Weddings: Crete

August full moon stars in more Greek songs than Virgin Mary. Its bigger, brighter than any other full moon of the year… and its red. It’s the lover’s moon, and the moon that makes lonely souls more lonely.

What you have to do that night, is to swim in the moon’s path in the black sea. Ideally naked. Ideally not alone.
What did I do? I went to a wedding (yes another one…)!

The couple was not even aware of the magic moon they chose to light their wedding…. Caught in their mundane preparations they forgot all about it. As it seemed, for the best.

A wedding in Crete is not a simple business. It traditionally entails a pre-wedding, a celebration that starts the night before the wedding, with lots of meat and wine and tsikoudia. What is that? A drink for tough men only, of the Cretan kind. The rest of humans would blow fire after the second glass and forget even their mother’s name. Dancing, eating, drinking to the extreme is not the only expression of joy. At the peak of the feast the men, dressed in black, take out their illegal Kalashnikovs and shoot in the air (at least that is the idea). Reminders of such great feasts can be found in all the rural street signs, and occasionally on the papers and national news under the headline “Another tragedy at a Cretan wedding”. The survivors of the pre-wedding, or better those who can still stand on two feet after the banquet dance the bride to the church.

The real wedding thankfully was not like this. Apart from the rivers of tsikoudia we had to consume. It is regarded as very disrespectful to refuse the host’s offer… It’s bad enough that you are not indigenous.
First thing a Cretan man asks when they meet you is about your place of origin. If you are not Cretan you get the look of pity. In my misfortune I was lucky. Coming from Thessaloniki I received positive remarks: “Crete and Macedonia! We are brothers!” (We are talking Greek side of Macedonia here… put your swords back in the scabbards).
That is a long story, I should write another time dating back to the beginning of the 20th century. Not many Cretans, nor Macedonians remember it. But we just say so 'cause it feels nice.

The wedding included many of the generic Greek traditions (see previous post) but also some very Cretan touches. Six hundred kg of Lamb meat (the whole Cretan population of lambs went extinct that night), local wine made by the godfather of the nephew of the sister-in-law of the aunt of the bride’s father (did you follow that?), and worse of all… gamopilafo.

This is a dish. Wasn’t very popular among the guests, I have to say. It translates into “wedding rice”. Or worse “fucking rice” depending on your mood. The idea behind it is that it provides the guests with enough fat and calories to a)lubricate their stomachs b)not throw up all this alcohol c)have enough energy to keep dancing. But also to give the groom the energy to perform well at the first night (that is the purpose of the wedding after all! Legalise reproduction!)
Why is it living hell to eat? It is rice boiled in sheep fat. It is eaten a bit disguised under full fat (or greek style for the UK bread) yogurt and lemon juice. I let your imagination do the rest.

The delicious dinner was concluded with a lot of dancing. Three hours of traditional Cretan music and very well built Cretan men dancing in their black outfits was all the payback I needed. Cretan men are compared to cypress trees. So perfect and proud. Pleasure of the eye.

Who has time for full moons???


Shooting Goodness
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1HgjevcE6U

Dance
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cNDFCOqPCj8&feature=related

4000 years and 1600 miles in a day

I left Southampton as a modern Titanic, all happy and full of hope, at 4.30pm on Sunday afternoon. Fair weather, no rain, no problems wearing my sandals (my only defence against the anticipated heat in the place of destination).

3am Stranded in Athens, I find myself unable to sustain warmth in my body. There is only one thing that is efficient in this country, and that is air-conditioning. The specific one in the El Vel (greek attempt to mock El Paso) airport can create arctic condition in central Greece mid August…

6.30am The Nomad has landed in a field disguised as Airport. Heraklion in magestic Crete. And from the fridge I end up in the oven. To make the most of the relatively cool temperature I head to Knossos in search of the Minotaur. I arrived there just on time for a spinach pie and a coffee, to feel like home again. Looking for a mythological beast without sleep requires at least a magic potion. Nescafe Frappe with ice (Greekness in all its Magnificence)

Knossos, the ancient Minoan capital was build to confuse. It did not contain Daedals’ labyrinth. It WAS the labyrinth. Thus I decided to hire a guide. Infallible Greek logic informed me that I needed to find another 13 people to share my enthusiasm and the fee for the guide. The lucky 13 never arrived and there was no recorded guide either.

So I ventured in the labyrinth alone searching for the Minotaur without even Ariadne’s clue to anchor me to reality.

The palace’s ruins were partially rebuild according to the imagination of the English archaeologist Arthur Evans who discovered them. Inevitably his imagination is part of the exhibition, mainly because he was wrong.
I sneaked in different groups of people to listen to the appointed tour guides contradict one another showing how archaeology is as bad as interpretation of literature.

Full of European firsts, Knossos is not incorrectly considered by the Myth the motherland of Europe. First staircase, first multi-storey buildings, first cooling and heating system (better than the El. Vel. Airport) first sewage, first amphitheatre and first road (which I walked on!).

Europe daughter of mighty king Minoa was seduced by Zeus in the shape of a white bull who kidnapped her, crossed the Aegean sea and brought Europe… to Europe.

American tourists dragged to the site from their luxurious cruising ship kept asking where they can see the Minotaur. Mythical beasts, half human half bull, are more interesting than boiling ruins in the heat.
Truth is I could not see the reason why the bull was so important and sacred in this civilization. Crete’s ecosystem cannot sustain herds of such big animals (which the current population consumes like there is no tomorrow… long live Mediterranean diet!). The bull appeared everywhere. But even the size of the amphitheatre did not allow much acrobatics on the back of a running bull either. Somehow the scalling did not make sense…

It might have been the lack of sleep or the massive change of temperature but by 10am I was hallucinating. Under pine and olive trees listening to the familiar “home” sound of cicadas jumping from stone to stone… For a moment I thought I saw the Minotaur. He was there, ignoring my presence with only one target. Devouring the place. Short attention spam, heat and boredom made him irritated. He did not even notice that he was transformed into a queue of tourists.

I had to escape to the familiar city buzz of modern Crete.