Greek Getaway

Because we were certain that winter in Central Europe would be so cold and bleak that we would need to see some sunshine by January, we planned a trip to Greece for post-Christmas r and r. In fact, Europe's been really warm this year, which means (and I hate to say this to those of you suffering from chilblains right now) that Greece was especially sunny and beautiful. And we took full advantage of the off-season activities, such as they were: we walked through olive groves, took a bath with some old guys, dined with an artist, and hitched a ride with a sorta-famous author. Oh, and we saw some famous buildings, too.

Planes from Brno fly only to London, Prague, and Munich. We've flown to London and Prague. This time we flew through Munich's LOVELY airport--our three hour lay-over was worth the cost of the flight. Munich airport is quiet, provides spending opportunities for kids who have saved up money for special German Playmobil, offers lots of delicious fresh food at reasonable costs (weird for an airport), and doles out hot drinks and newspapers at even more reasonable costs (i.e., free...like, really weird). AND for our (coach, of course) flights in and out of Munich somebody thoughtfully hired stewardesses who coquettishly offer passengers chocolate, nuts, presents and, if you look like a celebrity (which is how I must have looked in my plaid flannel shirt, jeans, and Breck boy hair cut), offer you your choice of red, white, or champagne...only they brought us a whole bottle of champagne so we would "enjoy your holiday." It worked--we did.

We spent the first five nights of our vacation on the serene island of Lesvos in a beautiful sea-side Byzantine town called Molyvos. Thankfully the Byzantines had all moved out but they left a stunning wedding cake of houses clinging to a hill around a satisfyingly "castley" castle. As we were there in the off-season, it was QUIET except (and this is a very significant "except") for the dulcet tones of the vegetable, meat, and fish vendors driving up the few passable streets hawking their wares through loud-speakers mounted on their trucks. What they were saying, I think, was: "aahwaaa kaalaaa aah chee-chee-chee." It sounded all Greek to me :), but apparently that is just enough "chee-chees" to get the little old ladies to shuffle down the hill to buy octopus arms, broccoli, sheep's testicles, and what have you. (So the Greek waiter asked his guests if they are having a good time. The guests replied: "Absolutely, we're having a ball!")

We stayed in a guest house run by a Dutch guy and his very cute dog ("Rickie"). While Rickie didn't do much in the way of cleaning or financial transactions, he set a great tone for our stay: Happy and wagging in the morning, happy and wagging in the daytime, and then asleep in his basket by 8:00. We loved Molyvos. The oranges, lemons, and olives were ripe on the trees, the lambs and baby goats were frolicking (and mighty tasty, too!), the weather was perfectly cool and sunny, and we had only a 10 minute drive (or a 4 hour walk through sheep poop and down precarious cliffs...another story) to a natural hot spring housed on the beach in a cool Turkish-style building that looked suspiciously like Luke Skywalker's house on Tatooine.

I'll just say three more things about Lesvos:
1) alas, in the off-season there are no marauding hordes of lesbians.
2) The island is big enough to have some geographical diversity: while most of it is drop-your-jaw- olive-groves-avec-sheep beautiful, some parts look like a moonscape...but also with little sheep astronauts ("sheepranouts?"). In fact, Lesvos has the world's biggest petrified forest, apparently left over from an ancient forest buried by a slightly less ancient volcanic eruption.
3) Because the Greeks and Turks don't get along (ethnic cleansing, Trojan War, or whatever), the island is militarized: sometimes subtly (e.g., there are no accurate maps, 'cos who knows what those surly Turks might do with a map?) and sometimes not-so-subtly (e.g., traffic signs for tanks?!) The tension was palpable enough that we decided not to call the landform across the straits "Turkey" opting instead for the Czech word for hen (as in, "wow, this yogurt tastes even better than the yogurt in Slepice").

We were afraid that after the sun and relaxation of Lesvos, Athens would seem loud, polluted, and tiring. We stayed in the Plaka district which, like the Sultanahmet district in Istanbul, is a virtual tourist ghetto. But what could have been an insane choice in the high-season was perfect in January. Because the prices were lower, we could afford a NICE hotel in the shadow of the Acropolis and, although we had to run a minor gauntlet of touts, the nearby restaurants were all wonderful, the food so fresh and easy to find, the service so friendly (a welcome respite from our Czech dining experiences...god, I miss good old American Thai and Indian food!) that Athens was a great choice.

Of course, all the ancient Greek sites were amazing. The archeology museum was like a trip through my college Art History text book. And I'm a sucker for that sense of legacy. But I'm also glad I had read up on the history of Modern Greece (i.e., post-Alexander the Great). During the Roman times Athens remained an important cultural center but, particularly after the rise of Christianity and the consolidation of power in Constantinople, Athens became a backwater of the Byzantine and Ottoman empires and remained so until relatively recently. (Athens' population in the early 1800s was only about 10,000!) So unfortunately for the architecture of Athens, the only really "nice" buildings are close to the old city around the Acropolis. The rest of the city sprawled out in the 1950s in the form of concrete apartment buildings. But, as I said, we behaved like tourists are supposed to and really only saw the ancient sites, the gorgeous central park, and, of course, the changing of the guards in their cute outfits, bizarre Martha Graham march-dance, and pom-pom shoes (I think that kind of humiliating hazing is illegal in the US army...)

Although Sophie suffered a little from "ruins fatigue," (heck, we all did!) she was, as usual, our passport to some really fun unplanned interactions. On Lesvos, she met a girl whose Britsh-expat mom and dad ran an art shop that sold the dad's funky olive wood carvings. They had us over to their house a couple of times for dinner. Shepherd's Pie, anyone? Also, at the end of one of our walks through olive groves, farms, and Byzantine churches perched on rocky outcroppings, we ended up a bit further from home than we wanted to be. We thumbed a ride from, as it turned out, Carol Christ, the famous feminist theologian who now runs "goddess tours" and such things. But Sophie's superpower of cuteness was most effectively exploited on helpless waiters who, after learning her name would swoon and proclaim, "But Sophia is a Greek name! Bravo Sophia!" (short break for head patting) "What can I bring my baby to make her happy?!" (pat, pat, pat) "The adults?! They will have beef and onions--but my baby! She does not eat meat? I have a fish that will make you so happy. . . Ahhh, SoPHia! Try and you will see how happy this fish will make you. (pat, pat,pat)" And it did.

So, full of olives and fish and glowing from 9 days of sun, we returned to the Czech Lands. Our baby rat had turned into a RAT! Maida is still very cute and always game for a snuggle but at our bedtime, which is her AWAKE time, she can turn into a one-rat-infestation (she's learning how to crawl up the walls by bracing her back against the radiators...yeeaah! creepy...). In addition to oversized vermin, we were also greeted with a FABULOUS snow fall, our first since December. Sophie was so angry that it was snowing on a school day that we decided to go sledding at 6:30 am. But the snow stuck around for a week, long enough for serious daily sledding on our little "Butt-ie" sleds.

We loved Greece but we are happy to be back in the Czech Republic, despite the lack of effusive head patters or tasty bovids. Sophie is meeting new Czech friends, my teaching is going very well, and Betsy's enthusiasm for her work got a much-needed boost when she spent a few days at a Czech-Slovak Fulbrighter retreat in a Slovakian spa town. My only disappointment was the recent cancellation of a overnight trip with my colleagues to experience a traditional Czech pig slaughter. Oh well, you can't have it all!

Christmas in Meat Land

Sorry about the long slump in blog production. I think December was a transition month of sorts . . . the adventure sensation wearing off, the "real" living beginning, or maybe the stress of living in a foreign land catching up with us. Perhaps anticipating the arrival of relatives over the holidays took some of the "giddy-up" out of my passion to write and connect with people back home. But now, I'm on break from work and the relatives are gone so I need you again! So here goes. I present:

CHRISTMAS IN MEAT LAND

The Czechs LOVE Christmas in much the same way some groups of people (often men) collectively love spectator sports. What I mean is:
1) there is a lot of anticipation and excitement for something that is essentially the same every year,
2) it's a heck of a lot more fun to experience in groups that know the same cheers and songs,
3) somebody on the field is doing the real work (in this case Czech women...like, oh my Gaw, they make SO many, of like, THE greatest cookies EVER while the men do, like, . . . nothing?!),
4) it involves mind-blowing levels of alcohol consumption (ah, yes, now I remember: THAT's what we men do!).

The season, I mean, "preseason," starts on December 6 when kids are confronted by roving costumed trios (one chain-rattling devil, one blonde angel, and one stoic Mikulas--that last would be the Czech name for Saint Nicholas) who dole out coal, potatoes, or candy as befits the recipient. To avoid the coal, kids must recite poetry or sing songs . . . it's pretty darn cute (and probably potentially terrifying, no? . . . ah, the spirit of Christmas!). There's not a huge separation of church and state here, so Sophie experienced Mikulas full throttle at school and was also visited here at home (sorry, no photo). As you probably know, a lot of other Europeans also celebrate St. Nick on December 6. The Devil and Angel companions aren't entirely unique to the Czech lands . . . personally, I think it is a big step up from Holland where St. Nick travels around with his black slave! But I really liked the tradition here; the roving costumed trios are vaguely holloweenesque (holloweenish? holloweeny?) .

While we are on the subject of the cozy relationship between church and state, Sophie's school put on a Christmas performance that would have made Pat Robertson proud (the final straw for me was a poems linking the red stripes in the candy cane to Jesus's sacrifice). But the children's performances were very cute and, in many cases, very very high quality. We had heard that Czech families take music instruction pretty seriously (we've seen the results in the four operas we've attended), but it great to see those kids dancing, playing their fipple flutes (recorders), and telling it on the mountain (in Czech)...even if it IS a public school.

Like most Czech towns, Brno turned its main square into a Christmas market, the highlight of which was a stage set up to showcase music from school choirs and folk groups. They also set up a Christmas village of vendors' stalls offering the usual crafts along with remarkable VOLUMES of strong drinks and mysterious dried meats. (Historical side note: in a set back to the potential of Central European cuisine, a Polish-Austrian-German army led by King of Poland Jan III Sobieski turned back the army of the Ottoman Empire at the gates of Vienna in 1683. Thus, there is nothing for Muslims to EAT in this country.)

Fortunately, for those on halal diets, Czechs are also QUITE serious about "cukrovy," which are these absolutely delicious tiny cookies (literally: "sweet things"). Good Czech wives and mothers take pride in making several KILOS of these beautiful cookies in many different shapes, colors, and flavors . . . and then swapping them with their friends and neighbors. The picture shows a fraction of the different styles we enjoyed. There is a quiet debate among "modern" women about the proper response to this highly gendered and extraordinarily labor-intensive tradition. Betsy (and Sophie) jumped into the fray by donning their aprons to help one of Betsy's colleagues, who, taking one side of this debate, sees the task as a matter of choice. Other women take the route we did--before we realized that everyone would come to our house bearing cukrovy--order them from an emerging entrepreneurial class of housewives. Everyone agrees that the cookies MUST be "domacni" (homemade); that is, there is NO market for a corporate cookie provider! So I guess, the sweet sweat of women puts the cukr in cukrovy. (Look for an update on this issue in soon-to-be-published update of the Friedan classic "The Feminine Bisc-que")

Anyway, speaking of drinking while the women work, one of our best holiday experiences was visiting Betsy's distant Czech relatives with her dad and stepmother (these relatives are the siblings and descendants of Betsy's great grandmother!). The day after Bobbi and Jerry arrived, we took the train to Plzen, home of the famous beer. Despite the barriers of language, time, and history (WWI, WWII, and communism, good grief!) they were instant family: generous with their houses, food, and time . . . except they tried to get us much drunker than my family ever has! (plum and apricot brandies made by a local collective, wine, and, of course, Pilsner Urquell). We even got to eat one or two of their rabbits! (Another side note: back in November we celebrated Thanksgiving with one of Betsy's colleagues and her American husband who live in a small Czech village near Prague. No, we didn't eat rabbit for Thanksgiving, but on the last day we heard an ice cream truck jingle, and looked out the window to see the local rabbit skin guy going through the neighborhood to buy the newly liberated hides...wow, totally medieval!)
When we got back to Brno, it was time to get serious about Christmas. Jerry and Bobbi helped us carry our tree home on the tram and prepare our Christmas feast: the MOST distinctive of the Czech holiday traditions, Christmas Carp. About five days before Christmas, fishmongers set up huge kiddie pools on street corners and market squares to sell carp, which, along with potato salad, is absolutely required on the Christmas Eve menu. Traditional Czechs buy the fish live and keep it in their bath tubs until Christmas eve when they use a special mallet to send Mr. Fish to Carp Heaven. Somewhat less traditional Czechs (and certain hygiene-minded foreigners who might actually bathe once or twice before Christmas), ask the fish mongers to do the honors of lopping off the heads and tails.

We celebrated Christmas three times: once, the Czech way, with a present from Jesiček (baby Jesus!) on Christmas eve, once on Christmas morning (with the help of globe trotting Santa and the American postal service), and again when Betsy's mother (Melinda) and sister (Abby) came for a short visit.

Sophie's favorite present was a baby rat, a gift from our rodentophilic neighbors who plan to adopt her when we leave. Magdalena (aka "Maida," yes, as in "Maida Mouse") is turning into a most satisfying pet. Although still quite young, she comes when called and even helped me with this blog. (her contribution: dddddddddddddddddddddddddfffffff)


One final sobering note: This posting has been almost exclusively about the holidays, or more specifically, Christmas, in the Czech Republic. Receiving a nice secular "holiday" card from a Jewish friend back home reminded me of how homogeneous the culture is here. History has been particularly cruel in this part of Europe to any other religion's holidays (I am trying to avoid using the other "N-word" in a Christmas posting). So, given this cruel history it feels ironic, if not myopic, for there to be such a level of overt state endorsement of one religion. I know, I know . . . the political correctness we have in the US can be a little much; after all, Christmas IS a major holiday for a majority of Americans. But then again, there is something very hopeful (from an historical point of view) about Americans' passion for the separation between church and state. The tension between political correctness and shared public culture IS real but so are the consequences of marginalizing segments of your population.

One final schmaltzy note: Although I am a lapsed Episcopalian, I still really like some of the spiritual symbolism of Christmas, especially the renewal of hope and innocence as represented in the humble birth of a child (i.e., NOT the blood of sacrifice as represented in candy canes!! yuck!) The "goodwill of man" (and flour-covered women too) we felt this year was genuine, perhaps made more poignant by the distance from our American family and friends and their concerted efforts to either travel to be with us or send us packages and letters of love. I also feel grateful to have experienced first-hand another culture's take on a holiday that is usually so comfortably familiar. And last of all, the way in which we have been embraced by our newly found Czech friends and relatives really does give one faith in the potential of a universal family of humanity.

Sorry, one final, final thought: on Christmas Eve I was reading the Matthew and Luke Christmas stories to Sophie. In the middle of our conversation about the hopeful symbol of the innocent baby Jesus, Sophie suddenly became quiet and then said: "It makes me sad to think of all the bad people in the world and that they were once innocent babies too. Why does that happen?" Why indeed? So, here is your assignment: spread love and peace, be nice to children, and have a wonderful new year! And for gosh sakes, keeping sending your emails and packages!

Stastne a vesele vanoce a stastny novy rok!