misogynist Homeland, Messed-up UK) I am not attacking Greece for the heck of it. I just want to say that being Greek doesn't put you above the depraved aspects of being a human being, and neither does being Albanian make you more prone to them. Also, I belong to an ethnic minority, and I can't say 'Well this is none of my business because I'm not Albanian', because tomorrow if the spotlight turns on my race, then what? Who's going to stand up for me and say 'Guys, let's all calm down a bit and think about this over a frappe, eh?' As much as I respect Greece and her culture, it would be irresponsible of me not to question the small details that can get so much worse if left to fester.

If the culprits of this incident turn out to genuinely be Albanian (and not just scapegoats) then fair enough. But nobody died and made us judge, jury and executioner.

Image: http://www.popartuk.com/g/l/lget4001.jpg

Athens Exchange is up!

Since some of you expressed interest in an online area where us folks in Athens could get rid of our clutter and make a little money, Athens Exchange is now up courtesy of yours truly. It works like this:

1. Email the address listed on the page (athensexchange@hotmail.com) with what you want to sell, your asking price, terms and contacts and I'll list it for you. Simple. You are then responsible for completing the transaction. It's FREE!
2. If you have a bad experience, use the comments function to flag up bad sellers, a bit like ebay
3. If you're unsure, take a look at the page and the first listing.

I am going to run it via the blog entry titles. Hence the first one there says Books. Each time I get a request to list a book, I'll update the post with the new items for sale. I'll see how that goes and find another way if it fails.

Please let people know about this so we can get it running!

Happy exchanging. Oh, and don't laugh at what athensexchange looks like as one word.

Oh No You Don't!

By the way, I forgot to add the tiny detail of being wrong-footed by Mr Zeus at Easter time when he asked my parents for permission to get engaged later this year while I was testing out my barbecue gear. Greasy, bedraggled hair and old clothes that stink of smoke, what a vision I was. That man's timing is OUTSTANDING.

Anyway, it ain't all happy houses. There's no way the Greek Orthodox Church is going to let me shack up with one of their flock unless I convert too, which I neither want nor feel the need to do, as I believe in one universal God. I don't think He cares what phoneline we call Him on, so what if my connection is different to yours?

We have time to kill before we need to seriously think about what exactly we're going to do. By a (divine) coincidence, the day after we'd been pondering the issue, we awoke to the spectacle of a Greek priest saying that in the future, those with political marriages (this is the only route we'd be able to take) will not be allowed to be godparents. Also their marriage isn't recognised by the church. I don't mind so much about not being a godparent, but I don't think it's fair to punish Mr Zeus like this. By the way, I am due to baptise my godson soon, and God help me if the priests kick up a fuss on the day about me not being Greek Orthodox. I love the kid! Just because I'm not Greek Orthodox doesn't mean I'm going to start training him to be a suicide bomber!

The Church is also pushing for a type of religious ID card to prove that you are Christian when applying to marry, to avoid charlatans like me trying to blag my way in. If we somehow worked out a way to get married in a Orthodox Church, I would need to sign a paper declaring my future children will be baptised as Greek Orthodox. Relax, homies, I beat you to that one already, since Greece is so homogenous when it comes to religion that I'd rather my future kids had a good start fitting in. If they take an interest in my religion when they grow up that's up to them.

It's okay though, since both of us are screwed if we get married without either one of us switching religions. I as a woman can't 'marry out' of my religion, so I'll be automatically ex-communicated, and he'll be religiously condemned too. At least we'll be together in hell.

For now, it's funny. I have a feeling though that this issue is going to turn out to be a real pain in the bum. I could convert I guess, and have my Dad reconvert me after the ceremony on the steps of the Church, ha ha ha!! You didn't think of that, did you Papa!

Image: From http://imagecache2.allposters.com/images/pic/MMPO/MyBigFatGreekWedding~My-Big-Fat-Greek-Wedding-Posters.jpg

Virtual Spring Cleaning

Ever feel weighed down by all the extra stuff in your house that you really don't need any more? I know I do. Sadly Greece doesn't seem to have a garage/carboot sale culture and so I can't find a profitable way of selling on my crap to other people. Mr Zeus says this is because people are shy about their neighbours knowing what they've got in the private folds of their apartment. 'Look at that toaster from 1975, times must be hard for Mr Popodopolous if they only JUST replaced it and are selling the old one.' That sort of thing.

I am ebay's number one customer in Athens I reckon, but I mean in buying terms. When it comes to selling, the price of posting things to customers in the UK or America is just too high to attract buyers.

Know what I mean? If you do,tell me what you think of this idea. I was thinking of setting up another blog page where we can advertise our stuff for sale. I wouldn't take a cut from it, it would literally be like an exchange and advertise page. You email me and I'll put your stuff plus a price and your contacts. I have a lot of things like books I've read and don't plan on reading again, DVDs, shoes etc.

Waiting to hear your opinions, we can start it up and take it from there. No one loses anything right?

By the way, the above idea is copyright of Bollybutton c. 2007 and I'll send the boys round if you steal it...

Image: http://www.swapmeetdave.com/Humor/Workshop/OL-Donkey-Cart.jpg

Athens in Spring

Mmmm what is it about a Mediterranean spring that makes you want to get naked and run through the orange groves?

While resisting my urges to be at one with nature, I am welcoming with open the arms the warmer tinge that the breeze has, the adoring caress of the spring sun and the evening breeze that is filled with the amazing scent of orange and lemon blossom.

The combination is wonderful. It's also very distracting and I'm not getting any work done.

Image: http://www.brewberg.com/Meadow%20frolicking.jpg

How to do Greek Easter in England

Did you all have a good Easter? I certainly did, complete with full roasting lamb. Let's not examine the fact that in England you can't buy a lamb with the head attached. You can buy the head separately and do what you wish with it. And thus on Easter two little lamb souls were watching from heaven and shaking their heads at the indignity of being roasted attached to someone else's head/body.

You don't get the huge roasting gear in England so I had to order it from a scrap metal company. I had made the appropriate phonecalls from Athens and located one that was willing to do it for me, and so off I went to draw them what I wanted, boldly asserting that the roasting stick had to be at least 2 metres 20. It went something like this:

"Are you sure you want it that big?"

"Yeah, it's got to be, I'm roasting a whole lamb"

When I turn up for collection my eyes pop out of my head when I see just how big 2 metres 20 is.

"It's uh... a bit big"

"You asked for it to be this big"

"Yeah I know"

No need to worry, it was just the perfect size. Greeks everywhere, be proud of me, this little South Asian who managed to order lamb-roasting gear in a small English town and get the proportions exactly correct.

In Greek Easter, size is everything. And so on Saturday it was off to the Arab butchers in Birmingham to buy our full lamb. They let Mr Zeus and my mum walk into the meat freezer to pick it for themselves and then he found a head that matched up nicely. Armed with our booty, we headed off for the preparations.

On Sunday about 15 of my cousins, aunties, uncles and friends turned up and howled with delight when they realised "Come over for some roasted lamb" meant literally an entire roasted lamb. There was lots of curtain twitching as curious neighbours wondered what their nut-case exotic neighbours were up to now. We had lifted some slabs out of the patio to make a fully fledged roasting pit, and faced with a barbecue of such epic proportions, no one else in the neighbourhood attempted to wheel out their little grills and face total humiliation.

It was a total success. Thank you, Greece, for transforming Easter from a boring Sunday trying to catch something interesting on TV into the party of the year. Jesus would have been most proud that you got a whole gang of non-Christians in on the act.

Image: From http://jan.moesen.nu/media/photos/2004/07/jhx-kernweekend-in-houffalize/20040710-barbecue-1.jpg

Unmarried at Easter

Happy Easter/Kalo Pasxa to you all! I know it's not easter yet, but exciting events abound mean I won't be able to post on the actual day. This is largely because I will be too stuffed to fit myself on the chair infront of the computer.

My trip to the Homeland went off without a hitch in every sense of the word. Not only did I come back unmarried, but I was able to brush off questions in that direction with an ease I never knew I had. Why, it almost bordered on Mr Zeus's aversion to marriage!
A greek friend once told me the only way to get a greek to marry you is to get pregnant. Riiiiight.... I think I'll save that one as Plan Z. But although I used the phrase "I'm not getting married" with the same emphasis as "I'm not getting leprosy", I can tell that everyone Back Home feels very sorry for me and my absolute lack of a marriage proposal. With each passing of Suitable Moments To Propose, like New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day, Monday, I can feel my mother's desperation and pity for me grow. She must sadly envision my reproductive system shrivelling up (naturally, since I'm well past 22 now) and try to reconcile herself to the fact that she'll never see her little Indo-Greek grandchildren. Dad has kind of given up on me, but Mummy dearest, God bless her, I can read her face like a book.

Anyway, I'm all set for a great easter because this time Mr Zeus is flying out to do easter with MY family. Yipeee! Cue Bollywood dance spectacular complete with villainous dad polishing his shotgun. And no proposal, this I have confirmed in advance because I don't want mum to be dusting off my dowry when all her daughter is likely to get on her finger is an onion ring.

Image: http://www.worldswalker.com/images/nanny-goat_jpg.jpg

Adios Amigos

Panic not, dear friends. This is just a post to let you know that I am off to the Homeland to dance around trees for a week. I'm going to go back to my village and smell the soil, walk in the green wheat fields, pray on my grandparents' graves, play with my baby cousins, spend lazy afternoons in my desert-border hometown chatting to the people I grew up with, take walks down the streets I played on as a child, bargain tactfully in the old market and eat my aunty's delicious curry breakfasts. People think curry for breakfast is an insane idea, but I think it's a much gentler wake-up than the screaming matches on TV with a fag and a coffee.

My cover story is already set up for me and all I have to do is stick to it. The official line is that I still live and work in the UK. Because in the country I am from, boys can do what they want, but girls who step out of line are done for. The fact that I am in a loving relationship and us living together in a supportive unit should be cause for a family's happiness. Unfortunately for me, the man happens to be the wrong colour and religion and also not married to me.

I have male cousins who got blind drunk, slept with prostitutes and generally indulged in appalling behaviour but none of this tarnished the family's honour. However, if anyone from back home found out what I am doing here in Greece (forming a relationship I plan to keep for life) all hell would break loose. My immediate family have been understanding, but back home is a whole other story.

If word got out, I'd be excommunicated faster than you can say "Dishonour". No more aunty's curries, no more warm welcomes, no more fields in my village. So even though it makes me angry, I will stick to my cover story because I don't want my father's reputation to bite the dust along with mine. Aren't you impressed that I can still dance with all the weight of a family's honour on my slender shoulders?

Anyway, keep my blogspot warm for me till I get back and I'll share my tales upon my return.

Image: http://www.temid.com/photos/albums/diwali/IMG_1672.jpg

HA HA HA HA!!!!!

I was looking online to find some facts on smoking in Greece and I found out that Greece is Europe's most heavily smoking country. As a total non-smoker, you can imagine the fun I have in bars, clubs and taverns constantly breathing in the crap other people are slowly killing themselves with. If you notice a face amongst a group looking horrified that no-one seems bothered about smoking around pregnant women and small children, it's probably me. But then why should they be bothered? I've seen pregnant women happily puffing away, which is wrong no matter what angle you look at it from.

I nearly wet myself laughing when my searches threw up this gem: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/2288121.stm. Ha ha ha! Yeah right! No wonder I never heard of this 'ban' before.

Since I've started I might as well finish: Smokers, if you don't care enough about yourself to stop smoking that's your problem, but don't take me with you!

Watch Sarbel In Action Here!!

*Swoon* I can't help it!

Yia Sou Sugar!

A bit late of me to report on this, but my very own Sarbel is going to be flying the flag for Greece at Eurovision 2007. Being somewhat of an expert on Eurovision winability, I am sorry to say that the song, 'Yia Sou Maria' doesn't have the necessary elements to win it. I mean, Elena Paparizou had a bunch of male dancers in tight tops who lay down and formed the number 1 with their bodies. That's Eurovision magic! 'Yia Sou Maria' is just not.... camp enough?

Who really cares though. Some people (men) aren't too crazy about Sarbel's song winning the nationwide who-shall-we-send-to-Eurovision competition, but that's just because they're jealous. As long as I get to cheer on my twin (recap: born same day, same month, same year as moi) I don't mind if he sings Baa Baa Blacksheep. Mr Zeus is not at all impressed with the half-Cypriot, half-Lebanese chocolate muffin, so I am considerate lately and resist my urge to swoon when he's on TV.

I kind of wish he had submitted his flagship song 'Sokolata' for the competition, but sadly he didn't ask me for my opinion. That song plus a pinch of Bollywood spice, and Eurovictory would have been Greece's!

Image: http://www.arionvraveia.gr/html/nomine/popups/2005/sarbel1.jpg

Women's Day 2007

Hooray for us, girls!! March the 8th is marked all over the world as International Women's Day. Some think that by 2007 enough work has been done to progress the situation of women and that such a day isn't really that important any more. I know London is marking it with some rubbish about animals in art and yoga rather than important issues as why is it that mothers with young children are the most discriminated against than any other group in the job market. But we're not in London, we're in Athens.

Greece is one of the safest countries in Europe, and this applies for the safety of women too. I can wait at a near-deserted bus stop late at night and not feel worried about my safety, unlike London. Greece is waking up to the 21st Century and taking steps towards reducing the machismo that is characteristic of Mediterranean countries in general and promoting gender equality in school and at work.

Consider, then, these statistics which I pulled from last week's Athens News on the incidence of abuse of Greek women:

Experience of violent behaviour by a husband or partner in a previous relationship:
39.7%

Experience of violence in house in which you grew up:
11.2%

Verbal or physical abuse from husband or partner:
56% <-- am I the only one who thinks this is WAY TOO HIGH?!

Forced into sexual intercourse:

3.3%

Consider husband or partner to be violent:

8.8%

It goes without saying that Greece, like almost everywhere else in the world, pays a woman less than a man gets for the same job. Back to the macho Mediterranean culture, in summer 2005 when I was walking back from a beach and a male jogger running past me grabbed me between the legs, it was shrugged off as one of those playful things men do in the summer. It might not be such a big deal on the scale of violating things that a man can do to a woman, but it's these small allowances that add up to a bigger picture.

Don't think that it's all bad news though. Today, put on your favourite clothes and go out with your girlfriends for your coffee. If you'll be at home, pour a glass of wine and say "Here's to me!" Celebrate what women have achieved thus far, and in fact celebrate the fact that you even exist. 10 million baby girls in India weren't so lucky. I know this post is a bit heavier than my usual nonsense, but women's rights is a cause very close to my heart. I grew up in a country where a baby girl could be killed for as little as 70 cents. And I'm not talking abortion, I mean an actual baby that had been born.

I did try to find events in Athens that were marking Women's Day, so if anyone reading knows of something please post it in a comment. Kosmos Radio is playing female singers all day till 2pm on 93.6 FM.

To all mothers, daughters, wives, girlfriends, friends, sisters, businesswomen, wonderwomen, here's to US!

Links:

http://www.internationalwomensday.com/

http://www.un.org/womenwatch/

Image: http://www.chambersfund.org/images/chambers-family-fund-photo.jpg

I Laiki it a lot

Lately it's all been doom and gloom for me, but this weekend things started to look up again. On Saturday, Athens experienced a beautiful Greek spring day with a gently warm breeze and hot sunshine. Waking up to such a lovely day and feeling optimistic, I decided to go out and about and do the day's shopping all by myself. Since the incident with the rude girl in the ticket booth, my confidence for talking to Greeks plummeted, so I thought what better way to get back on track than the hubub of the weekly vegetable market, called the laiki.

Local weekend markets are still big business in Greece, despite breakfast news regularly featuring irate yiayias complaining about the crazy price rises. "Carrots were only 50 cents last week and now they're 70!!" sort of thing. It's a good place for ladies to get together and gossip while they do the weekly shop. It's also a pretty safe place to practice your Greek as farmers are eager to shift their goods and are very unlikely to be rude to you, unless you're rude to them first. Pave your way with lots of good mornings and how are yous.

Now, for most city slickers, markets are an alien concept. They're just too used to turning up in a supermarket and tossing lots of uniform, shrink wrapped produce into their baskets. I remember a friend in the UK who couldn't understand what I was up to when I went through the melons in Tesco trying to sniff out which one smelt sweet. So if market shopping is still a bit tricky for you, here is my fool-proof method for picking up the best of the best: Watch where all the little old ladies go.

Trust me, it never fails. When faced with seven different stalls selling tomatoes, I always head for the one where lots of little old ladies are mingling. On Saturday I overestimated my own skills and decided to buy tomatoes from a stall sans little ladies. They turned out to be bland and boring, and I went back for round two, this time sticking to the little ladies. Try it, works every time!

Apart from the laiki, I also went to the bakery. I somehow managed to lose our regular bakery, missed it by one street, and was finally able to use my classic phrase from the original Greek classes I took in London: Is there a bakery nearby? The answer to that in Greece will always be yes.

So Saturday was very productive. I received warmth and friendly curiosity from everyone I spoke to, from the girl in the bakery who told me the name of the bread I was pointing at in an exaggerated manner "xoriatiko", to the lady in the cleaning shop who helped me pick an unbranded but very effective washing powder.

Image:http://www.cls.yale.edu/lexis/PD/content/market.jpg

I predict a riot

Yesterday trundling back from my class on the bus a lady was moving down the aisles asking for bus tickets. In Athens, it's acceptable to buy your ticket off another passenger. They'll actually give it to you. Astonishment! Two years in London really killed my belief in other people.

Anyway, the hot topic of the day is Greece's failure to decide on reforming their university system. You know what I'm talking about if you live in Greece. If you don't you obviously don't watch enough shouting matches on morning TV. The government wants to privatise some unis to create healthy competition and raise the standard of the education provided, along with reasonable measures like putting a time limit on how long you can take to finish your degree. What, it's open ended? Yes children, it is.

The Greeks love nothing better than a good protest, so they've been up in arms for what seems like FOREVER over the reforms. Every day the TV shows long-haired students burning things, throwing petrol bombs and shutting down their campuses. Smart, guys, real smart. I too was a long-haired student once, but I have no sympathy for their cause. The highest ranking of a Greek university according to the Times Higher Education Supplement is number 459. The university of Athens comes in at number 508. Kids, you really have nothing to be proud of. When your universities are doing so badly in international league tables, it would be wiser to contemplate measures that might improve them, not throw a hissy fit that you won't be allowed to take 10 years to finish your degree.

Generally, I don't agree with privatisation, but in this case I sincerely do. Why should smart Greek kids who want to learn and have a degree that would actually be worth something have to miss out because they can't afford to go overseas to get an education? The Ancient Greeks are still regarded as some of the most intelligent people in the history of humanity, because they valued knowledge and tried to make it available easily. Why should modern Greeks be disadvantaged by not having good quality universities in their own country? Why should they have to pay and go abroad, thus contributing to the country's brain drain? Someone should ask these rioters: wouldn't it be nice to get a good quality, useful education and still have dinner at Mama's? That's the one that'll clinch it!!

Alas, what do I know, right? I'm just a stinky foreigner after all.

Image: http://media.portland.indymedia.org/images/2007/02/354731.jpg

Smoochity smooch

Ah Valentine's day, that wonderful gimmick of marketing that forces millions to put their money where their hearts are. Today is the first time I have actually spent Valentine's day with the person I love. My romantic gesture for the day was to shape scrambled eggs into a heart for breakfast. I also have a sickly habit of shaping the foam on Mr Zeus's espresso into a heart using a toothpick. Makes you want to vomit, doesn't it?

Here are some things you can say to your Greek lover today:

Se agapao: I love you. Greece's number one exported phrase.
Se latrevo: I'm crazy about you
Agapi mou: My love
Moro mou: My baby
Se thelo: I want you, and not in the 'I want you to do the dishes' kind of context
Poo einai to doro mou?: Where is my present?
Den magapas?: Don't you love me?
Den magapas! : You don't love me!!
Fevgo!: I'm leaving!
Ma ti ekana?: But what did I do?
Esu ksereis ti ekanes. Skepsou to! Pao stin Mama mou, boo hoo!: You know what you did, think about it. I'm going to my mother's place. Boo hoo!

Go forth, lovebirds, and may you have a wonderful, consumeristic Valentine's day.

Image: http://static.flickr.com/32/67695247_693f48919b.jpg

Details of Life

Last Thursday really wasn’t a good day for me. First in my morning Greek class certificates were passed out and I didn't get one despite passing the test because I missed more than 10 hours of class. I went to talk to the office, explaining that I knew I would miss some classes towards the end of December so I had warned them in advance and they had told me as long as I sat the paper before I left I'd have no problem. The lady looked at me, opened her mouth, and that my friends is the moment I got my first bitter taste of the Kafka-esque world of Greek bureaucracy: “It’s a matter for the head office, I can’t do anything about it.” Great! Thanks a lot sweetheart! I’ll just go then.

The next incident was downtown on Thursday evening after my evening class (note how bad things connected to me learning Greek). It was Tsikno Pembti, Burnt Thursday so I was in a hurry to get home. Tsikno Pembti is the 10th day before ‘Clean Monday’, the deadline up to which you can eat as much meat as you want. It’s some Easter thing and I’m not entirely sure what the deal is as there are lots of different theories, but all I understood was BARBECUE, MUST GO HOME.

I had no bus tickets so I went to buy some from the ticket booth. Inside the booth was a round-faced girl blabbing on her mobile and chewing gum, who by the looks of it didn’t know how to apply eyeliner properly. I know I’m being mean, but she deserved it. I asked for 10 tickets at 50 cents a piece and she handed them over. I gave her a 50 euro note and apologised for not having any change. She looked at me, sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “Well I don’t have any change either, move on.” Okay I said, how about if I buy 20 tickets? “No”. Did she really expect me to believe no one had bought enough tickets all day for her to be able to give me change and that there was no other polite way for her to say that to me? So rude! When I deal as an obvious foreigner with everyday Greeks on my own, three things can happen:

1) No problem at all (this is usually the case)
2) No problem until I get the bill (sometimes happens with taxi drivers who like tricking hapless foreigners)
3) A ‘I can’t be bothered to deal with this’ attitude (rare, and unfortunately almost always has come from women in my experience)

With a situation like that, it’s not the fact that someone has been rude to you, that happens anywhere you live, it’s the fact that you don’t have the language skills to put them in their place.

Things picked up on Saturday night though. It’s carnival season in Athens and we got invited to a costume party. Brilliant fun! Everything said and done, no one parties like the Greeks.

Image: http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/munch/munch.scream.jpg