Bolly Does Business!

After giving it some thought for a really long time, probably too long, I have finally decided to go the ebay route and sell stuff online. I mean, I've given ebay enough business over the years, it's time to get some of it for myself!

There's not much up at the moment, but I'm waiting for a whole bunch of goodies that I'm going to post online in the next few days, like spice sets and of course prompted by interest from friends and this blog, my own home-made curry mix and home-made face and body scrub.

Postage will of course be a lot cheaper for anyone buying inside of Greece, and if there is interest within Greece I plan to sell my own 100% safe and natural henna mix that is safe enough to use on children, totally chemical free and gives a wonderful deep red stain that turns maroon over two days. The only thing is that since the henna is preservative free, I can only post the fresh mix as and when requested and within Greece only. Otherwise it'll lose it's bang by the time it arrives. But I want to know if I offered it, would you buy it?

Check here. I don't have an ebay shop at the moment, since I'm just starting out.This link will now be permanently displayed in my Blog roll and updated as new goodies come in.

What do you think? What kind of stuff would you like to find offered by me which you struggle to find already? Saris? Bindis? Spice mixes? I'm all ears!

Bollybutton's Bolly Bulletin

Don't forget this Sunday's Kyriakatiki Eleutherotypia which is giving away one of my all time favourite movies, Kal Ho Naa Ho. This movie is ultra συγκινητική and perfect when in need of a good sob fest. I projectile cry, Spongebob style, every time I watch it.

Part of this movie's soundtrack is the below song, Mahi ve, which will always be extra special because it's the song I choreographed myself for me, my sisters and cousins to present at my older sister's henna party three years ago.



Image: http://www.smartproductionz.com/audio/songs/Bollywood/KAL%20HO%20NAA%20HO/pic.jpg

Tastes just like Asia

Are you someone who buys Thai cookbooks and then mopes about how you can't cook most of the recipes in them because where the hell are you supposed to get Thai holy basil in Athens? Do you chase African handbag sellers down city centre streets, sidling up to them with breathless questions like "Hey friend, do you know where I can find a Big African Banana in Athens, you know what I'm talkin' about?"

No? Just me then.

On Saturday, my blog buddy Al and I met up with no particular aim in mind. What are two Asian babes with a free afternoon supposed to do in Athens when they're broke and it's not window shopping weather? We pondered for a few quick minutes and then it hit us: but of course! Two food obsessed Asians with a free afternoon should go on a pilgrimage to a food temple, and for this holy excursion we picked Salamat, an Asian grocery store I've blogged about in the past after it was featured in Gastronomos magazine but which neither of us had been to.

Now, what exactly to say about Salamat market? It's roughly the size of two peripteros pushed together, yet somehow Al and I managed to blow about three hours in there thanks to the dazzling selection of ingredients that both of us had never imagined we'd find inside the borders of Greece.

I'm talking about fresh galangal, yard beans, fresh lemongrass (I tried to grow this from internet ordered seeds last year so desperate was I), thai holy basil, pandanus leaves, banana leaves, banana blossoms, passion fruit, lychee juice, shrimp paste, curry pastes, fresh tumeric, fresh green peppercorns, sauces, noodles, dim sum, roti canai and so many other weird, wonderful, stinkily delicious South East Asian ingredients. There were bags of dried shrimps and dried ikan bilis, little anchovies that make a curry to die for but smell so bad I'd get divorced on the spot if I brought them home.

There were rice cookers, sake sets, woks and even a mongolian hot pot. Now, just how many people in Athens stand in their kitchens on a Saturday afternoon and think "God damn, I really want some mongolian hot pot, but I don't have the pot."? And yet here was the pot sitting expectantly on the shelf, waiting for someone to have that very thought.

There was junk food, prawn crackers, violently coloured custards and jellies that us carefree Asians love, canned lychees, mangoes, jack fruit and rambutan and frozen durian. It was food heaven. I wanted to pitch a tent outside and never leave. We were so delighted that we bought what we could carry, took a coffee break and then headed back to pick up frozen items before heading our separate ways.

Salamat is located on Korinthias street, closest metro Ambelokipi. The super thing is that whatever we didn't find at Salamat, we found at other wonderful little Asian grocers along the same street, including pak choi (stir fry with oyster sauce - heaven) and at long last after accosting African immigrants for months on the streets of Athens, I located my much sought after plantain bananas (wait till well ripened and serve fried in chunky slices alongside goat curry and rice).

So there you have it. Anything to do with South Asia can be found on Menandrou Street and anything to do with South East Asian food can be found on Korinthias street.

Go forth and shop! Your meals need never be boring again!

Salamat

Korinthos 24

Ambelokipi

http://www.salamat.gr/

ph: 210 77 96 766

Directions:

Ambelokipi metro. Exit and head down Leoforos Alexandras towards the mountain. When you get to the junction with Kifisias, turn left (look for a tall hotel called President hotel and head towards it).

Korinthias is the third street on the right.

View Larger Map

Bolly Bulletin

It's Sunday, bollywood lovers! Go out and buy your Kyriakatiki Eleuftherorypia which today begins a new Bollywood DVD series!

Smiling with Your Eyes

So many important things have happened since I last blogged. We have a new government in Greece and changes are already sweeping through the cobwebby system of Greek politics. I could talk all about Georgie dearest and PASOK, but that's what newspapers are for.

No, something far more pressing is happening in Greece for those who worship at the Temple of Tyra. The America's Next Top Model (ANTM) format has arrived in Greece. Now, as an avid fan of ANTM, I was very interested in seeing how the Greek version would turn out. I had high hopes. This is after all a format that is supposed to search for the next top fashion model in whatever country. Let's just ignore for a mo that ANTM has yet to produce a top model in 13 seasons, but who cares. We all just want to see what Tyra is doing with her hair.

So along comes the Greek version, episode 1 series 1 of which aired last night. Search for Greece's next top fashion model? Bitch, please! The Greek version is obviously just another format for Playboy model wannabes. All summer long the same types of girls made in the same type of factory compete in the same type of competition to spread their legs in the same types of magazines.

One would have hoped Greece's Next Top Model (GNTM) would be safe from such debauchery. But no. Roll camera and out rolled the same brand of factory fresh girls who swore their dream was to be a fashion model.

Say what you like about the nutty Miss Banks, she does actually care about fashion and teaching the girls a few things about what fashion magazines are looking for. GNTM is hosted by Vikky Kayia who does not come out with any Tyraisms like:

"I can see how much you want this but it's not here in front of me"

"You're doing ugly, you need to do ugly-pretty like this (`o`) not this ('@')"

And my favourite "Have you ever practised smiling with your eyes? Watch me... not smiling with my eyes (o_o)... smiling with my eyes (O_O) do you see the difference?"

Oh, Tyra! I confess to far too much time practising eye smiles. I did them in most of my wedding pictures.

The skank factor leapt off the scale when the girls arrived and model Boot Camp and were asked to pose by the judge panel, including Nigel Barker wannabe Harry Christopoulo, who handed one girl a cigar and told her to put it in her mouth.

Where Tyra would be shouting "Less Sports Illustrated and more Vogue" the girls on GNTM were actively encouraged to spread legs, stick out asses and tongues and put fingers, cigars, grapes and etc in their mouths. Bonus points if the object in the mouth was part of Harry Christopoulos's anatomy. Oh Nigel, how I miss you. At least all your perving was done strictly with eyes.

Alongside Vicky and Harry we had Ms J wannabe Christophoros Kotentos. I actually liked him. He was being a complete bitch to many of the wannabes and having been a fashion model himself for the likes of Versace and Vivienne Westwood he is pretty much the only one who knows what he's talking about on this show when he ripped into the girls for their appearances.

There was no Jay Manuel equivalent, and I shed many a tear over this sad oversight. There was a third judge called Jenny Balatsinoy but she was so nondescript I had forgotten about her until I looked up the GNTM site just now (http://www.antenna.gr/node/1148)

The 200 girls dry humped various objects in Grand Resort Lagonissi for a while and then it was judging time! Proof that 13 seasons of ANTM is perhaps one season too many, I found myself thinking various things like:

"You've lost your chin there"

"You need to find the light"

"I don't see you using your whole body here"

"You're not taking it to the next level"

"This is commercial, give me high fashion"

17 girls were picked and reminded that they would now begin to learn the demanding and difficult life of a fashion model. I love it when people say that. I wish they'd be more honest about the demanding and difficult parts of modelling - photographers you have to sleep with to get jobs, weight 40kgs and being told to lose more weight, going out of season in just one year as the competition becomes younger and younger. Be honest, otherwise modelling is the most superfun and easy career I can think of - new clothes, beautiful people, tons of travelling, champagne and ass kissers on tap.

And so rolled to a bleach blonde stilleto-ed halt the first episode of GNTM. And whatever, guys. This is Greece. Whoever wins will do a few shoots for Playboy and then, sleeping with the right sequence of people, she actually will end up being Greece's top fashion model. In a way at least the Greek version is more in your face about what they want. It's a very simple equation of pretty girls+ spread legs+ the right bedmates+ fairy dust = media career.

I do hope things get more high fashion from here onwards. It would be really nice to see the creations of Greek designers showcased on this show.

GNTM:

Things you are likely to hear

Open your mouth and stick your tongue out

You've got a great ass. I know because I'm squeezing it.

Put this in your mouth. Oh no, this is just a practise run. I'll get my camera later

You won't Hear:

Ms J Alexander, Runway Diva Coach Extraordinaire!

Give me less commercial, more high fashion

More fashion, less sex

My Momma told me ...

Smile. With. Your. Eyes

Image: http://www.businesspundit.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/tyra-banks-gl10.jpg

Let's Face the Music

To those we Love

I'm back in Athens as of very early Tuesday morning, and the inability to have grieved has affected me badly. It's only today that I don't feel like I'm moving through glue, and somehow it feels like now it's too late for my tears - the moment has passed, and what a bitter pill to swallow are the tears of grief.

On the ride from the airport to my flat, I began to cry for our lost friend, for my relief at being home, but once again I had to stop because going beserk in the back of a taxi is not the best idea at 3 am. It was my most expensive taxi ride because so desperate was I to get through the front door and back to my normal life, so happy was I at this stranger delivering me to my doorstep that I shoved a EUR 50 note into his hands and took no change.

Watching pre-election debates, sometimes I wish I really could talk to party leaders of the right wing, anti-immigration parties like LA.OS. I know they wouldn't listen, but I would say this:

I followed the Greek I loved to his land and fell in love with Greece. When my plane landed here on Tuesday morning, I felt a rush of relief. Riding in the taxi in the small hours of the morning, past the sleeping olive groves and the mountains that have seen so much and had so much blood spilled on them, I felt like Athens herself was saying to me "You are now home, it's okay to let go now."

The stress of the previous week released and tears rolled down my face because I realised that what Mr Zeus had always told me was true: Greece is not a place, Greece is a feeling, and if you open your heart she will talk to you. It's those that can't open their hearts that will never be happy here.

Greece spoke to me on Tuesday morning as clear as an actual voice in my ears and I cried that an alien land had accepted me so unquestioningly into her embrace. Greece - halfway between the Home Country and the UK, my new home, the home I love, where I am at long last free.

So please, don't judge all us foreigners with the same standards. It may be hard for you to understand, but some of us love Greece as much as you do, maybe even more, because we were not taught this love from birth, we felt it of our own free will. I may not be able to roll off the history of Greece on my fingertips or name all her past leaders, but I can certainly tell you what is right here in my heart, in my gut.

Here's to the ones we love, who we should all hold a little bit closer because for all the fights and for all the frustration, they are here, we are here, and life is beautiful no matter what the colour.

In Good Times and Bad

When you move to a new country, much of what you base your decision to stay on is centred around happy times and successes. Greeks can be overbearing in their emotions but the pleasant side effect of this is that they celebrate your joys with all their hearts.
 
They are obsessed with their families which means someone is always nearby when you need them. They adore their friends to the point of inviting them on your holidays, without asking you, but this adoration means that when life becomes unbearable, the friends appear at your side to adore you right back, to lift you from the ground where you have fallen in your sorrow.
 
I have had the good fortune of experiencing many of the great milestones of Greek life - births, marriages, baptisms. Last week, I had the misfortune of going to my first Greek funeral and in its own strange way, nothing has made me more determined to live in Greece.
 
I can count on one hand the funerals I've been to in my life, and I have never been to a funeral on my own, without being an extension of my family. I am a coward, and I tend to run from funerals. Last week, I had to draw on a strength I knew deep inside me I didn't have and escort one of my dearest friends to the funeral of her husband, one of Mr Zeus's childhood friends.
 
In some ways the reality of that day has still not sunk in - the rain falling on us, the grief, the coffin, the feeling that this had to be a joke and any minute now he'd pop out from somewhere, my friend screaming and shaking in my arms, my arms that I had offered to remain by her side as a replacement for her family that had not arrived, who I cannot forgive for not being there.
 
Like me, she is a foreigner, and that same affinity I felt for her when we first met - two women who left it all behind to be with our men - is what kept me at her side, despite the feeling that I was not strong enough, that I couldn't do this, that Mr Zeus better turn up sometime now because I can't do this.
 
But I did it. We all did, and we all did it together. We all walked our friend to his final journey, smothering him in flowers, though I didn't have the heart to look. We wept together, and we even joked together. Later, the mourners were offered coffee and cognac and I shook hands with mourners on behalf of my dear friend's absent family as they wished us in Greek "Life to us, life to you."
 
That night we threw an impromptu heavy metal party where we drank some more, laughed some more and cried some more. "The next time I see him," I said "I'm going to force him to watch Bollywood movies because I never drink coffee and I never listen to heavy metal and I did both for him today!"
 
In Greece, when you tell them your bad news, they don't look away and mumble an apology. They don't shrink away from your sadness like it's a bad smell, like your misfortune might rub off onto them. They embrace you, look you in the eye and tell you that life is such and we must go on living it. When you start to cry, they don't pat you on the shoulder and tell you to pull yourself together. They stroke your hair, tell you to cry and let it all out. 
 
48 hours later I found myself back in London for a week. I haven't had the luxury to cry as much as I need to clean my soul, to try and get to grips in my head the image of our friend's coffin, the feeling of my friend writhing on the ground in her misery. I had to be strong, but now I want to rest my head on someone's shoulder and let them let me cry to my heart's content.
 
But I'm in the wrong country, and when the tears began to fall last night, they made those around my uncomfortable. Their discomfort was so tangible I began to cry even more. I was told to pull it together, don't be sad.
 
This week, I don't want to be in London. I don't want to even be in my family home. I feel alone, miserable and tired. I just want to cry once, one good cry without anyone trying to stop me, and then things will feel better.
 
This is why they have therapists in Western Europe. We don't need them in Greece.
 
Life to us.

---

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Fruit of the Gods

September has rolled around and reared her ugly head at last, and it seems summer will be over all too soon. From the 1st of September, Greeks start wishing each other a happy autumn, words that depress the living daylights out of me. Seems I waited forever for summer and now it's leaving again.

That doesn't mean that the taste of summer still can't be enjoyed. If you are the sort who doesn't start freaking out when outnumbered by dark-skinned foreigners, I recommend a trip to Menandrou Street in downtown Athens, just off Athinas (metro stop Omonia).

Down this street, the jewels of summer can still be enjoyed - boxes of yellow, fragrant, dizzyingly sweet mangoes from the Home Country. No one should ever decide what they think about mangoes without eating Home Country mangoes, which are universally believed to be the best on the market. They have a silky, juicy texture that Caribbean mangoes can only dream of.

Mangoes can be bought by piece or by 5 kilo boxes. I usually get the whole box for around EUR 15 and share the contents with other mango lovers.

And if you still need convincing, mangoes are considered to be aphrodisiacs, with the saying going that there is no clean and tidy way to enjoy a mango or a woman.

Oh, I do declare Miss Bollybutton! How can one be talking about eating and aphrodisiacs in the middle of the holy month!

Image: http://www.simply-thai.com/fruit-images-small/chauk-anan4.jpg

Before and After. Can you Spot the Difference? Me neither

The big news in Greece at the moment is that elections have been called early thanks to the annual disgrace which is the handling (or lack there of) of Greece's wild-though most are set accidentally on purpose - fires. Hooray! New government time! Same old assholes, but a brand new covering on the box outside! Whoopee!

As a foreigner living in Greece, the thing that pisses me off the most is the wasted potential of this country. Here we are, surrounded by brilliant young minds, with families bankrupting themselves to educate their children, who then return to Greece and have zero job prospects because all the good jobs go to those who know someone, not those who know something.

Let's start with the most important thing, the thing that Greeks toast each other with instead of Cheers - good health. Take for example the NHS. That's a system the British love to complain about, but boy do you miss it when you can't have it any more. When I tell my Greek friends that you can walk into any clinic or hospital and get what you need without paying a penny and without having to slip bribes under the table, they're amazed.

With the crushing taxes that Greeks pay, don't they deserve something similar? I think yes. In my opinion, privatised medicine are two words that should never appear side by side. Doesn't a young, nervous, first time Greek mother deserve the right to have her baby safely and naturally under the guidance of doctors and nurses who have her interests at heart, rather than the doctor who will bully her into needless surgical intervention because surgery means a little extra in his pocket from the insurance company? Greece is now top in Europe for Caesarean sections at 44% instead of the WHOs recommended maximum of 15% - why is no one even talking about that? Because the medical insurance companies the government let in are so powerful.

This is country that could be absolutely anything, but because of so many years of such corrupt governments, nothing ever changes. Shabby schools and bored teachers who come to life all of a sudden at the Frondistereo after school schools where they get paid more. In giving the children of Greece such a shitty state school system, the government is basically sticking two fingers up at them and saying "Let them eat cake". I mean, there are so many really good private schools, right? Which everyone can afford, especially when their parents earn EUR 700 a month. Cake! Cake for all!

But I'm just ranting. Harsh as it sounds, not a thing will change in Greece until these old grandpas running the country die off, and some fresh young blood forces its way in. If I'm still hearing Karamanlis and Papandreou in 20 years time, I'll set the Parliament on fire!

Here's hoping.

Στην υγειά μας λοιπον !

Say what you want about Greek women, but ain't no one touching their ass without their consent. If you have never been to the UK and been hit on by drunk British boys, it goes something like this:

Him: Hello darling, you're fucking gorgeous
You: Thanks
H: Can I buy you a drink?
Y: No thanks, I've got one
H: Come on don't be such a party pooper, I.. Brett! Hey Brett! That's my mate Brett, he's fucking MENTAL!

(Some pointless and unfunny story follows about Boy and Brett's drunken escapades)

H: A nice girl like you shouldn't be here on her own.
Y: I'm here with friends
H: Come on let's dance (starts putting arms around you and grinding his groin into you)
Y: Please, I'm really not interested. (backing away)
H: Well you're a bit of an ice queen ain't ya. Fucking think you're better than everyone don't ya! Well fuck you you stupid bitch!

Not made up. I've had dozens of these conversations when I lived in the UK. Not to say I'm a beauty queen, but in the UK the done thing when going out is to get completely, mind-bendingly drunk, and then anything female looks good. Drunk British boys have no manners and no sense of decency. They think that just because you're in a club and in their vicinity, you are fair game to be chatted up, fondled and then abused when you say no.

I'm not one to advocate violence, but I can understand that certain parts of Crete in the summer must become quite unbearable for the locals with hordes of British tourists decending on their towns for cheap holidays, cheap booze and thinking that they can get away with the sort of disrespectful behaviour they display in their own country.

All I'm sayin' is I didn't know Sambuca was quite so flammable, and I'll be keeping that in mind the next time someone invades my space.

Image: http://ramblingspoon.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2006/11/FlamingSambuca.jpg

Rain Dance

At the precise moment I'm typing this, a brief, light rain shower is passing by. I tolds yas! So many years in a monsoon ridden country is good for predicting when the heat and humidity are going to break into rain.

Looking Ahead

There is no country like Greece for trash TV. In fact , my number one reason for recommending learning Greek is so you can watch trash TV.

The number one trash channel here is Star TV, which only just stopped presenting their sexual inuendo studded weather bulletin with a weather girl in lingerie. Men loved it, I loathed it. Telos panton, anyway, Star TV in the summer blankets every news bulletin with bikini shots of women at the beach.

Their number one news gathering strategy is to head to the beach with a camera and interview people about how hot it is. In between these vox pops they slice in up-the-butt shots of women's bikini clad asses, the skimpier the better! Let's not forget that the newsreader has to always appear with her breasts half in half out of whatever top she's wearing, preferably some cheap and shiny form of satin.

My younger sisters and two cousins spent much of their wedding trip down at the beach and not once, twice got approached by the Star TV camera, which then departed upon discovering they spoke no Greek. I was appalled. The wedding planning stole my chance to be on my favourite trashy channel. If only I'd been there!! I would have totally been like all "Man it's hot! And I got this colour because I use baby oil. Screw sun protection!"

With August though, even trash TV presenters have gone on holiday, including my all time favourite Rania Thraskia, who has either gone to the beach or gone off to have her baby. Rania is none other than the presenter of my favourite trash TV show, Koitao Brosta (Looking Ahead).

The format is a daily topic with an expert panel and a phone-in for the general public. I tell you, Jerry Springer, Maury, Trisha, Jeremy Kyle ... these people are nobodies in front of this show. The four of them put together would make up Rania's little finger.

Where else but Koita Brosta can I enjoy such delightful phone-in topics such as:

* I got plastic surgery to look like my daughter in law because I'm jealous that she stole my man son

* My bitch of a daughter in law gave herself the bad eye and lost her baby at 5 months. A baby boy at that! How dare she! So me and my son threw her out. But not right away, we let her stay one day before we threw her out. And no, Rania, actually you're wrong because I am more devastated than her.

* I'm 19. My parents don't understand why I want to marry my 46 year old lover instead of get an education

* All my friends are rich and do rich people stuff. I don't work, because I gave my husband the favour of doing him a baby, so he should work to maintain my lifestyle. We're EUR 100,000 in debt but so frickin' want? I want to go on an expensive holiday! We can just take out another loan!

* I regularly left my child at home alone all night while I went out to search for my good for nothing husband, and now I don't know why she's all like "You're a terrible mother!"

* I adopted a boy and now that I have my own child I don't want him any more. I told him he's not my child and I hate him, and he's such a little demon child he misbehaves all the time! Not because he's lashing out for attention Rania, no, he's just a bad child. He is not my child. My child doesn't behave like that

* My daughter in law is crazy because she called the police after my son beat her. She does not care at all what the village will say about my family the selfish cow! It's not like it was the first time he beat her, so I don't know what her problem is. But anyway, all women get beaten by their husbands, isn't it?

And so many more. Every day is like a new delight on her show. Sometimes the callers are so ridiculous, I wonder if they're just making stuff up. But who cares! I'm entertained!

I hope Rania comes back off her holiday soon, because I'm getting bored of watching repeats of shows I've already seen. My life would be a barren desert of seriousness without Rania.

Long, Hot Summer

Monsoon Weather - Various

Greece, for those of you who don't live here, goes into total shutdown in August. It's too hot for the industries to keep operating, and I swear, if they did it would be a crime against humanity in this weather, so this sets off a chain reaction where everything else winds down too.

The streets are pretty much deserted as whole neighbourhoods cash in their annual leave and depart to their respective villages for at least three weeks, often more.

The knock-on effect for someone like me who works from home is that I have nowhere to go now. Practically all my friends are either out of the city or melting in the sun and there is no bellydance class until September. You actually start to forget that other people exist in August. I'm just starting to come out from my wedding stress hangover and have not called anyone to thank them for their help/attendance/present.

With me sitting at home isolated I have nothing better to do than to try recipes out of Nigella Lawson's How to be a Domestic Goddess, a wedding present from my sisters that was obviously hinting at something. My match-box flat is bursting at the seams with so much stuff I periodically go on strike because I'm sick of tidying it. And my oven is broken and won't go beyond a certain temperature without tripping the main fuse of the flat so all my biscuits and pastry are coming out looking sickly pale.

So with nought all to do (apart from work, but who works in August! Someone should tell London that!) my favourite hobby is picking fights with Mr Zeus. It's the heat, the boredom, the not having a holiday destination with only two weeks left before we leave, the dog, my eyebrows, whatever! Anything and everything is fight fodder this time of year.

I have always said I love the summer, but yesterday I spent the day with rain sounds playing off the internet while I worked. I suppose I'm still reeling from the super sun exposure I got running errands before the wedding. I don't drive, so I have to walk everywhere, or wait for buses or taxis in the blistering heat. It was the first time in three years that I wished for rain.

No Money No Problems

Since we're all in the same boat, scrabbling behind the sofa for spare euros and wondering where the money goes every month, we might as well sing and dance about it.

We may be broke but we're happy, and at least there are still some free beaches in Athens!

Onwards and Upwards

So it's over. Words I never want to hear again:

1. boubounieres
   
2. decorations
   
3. bride
   
4. invitations
   
5. anything to do with one thing matching the other

Things I organised via the internet:

1. the wedding dress designed by me and created in the Home Country, which was made so lightly for the heat that I carried it around in a handbag.
   


2. the invitations in half Greek half English, printed in India and since I typeset them, the Greek part was full of mistakes. But so what. As far as I know no one turned up to the mayor's office at 11pm instead of 11am and that was my biggest error.
   


3. starfish charms for the wedding favours
   


4. marigold coloured tissue paper for decorating
   


5. mini incense and boxed bindis for the henna party favours
   


6. floating lotus lanterns for the beach
   


7. Maro from MAC on Ermou street, who I discovered via a comment on this blog and who helped me pick a foundation so perfect I looked airbrushed


8. MAC pigments in sample sizes from http://www.thebodyneeds2.com/

*Things that were not right on the day: Nothing

*My favourite thing about the wedding was: having all my family together for once.

*Now that it's all over I feel: Like I never, ever want to do that again as long as I live. Never. Ever. Ever. I'm so happy to be lounging around in my crappy clothes again, growing out my moustache and letting my fingernails break with abandon.

On the day itself I had a surprisingly good time. Not that I expected to have a bad time, it just was a lot better than I had hoped for.

When you're a bride, people break your balls about absolutely everything. It's worse being a bride who doesn't care much for weddings, because no one believes you when you say you're not into shabang type weddings and think you're just being a boring old fart.

The morning of the wedding was stress free and I was ready nicely ahead of schedule because I booked myself into a hotel and got dressed with my sisters. The rest was like a domino effect. Since the day started well it ended brilliantly with everyone in their swimming gear partying at a beach bar till the early morning.

Halfway through the party my sister and I walked past the bride from the other wedding party going on at the hotel of the beach par and couldn't help but laugh at the contrast. She was looking perfect in her white wedding dress, makeup and hair, and I was in a cotton beach dress, barefaced and barefoot. I had to show a little girl at the beach photos from the morning because she wouldn't believe her mother that I was the bride.

The next day though I was feeling major evil eyes so I burnt some sage and walked all the way through the flat with the windows and doors open, passing the smoke in every corner and all the cupboards. No jokes people, the evils were super bad. I got up at one point the night after the wedding and felt such a big weight press on me that I fell to the floor like a dead weight and couldn't get back up again. Mr Zeus heard the thud and had to come pick me off the floor because my legs had turned to jelly. You might say lack of sleep/low blood pressure, but it was evils I tells ya!

I will not give any advice for the bride, since it will all be useless anyway, except don't bother with diets. You will go through your own crash diet in the days before the wedding as the stress blow-torches the bumps and lumps away.

I will however advise you if you are a friend of a bride/groom to be:

1. Do not offer advice. Just listen



2. The bride will turn into a total bitch before the wedding. This has nothing to do with you. It's because she's sick of being asked unimportant questions and people freaking out around her about stupid details. Don't pay too much attention to the things she says when she's having a psychotic episode. She only means about half of them.



3. If you say you are going to do something, do it. The biggest disappointment for me when I was buckling under the stress was all the people who said they would help who then disappeared and turned up later to have a good time.



4. Do whatever the couple asks you to do, and don't complain about it. If you think you're tired you have no idea how exhausted they are.



5. In the days immediately before the wedding, take some food over. Otherwise the couple won't eat.



6. Take the initiative and fix any problems that you can fix yourself.

That's about it! I had a wedding day full of colours and happiness with the people I love all in one room. I would not do it again and I'm glad it's over, but I am equally happy that I had such a nice time. The mayor's speech before we signed the papers was very short but wonderfully to the point about respecting and lifting each other up and building a happy and secure environment for ourselves and our children. Many of the guests agreed that it was the nicest political marriage they had seen. So all's well that ends well.

ps. Al in Athens has left a comment here saying she wish she could have done more. I met Al through this blog, and we have since become good friends. Her gift to me were the flower decorations at the mayor's office, and there could not have been a better gift than the breathtaking job she did. Al, I could not possibly have asked for more than what you did as it was perfection.

Weekend Reminder

Don't forget to buy this Sunday's Kyriakatiki Eleutherotypia for DVD 2 in it's current 4 DVD Bollywood series. The first movie was Veer Zara, the second is an epic and a favourite of mine, Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham.

All four movies in this series are in fact extremely good choices. You could buy the DVD's for less on Menandrou street, but I believe by supporting ET in this endeavour, I am taking one step closer to the day that Bollywood movies will show in Greek cinemas.

Image: http://www.allzonedvd.com/bollywood/dvd/k/kabhie3.jpe

Greek 101

Now that I have reached a level where I can communicate in Greek, even with my terrible grammar, it amazes me just how pointless and restrictive most of the Greek we were taught was. We were never taught any slang or anything particularly useful and applicable to survival in Greece, such as:

* Go f*ck yourself you f*cking f*ck!
* Who lets all these bloody grandpas onto the roads on the weekend?
* It wasn't my fault
* Sometimes you make me so angry I want to break something
* I'm really not interested in going out with you
* But the meter says EUR 4.50, so I won't pay you a penny over that
* Two tzatzikis, four kebabs, three chips and ten beers. No, just us two.
* If you don't behave I'll break all your bones
* I'd like to speak to your supervisor.
* Anything to do with talking on the phone.

Instead, I can recall spectacularly useless modules where the characters sit politely around a table wondering what they will order, instead of the bloodbath that usually ensues when hungry Greeks order at a restaurant, and another where a customer goes to the DEH electricity office and meets an unrealistically helpful staff member.

What would have been much more useful and realistic was to start basic Greek classes with a handful of swearwords, which constitute roughly 50% of a conversation. Furthermore, Greek classes should have been held in the same room as another language class, or with three teachers who all talk at you at the same time to give a more realistic sensation of the way communication takes place here. You develop an amazing ability to track three separate conversations at the same time, and this is not something taught.

Also, I hate using my Greek on the phone, so a few classes dedicated to that would have been good, such as getting us to call the tourist office infront of the whole class or something.

Perhaps the most pointless phrase I was ever taught was to ask if there is a bakery nearby. You will always find a bakery in Greece, just walk 5 minutes in any direction. They're as plentiful as churches.

Summer Lovin'

As I type this, I am turning into jelly. Seriously, this life of not doing much at all is taking its toll. Gone are the days when I survived on a diet of pure garbage and had nothing to show for it. Time's a-moving on and at 27, the weight has now started to stick in places that previously had a Teflon-like ability to deflect fat.

A few days ago I got it into my head that taking the dog for runs would a) help me get fit and b) stop the dog being such a total asshole all the time. This project was unsuccessful because it is too hot to do anything, I am by nature a completely lazy person and the dog is by nature an asshole, and laziness and assholiness are not properties easily conditioned out.

I have also never been a fan of gyms. All those fit people being fit are far too intimidating to me. It's much less embarrassing to cough and splutter after two minutes of running with only my dog as a witness than an entire gym.

Other projects that have gone to seed are waking up extra early and going to the beach for a refreshing swim. It's so hot in the city right now that there were news reports of families sleeping on the beach last night because of the heat. I don't particularly mind the heat, except being without a car means running errands becomes a lot harder in this heat.

Tomorrow I plan on going to the much media maligned Menandrou street to buy mangoes, but let's see if the heat cancels out my drive to eat mangoes. I don't get the media horror stories. I go to Menandrou street all the time all on my own and no one has ever bothered me there. In fact, I only ever tend to see the police kicking up a fuss down there. I feel more uncomfortable in the snooty shops of Kolonaki than I do in Menandrou.

On more refreshing and sweet smelling news, Greece is now 10 days into a smoking ban that I would never have believed if I wasn't witnessing myself. On Saturday I enjoyed my first smoke-free night out in Athens and it was wonderful. I hope people keep up the pace, because no matter how much people here hate being told what to do, smoking is not good for you and as lazy as I am, I object to being forced to inhale a substance that I do not willingly put inside my lungs. My decision to poison myself on alcohol on Saturday was entirely mine and mine alone.

Finally, don't forget to buy this Sunday's Kyriakatiki Eleftherotypia for a DVD of 4 Bollywood movies. Count 'em, FOUR! Get yourself down to Menandrou street, buy a box of mangoes and enjoy a Bollyfest of unseen proportions in Greece!

Image: www.alienlovespredator.com

Growing Up with MJ

There is nothing to say about Michael Jackson that hasn't already been said. To me, his death was a particular shock because as a kid of the 80s, I grew up on his music when he was at his peak. He was the benchmark of a good dancer for our generation. When talking about someone who could dance, the defining test of if they were really that talented was if they could do Michael Jackson moves. How many childhood hours the world over were spent trying to moonwalk?

He was the only person me and my sisters ever wrote a fan letter to. I believe it was a critical dissection of his Moon Walker movie which we addressed to Michael Jackson, Neverland, America. God only knows where it ended up.

Our mother would go to the video shop and buy Michael Jackson music videos which we watched on an endless loop during our parents' afternoon siestas. This was before we had any sort of music channel in the Home Country.

People even teased me about resembling him and I once donned a pair of Aviators and white tape on my fingers for a picture, stood next to my Michael Jackson poster which is the only celebrity poster I ever bothered buying. It was flattering as a kid when he was still normal looking, but when the last comparison occurred just four years ago, I was deeply insulted.

As the years rolled on I abandoned my Michael Jackson fan status as things got weird and eventually he became not much more than tabloid fodder to me.

And then on Thursday night, as I was inspecting the skin peeling from my face from over enthusiastic spot removal efforts, my youngest sister rushed into the bathroom and told me that Michael Jackson had died.

It was only after that that I realised just how much fantastic music he made, and how much of that music appears as a backdrop to childhood memories and how my future kids would ask me where I was when I heard the news, the way we ask our parents where they were when Elvis died.

The Thriller video scared the living daylights out of me until I forced myself to watch despite my terror to the end and assure myself that the zombie does turn back into good old MJ. I defined what I wanted to look like when I grew up by all the women in Michael Jackson videos. Isn't it nice when you're a kid and you just think that you'll grow up to look like Iman simply because you want to?

And kids of today have no idea how cutting edge for its time the Black and White video was when the people in the end are all merging into each other, not even movies were doing that back then. As for that particular video, my sisters and I were beside ourselves with joy that an Indian woman got to dance with Michael Jackson in a video. Man, we knew the entire script to that video by heart.

And now all we are left from a life we literally picked and pecked to death is the music. At least I got to see Michael Jackson in the flesh for a few very brief seconds.

It was the late 80s and on one of our trips to the UK, our parents carted us off to Madame Tussaud's wax museum. Amongst the other attractions, a new statue of Michael Jackson had been unveiled. I was pretty young, but as far as I can recall the statue must have been stood under a spotlight because the rest of the room was very dark and gloomy.

All of a sudden, my mother shrieked "Oh my God! That's Michael Jackson!" I thought, yeah, it is Michael Jackson, it's his statue, why did you realise that all of a sudden? She repeated again that it was the real Michael Jackson and I spun around to catch a glimpse of the man himself flanked by bodyguards making a hasty exit as the crowd surged in his direction. That night, his clandestine appearance botched by my mother made the news.

When the news broke of his death and we sat together recalling how crazy we all were about Michael Jackson, I told her I wished she had quietly turned us around and pointed instead of notifying everyone in the room, causing his exit and making my one and only glimpse of Michael Jackson the back of him. At least I fared better than my older sister who turned in time to be hit in the face by Michael Jackson's shoulder bag and thus saw nothing at all. On our return to the Home Country, awe-struck friends told her she should never wash her face again.