Bollybutton's Beatbox

It's Friday all you sexy people and today's post is dedicated to The Music, in the hope that one of my readers is an Athenian DJ and will have his/her ears out for some new music. So today you are going to get a very essential education that will help you through life. No, really, it will.

Back in my university days, the days of my Yoof, there were three things certain in life.

1) Death

2) Taxes

3) If there was a bhangra gig in the city, Bollybutton would beg, steal and borrow to be there

So what's with bhangra? Bhangra for those of you don't know about it is music originating from the Punjab region of here and here. Punjabis, incase you didn't know, are the coolest and most fun people of all the ethnic spectrum in both these countries, and I don't say that because I have Punjabi blood; that's simply a delightful coincidence.

Bhangra music is full of beats from a drum called the dhol, which is a big drum played on both sides with two different sticks and type of guitar with one string called a tumbi. Punjabis like to sing and dance a lot and their music has evolved across the generations, resulting in today's excellent fusion bhangra. Since my university gig days are long gone, I rely on online radio and recommendations from friends to keep up with the new releases. Here is one of the current best.

It's Friday! Turn up the volume! (And, um, any DJs reading, get in touch via comments so I can direct you to more good music and spice up Athenian club nights. No respectable club night is complete without bhangra)

Image: http://www.student.city.ac.uk/~ra831/group8/images/asianflava.jpg

It's not PMS, I'm just Crazy

Today I feel a lot better after yesterday's pity party. I spent most of yesterday periodically breaking into tears, but that was mostly because the wedding I've been invited to is the country my mother is from.

Finally getting the chance to see it makes me giddy with happiness, not to mention all the old friends from university I'll be reunited with, who I have missed so much over the years, who will remind me of a time in my life where my biggest worry was what outfit to wear to a bhangra gig.

What can I say? I'm a sentimental fool.

The cure for such scattered thoughts? A healthy does of Bollywood of course. If you've got three hours to spare and speak Spanish, click here and enjoy a cinematic classic. With Spanish subtitles.

Image: http://www.blackrabbitworks.com/digthosethreads/retro_pointing_lady.jpg

Liar Liar

Yesterday was a strange kind of day. I was sitting at my desk typing an email when there was an almighty bang and I saw that a crack had magically appeared along the bottom of my fish’s bowl, threatening to snap it into two in the next moment. I had to run out and buy another one before disaster struck.

Later that evening I was taking the shopping down to the basement where the chest freezer is kept and I went tumbling down the stairs, landing squarely on my back. The only good news of the day was that a friend from university sent me an invite for her wedding in February. Her email gushed with joy and excitement and it got me thinking about weddings.

Chances point strongly to Mr Zeus and I getting married one day, seeing as our engagement is officially around the corner. But when I think about my wedding, I don’t feel happy and I don’t feel excited. I feel sad and I feel stressed out.

It’s not because I’m having doubts. The reason getting married to Mr Zeus fills me with dread is the same reason this blog is so sparse on details which are pretty obvious.

Why don’t I just name the Homeland? Some of you have already guessed it. Why is it that I sometimes wait a few days before I bl0g an event just to throw off exact times and places? Why not name people in my blog?

First off, I don’t do any of the above in an attempt to make myself appear more mysterious or interesting. How glamorous if that was the case, and how simple. The truth is I do this because I am scared.

Since I met Mr Zeus my life has been crammed full of lies and question dodging, but that’s not his fault. Meeting him was the catalyst for me deciding to throw of the shackles of social convention and live my life the way I wanted it, but freedom always comes at a price.

Not only have I screwed up my relationship with my Dad, who still tells me now and then to find a nice Home Country boy to settle down with, but I am constantly terrified that someone from my extended family Back Home will discover what I’m doing here in Athens. That’s why I do what I can to avoid this blog turning up in certain Google searches.

Let’s look at the absolute worst scenario, which is me paying with my life for my freedom. I just don’t know who out of my extended family might decide that I have so tarnished a good family name that they need to avenge the family’s honour. My sisters think I’m being crazy and say “Bollybutton, our family isn’t like that.” Are they really not? How many times have I read about someone saying they didn’t think their family was like that? Why take a chance?

A more likely scenario is that my actions will end up dragging my father’s good name into the mud. As for my mother, her reputation is not likely to suffer more than it already has. We lived in a small town in the Home Country, and my mother as a foreigner was never accepted. Every step we put wrong was attributed to her being a foreigner, and the crazy thing is not only is she Asian too, she also converted when she married my father, go figure!

One solution to this would be to get married, right? Wrong. Unless Mr Zeus converts, we will never be accepted as actually married. Neither of us has considered it important for the other to convert to be together, but that’s completely going to fly right up the noses of the busybody Aunties Back Home.

This ties up nicely to why am I not at all happy about getting married one day. Because with a wedding taking place, certain people will have to be invited from Back Home. Bear in mind this will be a wedding in Greece, with drinking, dancing, kissing and general merriment, all of which is going to completely embarrass my father in front of these people.

This is why I don’t feel happy, because my choices are not to invite any of these people and upset them and my father, or to invite them and have to be thinking of social protocol even on my wedding day. And even if I did that, even if there was no alcohol served and I didn’t kiss the man I loved, they’d still be disapproving because we’d not be actually married according to them.

They’d also think Mr Zeus was an idiot not to take up the honour and the privilege that is entering my religion, an honour so great that if I got him to convert, all my sins would be forgiven and I could basically spend my life raping and looting and still be guaranteed heaven.

Sometimes I think I'll get married just so I could stop lying. I’m tired of inventing excuses about why I'm Athens. A married woman in the Home Country has a little more license to speak her mind to other women. But then there will always be lies, there will always be conflicts. When you belong to the culture I do, you’re everyone’s public property, and everything you do is their business. Having my children baptised is just going to be the cherry on top of the Cake of Dishonour.

When I read my friend’s wedding invitation, bursting with happiness and anticipation for her big day, I really envied her. In the end, you might think, is a man really worth it? Is Mr Zeus really worth it? That’s something I won’t know until I reach the finish line. But is it worth it to live my life the way I always dreamt I could? Absolutely. Plus, I’m sure livening up the gossip at the hideously boring ladies’ tea parties back home. What would the Aunties have to talk about if I didn’t exist?

Image: http://www.simonsays.com/assets/isbn/1416926526/C_1416926526.jpg

Potty Mouths and My Night Out

I had just finished deciding what to wear on Friday night when the heavens opened and I had to make a small adjustment. I scrapped the rose pink and gold outfit I wore to my sister’s wedding last summer in favour of the shirt of the bright blue outfit I wore to a friend’s wedding this March in the Home Country.

I combined this sparkly top with a pair of jeans, silver earrings from my hometown and the blue glitter and pink mirrored bangles. As I slipped them on, I remembered how I was one bangle short because I had leaned against a wall during the marriage ceremony and heard an ominous crack followed by a glassy tinkle.

I was all set, ready, excited and feeling good. My henna had darkened nicely and me, Mr Zeus and his best mate, let’s call him Z2, set off for Psiri for our rendez vous at 1002 Nights.

Let me tell you about Z2. He is a typical Gemini and can be the best or the worst of company. Friday night he decided to be the worst of company and spent almost the whole night with an expression like I had asked him to choose between losing his manhood or losing his entire vocabulary of swearwords, which if you know him is 95% of a conversation.

Between leaving the house and taking our table at 1002 Nights I felt myself slide from ecstatic to a bit agitated to furious. His complaints ranged from why did he have to come out, to refusing to go the way I said because he was sure I was wrong, to refusing to ask for directions, to making us go the wrong way only for it to be proven that I was actually right all along, to this place sucks, look at the décor, to what a crappy menu and so on and so on, like a queen bitch.

It was more than any reasonable host could take. This was my night! I held my tongue for as long as I could, but finally after he said how much the venue sucked one more time, I pulled out what my friends from university called my Death Look, which goes like this: I looked at him and said as sweetly as I could that if he was really having such a bad time we could go somewhere else…(pause) *DEATH LOOK DEATH LOOK DEATH LOOK*

That shut him up and right on cue our company arrived and from there the night skyrocketed. My toned down trad rags (traditional clothes) didn’t get me any weird looks, and my henna got a lot of admiration and questions, which I was happy to indulge. After dinner at 1002 Nights, we went on to Nara Nara for shisha and drinks.

At about 2.30 am we decided to call it a very successful night and parted company. We had the pleasure of being driven home by Z2 and learnt that there is such a thing as having your ears raped. That man can swear! But so what, I had had a really good time. Mr Zeus apologised for Z2 when I told him he'd got to me and said that he's so used to Z2's personality that he doesn't even notice when he's being socially retarded, which is fair enough.

Here’s to next year, and next year, dear friends, I am planning a proper shebang and any of my blog mates who want to join in are welcome to. The only casualty of the night was another blue glass glitter bangle, which gave up the ghost as I slide on my jacket when leaving 1002 Nights.

Party Time!

Last night was what we call in the Homeland Moon Night, meaning the new moon was spotted.

Back home, when the moon was sighted, fireworks were let off and phonecalls were made wishing everyone a happy celebration the next day. All our friends would gather at our house where my mother would set up a henna conveyor belt and we'd stay up late talking and enjoying ourselves.

The next day all the kids would go from house to house in new clothes collecting money and getting overfed.

Yesterday I went to see my turkish friend to wish each other, eat too much and do henna together. Even though I wasn't able to locate a single event through any embassy for today, yesterday really set the mood for me and this morning I woke up full of energy and covered in henna crumbs.

Tonight we plan on cobbling together a gang to go out somewhere, anywhere, and dance the night away. I might feel like the only person in Greece celebrating, but I'll do it in style!

If you want to get into the you-know-what spirit, tune in here and dance like this.

Image: http://imagecache2.allposters.com/images/pic/APPOD/AP06102108553~Pakistani-Girls-Show-Their-Hands-Painted-with-Henna-Ahead-of-the-Muslim-Festival-of-Eid-Al-Fitr-Posters.jpg

Christmas? Never Heard of It

I was trying to get to my bellydance lesson last night, sitting on the bus and waiting for it to move. This particular bus line has a habit of parking up and just sitting there for 15 minutes or half an hour, depending on how much frappe the driver feels like drinking. The result is you can always arrive in good time to get somewhere, and always end up late.

As I looked out the window, fireworks went off at the local zaxaroplasteo. I think they were celebrating however many years of business. What with it being the time of year it is, the young people cheering and the fireworks, for a moment I forgot where I was.

My mind took me back to the Home Country, where right about now everyone would be getting ready for the party of the year. Us kids would buy boxes of sparklers, bend their wires into hooks, light them up and throw them into trees. They would hang there like super fancy Christmas baubles shimmering away. Fire hazard, I hear you scream, but we had no concept of such things when it was coming up to party time.

Like in Greece, the religious heads hold a lot of power in the Home Country, more even than the powers of science, so they decide when it’s officially a new moon, not the official moon charts, which would make life a lot easier because it usually ends up with half the country celebrating on one day and the other half the day after.

I remember one particular time we were in a major city in the Home Country when the Bearded Ones announced that there was no moon and hence no party the next day. We all relaxed, since we hadn’t bought any presents for anyone anyway. At about 11 o’clock at night they changed their minds and everyone was loaded into cars to go shopping.

All the shops threw up their shutters and it was like the entire country was out laughing and celebrating. The girls flirted with the boys selling bangles, and the young men had monopolized the henna stands to have a legitimate excuse to hold a pretty girl’s hand. It was wonderful. That time in the Home Country, with the sounds, the music, the food, the happiness makes you feel like you’ll burst with either too much food or too much joy.

Watching the fireworks last night, I thought the young people were getting ready to celebrate and then I remembered where I was and to be honest I felt sad. Like Christmas, we wait all year for this party, and I felt like I’m the only person in Greece waiting.

Downtown in my bellydance class, I asked my teacher if she knew anyone in the Arab community who was celebrating. We thought of calling the tourist police but realized it was a pointless exercise.

So she called up a local Egyptian restaurant and after the usual niceties with the Greek waitress, the conversation went like so:

Teacher: “I was wondering if Ali was there because I have a question for him.”
Girl: “No he’s not but you can ask me.”
Teacher: “I have a girl here and she wanted to ask him if anything is going on for ***”
Girl: “For what thing?”
Teacher: “For ***”
Girl: “What’s that?”
Teacher: “It’s a festival, like we have Easter. She wants to know if there is a place to pray where she could find out.”
Girl: “A place to pray? For her father or something?”
Teacher: “No for her.”
Girl: “What’s this about again?”

At this point I told her never mind it was alright and I’d make some calls to various embassies. The girls in my bellydance class had listened in to the conversation on speakerphone and shook their heads. “She just didn’t want to help.” one of them said.

The big day is either going to be tomorrow or Saturday, depending on what the Bearded Men say. My family is going to be together and my sisters will be doing henna for each other. And I’ll be here, in a country where most people don’t even know what I’m talking about, with henna on one hand because I’m not ambidextrous.

I’ll make some calls today and hopefully I won’t end up all dressed up with nowhere to go. Do you see now why the 10 kids is a good idea? I’ll have my own multicultural group ready to celebrate at the drop of a hat.

Image: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/30/61196645_ef449f6a8f.jpg

Fishing Downtown

One of the most fun and vibrant places in Athens is downtown along Athinas street, the part of town many Athenians will tell you is the bad part of town. This area is poor and almost exclusively occupied by immigrants from all over the world, which is what makes it so interesting. I for one feel most comfortable here. I can lose myself in my thoughts, dipping in and out of the mysterious little shops like Elixir, a herb shop that looks like a witch’s pantry.

This Saturday I was showing a friend around Athinas street when we came across a tropical fish shop. I love aquariums and love to watch the fish swimming around in pet shops, admiring their beauty and knowing that someone else has to clean their stinky tanks when the time comes.

Something caught my eye as we walked in. It was rows upon rows of clear plastic cups on the tops of the two largest aquariums. In each cup was about two inches of water. In each of these small cups was a Japanese fighter fish.

These fish are some of the most beautiful fish in the world, but they will attack anything else put in a tank with them. The plastic cups were a clumsy attempt at getting around this. I’m not much of an animal lover, but I’d have preferred to see a fish like this with it’s lovely tail fanned out, not sitting at the bottom of a cup with no room to move.

We had a fish bowl at home so I asked the Pet Shop Boy (PSB) the price.

Me: How much are these?
PSB: €4.50
Me; Forty euros? (In the UK, these fish never go for less than £9, so forty didn’t seem crazy)
PSB: No, €4.50
Me: Really?! That’s so cheap

I tried to call Mr Zeus to okay the plan with him, but when he didn’t answer I went ahead and selected a deep blue fish with shots of red and took his little cup to the counter. Our conversation continued with my poor Greek.

Me: If I buy him he’s not going to die tomorrow, right?
PSB: (Looking shocked) You want to wait till tomorrow to put him in a tank?
Me: No, I mean will he live?
PSB: (Looking comically offended) Ma ti les my girl, do I look like I’d sell you a fish that would die?
Me: Are they easy to care of?
PSB: Ofcooourse, no problem at all.

I left my fish on the counter and tried to find some white gravel to put at the bottom of the tank to show of his lovely colours.

PSB: Do you need help?
Me: Have you got any of this (pointing since I don’t know the word for gravel in Greek) in white?
PSB: No but look at this stuff in black. (says something which I mishear)
Me: Okay, in how much time?
PSB: What do you mean how much time?
Me: In how much time does the black one turn white?
PSB: It doesn’t turn white!
Me: Sorry that’s what I heard. I’ll take some of that one there, that looks white. My bowl is this big (indicate with hands)
PSB: I’ll measure you a kilo
Me: What do they eat by the way?
PSB: Bloodworms
Me: (Imaging live bloodworms and looking like “come on now, where the hell am I supposed to find those”)
PSB: Don’t look at me like that! That’s what they eat!
Me: And where am I supposed to find those.

Pet Shop Boy got me a bottle of dried bloodworms which answered the question and a liquid that take the chlorine out of water so that I could put him straight into a bowl. With the fish, food, gravel and this liquid, my bill was €10.

I have to say, this conversation with Pet Shop Boy was the most fun I’ve had speaking Greek. He called upon his rusty English when I really didn’t understand what he was talking about, and I blundered along with my rusty Greek as he instructed me on what to do when I got home. By the time we were done we were both laughing.

My fish is now settled and free to swim around his little bowl. Look at his picture, isn’t he beautiful?

If you too would like to go save a Japanese fighter fish from a little plastic cup, here is where to go:

Aqua Planet
Athinas 59
210 522 3121

You won’t regret it!

Not Sari

On Monday night the lovely Andrea Bocelli gave a concert at the Marble Stadium downtown in Athens and I decided that a formal occasion like this was a very good excuse to wear one of my saris.

I was meeting a friend of mine at Syntagma and thought taking public transportation to my destination would be a cheap and convenient thing to do. I hadn’t bargained on how uncomfortable I would feel.

Despite saying that I feel no affiliation to any country, the Home Country is the one that I have been most strongly affected by. I spent most of my life there and it gave me memories, a language and a culture. Part of this culture is the wonderful clothes which I didn’t get to wear very often in the UK because the weather is usually too bad.

If you did manage to walk down the street in my small English town in traditional clothes, chances are no one would look. I did it a couple of times on sunny days and the most offensive thing that was said to me was a snotty little kid laughing and saying “Ha ha you’re getting married, you’re getting married, nya nya nya nya nya nya.” In a lemon yellow sari? I don’t think so, honey.

My experience in Athens was vastly different. I have worn traditional clothes once or twice before, but always with company. This was my first solo excursion, and I tell you, I understand how the Elephant Man must have felt.

To say that I got stared at doesn’t even cover it. The younger people were not much of a problem, they tended to look and then look at something else. The middle aged men had perfected the art of staring and then looking away the second I met their gaze.

It was the older people, especially the older women who looked at me like I was covered in the blood of a thousand Greek children. They looked disgusted. I felt like shouting “You know, I come from an ancient culture too! Just because I live here doesn’t mean I have to wipe it out so deal with it!”

The last time I felt that self conscious and stressed out was the first time I wore a bikini in public three years ago, but on that occasion my anxiety vanished the moment I realized not a single person on the beach cared what I was wearing.

I couldn’t get off the metro fast enough. But saying all that, I don’t plan on stopping either. I make no apologies for displaying my culture and why should I? And neither will the ten children I plan on having (for cultural diversity reasons).

As for the attitude of “Bloody immigrants coming to our country and xyz” Alexander “The Great” (note sarcastic quotes) came to MY country and tried to take the whole country! And I don’t think him and his army did as the locals did, they just did the locals, hence the northern tribes which claim descent from his army. Me and my saris are here to stay!

Image: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/graphics/slideshow/bangalore/etsari.jpg

Oh Dear

Today checking up on my daily blogs I read California Kat's latest post about the dismal job prospects in Greece and I was forced to take a big sigh and ask myself a question I’ve been avoiding for a long time.

Does Greece just suck and I’m too scared to admit it? Have I picked a slightly more Western version of the Home Country to live in?

There have been times when I looked at Greece and thought how the hell did this country get into the EU? Greece’s membership in the EU is somewhat like a Greek civil service job – you can be bogusly incompetent and under qualified but if you know the right people you can get a slice of the pie and the big bosses will only slap you on the wrist when you screw up. Repeatedly.

Seriously though. This is the latest in a line of events which is making me confront the fact that Greece might not be such a fabulous place to live. I got lucky jobwise, but I’m planning a future here for my future children and to be honest, my school in the Home Country was better maintained than the local high school I attend for Greek classes and that’s pretty appalling considering the Home Country is so much poorer than Greece.

I don't hate Greece, far from it, and my experiences so far, apart from the sexism, have been good. No one for example has ever been racist towards me and I am very obviously foreign. The weather is great, it's a very child-friendly society, but children don’t stay children forever. They eventually grow up and need a good education and a job.

My parents left a decent standard of living both socially and materially to start from scratch in the UK in order for their children to have a better shot in life and it paid off. Have I taken a step backwards by choosing to live here, especially since according to the info California Kat has supplied, this situation looks highly unlikely to change in the future?

So answer me this, because I’m really curious to hear what you all think; does Greece suck?

ps: No nationalists telling me to f*ck off back home please, I’m here to build a future, I can’t just wake up tomorrow and decide to unwind everything I’ve invested. Constructive opinions only. In Greece’s defence, last night I went to an Andrea Bocelli concert for much less than it would have cost me in the UK.

UPDATE: Anyone else pondering this same question should read Hope's reply to my question. It's very good!

Image: http://www.dennisyang.com/archives/you_suck_sad.jpg

Make A Noise!!!!

Following the call from Devious Diva to spread the word about the treatment of a fellow blogger at the hands of the Greek police, I am answering with this post.

To recap, TeacherDude, who lives in Thessaloniki, was recently savagely beaten by the police during a peaceful demonstration for taking pictures. He was not warned to stop in any way before being beaten to the extent that he was left with a fractured nose and dislocated shoulder. You can read his full account here.

TeacherDude recently wrote to the Athens News about what happened and has also been interviewed on TV about it.

Anyone living in Greece knows that TeacherDude’s experience is sadly not exceptional and far, far worse has been done to other innocent bystanders in the past. It just keeps happening.

We hear ad nauseam about how Greece is the birthplace of democracy; how long will this type of behaviour go without serious penalty in the supposed birthplace of democracy? I hope everyone who reads this post today will carry on spreading the message so that the Greek authorities realise this is one case of police brutality too many.

Image: http://www.eastbaymurals.com/photogallery/Referral%20Program.jpg

Are you there God? It's me, Bollybutton

It's true what they say about everything in life being relevant. When I was at uni I thought I was really bad at following my religion even though I prayed pretty often. I remember graduating from full sleeves to half sleeves and feeling like everyone was staring at my brazenly uncovered arms.

How deliciously ironic to find myself five years down the line in spaghetti straps and a cohabiting partnership.

Still, I can’t shake off the all-consuming religious influence of growing up in the Homeland. I’ve worked out most of my issues with my lifestyle, but now and then I do wonder.

I am pretty sure these days that God has other things to do than make a note of my wardrobe indiscretions and I do believe that we are buddies in some way. But living in Greece, which is 98% Greek Orthodox, I feel a little bit out at sea sometimes. Sometimes I need reminding that God the way I know Him is out there somewhere, thinking of me.

That’s why each time I cut open a tomato I look to see if God’s name is in there. I did this at first after reading a news story years ago about a woman who found God’s name written in a tomato (and then cooked that tomato in a curry – so practical, so Asian).

But lately I’ve been paying closer attention and making strategic cuts. I don’t discriminate. I even check to see if Mary or Jesus have decided to make an appearance in my vegetables. Someone up there must be thinking of me, right?

I am 95% over my religion-induced guilt over my lifestyle. But that 5% still bothers me, like not having called a very good friend for years and years. The time will come when I will have to admit that if I am looking for God, I am certainly not going to find Him in a tomato.

Image: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/d2/Tomatoes_plain_and_sliced.jpg/180px-Tomatoes_plain_and_sliced.jpg

September Meme - Tέσσερα (4)

Like the fat kid finally picked for the football team, I have been tagged for the monthly meme by EllasDevil. Here are my answers in no particular order:

FOUR JOBS I'VE HAD IN MY LIFE

1. Waitress
2. Receptionist
3. Entertainment Journalist
4. Call Centre operative

FOUR MOVIES I CAN WATCH OVER AND OVER

1. Strictly Ballroom
2. Amelie
3. Shawshank Redemption
4. Mean Girls (reminds me of my first months in British school)

FOUR TV SHOWS I LOVE TO WATCH

1. Desperate Housewives
2. Spongebob Squarepants (uses easy Greek)
3. Sex and the City (a current addiction)
4. Anything narrated by David Attenborough

FOUR PLACES I HAVE BEEN ON VACATION

1. Johor Bahru, Malaysia
2. Rome, Italy
3. Hammamet, Tunisia
4. Reims, France

FOUR OF MY FAVORITE DISHES

1. Dosa
2. Chicken Chow Mein
3. Fish head curry with Roti Chanai
4. Seafood Chilli Char Kway Teow


FOUR WEBSITES I VISIT DAILY

1. The Guardian
2. Times Online
3. Daily Confession

4. Alluc.org (to watch Sex and the City online)

FOUR PLACES I WOULD RATHER BE

1. Watching TV with my sisters and passing judgment on it
2. Out on the town with all my girlfriends from uni who are now scattered across the globe
3. On a beach in Bora Bora
4. Eating roadside food in Kuala Lampur

FOUR BLOGGERS I AM TAGGING

1. itelli
2. betabug
3. Hope
4. AL in Athens

Image: http://z.about.com/d/multiples/1/7/8/H/blgal618.JPG

Drinks and Advice Don't Mix

I learnt two things this past Thursday. 1) In Greece, girls can go to a bachelor party too 2) Potentially useful advice is always best given when sober.

On Thursday night, Mr Zeus’s good friend was throwing his bachelor bash and Mr Zeus asked me if I wanted to go. I was alarmed and pointed out that I was neither a stripper nor a bargirl and therefore had no business attending a bachelor party. I was assured that it wasn’t necessary for a bachelor party to be exclusively male, and even though the venue was a rock café ( I hate Rock and Roll) I was convinced.

The rock café wasn’t so bad. Almost all the men had long hair on their heads and faces. I knew one song in every 10 and excitedly pointed out these tracks to Mr Zeus. He is a rock and roll buff and nearly threw me out of the car when one day The Scorpions Winds of Change came on the radio and I said “What the hell is this garbage. They let anyone make music these days.” Not the best thing to say on a road trip with a car full of rock loving Greeks. I swear they practically screamed in horror at my ignorance. It was the faux pas equivalent of throwing a vintage Chanel dress into the washing machine on the 90C cycle in front of the editor of Vogue.

In the end, the evening turned out to be quite wonderful with a little help from Jose Cuervo. Now, I am an extreme lightweight drinker. Like everything else in life, I caught onto drinking about 10 years after everyone else. Knowing that I would get home safely with Mr Zeus and seeing as it was his friend’s last night of freedom, I tried to be as game as possible by having three whole shots of Cuervo.

LL Cool J was right when he sang to JLo that she was “Hotter than a shot of Cuervo”. Man that stuff burns. This is where the staying sober when giving advice comes in. There was another girl in our party who just did a Shirley Valentine two weeks ago. I was chatting to her and giving her advice about language lessons and culture shocks which started off quite well.

But by my third shot of Cuervo, I began drifting into my horror stories of when I first moved to Athens, like terrifying Greek women who give you the evils if you reveal you stole one of their men.

Thankfully, the small logical part of my brain that had managed to keep it together finally shouted at me loud enough for me to shut up. By this point I didn’t even know what music was playing and Mr Zeus decided it was home time on account of having work the next day. I made a solid effort to walk in a straight line, but when we got home, he had to walk over to the passenger side and help me get out of the car.

Before we all headed off to the café I had given this girl my contacts because she doesn’t live far and I remembered how lonely my first few months in Athens had felt. She still hasn’t called.

So there it is. Don't give advice of any kind if you're anything more than a little merry.

Image: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/167/465376996_e309641181.jpg

Crawling Curbs

There is a magic phenomenon in my small English town. The curbs move on their own. That's what happened yesterday morning. All was going well on my test. Then I had a left hand turn at a closed junction and the curb crawled under my wheels and I failed.

That's about the only way I can explain it, seeing as I've never even done that before. A lot of other things, but never climbing onto the curb. I dissected that moment a million times on my flight yesterday and I still can't account for why it went wrong. I was in the right place at the right speed. Crawling curbs, I tell you.

Six weeks. £2500+ in total since last December. No license. I’ll just have to become rich enough to afford a chauffer. At least I’m back in Athens! *tries to feel hopeful*

Am I Coming or Going?

Tomorrow I come to the end of my 6 week stint in the UK. It's been interesting. While having my assets frozen in mid-teen temperatures, my finances have been drained trying to reach the golden grail that is the driving license, as well as the never ending fun of family politics.

My life for the last 3 years has been a constant cycle of missing someone and feeling guilty for missing them. When I'm with my family I miss Mr Zeus and feel ungrateful for not being super happy I'm with them. When I'm with Mr Zeus he can't understand why I still miss my family. I'm always missing someone. Also my Dad's interest in my Greek life is almost non-existent. He calls Mr Zeus "That Greek Troublemaker."

Oh well. I am coming back with one more published article to my name and maybe something else with my name on it tomorrow. Who knows. My new instructor thinks I am test standard now and the rest of the equation is down to luck, traffic conditions and all that shizz.

Reading through my appointment letter, I have discovered that attempting to bribe a test examiner is a criminal offence. So I dragged my cheque book all the way from Greece for nothing.

Not Out

Being stuck in the UK for nearly a month does have its perks. For one thing, I get to watch the only sport I actually watch with any interest. What could it be, I hear you ask? What gets Bollybutton's passions fired up and has her jumping around on the sofa and shouting at the screen?

The answer... CRICKET! Yes, laugh all you want but for me there is nothing more entertaining than a nice, meaty international cricket match between two closely matched teams. Cricket is a complicated game to the untrained eye, and can be quite slow moving. So to attract a younger crowd who's substance abuse has shortened their attention spans, a new revised format has been introduced called the 20/20 and the first world series of this new format is currently being played in South Africa.

I wish there was a scrap of open, flat ground somewhere in Athens and a few fellow cricket fans with whom I could play a game I am crap at but enjoy. Sadly, water cricket has yet to be invented.

Until then, here are my 10 reasons why anything else just ain't cricket (geddit?):

1. Cricket players are better looking than rugby players
2. Cricket uniforms are fancier and better looking than football uniforms
3. Cricket fans are the best looking of all
4. A cricket ball can kill you if it hits you on the head. Rugby or footballs can't
5. Cricket bats can be used for recreational fun
6. Golf. Enough said (bleurgh!)
7. Tennis has an elitist reputation. Cricket is for everyone!
8. Athletics is all about me me me. No sense of team
9. Cricket makes you a better person, potentially even a better looking person. An ugly man in cricket gear creates the beer goggle effect.
10. Cricket being made compulsory in all schools around the world would result in world peace.

Image: http://pricy-spicy.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/03/diamond-cricket-ball.jpg

Buying Jeans, Athens Style

There is a fine art to buying jeans in Athens, as I discovered one day downtown with Mr Zeus. Unimpressed with my collection of tattered and baggy jeans, he very sweetly offered to buy me a new pair as we walked past a denim shop.

It seemed harmless enough to try on a pair, so in we went. The shop assistant was surprisingly nice to me. Maybe it was because Mr Zeus was there, he has that affect on them. I told her what European size I thought I was and she handed me a pair two sizes smaller than that.

It was a bit loose, she went another two sizes down, which was quite a comfortable fit. When I stepped out of the changing room, she said “They’re too big, try a smaller size.”

Who was I to question a Greek shopping assistant in her domain? I did as I was told and breathed in as I did up the top button. I showed off the results and she looked happier. “I think the next size down will be perfect.”

“Ha ha ha! You’re joking!” I thought. But she wasn’t. She and Mr Zeus ganged up on me and an even smaller pair was produced. I could hear the jolly banter outside the changing room curtain as I huffed and puffed and struggled to do up the buttons. I’ve never before found myself in that half bent over half hopping position women use to squeeze into jeans that are too small for them, because I’ve never encountered jeans too small for my small size.

After what felt like forever, I walked out, John Wayne style and Mr Zeus and the assistant oooed and aaahed. “Great!” she said “Thank God” I thought.

“Now if we go one more size down, they’ll be exactly right.”

My jaw dropped. Was she serious? I tried to swallow as the next size down was handed to me, but the jeans were so tight that I couldn’t. Her logic was that jeans over time loose their stiffness and what feels like the right size now will be loose in a few months.

By some miracle of time and space distortion, I managed to get into the tightest pair of jeans I’ve ever worn and the deal was sealed.

Wearing new jeans that are too small feels like having a vice around your hips. They’re also a pretty fashionable form of contraception, seeing as they are just as frustrating to take off as they are to put on.

But I have to say three months down the line, the jeans did indeed loosen slightly and are now just about right. So if you’re a foreign woman buying jeans in Athens for the first time, guess what size you are and work down the sizes. When the jeans are so tight that you can feel the circulation to your nether regions being cut off, go one more size down. Don’t be a quitter. All top buttons give up and do up eventually, even if it makes you feel like the next breath will snap you in two.

Image: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/c/c8/FlyBelly.jpg/564px-FlyBelly.jpg

Suffering for Arts Sake

Artistic souls live for their art. There are things we wouldn't normally do except in the context of preserving it in our chosen craft. I know I have a running narrative in my head in boring, dangerous or weird situations I end up in, writing out what is going on inside my mind in case it comes handy one day when I'm going to write books for a living.

Sometimes the innocent pursuit of what you love to do can remind you of the pig-headedness of other people. I'm talking about fellow Greece blogger, TeacherDude. He was recently viciously beaten up by the police for taking photographs of them during a protest. No verbal request, no warning of the consequences if he defied them, just straight in, leaving him with a broken nose and a dislocated shoulder.

Please show him your support.

Image: http://domn.net/img/lens2.jpg

Building Walls and Breaking Hearts

This March on my way back from the Home Country, an interesting thing happened. While I checked in my ears pricked up upon hearing a fellow passenger speaking in accented English and saying that his final destination was also Athens.

My curiosity was aroused. What was a Greek doing in the Home Country? Was he on holiday? If so, why the Home Country? Much as I enjoy the place, it doesn't exactly enjoy a reputation as a top holiday destination. Last time I checked, the Home Office was advising against all travel there.

So once I was checked in, I began to observe. I watched him go directly to the smoking area, which confirmed that yes, this was a true blue Ellinas and it was definitely interesting that he should be in the Home Country. I decided to have a cup of tea and make my approach.

How I wish I could have recorded the next few moments. It was 5 am in Home Country International Airport. I was dressed in my traditional get up and sauntered over to him, speaking in Greek as I approached. He looked like he was hallucinating. He actually looked scared! I admit, I must have been a pretty strange sight, Home Country girl speaking Greek.

Anyway, the short version of the story is this guy, let's call him George (generic enough) works in the Home Country for a Greek company. I was fascinated to hear his perceptions of the country I used to live in, and give him my impressions of the country he used to live in. We became friends.

Recently George started to email me because he has fallen in love with a Home Country girl, but sadly due to religious draconianism, for them to get married is almost entirely impossible, to the degree that even if they tried, they're sure to get lynched by the media. I emailed back and forth between him and his partner, and finally she admitted that they would just have to wait and hope that things in the Home Country changed.

I find this desperately sad. As this article in today's Guardian points out, intercultural relationships can be so incredibly rewarding. Since I have a very mixed background from my mother, there is every chance that mine and Mr Zeus's kids could all turn out different shapes and colours. We speak six languages between us and celebrate a double set of religious holidays. I had to overcome a lot of obstacles to be with him, cultural, religious and social, and I'm eternally grateful that my family is one of the more liberal ones.

I really hope things work out for George and his lady. Finding the one you want to spend your life with and then being denied that is not only painful, it's cruel.

Image: http://www.womeninphotography.org/beauty/exhibit/lifestyle/01-Century_01_Embrace.jpg

New Blog Award

WhenI read some of the other Athens blogs, it strikes me just how intellectually pointless my own blog is.

Other bloggers tackle social subjects of the day and partake in stimulating comment and opinion discussions.

And mine covers... what exactly? Anyway, someone's gotta write this type of bubblegum blog so it might as well be me!

I hereby nominate myself Athens' Most Pointless Blog.

Image: http://vienna.metblogs.com/photos/pointless_Advisory.jpg

Reflections on Failing

After spending 24 hours tearful and depressed, today feels brighter.

Some people think believing in destiny is a cop out from taking responsibility for your life, but I believe that things happen for a reason, because everything we do is interconnected.

That's also how I would console myself on the London transport system when I would be sat in an overcrowded tube train that was in a tunnel and not going anywhere, or a train that decided to stop in the middle of nowhere and stay there for at least an hour because of dust on the tracks or something. I'd think "Look on the bright side, Bollybutton. Maybe there is a murderer outside your flat tonight waiting for you, and at this rate he'll get sick of waiting and leave. So you'll live another day!"

So I think yesterday passing my test was not in my destiny. Maybe if I passed, I would have caught a flight to Athens that crashed, gone for a drive and hit someone or other such colourful scenarios.

Image: http://www.geekologie.com/2007/07/06/thailand-car-crash-thumb.jpg

Drat It

Alas my first attempt at my mystery task failed this morning so I might as well tell you what it was. I was trying to get my driving license. Sadly for me the instructor I was using was an absolute waste of oxygen for other useful members of society and he left the car in reverse gear.

I get in, an anxious student wanting to pass so a detail like checking the gears which any WORTHWHILE instructor sets up for a tested student, I didn't do thoroughly enough and the car jumped back. I failed on the spot.

Let me tell you what this failure has cost me just to rub salt into my wounds:

1. One week of holiday leave taken off work to learn driving intensively
2. Over £300, closer to £1000 if you count the lessons I began since last December
3. Wasted precious hours of my life with an instructor who was a trainee. A TRAINEE!!! After I specifically told them I have limited time and need to pass first time.
4. Blisters on both hands from 6 hours of driving every day
5. A serious dent to my confidence
6. A current total this time of over 3 weeks away from Athens which will now continue

The next test date is in one month. I'm hoping a cancellation will come up. I was planning to be back in Athens this weekend if it had all gone right.

I feel SO SAD!!! I'm still a lowly pedestrian!

Image: http://images.jupiterimages.com/common/detail/82/54/22195482.jpg

Why it's been so quiet

The reason it's been so quiet from me is that I'm still in the UK. Actually this time I came on a one way ticket. Panic not, I am going to be back in Athens soon, but I don't know exactly when.

If it all sounds very mysterious, I apologise. Rest assured that it doesn't involve anything illegal. I'm just up to something. Well, I'm trying to achieve something, and though not normally suspicious, I dare not talk about it for fear of jinxing myself. I've been working my butt off to achieve this mystery goal and if I'm successful I'll let you all know.

Just be thinking positive thoughts for me on Tuesday 4th of September at about 10.20 am Greek time!

Image: http://azdiamondhacks.mlblogs.com/diamondhacks/images/shhh.jpg

Winter, Spring, Summer or Generic

In the UK, there are four seasons in a year and sometimes five. This fifth season rolls around every four years or so like a Leap Year extra day. It's called Generic.

 

Actually, calling Generic a fifth season is unfair. Generic is the season that gives the rest of the season the year off. It steps in and tells Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall to go have a holiday somewhere nice, like the moon maybe.

 

Hence you get the weather we currently have in the UK. Walking to meet a friend yesterday, I could smell freshly cut grass and thought "Aaah, Spring is in the air."

 

In fact, Generic is in the air. Each day across the whole year has been more or less the same. I had the heating switched on in August on the weekend. Stepping outside, today could be any one of the following:

 

1)     An unseasonally warm winter's day

2)      An average day in Spring

3)      An autumn day where the leaves are still green

4)      An unseasonally cold summer's day.

 

Such is the beauty of Generic! One size fits all!

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The next generation of Hotmail is here - Windows Live Hotmail

London Calling

Did you know that yesterday's highest temperature in London was Athens' lowest? I know, and I know this because I have the misfortune of experiencing this phenomenon.

 

The first shock to my system was suddenly realising that I could understand everything being said around me. This is not necessarily a good thing. When some chavtastic girl is sitting next to you on the bus, blabbing away on her pink bejewelled mobile about how much she likes Chase but Chase don't like her 'cos he likes Mercedes, which makes no sense 'cos Mercedes is a f*cking fat cow and so on and so forth, you wish you could erase the neurological pathways that enable you to understand English.

 

The second shock to the system is all the ethnic minorities. After initially thinking how diverse Athens seemed to have become all of a sudden, I remembered where I was.

 

As time goes on, I feel myself being slowly spat out by London, the city I lived for two years. I have found that settling down in London takes the same time as unsettling down. It happens slowly, over time, until you eventually find the city feels so familiar/alien.

 

Journeying into my office from the airport, I observed what a selfish, miserable bunch Londoners are. Standing in anyone's way for a nano-second results in loud tut's and sighs of exasperation. You'd think everyone was on their way to perform life-saving surgery, but they're all in such a rush mostly to get to their workplaces.

 

Jesus, people! You have the excuse of a decrepit and overcrowded transport system to carry you around London. Blame that rather than a leisurely stroll by Thames for making you late into the office.

 

Using my laptop as a battering ram, I was able to exist and enter carriages quite effectively. The rest of the time I decided to adopt a relaxed Athenian pace, because reason number 1 I hate coming to London is that everyone rushes around so much. So I thought I'll spare myself the anxiety by taking my own sweet time to use up the change in my wallet when paying for things. I reckon the headache I currently have is due to all the kako mati I've collected in the 24 hours since making that decision.

 

Another strange side effect of living in Athens is that all the English I would have spoken when I wasn't speaking Greek has accumulated at the back of my throat. There it has sat, decomposing while I spoke Greek. Now that I have the need to speak English, these half decomposed words have all decided to head for the exit.

 

Hence I speak in a bizarre mish-mashed accent of all the places with an accent I've ever lived (Midlands, Wales, London, Athens, Homeland) as well as half rotten grammar and no worthwhile syntax. "You sound like a drunk!" my little sister kindly pointed out to me last night.

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The next generation of Hotmail is here - Windows Live Hotmail

Summer Song

This is one of the songs I listened to while I was in Tunisia and it really grew on me. Okay, Dana can't exactly sing, but it's a pretty fun video!

This Day in History

Exactly three years to the day yesterday, I was sitting on the metro from Syntagma to the airport, fretting as I watched the airport bus whizz by and realising that by taking the metro, I had made myself late for my very first training day as an Olympics volunteer.

I got to the airport and me and fellow stragglers took the bus to the Marcopolo centre where we were based.

By the time I got there, training was over and everyone was sitting in the cafeteria eating the hideous free lunches provided to volunteers. “Rubbish!” I thought, “what a way to make an impression on your first day.” I was apologising profusely to everyone and anyone.

“Don’t worry,” the head of the centre said. “You didn’t miss anything that important. Anyway, tonight we’ll all go out in Syntagma and you can get to know your team better.”

For those of you who are interested, no, I did not ‘get to know my team better’ that night in the Biblical sense. We went out, we all enjoyed some good clean fun, and we returned the day after the opening ceremony to pitch in as a team with the excellent management of the head of our centre, who not only hand picked his team to create an international mix, but also made sure everyone was regularly moved around to limit time under the sun or separation from friends.

The head of the centre was Mr Zeus. Much later, he told me that he stole me from the volunteer list destined for another centre, and I was the very last name on his list to complete his selection of volunteers. And the rest is history, muchachos!

Image: http://www.vintagevoguecouture.com/vintage_love1.jpg

Make me feel like a WOMAN!!!

Following on from the Domesticity post, here is a joke as told to me years ago at university by my Greek friend, K.

A packed transatlantic flight is halfway through its journey when it hits a serious thunderstorm and turbulence. The plane jolts and shudders and begins to fall out of the sky. The pilot tries his best but there is nothing more he can do, so he tells the passengers to say their prayers and prepare to meet their maker.

A young woman stands up, hysterical. She screams "I'm not ready to die, I've experienced so little of life! I need a man to make me feel like a woman, right here, right now!"

There is silence in the doomed plane as everyone waits to see who will take the young woman up on her offer. Suddenly, a gorgeous Greek man stands up at the back of the plane. He walks towards the woman, unbottoning his shirt to reveal a perfect body.

He stands infront of the breathless woman and rips off his shirt. He hands it to her, and says "Iron this."

Hee hee hee!

Image: http://images.jupiterimages.com/common/detail/47/58/22595847.jpg

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