Corresponding photos:
Friday, November 9
ATHENS - Well, it's been forever since I've updated this journal and for that I am very sorry. Things seemed to plod along quite slowly, and with no exciting trips to report on, I was hesitant to write about the mundane. But reflecting back on the past few months, quite a bit has happened. I'll do my best to recall it all, probably not in great detail.
The first thing to report actually goes back to before the Lesvos-Pergamon trip. About a week before the trip, I was growing restless in Athens. Greek classes were over, I had finished my initial assignments for the Athens News, and I was spending most of my days in the apartment, playing solitaire. So I took a trip to Volos, a small city five hours north of Athens, to see my friend Kalliope. I ended up staying nearly a week. We spent much of our time curled up on a couch, watching bad movies and eating too much ice cream. It was just what I needed. I had begun to miss having a couch to curl up on and a television to plop down in front of. Our unfurnished apartment still did not feel like home. Volos did. I took a break between all this rest and respite to take a work-related side trip to the nearby Pelion Peninsula. There were several adorable mountain villages to explore, and I did just that for two days, by myself. It was a bit lonely however, and not exactly tourist season in this area. So I was glad to return to Kalliope and her crazy dog Spooky for a few more days before returning to Athens just in time to write the story and head to Lesvos with Coral.
Upon our return from Lesvos and Turkey, I was on another assignment almost immediately, this time for the University of Massachusetts Alumni Magazine. I had arranged the story months earlier, right before leaving for Greece. The UMass men's basketball team was in Athens for 10 days for a little sightseeing and practice, as well as bonding with each other and their new Greek-American coach, Steve Lappas. I chased them around the city for a week, rushing to sights near and far and to three games against the Greek National Team. UMass President William Bulger also made an appearance, which was quite a treat, as was the posh dinner he sponsored at the end, which I crashed. The whole experience was quite exhausting, especially since I had to resort at times to stalking techniques in order to get interviews. As is my way, I then procrastinated for about a month before actually writing the magazine article. But eventually it got written and sent off with a nice packet of photos. Still haven't heard back from the editor, so I have no idea when it will run. I sold two stories about the trip to my old newspaper, the Daily Hampshire Gazette. Nothing like taking full advantage of your material. Around this time, a story Coral and I had written about our move here appeared in the Gazette's magazine, Hampshire Life. It featured an enormous full -color cover photo of the two of us near the Acropolis. A bit embarassing. But the money was welcome.
My parents were supposed to fly to Athens on September 11, the day of the World Trade Center tragedy. Needless to say, that did not happen. That whole week was crazy for me, as I'm sure it was for everyone Stateside as well. It's hard to describe the full range of emotions I felt, but it included all extremes. Being without television or radio, I found out about it through the Internet. I could not get any live feed television or radio, so I logged into a chat room and made people there describe every development as they watched the whole thing unfold on their television screens. I felt so helpless, so far removed. And I found it hard to believe anything without seeing any proof. Surreal. It took hours to contact my parents. In the meantime, I was desparate to talk to someone - Coral was at Greek class - so I called Kalliope. The conversation we had was indicative of the overall Greek mood at the time, which many people have since asked about. After consoling me a bit, Kalliope went into a tirade about how it was time America woke up to the realities of how its foreign policies affect people across the world, apparently enough to incite such carnage. She said she hoped the tragedy would spawn widespread outrage among Americans, not only at the terrorists, but at their own government. In many ways I agree with Kalliope's view about American foreign policy, but it wasn't the time to lecture me about it. Over the next few days, Coral and I floated around the apartment and the streets of Athens in dazed stupors. It took days to track down all my friends, and there were moments when I remembered an acquaintance and panicked, certain he or she was dead. We had conflicting feelings about where we were. At times we were glad we were far away, because it seemed safer. At other times we desired nothing more than to be in America, with our families, close to what had happened; and in a perverse way, to even be reporting on it, partly because that's the way we had come to understand things, by sifting through facts first-hand. It was horrid, in a sort of ironic way, that we were now forced to depend so heavily on the media for all information. And I spent hours glued to the computer screen, watching live MSNBC feeds, eating nothing and hardly sleeping. On the rare occasions that I ventured outside, it disturbed me because the sun was shining and life went on in Athens as if nothing had happened, whereas I would be sitting on a bus, staring at a busy city square, imagining it turning to ash and everyone I saw dying. I did get a few sympathetic looks when people realized I was American. Things eventually settled back to normal, except for the occasional anti-war demonstrations, where protestors parched to the American Embassy, chanting "Fuck Bush! Fuck the U.S.A! Americans go home!" Other than that, no hostility.
And soon I had a visit to prepare myself for. My parents were finally able to reschedule the trip. I'm still amazed they got on the plane. And grateful. There was nothing I wanted more, after all the shock and trauma of the past week, than to give my family huge hugs. They arrived without further incident, and after an incredibly long and exhausting taxi ride into the city, we settled down to dinner and took an evening walk downtown through Plaka. We spent most of the next day sightseeing, visiting the ancient Agora and Acropolis, then having a long lunch and brief shopping expedition. My parents got to experience the joy of several forms of public transportation - from the overflowing metro to the jerking old trolleys - and of the inevitable civil worker strike - this week it was a trash strike, which made for smelly obstacles at every corner. They were quite good about it all, and loved the food. Of course. The next day we flew to Lesbos. We rented a car at the airport, and had a stressful ride into Mytillini as my father adjusted to the horrid manual transmission of the teeny energy-efficient car and I readjusted to being a navigator, doing a horrible job of giving directions and finding parking. We ate, then headed directly to Molyvos, where we went in search of a room. We parked at the top of the incredibly steep slope below the town's huge Venetian fortress, and worked our way down, then up again. Luckily, we didn't have to climb too far before finding a cluster of domatia hugging the middle of the hill. It was a small complex, with a shared kitchen and huge patio with a terrific view. We were the only occupants, so it was like having a private villa. And the owner was quite friendly. He lingered to chat on several occasions. Our first stop after settling in at the domatia was to the castle. Then we went to a nearby shop, where we bought beer and snacks, and returned to sit on the patio and watch the sunset. We later walked down to the old harbor for a fantastic dinner at a fish restaurant perched on a dock along the water.
We woke up early the next morning and headed out for breakfast, finding a cafe with omelettes and filtered coffee in a French press. We explored the town a bit more, stopping in a few shops, then decided to drive out to another part of the island. We settled on Skala Eressou, with its fantastic beach, on the southwest corner of the island, 1.5 hours away. I knew from my last trip that it was a beautiful, dramatic drive, snaking up mountains and through tiny villages and a section of barren grey that eerily resembled a moonscape. We stopped at a huge monastery on the way. Only a small part of it was open - the part that is no longer used - and it was disappointingly empty and run-down. We hoped to stop in a small village for lunch, but none of the tavernas were open until dinner, so we settled on a roadside taverna, which was still quite nice. When we finally got to Skala Eressou, we went directly to the beach, where we had a quick swim, lay in the sun and drank beer at a cafe before getting back in the car and heading back, this time by a different route, along the sea. We ate dinner at another tavera in town, then sat on the patio with ouzo and beer, enjoying the warm night.
We left Molyvos the next day, deciding to stop at a remote seaside village recommended by the domatia owner. To get there, we had to drive 11 km. on an unsurfaced mountain road, which was quite crazy but afforded a gorgeous view. The road also brought us past thermal springs that oozed directly into the sea, creating a boiling swim and steamy, sulphor-scented beach. When we reached the end of the road, Skala Sikamias stood before us in all its adorably quaint glory. The village is famed for its tiny chapel, perched atop a big rock at the mouth of the harbor, which supposedly held an icon of the Virgin Mary that resembled a mermaid. We explored inside, but no mermaid in sight. So we walked around the harbor a bit - it was really the cutest thing ever - before continuing along our seaside route south to Mytillene. Our next stop along the way was another monastery. This one was also quite disappointing, hardly anything more than a big church, which was in itself not very spectacular but supposedly a site for pilgrims. So we hurried along to try to find the remains of a Roman Aquaduct advertised in one of my travel guides (but not detailed on any of my maps). We accidentally drove through the dangerously narrow streets of a random village, ending up in an olive grove, where I had to ask directions from an old man on a donkey and a stonesetter. They sent us back to the village, which we eventually determined was not the place, and happened upon the correct village down another unmarked road. This village had more crazy narrow streets, but signs that led us to the aquaducts, which were completely covered by scaffolding, under restroration. Ack! We returned to Mytillene, had lunch, and walked around the old town and to the castle. We later had dinner then headed to the airport to return the car and hang out for an hour before our flight left.
The next day we spent a few hours on the nearby island of Aegina, where we wandered, shopped, had lunch, and explored a beach and temple site before taking a ferry back in time to have dinner with our favorite neighbors, the Koumatos'. Kyrio Koumatos got on famously with my parents, and Kyria Koumatos got drunk and confided in Coral and I in Greek. Much of the evening involved Greek conversation, and translation, which hopefully at least made my Greek communication skills seem impressive. We were taken to a "nearby" taverna, which was actually quite a hike, but worth it. It was nestled in the courtyard of a rather large church, with the requisite overhanging vines, central fountain and no menu. The specialty was rabbit stew (illustrated nicely by a big sign with a rabbit flailing as it was being boiled alive in a big cauldron) which my father was brave enough to try. I stuck to horiatiki (greek salad) and various dips with bread. We had too much wine, which aided our bi-lingual conversation immensely. Overall good time. When we returned home, my father decided to nap for a few hours before heading to the airport for a painful early-morning flight to Brussels, where they were to spend 5 hours waiting for the next leg. My mom and I stayed up chatting and checking emails.
After they left, I was determined to settle down and finish my magazine article. But with two weeks left until my deadline, and trip to the UK, I was easily enticed back to Volos to spend another week with Kalliope. I brought my laptop, fully intending to work, but of course it did not happen. More bad movies, more ice cream. This time we also painted Kalliope's bedroom blue, which was much fun but also lots of work. And we spent a day at the hair salon - much needed.
Then I had a week to buckle down and work. I finished the day before I was to fly to London, where I would stay with Kalliope's best friend Paul. The flight was a nightmare, and my trip into the city almost farcical, as I got on the wrong train and ended up halfway to another airport before turning around and navigating the Underground, arriving two hours late. I don't want to go into great detail about the trip - because it's not really exciting to anyone but myself and those I saw, and it has nothing to do with Greece - but here was my loose itinerary: London, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Leeds, Sheffield, and back to London, where I spent 7 more days with Paul and his new roommate Nicholas, also a friend. It was a great time! I saw many friends, old and new. I came without a return ticket back to Greece, and ended up staying three weeks. I saw several great concerts within that time as well and stocked up on tons of books and music (both of which are impossible to find here at reasonable prices).
I returned with a terrible cold and spent a few days recuperating and dealing with nasal misery. Kalliope enticed me out to Volos once again, this time with promises of soup and nursing, which she did provide. What a saint. I stayed there five days, recovering enough to handle the 5-hour trip back. I had to return to let in our new roommate, who Coral had found while I was away. Coral and I had decided to get a roommate in order to fill all the empty space (she took over the room we had used as our office) and defray costs. Her name is Jane, she is 34, and an accomplished travel writer. What coincidence! She is moving to Greece from Croatia, where she wrote her own guidebook, because she needed a change of scenery. She spent a few days here before returning to Croatia to wrap things up and retrieve the rest of her stuff. During that time, we chatted quite a bit and hung out together, the three of us, in our new "living room." Also in my abscence, Coral had assembled a living room table and bought a lamp, throw, pillows and other items to make it more cozy. We also bought a used television on the first day I was back from London. So the living room is finally habitable, and just in time, too, because it became insanely cold as soon as I returned. One night, after meeting with a former professor, I ran into Joanna and she came over to escape the dreary cold and we ended up having an impromptu dinner party. The four of us squeezed into the kitchen and drank two bottles of wine while Coral threw together a quiche. It was fanastic fun, and a great kick-off for the new, more social atmosphere our apartment now has.
In other news, I've been going out on a few job interviews. Not of the brave-foreign-correspondent variety, but of the need-quick-and-steady-income teach English/babysit variety. The first interview did not go so well. Or rather, end well. Well, I think it went well in that I convinced her to hire me, but it ended with her saying, "So, all you need now is a green card, a social security number, and an official copy of your degree, translated by a member of the U.S. Embassy." I told her I'd get right on that, tomorrow. I don't think she understood the sarcasm. If it were so easy to get a green card, do you think I'd be applying for such a job? NO. That, and the pay was absolutely atrocious - $6 for 45 minutes, which, at only 6 hours per week, is not even enough to pay the rent. And I'd have to do a LOT of work to get that, too, teaching Greek businessmen how to write business letters and the meaning of words like "bottom line," "market versatility" and other economic things I don't even understand. The scariest part of the interview: she gave me a copy of the textbook, sent me into a classroom for five minutes, then returned, saying, "Teach me." What??? Oh dear. Supposedly I did well, though. Go figure. The other interview happened yesterday. It was for a job in which I would get paid a relatively large amount of money to spend 8 hours a week with two 8-year-old brats. I'd make enough to pay the rent and have tons of time to do writing and traveling. Fantastic. I was a bit frightened when the mother warned me the kids were "very difficult" and had scared away another American girl, but when I met them, it was apparent they just had too much energy and were competing for attention. I figured out which was the dominant one and paid her extra attention and charmed them both in the end. I find out if I get the job tomorrow. Other than that, I've been spending most of my time recuperating from this awful cold, reading the monster books I brought back from the UK. And I started painting again. I plan to spend the weekend writing, then Coral and I may take a quick trip to Bulgaria to get our passports stamped and all that.
December 1, 2001
Yes, I did get the babysitting job. Sorry to keep you in suspense all this time - oh, I KNOW you were in the steepest state of suspense. Mmm. Yes. I've been with the twins -Francesca and Vangelis - for two weeks noww, and it's going relatively well. They are not the terrors their mother portrayed them as, but they can be trying. Luckily, I have managed to win them over almost completely. So much so that the mother was shocked, and actually had to adjust the schedule so they would have more time with me on Mondays and Fridays because I was in such demand. Ha! Go figure. So I've spent many hours lately drawing, chasing, cleaning, cooking, counting, and playing soccer, hide and seek, checkers and twenty questions. It's exhausting. Today the mother asked me if I would be available for referrals, since she moves in the right circles and can hook me up with other parents looking for an 'English-speaking play mate,' which is what my job title now is. Ha! Good deal! I think she already landed me one job with a sweet-natured girl named Fanny. Nice. Food and bills shall now also be taken care of. This is a surprisingly lucrative career choice. And it also enables me to continue with my real career.
Speaking of which, I am setting out to work on a big heroin article. Heroin seems to be a big problem here. The death rate from heroin overdoses has risen 1000% within the past 15 years. Insanity! And whereas there were five treatment centers in Northampton alone (and they were complaining that was inadequate) there are only nine in the entire country! I sat down for a day with EU data and found enough shocking statistics to send me into a frenzy. So this should be fun. And I have recruited Joanna to come along with me to interview addicts, if it comes to that. I'm confident I'll be able to do most of the reporting in English, however. I hope!
Other than that, not much else is new. Thanksgiving was a joke. I think I ate a mustard sandwich and oranges. No travel planned for the near future. Might spend Christmas with Kalliope in Volos. Have been hanging out with Joanna more recently, which has been great. We had a fabulous night out dancing, and I got to be the representative of lots of grand American culture - I taught a bunch of Greeks the proper hand movements to The Village People's YMCA and how to dance to 80's classics like Molly Ringwald. Also introduced Joanna to Jerry Springer, pancakes, maple syrup and home fries. Oh yes, I am proud of these things. Doing my duty, I am.
December 7, 2001
Putin's in town, and Athens has been plunged into chaos. Mind you, it doesn't take much to cause things to degenerate to the point of chaos here, but still... it's annoying.
Wherever I went today, people seemed to be turning to the nearest stranger asking, "When is he leaving, do you know?"
The Russian arrived a few days ago, around the same time that the bus drivers decided to call a strike. Nothing unusual about that, really. In fact, the more unusual circumstance is a day without a strike. The strikes are always well-timed, often overlapping. The trolley drivers will be striking, say, because they feel their passengers are too rude (this has happened) and the taxi drivers decide to join the strike "in solidarity." And then all the drivers stand smugly outside their buses and taxis and argue with anyone who attempts to find out what's going on. And they point and laugh at the sidewalks teeming with people who suddenly have to walk everywhere, giggling at the mass confusion and anger they generate. Effective.
Usually the strikes are announced. Sometimes they are not. Either way, it's difficult to keep track. The bus strike supposedly ended Wednesday, but halfway along the route on my way to catch another bus to go to the suburbs to brat-sit, a man in black, a walkie-talkie in tote, ran up to the trolley I was riding in and motioned for the driver to stop. Passengers groaned. Sure enough, we were told to get out. Along the length of the road, trolleys and buses were stopped in their tracks, often directly impeding other traffic.
Damn, I thought. I was already late. For a bus that might not be running? Damn damn damn. A taxi ride to the suburbs would be relatively expensive - maybe even more than 1,000 drachmas; ridiculous when the bus ride is 150 drachmas - and all I had on me was a 10,000 note ($25), and I knew no taxi driver would accept it. Another weird Greek pet peeve - they ABHOR changing money. They always want exact change, to the point where it's ridiculous. Several people have refused to change 5,000 notes, and even at the supermarket they give me a hard time, while I can plainly see that their cash registers are positively overflowing with coins.
Luckily, I wasn't too far from where I had to be. I hustled along the road, which was pretty much blocked completely by the immobile buses. I was still uncertain whether there was a strike or if Putin was to blame. When foreign dignitaries visit - and you always know when they're here because a few flags from their home countries get put up - they tend to shut down entire sections of the city unannounced. So practical! I did see a few buses that were still running. So I figured it must be Putin. As I walked, I tried to analyze the traffic and the routes of the dead buses to figure out what section was likely to be shut down. But it didn't make any sense. The road leading to the Parliament building was open, yet the one in front of the University was almost empty of traffic. Which would mean Omonia was closed, which is the most highly congested square in the city - think Times Square of New York - which would be.. chaos! How would they redirect people? It's the transportation hub.
Well, apparently this was in fact what was happening. When I arrived at the bus stop, I asked a police officer what was going on and he simply said, "Putin." I grilled him and he shared a bit more. "In one hour he come to university. So no buses. You go on foot. Putin."
Mmm. Damn. I headed for the street most conducive to taxi-hailing, stopping at a kiosk on the way to buy a newspaper and hopefully break the 10,000 note. The kiosk lady refused. Yes, they would rather not have your money than change the bill.
As I was yelling my destination at drivers who slowed down just enough to hear and decide whether I was a worthy passenger, I noticed there were a slew of people still waiting at the 603 bus stop. Hmm, I thought, maybe they know something I don't. Maybe my bus is running after all. So I walked back and joined them at the 601/603 bus stop. Bus 601 goes to the neighboring suburb, and usually comes 10 minutes before 603. But the bus drivers seem to have a sick sense of humour and often line up a few buses at the stop, destination signs turned off, taunting those who wait and wonder "601? Or 603?" And the answer is usually: "Neither! Look, 603 is parked ACROSS the STREET at the OTHER bus stop, and it's LEAVING!" Yup. So when I join the huddled group, I am not very surprised to find five unidentified buses lined up and mass confusion.
I stand in my usual spot, directly in front of the bus, towards the center of the road to get the best view of every bus parked there. I listened on, somewhat amused, as crotchety old people approached each other to ask what was going on and complain about the system. Several boarded the bus considered most likely to be 603 (or 601?) and treated anyone unfortunate enough to stick their head in and ask the destination to a full tirade. Finally, 10 minutes after the 603 was scheduled to leave, I spot another bus pulling up, displaying the 603 number and destination. I consider boarding the other bus and letting all the old people know, but decide against it, boarding the 603 instead. It takes a few minutes for the old people to spot the bus and when they do, there is a stampede. Oh dear. They pause at the front door, a bit out of breath - from both the run and excited agitation that has been building up during the wait, I suspect - and then the verbal assault on the driver begins. "603? 603! Where the hell is 601?" etc. etc. etc.
The mob is shouting, cursing, insulting mothers, shaking fists, giving fingers. The driver sucks in a big breath, inflates his chest, sticks it out and enthusiastically bellows right back at them. The Greeks are an impassioned people, and like their ancient ancestors, they seem to revel in any opportunity to debate. Most of the mob is driven back, and continue to shout from a distance, but a few stragglers remain. They are pacing, muttering. This inspires a few seated passengers to join the fray. "Get over it. The bus didn't come. Either get on this one or get off."
One especially annoying old man is standing in the middle of the bus, ranting, when the driver begins to close the doors to keep away the chill (and any other dissidents, I suspect). The front door is still open. The old man runs to the center door and starts whacking his cane against it. "Let me off! I have to go take the six-o-ONE bus now since this is the six-o-THREE bus and...let me out you jerk!"
To which, an equally old man sitting across the way turns replies: "Are you blind? Can't you see the front doors are open? Leave from there and shut up."
"You talk that way to your father?" he said, presumably insinuating that he deserves respect because he is an elder, even though the two are probably roughly the same age.
I can't help but giggle. It's just too insane. An old woman and young girl who are thrown together randomly as seat partners also giggle and start chatting. By the end of the trip, they are practically friends. Other people start bitching about "those Russians," and there is the ever-present question: "When is he leaving? Do you know?"
Such chaos actually serves to bring the city together, paradoxical as that seems. It gives people things to talk about. Normal expectations of social order are suspended. Appointments are missed. People show up ridiculously late, or not at all, opting to wait things out in a coffee shop instead, and it's immediately understood and accepted. Some flare up in great shows of anger - an outsider might be concerned that a fist fight it about to break out - but really, they just like to shout. Nothing ever comes of it. And it's entertaining for everyone else.
I was late, of course. But all I had to say was "Putin," and the mother immediately understood. She rolled her eyes, put her hand on my arm, and started complaining about how it took her an hour to make the 15-minute trip home from work. "When is he leaving? Do you know?"
December 30, 2001
So Christmas is over. But Athens seems unwilling to release it from its long, blood-red, manicured talon grip. I ventured into the city center to be swallowed into swarms of scary shoppers and skinny Santas, some pulling along tiny ponies. Mimes, street musicians, magicians, balloons, people, people, people. It was a bit frightening. A bit exciting. And I felt lost, caught unawares, with neither kids nor friends in tote, no money to spend on holiday shopping, no camera to at least capture the action. There weren't even any after-Christmas sales! I was confused. Still am.
I had a simply fantastic holiday though. On the Wednesday prior to Christmas, I hopped on a bus and had an action-packed five-hour journey north to spend a week with Kalliope. I had a front-row seat, which afforded me a fantastic view of the winter wonderland that existed 20 minutes north of Athens. It was breathtaking, and unexpected - rolling fields of white, snow-covered purple peaks everywhere I looked. I grew excited. It WAS Christmas! It was a bit nippy when I left Athens at 3 p.m. and the temperature swiftly plummeted along the way. By the time we stopped for our 15-minute break at 5:30, it was downright freezing - the bus driver decided to have some giggles by locking us out of the bus for 10 additional minutes. When we started up again, the sun had set and a silent, serious tone fell over the entire bus as the driver inched along to avoid certain death on the icy roads. It was rather silly, but fun all the same. I love emergency mode. When we passed through little villages, you could see villagers coming together to shovel out the main road and central square. They huddled in cafes and peered out of houses at anyone who dare venture outdoors.
When I arrived in Volos, it was only 8 p.m., but the place was deserted, like a ghost town! More than 100,000 residents and only five could be seen. There were no taxis. I stood for a few minutes, watching my breath mist and fall heavily like ice, my teeth chattering, my bones vibrating, my toes freezing, before giving up and beginning to skate along the ice-covered sidewalks to the city center. Along the way I passed a city bus terminal and had the brilliant idea of taking a bus. The guy told me there would be one coming in five minutes, so I bought a ticket and waited with this friendly, frightening chap. When I got to Kalli's apartment I never wanted to leave again. So warm and cozy. Mmm. I felt like the biggest wimp, this New England girl moaning about a spell of Grecian winter. But the television did say it was -7 Celsius that night so I think I was justified. My God! -7! I'm not entirely sure how cold that is, but considering it hardly ever dips below 10 here, it was quite dramatic. And now that I'm back in Athens, it's up around 17 again. Ha! Insanity!
Anyway... my resolution to stay indoors did not last long. Soon we were outside again, running along the beach, the SNOW-COVERED BEACH, making snow angels and burying the dog and hurtling snow-covered objects at each other and trying to shake big clumps of snow off the bamboo sun umbrellas. A mist was coming off the sea, and the whole scene was surreal. And SO FUN! I felt like I was 10 years old again. Afterwards we walked to the video store to stock up on horror films. Walking, however, was a bit difficult, considering the fact that every surface was covered with at least two inches of solid ice. So we developed this crazy glide, and skated arm in arm down side streets, singing awful South Park and Christmas tunes. We spent a good chunk of time and money at the supermarket, stocking up on supplies to make enough soup and pie to take us well into the new year - if we didn't eat it all within the week. Oops. Hell, It's the holidays! Isn't the whole point of it to eat, drink and be merry? Well, we did all that, in mass quanities.
Oh what a spectacle we must have made, pushing an overflowing shopping carriage home through the streets covred with ice and slush. And later, when we headed to the local park with scary ski hats pulled low, large knives in hand on our way to cut some evergreen branches for our Christmas 'tree.' We took the branches home, stuck them in a planter's pot, tied them together with a bit of twine, and spent the rest of the night decorating it with balls of crumpled newspaper we painted and other random items. We also had an impromptu ghetto dance party. Inspired by my ghetto-looking ski hat, perhaps? Before long we were both bouncing to Cypress Hill and the Beasties.
To be honest, I never expected to have such a fantastic holiday. I was feeling a bit down about spending my first Christmas away from home. I didn't think it would be a real Christmas without the cheesy movie and music marathons, the pecan pie and huge fragrant tree. But it was still great, in different ways. There was no tradition, so we kind of made up the rules as we went along, throwing together bits of tradition, which resulted in interesting combinations. Like tiropita, curry, and apple pie. Ha! There was no reason to wake up at a certain time. No expectations. It's a Christmas I'll never forget. Actually, Kalliope's apartment has begun to feel like my home away from home. And after each visit, Kalliope and I feel more and more like sisters.
Last night I made granola. As in, I took rolled oats, wheat flakes, barley flakes, peanuts, maple syrup, honey, raisins and other dried fruit and baked it. Which presupposes that I was in the supermarket, regarding rolled oats and wheat flakes with interest. This is weird for me, in case you didn't know. I'm still reeling. Today I plan on making my own garden burgers with the mince soya product I also bought in the grains section. I don't think I've ever stood for more than five seconds in the grains section. Whoa.
Joanna's out of town, in her father's mountain village, and her absence means I have no New Year's Eve plans as of yet, which disturbs me a bit. Traditionally I have welcomed in the new year by dancing my ass off to cheesy Top 40 and ghetto rap in a squalid club with my little sister and her best friend. I was willing to make do this year by dancing my ass off in a cheesy oldies club or even an indie club, but it looks unlikely. Coral doesn't really celebrate New Year's Eve, she told me yesterday, but might be convinced to hang out downtown as a cultural experience or something. This is kind of appealing. I mean, when I was little I used to watch the festivities in New York City and wish I was there. And now I actually live in a huge city, a 10-minute bus ride away from the biggest party in the country. I should go, non? Yeah. We'll see.
