A Xeno's View of Greece and Greeks: Part 8: "Once a Xeno, Always a Xeno?"

So, fifteen years after meeting this Greek girl who I thought was Hispanic, what part do I play in my new Greek-American family?  Where do I fit in?  Well, I am tremendously proud of my own heritage, and the fact that I can trace my descendents back to England and Scotland, Germany and Bohemia (part of the present-day Czech Republic).  My parents asked a family friend to do our genealogy, and I love that we discovered that I have roots on this continent going back to the 1600s.  But despite all of that, being of “mixed” ancestry and having no real ties to the old country left me feeling a little empty in the heritage department.  And while I love my family and would not wish to have grown up any other way, I’d often thought about what it would be like to be part of a big family.  Well, marry a Greek and wonder no more, my friends.  I now have an entire side of my family that is a living, breathing connection to the motherland; a land that I have become extremely fond of and attached to myself.  I now have around 400 Greek aunts, uncles, in-laws, and cousins here and in Greece, all of whom I could depend on as though I have known them my whole life.  I most definitely feel I am a part of the Greek half of our family, and I thank them for accepting me into their world.

So now when our sons look at their family tree, the branches will stretch farther into Europe, dipping southeast towards the Mediterranean and the home of their mother and her ancestors.  My hope is that when they look at their family tree, they will see in Greece and its people what I have come to see.  I will certainly do my best to fill in all the branches so they (and I) can better know who came before them on that side of their family.  Although we are far from Greece, I want our kids to know that they come from Greece as much as they come from America, and to learn about and appreciate the Greek culture, language, and history.   As a result of this process, I hope to be able to delve deeper into my own roots.  I have visited one site in Scotland where one of my ancestors fought (and lost to) Oliver Cromwell during the English Civil War and was shipped over to Maryland as an indentured servant in 1650.  Perhaps we can visit parts of Germany and the Czech Republic to see where some of my other people came from.  Maybe a visit is in order to the small villages of England, and the ports from which many of my forebears embarked on their journey to a new life here in America.

But there's a fine line to walk, in my opinion, when you are attempting to soak up and participate in a foreign culture.  I feel a responsibility to always keep in mind that I am not Greek, no matter how much I enjoy being a part of a Greek family.  Not that I necessarily want to be something I am not.  I didn't share the same experiences as my wife's family growing up, and hearing about those experiences from friends and family isn’t enough to make me part of the club.  My family didn’t live through Nazi occupation, recent civil wars, military dictatorship, genocide, and mass exodus as so many Greek families have during the past century.  I always make sure I don't go "too far" in my attempts to assimilate into the culture.  I know my limits.  I respect the Greek culture too much to pretentiously impose myself upon it and insert myself into it.    Am I a part of what my wife's family does?  Absolutely, and I love every minute of it.  But unless (and even if) I one day move to Greece, work and raise my family there, and live the day-to-day life of a Greek, I will always be an outsider, and that's fine with me.  I feel extremely lucky to have the opportunity to be part of a Greek family and the culture that goes with it; to learn a second language, to raise my kids with an awareness and appreciation of their Greek heritage.  I am fortunate enough to be able to travel to Greece and see my wife's (my) family there, to see the extraordinary natural beauty of the land and the remarkable historical sites and to feel the spirit of a very resilient people.  But I am always mindful that I am experiencing all of this as a xeno. A very grateful xeno.

Σας ευχαριστώ για την επίσκεψη (Thank you for visiting)
Todd

Next Time....  ????

A Xeno's View of Greece and Greeks Part 7: "I Wasn't Late - I'm on Greek Time!"

When I was a kid, “on-time” meant 10-to-15 minutes early.  That’s what my parents always did, so that’s what I grew up thinking was right.  Movie starts at 8pm – get there at 7:45.  Have to meet someone at 5 o’clock?  Get there at 4:45, just in case they are early, or just so you don’t make them wait.  Nevermind the fact that most people were always late, so YOU were the person waiting for twenty minutes or more.  The point is, you should already be there when it’s go-time.  Unless, of course, you happen to be Greek.  Then, all bets are off.

“Greek Time” is what they call it.  Doesn’t sound so bad, does it?  Perhaps it is the ancient precursor of “Island Time” which I have heard about from people who have been to Jamaica or the Bahamas.  In these parts of the world, the living is slow, and you are on vacation, so you go at your own pace, relaxing lazily at the beach under a coconut palm while drinking some fruity tropical beverage and listening to steel drums play in the distance.  Ahhh….Island Time…..   Whoa, sorry.  Almost drifted off there. 

Greek Time, especially in America, is not about taking it easy, or being laid back.  Most times it seems like a simple disregard for plans and the people with whom they were made.  My first real experience with Greek Time was at my wedding, which was held, of course, in a Greek Orthodox Church.  To the priest’s credit (thanks Fr. Lou!), he told us there would be no Greek Time and our wedding did, indeed, begin on time at 5:30pm.  Now, at that time, my side of the church had all of my friends and family comfortably seated and ready for the big event.  At the same time, on my wife’s side, sat exactly 5 people, one of whom was a church employee who just needed a breather.  For those of you who don’t know the Greek wedding ceremony, the bride and groom face the front of the church with their backs to the congregation until the end of the ceremony, when they are led around the altar by the priest in the “Dance of Isaiah”.  As we rounded the altar to face our families for the first time, the 5 Greeks had multiplied into nearly 100, vastly outnumbering the xenoi invaders on my side.  They had all arrived 15, 20, or 40+ minutes late, but they had arrived nonetheless.  Not all of them, mind you.  In a time-honored tradition (which bugs the hell out of me), many Greeks only show up for the reception, skipping the tedium of the actual wedding and attending “the good part”, with the food, drinks, and dancing.

Perhaps my most exasperating personal experience with Greek Time occurred on my second day ever in Athens, back in 2001.  We had taken the first day there to relax and get over our jetlag, but our second day was to be our first day touring the city, with the Acropolis at the top of the to-do list.   That morning we were invited for coffee to my sister-in-law’s house, whence we would depart, astride various motorcycles and scooters, for downtown Athens.  We arrived (on-time) for coffee, and talked for a while on the balcony with my wife’s sister and boyfriend, and another couple they knew.  Seconds were poured, and croissants were brought out.  Cigarettes were smoked and phone calls were made.  Then more coffee was drunk, and several more cigarettes were slowly smoked.  Apparently sensing my agitation, nearly two hours after we had arrived, my wife’s sister asked, “What’s wrong with you?  You look like you have to be somewhere.”  To which my wife answered, “He just wants to get down to the Acropolis, and see the Parthenon.”  The response?  “Relax, it’s not going anywhere.”  But they didn’t realize that I WAS going somewhere!  I don’t live in Athens, so I can’t just drive downtown for a peek when the urge hits.  I was only going to be in Athens for a total of around 8 days, with side trips planned for other parts of mainland Greece, Samos, Cairo, and Turkey.  I had the whole day planned out, and was now 2 hours (and counting) behind schedule because everyone needed multiple cups of coffee and a pack of cigarettes each before we left!  We finally made it to the Acropolis, by around noon, in the sweltering sun of that Athenian August day.  It was everything I had hoped for and more – just three hours later in my life than I had hoped to see it.

I have since experienced several annoying instances of Greek Time.  From baptisms to family dinners, concerts to parades, none of these Greek events ever start on time.  But the biggest and most public display of doing things on Greek Time, the one that had the most serious possible repercussions for an entire nation, was the planning and execution of the 2004 Olympic Games.  The games were a rousing success, and, maybe I’m a little biased, were among the best I ever recall watching.  But how close were they to being taken away from Greece, making a mockery of the country that was birthplace to the Olympics? Probably closer than we know.

After being snubbed by the IOC for the Centennial Olympic games in 1996 (a slap in the face), Greece was awarded the 2004 games in 1997.  That’s right folks – they had seven years to plan for the return of the Games to their ancestral home and they almost blew it.  All of the early planning seemed to go well, but as the IOC began making its inspections of the venues, facilities, and transportation routes in and around Athens, it was becoming painfully clear that the entire country was on Greek Time when it came to preparing for the Olympic Games. After an inspection in 2001, the IOC was so worried that there was talk of them asking Sydney to keep all of the infrastructure in place from their 2000 Olympics so that, if necessary, the games could be held there again in 2004.  Can you imagine the damage to the national psyche of Greece and the impact on Greeks and Philhellenes worldwide if this had happened?   

Fortunately it never came to that, and through several months of 24/7 construction work (much of the work done by immigrant Albanians, who took on the jobs for striking Greek workers - imagine that!) everything came together in time - just in time – for two wonderful weeks of international sporting events that showcased all the beauty and timelessness of Greece, and the filoxenia – the hospitality - of the Greek people.  The Greeks even managed to poke fun at themselves about the delays, as in this commercial for potato chips that came out around the time of the games:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67ykGyZLa9U

The whole concept of Greek Time is very odd to me, because the Greeks are a hard-working people who always take pride in what they do.  Those who came here, or went to Australia or the U.K., are overwhelmingly successful at what they’ve chosen to do, because they worked hard to get ahead in their new worlds.  And you can’t become a success opening your restaurant 40 minutes late everyday or making your business appointments wait for you while you drink frappe, or running your contracting job weeks behind schedule.  Is there a difference to the pace of life in Greece?  Absolutely.  People there value their time with family (or at least away from work) above all else, and enjoy this time slowly, soaking up all that is has to offer.  Work, like the Acropolis, will be there tomorrow, and they’ll get to it then.  But for now, they are on their own time – Greek Time – and they aren’t changing that anytime soon.  

Σας ευχαριστώ για την επίσκεψη (Thank you for visiting)
Todd

Next Month - Part 8: "Once a Xeno, Always a Xeno?"   

A Xeno's View of Greece and Greeks Part 6: Birth, Marriage, Death

There are many differences in the ways Greeks celebrate the milestones of life when compared to what I was used to growing up.

 

When I began to look toward marriage, I expected a “normal” wedding and reception, although I knew there would be some differences, as we were being married in a Greek Orthodox church.  So where do we begin to dispel that notion….?   

Perhaps with the marriage bed (krevati) celebration held at my wife’s (our) house prior to the wedding.  During this bit of voodoo, money and babies are thrown on to and rolled about the bed as a symbol of good luck, prosperity, and fertility.  As a man, I was not afforded the opportunity to attend this lovely event. Darn.

 

The wedding ceremony itself, while not too bad to be a part of, is a pretty boring affair.  For one thing, as an attendee, you are standing up pretty much the whole time, and if you don’t know Greek, you’re lost for about 90 minutes.  We actually made our own wedding programs and put in a detailed description of the goings-on and their symbolism so my side of the family could follow along. 

There’s the wedding candles, which weigh approximately 263 pounds each, and which the bride and groom must hold, lit, for about 1/3 of the service.  There are the stefania, which the bride and groom wear as crowns, as they are king and queen for the day.  These crowns are connected by a ribbon (get the symbolism?) and are switched above the couple’s head 3 times.  Pretty much everything in this service is done three times.  We drank wine, had the rings blessed, and were walked around the altar in the Dance of Isaiah – 3 times.  But the one thing we didn’t do three times, or one time for that matter, was speak.  Nope, no vows here.  You are making a pact with GOD to stay married forever.  The idea is that a promise to a person is easy to break, while a promise to God, well you better think twice.

After the ceremony, we received wedding gifts at the front of the church from my wife’s aunt, who had raised her most of her life.  Then it was off to the reception, which was pretty much like your normal reception except for the presence of Greek people even my wife didn’t know (invited by an aunt or cousin), and the playing of much Greek music with spirited Greek dancing.  The great part about this was that many of my friends and family members were willing to join in, and were heartily encouraged by my wife’s family.     

 

So then it was baby time, and we had rules to abide by here, as well (although we chose not to).  Our first-born was to be named after my parents.  Anything other than this would be disrespectful.  Our second child would be named after my wife’s parents, no questions asked. But I had no desire to name my children in such a way, nor did my wife, so we compromised.  Our first son’s name is my middle name, and his middle name is my wife’s father’s first name.  Our youngest son’s first name came from nowhere, but his middle name is my father’s name.  In our own way we managed to keep a sort of family naming intact without going by the letter of the Greek law and creating more people with the same name.  Ever wonder why every Greek guy you know of is named George, John, Jimmy, Nick or Gus?  Now you know why.  They just recycle the names every other generation.  It can get pretty confusing at large family get-togethers, because if you call out a name, about half of the people will turn and respond.  Both of our kids have names that sound like “normal” American names, but both can be translated to Greek names, so I think we did a pretty good job walking the line between American and Greek traditions.

 

So when I was a baby, my parents had me baptized about a month after I was born in a small ceremony during the course of a regular Sunday service.  (Coincidentally, my wife and I were baptized on exactly the same day – she an almost one-year-old, I a little over a month old) Afterwards my small family and a few close friends had lunch at someone’s house and that was it.  Not so for the Greeks, my friends.  Far from it in fact.  I know some people whose baptism “after parties” were bigger affairs than my wedding, with hundreds of guests and a live band. And that is not an uncommon occurrence in the Greek community. 

A Greek baptism is held most often after church on Sunday, or on a Saturday night if it’s going to be one of those rocking affairs mentioned above, but not as part of the normal church service.  Here the baby is held up naked as the day he was born and is dunked into a large marble font while doused in olive oil.  Doesn’t make it very easy to hold the little ones I’m sure.   Once the little Greek salad is purified, he is dressed up like the Pillsbury Dough Boy (or Dom Deluise, in my oldest son’s case) and is given a cross necklace and pinned with blue matia, or eyeballs, to ward off the evil eye.  In a sort of a religious reverse psychology, it is not uncommon for little ones to be spit upon (or mock-spit upon, to be more accurate) in an attempt to trick the devil and his evil minions into thinking that this child is not worth his attention. 

At our very small (by Greek standards) “receptions” after each of our sons’ baptisms, we had around 50-60 people (40-50 of whom were Greek) attend luncheons at local restaurants.  But again, I think the celebrations we hosted successfully combined the Greek and American traditions, and the whole family had a great time.

 

Every family has one day to deal with the death of their loved ones, and I won’t dwell too long on this part of life, but I think there are a few things worth noting. 

The closeness of large Greek families, to include family friends, is perhaps most apparent at the death of one of their own.  When my wife’s aunt passed away she was in Greece, and my wife was unable to attend the funeral.  She was able to visit her aunt for a few weeks prior to her passing which was a good thing for both of them I believe. 
During our trip to Greece in 2007, we went to visit the monastery where my wife’s aunt was buried.    We went to her grave site, where there was a candle, which was kept perpetually burning.  We were then taken to what I can only describe as an ossuary, or sort of “bone vault”, where the exhumed bones of the deceased are placed into a metal lock box, labeled and put on a shelf.  You wouldn’t think there would be any issue with space to bury people in Greece, but I have found out that this is indeed one of the problems.  The other is that cremation is illegal in Greece, a law which is the result of the partnership between the Greek government and its official state church.  Greece is the only country in Europe where such a law is in effect and enforced, much to the dismay of many Greeks, who feel the exhumation is humiliating and contrary to the natural process of death.

Now, that doesn’t mean everyone has to be exhumed.  If you have lots of money, as with many things in Greece, you can get what you want.  Permanent plots in a cemetery run between $18,000-$120,000 per plot, while renters pay $650 to $1,050 for a three-year burial, with the option to stay up to one year longer at $155 per month. After that, exhumation is mandatory in most other cemeteries, to make way for new bodies.  

This is just another bit of culture shock to an outsider like me, although I must say that the grounds around the monastery where my wife’s aunt was buried were beautiful, and the priest and nuns were all very nice and respectful, making it a not-unpleasant experience.

 

These are the ways of the modern Greeks, based on hundreds of years of ritual and superstition.  It is amazing to see such ancient rites and ways carried on in much the same fashion they were centuries ago.  While strange to our western sensibilities, these are the fabric of a people that have been through war and famine, oppression and slavery, and have never been broken.  To me, that says keep up the good work, for, no matter how weird this stuff seems, it is working to keep the Greek identity and way of life alive in a modern world that typically eats and spits out the old ways. Bravo Ellada.

Σας ευχαριστώ για την επίσκεψη (Thank you for visiting)
Todd

Next Month - Part 7: "I Wasn't Late - I'm on Greek Time!"