6/4 - Easter Friday

Easter is a particularly significant religious observation for the Greeks (Greek Orthodox Church), and we are priviledged to be here to both observe and take part in the celebtrations. Marika and George have been giving us a background to Greek easter observations, and as I understand the most significant facts it goes something like the following. As for other forms of christianity, easter in Greece “celebrates” the death and resurrection of Christ. Friday and Saturday are days of fasting – the fast being broken at/after midnight Saturday night. Friday has two religious observations – one in the late morning, and the other in the evening.

As to the fasting, strict/traditional observation requires no food for the 2-day period (and I understand there’s an even longer period for the truly devote on a constrained diet). A core set of constraints particularly preclude meat and any items associated with blood (so milk and eggs are also disallowed as they come from animals) as well as oil. Halva, and as I understand it olive based products have an exclusion (can be eaten) due to God (Christ?) being said to have blessed the olive tree.
So the kids had been hearing this talk of fasting and were particularly concerned – they are used to eating whenever they are hungry and have never really gone without a meal in their lives. As it has turned out so far (Friday afternoon as of the time of writing this) they are having it fine – bread and jam, Halva, fruit, etc.

This morning around 11am George returned from work to escort us (and Stavros) up to the village church to take part in the ceremony. The village church (dedicated to Mary) sits at the top of the hill which the village straddles. Cobled narrow streets weave back and forwards between the white-washed houses, other churches (including private), on their way up to the village church. As we drew closer to the pinacle we encountered more and more locals in the dark suits (typically black) making their way in the same direction.

The church itself is a large white-structure with a set of external bells on the front (such as seen in Mexico), the Greek and Greek Revolution (Byzantine) flags on either side, and a cylindrical roof rising in the centre of the building. The entranceway was draped with (chiefly) black and purple material. We found the church entrance cluttered with people peering inside, with even more standing quietly talking off to either side. From within the church emanated captivating singing and chanting. The ceremony was already in progress (we knew this would be the case), with the church being too crowded for people to enter. Maria made the observation that all these swarthy men standing around in black suits and sunglasses bore a striking resemblance to a particular Sicilian organisation. Many of the younger women were dressed in striking black dresses and long stilleto shoes (recall, they are walking on irregularly cobbled streets).

So we waited outside in the pleasant Spring air with George and Stavros for probably around 40 minutes. Somewhat after midday some boys emerged and began ringing the central bell by the mechanism of an exterior rope (attached directly to the “clanger” [Maria just laughed her head off when I suggested clanger might be the name for this central part of the bell]) that came out the front of the church. We learnt that this tolling was a lament for the death of Christ – the bell is rung once, then just as its reasonances have all but faded it is rung again…and so forth all day. In practice it seemed typically Greek (based on my limited experience – heh, what would I know), there was a lot of gusto and attention initially from the boys in charge of the task, then they took a break, then a bit more, then a longer break, Grant got a turn (he rang the bell twice), etc.

Finally, with the ceremony ended there was a more sedate form of the “Helenic-rush” by those outside the church to get in. We waited till the crush had mainly disapated, entering right at the back. The inside of the church was quite stunning and too complex for my untrained eye to pick-out (or name) a lot of the details (further, it would have been sacriligious to photograph inside, so we’ll have to do with this poor description). There were altars to left and right, chandelier-like structures depending from the ceiling, candelabra of all shapes and sizes holding candles and what looked like scrolls (on their end), stained-glass windows, and a painted ceiling. It was quite overwhelming and even though I had 5-minutes or more to observe it all; I still can’t do it justice. About 5-metres inside the doorway was a wooden, canopied “altar” of about body-length, that all were waiting to take a turn at. On the altar lay a wooden icon of Christ in his emaciated manifestation – about 50cm in length, and a embossed, metal bound copy of a large bible. Like everyone else we took our turns, crossed ourselves, then kissed the icon followed by the bible, by bending under the canopy. Then lit as long yellowish candle and placed it on one of the candelabra. As I explained to Zoe, though we are not Greek Orthodox and this is not our belief system, we are showing respect for the local cultures, customs and most importantly the people by acknowledging and taking part in a ceremony of great importance to them. With that done the ceremony was over and we meandered our way home, George pointing out the numerous cans (small house paint tin in size) containing sawdust and something I take to be like our fire starters, lining the walls and roofes of houses, that will be lit as part of tonight’s ceremony.

In the late afternoon we took a walk down to Santo Wineries – a great spot for views and almost directly above the old port. We were surprised to see the site the cruise liner had gown down during the night – marked by washed ashore large bring orange inflatable life rafts and spreading oil slicks. These cruise liners are huge – absolutely dwarfing the giant ferries that move between the islands (such as the one we arrived on). Its so hard to believe that one sunk.
In the evening, around 8:30 (sunset here is 7:30 currently – a time that all the tourists and tour guides know well as there is a claim that Santorini possesses the most beautiful sunsets in the world) Stavros (George and Marika would wait at the bottom of the village) took us back to the top of the village and the church’s location. This time the crowd of villagers was much denser than in the morning and we selected a location on a stairway not too far below the church. Stavros had thoughfully provided us with candles, and as we waited in the near darkness amongst the crowd we could hear a chorus of chants coming the church doorway above us – a leading male voice issuing a loud directive in chant, to which the impromptu (based on the range of voice pitches) choir responded. Just as we considered going to the base of the village to wait (the number of people and long wait proving difficult for the kids) the chant changed and before we knew it the procession had emerged and had drawn level with us. Led by a man beating a fairly fast rhythm with a mallet on a small cross (? – details were hard to pick out as it happened fast and in low light), it was followed by a metre or so cross and then the “altar” we had seen (with the icon and bible) in the morning being carried by four men. It descended the steps rapidly, to the accompaniment of the vocal lead-response we had been hearing earlier. A tight press of people followed and we struggled momentarily to stay in place before joining the flow of people behind the procession. Confined by the streets and the number of people we fell behind (and never caught up to) the front of the procession. But by then we had the beauty of the flaming canisters – atop every building and wall – to admire (this being a tradition for which Marika and George’s village of Pyrgos is famous – there are other traditions in other villages and on other islands), as well as our candles to find a light for and keep alight down the breezy streets. It took us perhaps 15-minutes to descend down to where George and Marika were; the other feature of the walk being that people leaned over the walls of some of the houses we passed and offered or sprinkled us with scented water (?). The real wonder of the lighted canisters emerged as we obtained distance and perspective on the hilltop. From the base of the hill the township looked as though transformed into a medieval fairy castle – the old physical structure being remapped by the locations of the canisters. It was really something to see, and I’m afraid the camera’s photos (which couldn’t really deal with the lack of light) won’t do it justice. Then it was home for a vegeterian meal and to bed.