The living dead

Looking after the dead is an important aspect of every modern society. Greeks bury their dearly departed in such a way that we can imagine them as sleeping in the earth, as if they are still with us, only that they are now silent and enjoying a peaceful life. This is one reason cremation has been hard to imagine for modern Greeks until very recent times. Cremation was actually very common in ancient Greece, especially for warrirors, and in Athens where there was a lack of space. Cremations are being reconsidered in our times because more people these days have expressed their desire to have a non-Christian funeral, and there are also people who see it as environmentally more sound to be cremated. But until crematoriums are built in Greece - and this won't happen too soon, although they are on the cards apparently - we will still be buried in cemeteries similar to the one I visited recently in the village of Gerolakkos in the Keramia region of the Cretan highlands.

On the ocassion of the memorial service of a friend's mother, we visited the church dedicated to the Virgin Mary, where the cemetery of the village is also located. The splendour of the area is not visible from the main road - you have to climb a marble staircase to see it. The winter season's colours were on full display in this semi-alpine region with a view to the snow-capped mountains of the Lefka Ori: the yellow orange shades of the deciduous trees contrast starkly with the evergreen olives, whose trunks show the effects of snow. Olives don't like frost, and their branches break when they are covered in snow. But olive is a very hardy tree, and it does not die easily - at such altitudes, its trunk gets stockier, and it regains its strength by winter's end, continuing to flourish over spring and summer, while remaining shorter than olive trees growing on lower ground.

The church service was rather long, the church was small, and the congregation was huge - at least 250 people turned up. Since we did not all fit into the church, I stayed outside most of the time, and strolled through the cemetery, which is very typical in Greek terms. Many of the graves had some very moving epitaphs (which we call epigraphs in Greek - επιγραφές) inscribed on them, giving away clues about the earthly life as it was lived by the residents of the tombs. The words written by the loved ones of the dearly departed imply that life does not stop once you die: your actions in the world keep your memory alive well after death, and you will be remembered for them - whether for good or for bad. Life goes on, even after death.

What particularly endeared me to the epigraphs at Gerolakkos is that they were nearly all written in the style of the Cretan mantinada, a rhyming poem very popular in Crete, consisting of two 15-syllable parts, often written over four lines. Many of the epigraphs were also written in the Cretan dialect. A few of those epigraphs stood out for the message they wished to convey: the writers know that the people reading them will not be their dearly departed loved ones, but the general public, among whom there will be many people who knew the deceased (it's a village church, after all, and it will be visited by villagers with family and friends in common). Many of the messages are simple poems showing the great sorrow of the writers at the loss of their loved ones, but a few stand out for the story they tell of their dearly beloved.

A picture may tell us a thousand words, as is the case of the accompanying photograph to the epigraph - the traditional face of the Cretan man, with a black crochet sariki on his head and a 'katsouna' (wooden walking stick) just visible, reminds the Cretans of their roots from older times which are still relatively recent in our memories:

"Father, wherever you walked, your name stayed/And it left a legacy for your family"

In a similar way, the family of this man want to acknowledge their father's legacy:

"You were a beacon next to me, a harbour in my life/But now you have left, and my soul is broken." (from his wife)
"Thank you for teaching us to live/You told us that we dont need to conquer the world
You taught us integrity, trust, work and manliness/Necessary in life for it to have value
You will always be in our heart and in our mind/a great ideal, our greatest teacher"

The daughter's epigraph to her dad is a simple farewell expressing sorrow for his loss.

On closer inspection, we realise that the bus shows German placenames which tells us that her father (and perhaps her family) lived abroad but wished to die in their homeland.

Sometimes we wished things had turned out differently, not just for ourselves, but also for others, as this message written from a daughter to her father tells us: 

"Now that you are together with your two children, don't forget your gradson. I want you to find my son so he can have company and not be alone, because my beloved father, you know well how much it hirts to be lonely. Thank you for coming and visiting my son, on pain's bed. You were the only relative to remember that he was confined and helpless. Thank you, I owe you a big apology for your own loneliness."

This beautiful epigraph, written in the Cretan dialect, shows the love that the deceased had for his homeland. It also pictures the last home that the man had ever built, but didn't quite finish. God didn't take him away too soon - someone else did:

"You walked the highlands of Kerameia and Sfakia/And with great enthusaism, you began buidling your 'koumo' (Cretan stone mountain hut).
You will be sorely missed by the Kerameia mathways/Which you traversed up and down, your back heavily laden.
Tell me Father how you are these days in Hades' palace/You, who would say you'd die if you were ever bedridden.
You stood against the monster for four years/And now that you have gone, the vacant space is big..."

A 'synteknos' laments the passing of a good friend: "I lost my favorite bead from my kehribari." Kehribari is the Greek word for amber, which is shaped into beads, to make a komboloi, the popular 'worry bead' necklace that Greek men (and lately women) are seen clicking at cafes. The word 'sinteknos' is used very much in Crete, signifying a friend 'by marriage': someone who shares a relationship due to being a best man at a wedding or baptising a child.

The epigraph continues with matinades about the writer's love for Crete, and sorrow for not being close to this beloved uncle:
"... I'm far away in the deserts of the foreign lands, I want to be an eagle, to have wings on my shoulders, to fly across the Atlantic, to glide across Hania, to run over Keramia, to see the Dancer's house, and to bring you a pot of curly basil, Uncle."
The Uncle must have been a γλεντζές, a word often used in Greece, derived from Turkish, meaning 'lover of having a good time with song and dance'.

Sometimes we feel guilty about why our loved ones never reached out to us and we wished we could reverse the events:

"... I knew your pure and humble soul but I didn't know your egotistic pride..."
"... you always cared for us and kept us close to you but you, mother, did not accept from any one of us, the moment you were leaving this phoney world, to hold you hand, but never mind, we don't hold it against you, we will love and remember you forever..."

This man died too early but he must have been very much loved. There are three mantinades written for him: one by his children, one from his wife and the last one from... his father- and mother-in-law:

"You were our hope and our joy/And now we are full of sorrow for you, in our old age."

The epigraphs at Gerolakkos remind us that there is indeed life after death, and just as we lived life on earth as we wished, so too will we live life below ground:

"Our humble grave resembles our hearts/That it's not dressed in marble is as we wished."

*** *** ***

Bonus photos: Gerolakkos is close to the village of Drakonas, so we decided to have lunch at Ntounias. We were the first customers for the day, and the food was still cooking in the clay pots. So we didn't order anything - we just let Stelios bring us one plate after the other, until we reached satiation point. By the time we left, there was hardly a spare seat in the restaurant.

And as we drove home passing by other villages like Therisso, we could see that the tavernas in those other places were also full, not just with locals, but busloads of visiting school children from other parts of Greece. And that's when I thought that perhaps Greece is now living in the post-crisis period (but we can talk about that next year, lest I speak too soon).

©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.

Last posting

Happy Nameday if your name is Ahmed (Ahmad/Ahmet). It's St Ahmed's today in teh Greek orthodox church calendar.

What has happened to my time as of late? It flies, perhaps too quickly for my liking. I don't use it up so leisurely any longer. I was hoping to get a quick post in before Christmas, but I also know that whatever I would have written two days ago would have become obsolete by now.

I was woken up not by carol singers today, like we usually are on Christmas Eve, but by the mourning toll of the church bells. Since last night, I knew that Christmas had been cancelled in my neighbourhood, after the area was swarmed by cars parked on every available spot in an area that does not even have a footpath. How easily we change our traditions after a tragedy. "Να τα πούμε;" (Shall we say them?), as the saying goes concerning the question traditionally asked by carol singers before they begin singing, was banished here this year. If anyone asked any question, it would have been along the lines of "Δεν τα είπαμε;" (Didn't we say them already?). The event could have been predicted, sooner or later. Or perhaps the question was "Δεν σου τό 'πα;" (Hadn't I told you so?), since it could also have been avoided. We all knew it was bound to happen. Even his parents had predicted the event when they got rid of the motorbike. They gave him a car instead.

Prepping Christmas lunch: A friend was asking me yesterday if she can find lamb shanks in Hania - as long as you know how to tell the butcher how to cut the meat, yes, you can find lamb shanks. Generally speaking, butchers hack it to pieces here, and the locals use it in this way. Forget about what you see in the Greek haute cuisine magazines: they show mainly urban cuisine, and what we aspire to, rather than what we really are. My contribution for Christmas Day lunch is: guacomole, roasted peppers and lettuce with kid avgolemono.

Now we can also make predictions for the summer. For instance, we can be quite sure that we will no longer be woken up at the same time in the middle of the siesta, and later on, in the middle of the night, by the garish sounds coming from the same car as it sped up and down the road, windows rolled down, car stereo full blast. The car is now scrap metal, and its driver buried under the earth, joining his young cousin who died under similar circumstances a few years ago. His young mother will wear black for the rest of her life, as will the mothers of the other two teens who died with him. The fourth one - who had just finished his teens a year earlier - is still fighting for his life. I predict he will make it, but he won't be the same person that he was.

Since the event, I have had to reorganise Christmas Day lunch. The mother's wails can still be heard. Tomorrow's lunch will now be pot luck, at a friend's house. Making as little effort as possible in order not to be seen or heard, we shall pack our pots and pans, and head out of the area. We'll be wearing our seatbelts, and only one of us will drink, to ensure that we can make it back home.

Life doesn't always go as planned, but that is no reason to get angry. Rearranging keeps you on your toes. You can't have everything you want all the time, but you can probably have everything you need. You may or may not be the perpetrator of all your own misery, but you can usually be the creator of all your own happiness.

Merry Christmas to all. I hope to be back in time for the New Year. Till then, more work to get through...

©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.

On cremation (Aποτέφρωση)

We spent the morning at our olive grove, trimming grafted trees and clearing the field of the cuttings which we burnt in piles. It was a good day for this, as it was not windy. Although the day started off with a few drops of rain, it turned into a very fine day.

- Wouldn't you like to have your ashes scattered here on this grove, if you were cremated? I asked my husband.

- No.

-But you like it here, don't you? You come here often enough.

- No.

- You'd be visited often by all your descendants ...


No comment.

- ... the sun would be your constant companion, and you'd be in the company of the gods because you can see the highest peaks of Crete from here.

- Not interested.

- You'd be close to your earthly works, like all these olive trees... My husband has seen them grow and produce fruit, burn down to the roots, re-grow as wild type species, and he recently grafted them, one by one, to make them grow as domesticated olive species.

I think I detected a hint of interest in the alternative method I proposed of being disposed after death.

- Surely you don't expect to be visited often at a cemetery? We never visit anyone's grave unless we attend a funeral.

- I am not getting cremated.

Graves are so small and cramped. In Greece, you share them with so many people. Cremation sounds so much more liberating.

©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.

Suicide (Αυτοκτονία)

Yani was about my age. I'd known him for about 16 or so years. I should really say that I had known of him, as if we were aware of each other's presence. He was strange and I was careful. Our houses stood next to each other, but I always made sure to go to that side of my garden when I knew no one would be there to perve.

I knew his dad better as I usually relate to older people. Panagos didn't have an easy time raising his family. His wife died of cancer, leaving behind a baby girl with Down's syndrome. Yani and his older brother practically raised her. The windows of Panagos' house were permanently closed. I don't think I ever saw them open, except perhaps once when a lady had come to do an annual cleaning of the house. The yard was full of carpentry equipment, scrap metal and all sorts of other junk that often looked as though it had lain there untouched for at least a decade.

Panagos wasn't a great talker, understandably with what he had to put up with in his daily life. But even though he bore many crosses, he always managed a smile when a situation merited it. Not much more than a smile, but this showed that he hadn't forgotten that there is somethign about life that can make you happy. I was always amazed that he never remarried - he was such a good looking man, with typical Cretan looks. But I guess he had too good a heart to do that - how could he when he knew what kind of house he'd be bringing a new woman into.

Panagos must have seen some joy out of his elder son's wedding, and the birth of his grandchildren, but he was also witnessing the opposite extreme of happiness: the depression, the madness and finally the detachment of Yani who he could no longer encourage. How could he explain to Yani to remain strong when there was little to hope for in Yani's life? The middle child feels a sens of not knowing where it belongs, and Yani was not an exception.

Panagos' roots came from higher ground and he has struggled throughout his life to overcome daily difficulties and psychological issues. Even retirement has been a struggle for him, what with having to watch the degeneration of his middle child. And now he has to live with the sight of his dead son who he found in that dark bedroom that never saw any light for years. Yani's roots were firmly planted in urban life, and urban life is just not what it used to be any more, not even in this sun-filled resort town.

I'm glad I visited Panagos today. He was happy to see me. In fact, I could tell that he was glad to see me. But I was shocked to see how much my old neighbourhood had degenerated. People who were always curious to see what was going on in each other's hosues were now sitting cooped up inside their homes, while Panagos was surrounded by only a few old age pensioners like himself. And there was also Maria,
bringing a tray in and out of the kitchen with glasses of water and orange juice. Suddenly they were too busy.

In Greece, it's not true to say that we don't know what is going on inside somebody else's home. It's often teh case that we do know. We can't always stop it, but we do know. And it's not just an economic crisis.

©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.

Scam

The following is a scam email I received yesterday, which would have turned me into a rich person overnight, were it a real life scenario:

Bookings.‏

Paul Morgan

To Recipients

From:	Paul Morgan (paul1009@mail.com)
Sent:	Wednesday, March 27, 2013 12:21:56 AM
To:	Recipients (paul1009@mail.com)

Greetings, 

I write on behalf of I and my colleagues to confirm whether your company will be able to provide transportation for 4 delegates that will be coming for 7 days tour in your area.
Please find below the details of the transportation schedule;

(1). Date of transfers: Tuesday, 18th of June 2013 to Monday, 24th of June 2013 (7 days) 

(2). The duration of the transfers will be 8 hours each day,that is; from 10am to 6pm every day, within a radius of 200km in your area. 

(3). Number of persons: 4 persons 

(4). Driver required 

Kindly note that any of these vehicles will be alright for the transfers during those dates; (a car or van). Note also, that 2 or more vehicles that can serve the same purpose will be a better option.

Advise the availability and TOTAL COST for the 7 DAYS transportation for the mentioned days with a driver.

Thanks for your anticipated co-operations. 

Yours sincerely,
Paul Morgan

.

Knowledge of my husband's job (cabbie) comes from my blog. But no mention is made of the place name, there are English grammar errors, and - my personal favorite blooper - a 200km radius in my town would require an amphibious vehicle.

. 



This kind of scam is more obvious than the one being played out in real life. While Europe is at war, some countries are profiting, while others are barely surviving, and some are being annihilated. When old weapons stop working (eg salary cuts and higher taxes), new ones are being invented (eg savings confiscation). 







The economic destruction of Greece was a gradual process - we learnt and continue to learn how to cope with it. The economic destruction of Cyprus was a complete, almost overnight, annihilation. Can anyone deny that Europe is in a state of war, without sounding dismissive, insensitive and totally ignorant? It's our own fault, we have been told, but we were powerless to do anything about it, except to run away, which we didn't do.

.



Now, all we have left is to wait and see, hoping that the destruction will eventually stop, which it will do of course, because when everything is destroyed, there will be nothing left to destroy. Hence, it will stop.

.



©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.

Misunderstanding (Παρεξήγηση)

All photos were taken yesterday in the late afternoon at the German cemetery of Maleme, Hania.

About a year ago, I attended a lecture given by a group of economists who wished to point out to the general public that there is a way out of the economic crisis that the country is in. It was a very interesting discussion, conducted in a civilised orderly manner, with a full house attending. Among the speakers was the German EURO-MP Giorgos Hadjimarkakis, whose origins are from Hania. Given his high profile position, his job, his origins and his present status, he had some valid points to make; the crux of his opinion lay in one word: he believes that the whole economic crisis was simply a matter of one side misunderstanding the other - and I am inclined to agree.

Since the economic crisis began, the Greek mainstream media mainly pick up on what the Germans say about the Greeks, or to put it another way, what Germany says about Greece. Generally speaking, we hear mainly extreme points of view from both sides, which could be summarised by cultural differences, something that seems clear to me, but of course, among politicians, such clarity is not always preferred because the answers seem so obvious and too straighforward for the power games being played in the highest echelons of international government. It doesn't suit those in such positions to talk about matters in such simple terms because the answers suddenly become simple too, and each side has its own agenda, to keep their position and to keep those under them happy, which doesn't seem to be happening much these days. 

As an example of what I mean by a simple solution, it's quite obvious that one side doesn't have the money - and will never have it - to repay enormous debts. On the other hand, it's obvious that the other side wants to ensure that they get their money back whatever the cost, even though they are not really short of money and can do without it. Scraping to the bottom of the pan, it becomes clear that one side has consistently shown it can never repay such loans, while the other side consistently lends out money to them, doing whatever they can to force the others to pay them back - and still no real result. So the simple answer is that Germany should stop lending money to Greece, something Germany won't do because of the consequences to the value of the euro - the medicine isn't working, but no one is willing to change it. Apparently there is too much to lose - for both sides of course - so the game continues to be played in the same way.

Politicians' handling of the situation has pitted people against each other, it has had detrimental effects on relationships between the two nations and the two peoples, and it has exacerbated the problems caused by mainly cultural differences. These differences were recently pointed out to me through a study comparing extension agents (who generally play the role of advisors) of organic farming in Baden-Württemberg (BW), Germany and Crete, Greece. The study was conducted by a German researcher at MAICh. 

In a nutshell, the main difference between the groups was that BW organic farmers like to get their information through leaflets, regular newsletters and advice from public servants, while the Cretan organic farmers preferred sources such as the internet (Greek organic farmers use it to get the information they want without a middleman), private advisors (eg people who work in shops selling supplies for organic farmers) and seeing what other organic farmers do. And now for the similarities: both groups like to discuss organic farming issues with other farmers - and they get the same results in the end.

As I read the study for the purposes of proofreading for English language grammar, it came to my mind that an implicit reason for the different types of information sources between the groups involves a matter of trust: in Germany, the public service seems reputable whereas in Greece, it does not. The difficulty of the (in particular) Cretan terrain (mountainous land) with organic farming taking place on small plots of land can be compensated by the difficulty of the German weather (low temperatures) with organic farming taking place on very large expanses of land. The Germans like to be well informed; the Greeks prefer to 'see and do'. This is all a matter of education and tradition. But at the end of the day, they get the same job done (they produce certified organic food).

Yesterday, I was in the Maleme area, a coastal village of some significance in the contemporary history of Crete. It was where the Battle of Crete took place, where the German parachutists began falling out of the sky onto Cretan land - there was no other way for the Nazis to get their troops onto the island, due to the heavy resistance that they faced from the Cretans. The invasion was successful, meaning that the Nazis managed to occupy the island - but it came at a great cost to them: an unbelievably high number of their troops were killed by the local people, who were ill-equipped and had hardly any weapons. Many of the parachutists - young boys who were executing orders on a mission - got stuck in olive trees, and the locals beat them with rocks, sticks, and whatever other non-technological self-styled weapons they could muster. A high number were also killed on impact with the rocky ground, or in the sea. The German soldiers who died on Cretan soil were laid to rest in a cemetery in Maleme village, which to this day, is still tended by the German government. 

The cemetery is another example showing how Greeks and Germans differ culturally - but at the end of the day, they share similarities in the crux of the issue, which, in the case of the German cemetery for those who died in battle, is that both sides show respect to the lives lost, the lives of people who were not to blame for the atrocities of war. The German cemetery has that functional simple look that you come across in the German culture, something totally removed from the individual level; nothing like a Greek cemetery, where colours and personalisation of graves is a common sign of the respect paid by family members to their departed. Tombstones are rarely simple orthogonal structures in Greece, and there is always provision made for a perpetual flame for each individual grave.

The German cemetery has the kinky Northern European look of a well-ordered nature park, with well-marked pathways for guided walks and simple wooden benches along the way to stop and admire the view. Of course, Greek cemeteries don't have such pathways and benches, but even in other Greek nature areas, the pathways are often uneven asymmetrical dirt tracks, and any seating area will probably look a little disarrayed. But that's not the point - the differencs in the way Greek and German nature areas are set up simply shows the cultural habits of the people; the end result is that people actually get enjoyment out of what they see and do there. In most cases, both sides can appreciate each other's sites of interest; this is achievable if respect is shown to the needs of both sides. 

The area surrounding the German cemetery reminded me of that orderly look I saw in the Tiergarten in Berlin, and the predominantly monoculture species of trees and vegetation that I came across in Berlin parks. It looked very tidy, neat and orderly compared to the huge range of biodiversity, which is rarely tamed, that one comes across in Greek nature areas. The German parks resemble German technology in their perfection; the Greek parks show our lack of uniformity in other aspects of life. But at the end of the day, what counts is that Germans can come to Greece as tourists and appreciate the vast range of natural beauty that the Greek landscape offers - and Greek tourists to Germany can also appreciate whatever it is that fascinates them into buying German technology and holding it in high esteem.

We are all different, and we find it easy to compare each other through our differences, because they stand out more than our similarities. But at the end of the day, we all get the same job done - we are all trying to get through life using the resources most easily available to us, preferring those that work better in each individual case. 

 One of the most famous impressions of the Battle of Crete, by Petros Vlahakis 

©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.

Catholic (Καθολικός)

When I said yesterday that I hadn't been to the Venetian port lately, I was telling a little white lie. Just three days before that refreshing coffee and ice cream, I was there on my own, representing my household at the Roman Catholic funeral of my next-door neighbour. Michael Angelo, a Sicilian college professor who lived for many years in Rome, came with his wife fifteen years ago to live in Hania, where his daughter lived with her Greek husband. In your old age, as a Southern Mediterranean, you generally don't want to have to rely on unreliable third parties or the equally unreliable state to look after you at a time when you can't look after yourself. You turn to your family, and you go where they go; as the Greeks say: όπου γης και πατρίς (home is wherever you find yourself). Michael Angelo died in his mid-80s, the same age as my late uncle whose funeral I helped to prepare; both Greeks and Italians score highly in longevity rates. 

 The Catholic church of Hania is located behind the town's Archaeological Museum, where the Folklore Museum is also housed. A Capuchin monastery is affiliated to the church, and monks are seen going about their business in their gowns. You rarely see them on the tourist road, only if you peek down the alleyway. You would only know they're there if you wander into this private courtyard. It feels a bit like Diagon Alley - quite a different world there compared to the main road.

Michael Angelo's funeral was held at the Roman Catholic church of Hania, located close to the Venetian port behind the town's archaeological museum. The Roman Catholic church has always held some form of presence in Hania since Venetian times, but once the Venetians were ousted by the invading Ottomans, the church stopped operating in Crete, and only began functioning again in relatively recent times: the Catholic Diocese of Crete was once again established in 1874 and the church in Hania was constructed in 1879. The service was held in Greek, and the whole neighbourhood attended. In fact, of the 60 or so people who filled up the small church, more than 50 were Greek Orthodox. Michael Angelo didn't have any relatives in Hania apart form his immediate family through his daughter and her children, but he and his wife (Susanna, a beautiful slim energetic woman) had plenty of friends in our picturesque rural Cretan village.

 

 Graves and tombstones at the Fragkiko cemetery of Hania: Gerald (below) obviously wanted to be buried in Crete.

Although Greece is predominantly Christian Orthodox in faith, the many immigrants of Greece are not, and there has always been a need for funeral rites and burial places of other denominations*. Catholics in Hania are buried in a small inner-city cemetery known locally as the Frangiko cemetery (from the Franks, the French). The cemetery has only a few graves, which are opened in turn for the burial of the most recent death. The graves seem to date back to the mid-1860s; not all describe the oldest occupant, as the tombstone has been partly destroyed over time (or by vandals).

A 22-year-old sailor's memorial: 1844-1866 - this is possibly the first burial of a Catholic in the Fragkiko cemetery, since the chapel (below) in the cemetery was established in 1866. The plaque lies right in front of the white door, to the left.

 

 

Family graves are very common in rural Greece; in towns, this is difficult to achieve due to lack of space. The main Greek cemetery in Hania (Agios Loukas) has an ossuary to keep the bones of the dead in so that the graves (which are in fact too few for the population of the town) can be re-used. I came across one such grave in the Fragkiko cemetery, which seemed to belong to a family of Cretan Catholics. It was one of the most well tended graves there; according to the dates of birth and death, the occupants seemed to have died quite young. Another very impressive and well-tended grave was that of what seemed like a German couple who died in the 20th century before WW2.  

Michael Angelo's wife does not intend to return to Italy. She was relieved to have found a place in Hania for her husband's final resting place. That way, she can visit the grave and tend it in a similar way to what the Greeks do. The cemetery is used by all Catholics of any nationality; I noticed a number of Polish names with recent burials on some of the tombstones, evidence of our well-established minority communities.

*To date, only Christian Orthodox and Catholic cemeteries exist in Hania, although there is a significant Moslem population here too, who have to travel to Northern Greece (Komotini) if they want to be buried according to Islamic traditions, but a Moslem cemetery is currently being built in Iraklio. For a town that was conquered and ruled by Moslems for four centuries, it seems strange that a cemetery did not remain for them too, as it did for the Catholics. If I'm correct, Ottoman Moslems used to be buried in the area of Nea Hora, which was outside the town limits at the time.  

©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.

Exhumation (Εκταφή)

My uncle Periklis (cf Περικλής = Pericles) died yesterday at the age of 86. Longevity comes at a price - he managed to live long enough to see great-grandchildren, but he had also been bedridden for the last couple of years. At the wake, I was surprised to see that, even in his coffin, he still looked similar to the younger uncle I remembered. His face had not shrivelled or wrinkled; save the waxy white look of his skin, I saw the man I remembered in better times. Not even his wife Athina (cf Αθήναι = Athens) looked old and withered - she is from Sfakia, which may explain why she still looks strong and astute.

Periklis and Athina - they are such ancient names; they are the same names of my ancestors who laid the foundations of modern Greece. My uncle's name (and that of his wife's) continue to be heard - grandchildren have been named after them, in the same way that my ancient ancestors named their own children after their favourite Greek heroes.

A common wish of the Greek old or dying is to request to be buried in a specific place. Uncle Periklis specifically stated that he wanted to be buried in the family grave, where his parents and siblings were also interred, close to the village of his birth. The last person to be buried in the family grave was his brother - my late father. This means that the grave must be opened up with the permission of the next of kin of the last occupant, whose bones must be gathered together to be placed in a corner of the grave, before the next coffin enters.

This centuries-old tradition is carried out by the next of kin of the last occupant of the grave, which in this case, is me. A priest is present when the concrete slab (made of three different pieces, concreted together) below the marble covering of the shallow grave is lifted, revealing the bones of the former occupant. The priest then chants a blessing, and the next of kin (or an assistant while they are present) gathers the bones together, washing them in wine, before placing them in a pillowcase (or cardboard box) and moving them to the side.

The washing of the bones in wine is also my last connection with the family grave. Responsiility of its upkeep will now fall on the next of kin of the new occupant: they will come at regular intervals to clean its exterior and light the kandili (oil-burning lamp) on the headrest, occasionally adorning it with garlands of flowers.

It is possible that Uncle Periklis will be the last person to be interred here, even though it's usually the case that the spouse of a male is also buried in the same grave, so that the couple remain together in life and in death. However, his wife has specifically stated that she would like to be buried somewhere else. As previously mentioned, she is from Sfakia, so she may be forgiven. But no one can say that she hasn't given him a good send-off - Athina is a professional dirge singer. Death gives her life. No relative's or fellow villager's funeral has escaped her lamentations (she also did a good job at my father's funeral).

The tradition of washing the bones of the dead in wine has an overwhelming nature; some people are not able to perform it because of the feelings that it arouses. But those who do manage to perform it also get a sense of satisfaction from the knowledge that they have done their duty, by taking part in an ancient ritual that links their own life with the death of their predecessors. By being able to have this done while I am present, I am connected to my ancient past, preserving  a rite of passage in almost the same way that it was performed since antiquity, thereby extending my roots into the earth, just like the olive tree that defies death even when it is uprooted. 

For an explanation of the photos, click on each photo in this set.

©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.

Lazarakia (Λαζαράκια)

It's Lazarus Saturday (Σάββατο του Λαζάρου) today. The Holy Week, the last seven days of Great Lent, begins tomorrow on Palm Sunday. According to the story, Lazarus was resurrected by Jesus and bought back to life after four days of being dead.



It's difficult to discuss death with children because it feels awkward. My children have reached the age where they know that death is inevitable, but they have not come close to death themselves. Two of their grandparents had died well before their parents married, another died when they were too young to have any recollections of their grandfather in living form, while the remaining grandparent is very old but seems to carry on as if she were half her age. Every now and then, we hear of an old or sick neighbour who died, but this kind of death does not carry the same weight, nor does it have the same significance as a death in one's own family. When death comes, we find that we are all quite unprepared for it, no matter how much we accept its inevitability.

There is a time for everything. Although I've never made lazarakia before, I now feel the need to. The making of lazarakia, a Greek food custom associated with Lazarus Saturday, is a somewhat appropriate way to introduce the topic of death to children. These spice breads are made to remember Lazarus who was raised from the dead. The dough is made without any animal products - as we are still in the fasting period of Great Lent - and then made into shapes of legless men, whose arms are tied around him, as was the custom in older times, when the dead were wrapped up, so to speak, in a sheet before they were buried.

 

"Aν Λάζαρο δεν πλάσεις, ψωμί δεν θα χορτάσεις" (Greek saying)

If you never shape dough into Lazarus, you will never have your fill of bread

Lazarus' experiences gave rise to the customs collectively known in Greece as Lazarika. The history of the Lazarika and lazarakia, while all-encompassingly Greek in nature, is not as common in some parts of Greece as it is in other parts, which explains why I'm not familiar with it myself. Most web-based recipes seem to come from the island of Kalimnos, where they are a steadfast tradition. At the children's primary school, they only make koulourakia in the run-up to Easter, never lazarakia, so I believe it isn't a Cretan tradition in the same way that it is in other parts of Greece. But Lazarus' story is an important one as Easter approaches. Lazarus died, and when he came back to life, he told people of what he saw there. Lazarus' death and resurrection forebodes Christ's; it is also the last miracle that Christ performed before his own death and resurrection. Hence the story of Lazarus teaches us that death is a form of new life.

Λάζαρος απενεκρώθη, Lazarus became undead,

Ανεστήθη και σηκώθη. Was resurrected and arose.

Λάζαρος σαβανωμένος Lazarus was shrouded

Και με το κηρί ζωσμένος And all tied up.

-Λάζαρε πες μας τι είδες "Tell us Lazarus, what did you see?

εις τον Άδη που επήγες; When you went to Hades?"

-Είδα φόβους, είδα τρόμους "I saw fears, I saw terrors

είδα βάσανα και πόνους. I saw troubles and pains.

Δώστε μου λίγο νεράκι Give me a little water

Να ξεπλύνω το φαρμάκι So that I may wash off the poison

Της καρδίας, των χειλέων From my heart, my lips

Και μη με ρωτάτε πλέον. And don't ask me anything else.
(From Magdalini's blog)

You can use your own favorite sweet bread dough to make lazarakia, as long as it's lenten (ie there are no eggs, butter or milk in the recipe). The original recipe that I used is in Greek. I've adapted it for my kitchen.

You need:
500g strong flour (or all-purpose flour)
1 sachet of dry yeast (in Greece, this come in 7g packets)
about 3/4 cup warm water
3/4 cup sugar (I used pure maple sugar, a present from a Canadian reader)
3/4 cup raisins (I didn't have any in the house, so I used bitter orange spoon sweet, chopped small)
1/3 cup olive oil
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
some whole cloves (these are traditionally used for the eyes)



In a small bowl, place the yeast in the water, add 2 tablespoons of the sugar and 4 tablespoons of the flour, and mix till the yeast dissolves. Allow the yeast to show signs of rising (about 20 minutes).
In a large bowl, place the flour and sugar, spices and raisins, mix them together, make a well in the middle of the bowl and pour in the yeast mixture. Knead well, adding flour/water appropriately to get a dough that is not sticky. Place the dough in an oiled bowl in a warm place, covered with a tea towel, and allow to rise for two hours in a warm oven. (I left the dough in a cold oven and allowed it to rise overnight.)

Shaping the dough is an important task. Divide the dough into ten balls the size of a mandarin (they would each weigh about 100g). From each ball, remove a small piece which will be rolled out like string. Divide this in two (for the arms). The remaining dough ball is shaped into a long oval loaf. (You can make an incision on one edge with kitchen scissors to form legs if desired.) Place the dough string crossed over the body, sticking it down on the underside of the bun. Place the cloves on the other edge, making them look like eyes.

Place the lazarakia on a lightly oiled baking tray and allow to rise for 30 minutes, covered with a tea towel. Brush them very lightly with orange juice or water. Cook them in a moderate pre-heated oven for 30 minutes.


Shaping the lazarakia is a fun way for children to pass their time. People who like to shape cookie, bread and pastry dough will enjoy this exercise. The lazarakia have a special shape, which, thanks to the internet, is not difficult to copy. Even if you can't make your lazarakia today, don't despair. It's not too late to make them tomorrow, because they can be eaten throughout the whole of next week (if indeed they last that long), as they do on the island of Kalymnos.

©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.

The family house (Πατρικό)

The question of allowing children to play outdoors has received heated debate in recent years because of the increasing dangers associated with unsupervised play in modern times. On the one hand, children playing outdoors without supervision fuels their creativity, improves their social skills, and keeps them healthy and energetic by taking them away from sedentary indoor activities like web-surfing and tv-watching, and putting them into an environment where they are constantly moving. Another added bonus in my case is that they will be breathing fresh air in the aromatic Cretan countryside.

In the summer, there are more people living in the area, as the neighbourhood overflows with visiting πρωτευουσιάνοι as we like to call them (Athenians, otherwise known as 'capital city dwellers'), people who come to stay in their summer houses, which are usually old Greek village houses, usually the homes where their parents are living, or where they themselves were born (and/or inherited), which is why these houses are often referred to as πατρικό - the paternal home, ie the family home. Nearly all of these people bring their children/grandchildren with them. In the winter, there are only a few other children in the area, which has its advantages: you generally know where to look for your children if they've wandered off. This is a luxury in modern times; in urban neighbourhoods, this is the main reason why children are not allowed to wander off on their own. The neighbourhood is also blessed with some child-friendly zones, like a children's play area and a mini-soccer pitch, all with close and almost visible range from our house. These facilities are well used throughout the year, especially the latter, which is frequently booked by teams or groups who come to practice their skills. The country paths criss-cross olive groves and grazing pastures, and the traffic is minimal - mainly neighbours' vehicles - making the area quite safe for bike riding and free wandering.

We recently bought the children new bikes and helmets to replace the old gear-less ones that they had used to learn to ride on. These old bikes were too small and hence very uncofortable for them to ride for a long time. We had delayed doing this as much as we reasonably could because we knew that once they got their new bike, there would be less control over there movements.

In the beginning, it was a bit of a chore having to look out for them on the road. In the summer, there are more people around to look out for each other's children, who are often playing together in someone's yard or the park, but in the winter, this is not the case at all. In larger groups, they are easier to control; in smaller groups, they wander off and are difficult to spot because they are much quieter. I often end up taking a little walk myself around the immediate neighbourhood to check out their whereabouts and what they are up to, which turn out to be quite innocent.



One day, after I'd let them loose on their bikes, I found some toys in their bedroom which I knew weren't their own. I asked them where they came from. They gave each other knowing looks.

"We found them in the park," one answered.

"Don't believe you," I replied.

"Alexandra gave them to us," the other added.

"Now I really don't believe you," I said, and told them to take them back to the park where they claimed they found them.


Another day, the same thing happened. This time, I marched them to the park and told them to show me where they found these objects. I knew that they wouldn't tell me the truth there and then, but eventually, given time, the truth surfaces by itself. It turned out that there was an old property behind the park where an old woman lived until she died. Since then, the house stood vacant and lifeless, like so many in the general area. Old houses are rarely demolished to make way for new houses. This is a trademark of Greece which gives its nostalgic look. Few tourists would be endeared to the Cretan countryside if it weren't for these delapidated edifices, looking almost like ancient ruins themselves, and hinting to our not-so-distant past, which on the durface looks so different to the image of modern Greece today.



The house itself was locked up, but the small derelict crumbling storeroom was not. This small dark room was attached to the house, but it was quite separate to it. It might have had a multiple number of uses when it was originally built. It was clearly built for storage purposes. Animals may have been kept in it in its early years. It was possibly used as a kitchen at one point. The items contained in it were worthless: old newspapers, nets for collecting olives, dusty plastic water bottles, broken crates for collecting agricultural produce, among other remnants of a former agricultural household's paraphernalia.

There were also some children's toys in a cardboard box, the only item that looked reasonably new among the other articles. The toys were probably being used by children holidaying in the area in the summer. They are worthless too. But not in the eyes of another child. The same thing applies for the old house. It's worthless and probably needs to be demolished - but a house is a house, property is property, and in Greece, that's a big deal. Especially if it's your πατρικό.


The houses in the photos are not of my own neighbourhood but they are situated relatively close to it and I pass these ghostly images almost daily.

©All Rights Reserved/Organically cooked. No part of this blog may be reproduced and/or copied by any means without prior consent from Maria Verivaki.