Christmas 2012

Christmas Eve dawned here with a very heavy frost and now we have that brilliant sunshine that stunned me many moons ago when I spent my first Christmas in Athens, staying with my ‘adopted’ Greek sister, Betta, and her family. Coming from the northern bleak mid-winter I found the strength and clarity of the sunlight amazing, comforting and memorable. And sunshine and warmth continue to emanate from Greek hearts and hearths, despite difficulties that every single one of us is confronting. That’s what makes life here special.

 I have just come out of a hot kitchen with plates satisfyingly full of mince pies, banana bread, persimmon cookies, chocolate truffles and quince paste awaiting local delivery, but first neighbours’ children are coming to sing the traditional ‘kalenda’ – a carol equivalent - playing the triangle and collecting sweets and coins as they go from house to house.

 Now the holidays are here I promise to resume my accounts of the Highland Haj – shame on me for the delay!  But in the meantime I want to make mention of Richard Hesketh – thank you, Richard, for your kind words on the Craigard posting!  He was a Kilbowie boy, a slightly younger vintage of ’70 –’73, and would dearly love to make contact with contemporaries. Is there anyone out there? – it would be great if we could widen our circle from Oban High days.

 What you probably don’t know is that I have the ability to view not only how many of a reader audience my blog has but where you are all based. This is demonstrated by the relevant country on the statistics world map lighting up green – dark green for a denser readership.  Right now I feel a little bit of a fraud as a huge global area has turned a lovely Christmassy green – thanks to a single but greatly appreciated reader….in Russia!

 Thank you all for following my postings and may you have a thoroughly enjoyable festive time.

 Merry Christmas one and all.

Hallowe'en and the World Pipe Band Championships on Glasgow Green

‘Tis the night of ghosts and bogies! Happy Hallowe’en, everyone! Hope you have a lovely time - not ‘trick or treating’- I’ve always thought that sounds rather salacious and not what you want to be encouraging children to go door-to-door for! No, I mean the old traditions of guising (dressing up); trying, while blind-folded, to bite suspended treacle scones; dooking for apples - kneeling on a chair and trying to drop a fork from your mouth to spear apples bobbing in a basin below.  And, of course, going round to entertain the neighbours and collect sweets, toffee apples, fruit and nuts as well as the odd penny for fireworks for the November 5^th  Guy Fawkes’ celebrations.  Happy 10^th Birthday to Katie in far off New Zealand and welcome to our new followers, especially Ellie and Dino, thank you all for joining us!

In Thessaloniki we have just celebrated the name day of patron Saint Dimitris on 26^th October, as well as the 100^th year of the city’s liberation from Turkish occupation, followed swiftly by Oxi Day, 28^th October, the day Greece repulsed Mussolini’s Fascist forces. We’ve been looking back on our history and turned the clock back so .. kalo mas xeimona  .. may our winter season be clement in every conceivable sense.                                  

I’ve been looking back on our recent, special summer when we had a ‘Highland Haj’ – a family pilgrimage back to the homelands of Argyll.  On the way we stopped off in Glasgow to take in the World Pipe Band Championship.  

                                            

This is the city of my birth; sadly it’s not one I have spent any length of time in, but arrival there always has a sense of home-coming. We’d heard foreboding forecasts as usual, but since ‘Glasgow’Smiles better’ J she welcomed us very warmly indeed!

We stayed at the Jury’s Inn - presumably where jury members were accommodated when doing their duty at nearby court-houses. The location could be said to be central, next to – and I mean right next to -Central Station. In fact, here are actual views from my bedroom window!   

 

       

                                 

Glasgow Green, the championship venue, was a delightful ten-minute walk along the banks of the Wonderful Clyde, as the song goes. Still in evidence are some of the huge warehouses, grand merchant residences and the old Custom House, echoing the city’s great industrial and commercial past. More modern buildings express the multi-ethnicity that the city has always encouraged and enjoyed.

                                         

       

 

  

  

 

  

    After many years of industrial and trade depression, during which Glasgow’s ‘no mean city’ image of poverty and violence did little to encourage development, in the 1980s and 90s a huge cultural renaissance took place, changing it into the vibrant, exciting, proud city of today.  The spruced-up waterfront area now houses state-of-the art, res.des. property and is the setting of amazing transformation. An example of this shown above is the Clyde Auditorium 3,000-seat concert venue. Completed in 1997 and built on the in-filled Queen’s Dock, its design symbolizes hulls of the ships built on Clydeside. It is much loved by the locals who fondly refer to it as the Armadillo. And still the development goes on - clearly!

 On reaching the venue on Friday afternoon, we got a sneaky preview of what was in store as competitors practised on the Green in sweltering heat. It was a delight to see how many young people were participating in the Juvenile category – and how many of them were girls. Here they were in T-shirts, shorts and jeans, adorned with tattoos, mohican or emo cuts, piercings, Goth paraphernalia, blowing their wee lungs out. 

 

 

                                

But for Saturday morning’s competition they had really cleaned up well – resplendent in Scotland’s traditional costume. The kilt is made of wool tartan, of patterns and shades that indicate our kin or company, our origin or organization. We Highlanders strongly identify with and are greatly proud of our clan colours. As you can see above, tuning the pipes is not just done by ear but the sound is mechanically measured and adjusted accordingly

   In the early 80s, I attended the Cowal Games in Dunoon, Argyll. I was with an uncle who was intrigued at how the pipe-majors would isolate themselves to tune their pipes prior to performing. I remember one piper turning on his heel with an indignant swish of his kilt - he had perhaps mistaken my uncle’s interest to be that of a tuning-technique spy!   What was really memorable on that occasion was that the organizers had wanted to mark the passing of two councillors in that past year. To that end, so to speak, all the competing bands drew up in circular formation around the audience in the field. A heavy mist rolled down from the hills and what we locals call a cold smir – or fine rain -  could be felt on our cheeks as the bands played the haunting lament, ‘The Flowers of the Forest’. With well over a  thousand pipers playing in measured, slow unison, I doubt there was a dry eye in the crowd.  What a send-off!

 

                                

It was sweet to see budding drum-majors, some bearing maces almost as big as themselves, having their kilt-length checked before being examined. They concentrate on tossing – and catching!- the mace as in future they hope  to lead their bands in parade. Good to see drum-majorettes too!

 

Bonnie dancers in vibrant-coloured costumes, practice their Highland dance steps before being led onto the platform to strut their stuff in front of piper and panel of judges.  The little lad, mid-twirl - answers an oft-posed question on under-kilt apparel!

    

But to oor pipers- the main focus of the event! The very best bands compete in Grade One category and are expected to play a March, a Strathspey and Reel, and one further more open event where the choice and arrangement are up to the band.  Our lone piper shows just how much puff is needed. As the bandsmen march forward in formation they do look awesome - in the original sense, generating a touch of fear along with wonder.     

                                 

     

                                                               

Here they are performing after many, many months of hard work and dedication, braw, braw lads!                     

This year’s winning band was Northern Ireland’s Field Marshall Montgomery band, highly polished performers who have won many prizes.

 It was a privilege to see so much talent at such a splendid venue. Above you can see the People’s Palace, a museum of the social history of the city of Glasgow, along with its adjoining Conservatory.  

 

 

 

And striving takes its toll on lungs, arms  and spirit so it was time to discard the drums and take time out, maybe for a wee helping of the traditional haggis, neeps (turnip) and tatties ( mashed potatoes), washed down with Glasgow’s answer to Coca Cola :Irn Bru, claiming  to be made from Scottish girders.      

  Pipers, drummers, dancers, judges… and tourists... need all the strength they can get! 

.......to be continued......

2012 Summer Trip to Thrace

Here I am with a September blog entry in….. by the skin of my teeth!

This will be a short pictorial account of our July trip to Thrace, to Evros, my husband’s home area, right up in NE Greece, near the Turkish and Bulgarian borders.  It’s a trip dedicated to Rosie and David who couldn’t make it together with us ….this time!

 En route we see many herds of goats grazing in the parched pastures, sun-flowers still following the course of the sun but, by late summer, beginning to look a little full-blown.

 

So we head up north, through Macedonia, past Kavalla, into Thrace, on to Alexandroupolis – one of the many cities named after Alexander the Great. I love the fact that its lighthouse is so near the main road!

As we follow the river Evros north, I enjoy seeing the villages with their minarets; for me a lovely blend of the Muslim and Greek Orthodox communities, especially redolent of the time that H and I spent in Arab countries - in fact, we first met in Kuwait. I still hear the call to prayer with a touch of nostalgia!

                

 

                                  

     

                                     

We go past Didymoteicho, the twin-walled city as its Greek name explains, and on to Kofovouno, the village possibly named after the hollow mountain nearby, that is – with caves within it. 

Okay, so who took a pot-shot at the village name-sign??

We spend some time together as a family, catching up with relatives’ news. What I find particularly disarming is that, while they may not have seen you for months and months, after initial greetings of welcome, they will begin conversation with you  with the Greek “Allo?” or ‘So what else is new?’ as if just picking up where you left off in a previous chat! 

This time for me the theme seemed to me to be tradition: teaching grandchild how to plant seeds and tend the garden; passing on the cultural tradition of ethnic dance and costume, while celebrating on July 20^th, the panagyri of the Prophet Ilias, to whom Koufovouno’s church is dedicated. The panagyri or celebration traditionally meant that the icon or even remains of the saint would ‘go round throughout’ the village for the locals to pay their respects. It always means a get-together for people from local villages and often from much further afield. In Koufovouno local people who work in Germany come down to observe the prophet’s name day at home. Thracean music has a lively rhythm and their dances are executed with great dignity – it’s hard to remain seated when the clarinet and bagpipes start to play!

    

 

      

 

It was fascinating to watch the storks, these wonderful birds that migrate annually from Africa to nest by the Erythropotamos River, an Evros tributary. Mama storks carry on the tradition and teach their young to fly. Below, after watching several maternal demo flights, baby stork can be seen testing out his wing-span. It took several afternoons before he managed to get his confidence up and leap from the nest.

 Here are some of the crops traditionally cultivated in the area: the cotton plants which look like beautiful rose bushes when in bloom, and garlic.

  About ten years ago at this time of year, the approach to Koufovouno reminded me of the final lines of Mary Campbell Smith’s poem, ‘The Boy in the Train’:    

‘For I ken mysel’ by the queer like smell, That the next stop’s Kirkcaddy!’

    

In Kircaldy you smelt the linoleum factory; in Kofovouno the pungent aroma of garlic drying in the village yards.

 Sadly now that market has been lost with merchants buying the cheaper produce from Turkey and China. This hot summer other crops had to be left to bake in situ as  the cost of seeds, fertilizer and electricity to water the fields  continue to rise unchecked, which means farmer outlay could not be covered by the price offered by local merchants. Local farmers simply cannot make a living.

Years ago when I was living and teacher-training in Athens, I remember observing a class where the teacher asked the students what crops Greece produced. When a child answered, ‘Oranges, lemons and olives,’ the teacher seemed well pleased – a very southern, agricultural perspective.

 Here I want to show you just a little of the wealth harvested here in the north.  In Macedonia tobacco is a prevalent crop and in late summer you see the leaves hanging out to dry in the heat.

 

                                       Sunflowers, too, provide seeds and oil for cooking.

 

When my niece, Jennifer, was little, on being shown a picture of my father-in-law’s fields of sun-flowers, she asked if he was very rich. It seemed to her tha he must be, to afford to have fields of flowers rather than ‘real crops’.  

 So, Jen, many moons on, with attendant and colour-coded insect, this basking beauty is just for you!    

  

 Finally, and at the expense of sounding like the ‘Milo/portokali’ speech from ‘My Big Fat Greek Wedding’, since I am on the topic of flowers and Koufovouno,    with deft thematic cohesion, let me recommend to you Greek speakers the blog on the village by Dimitrios Louloudakis  (whose surname could be rendered as Little Flower!)   - simply Google : ‘Koufovouno - Louloudakis’ – it’s fascinating.