Friday 26 February 2016

The Farmers' Blockade, A Human Tsunami and ....Daffodils.



Can you think of a worse start to your week? – a dull, rainy Monday morning (what my mum called a ‘dirty, wet day’) and, with the farmers’ tractors blocking  arterial roads country-wide, you have no guarantee you will reach your destination. 

In vast fields from a distance some of them can look like Dinky Toys. I loved this cute, little red one parked between two great green monsters.  Linguistic observation: did you know that ‘tractor’ comes from the Latin verb, trahere to draw or drag, dragging as they do behind them implements? 

               

 



 I have great sympathy for farmers. In Zissis’ home area, Evros, the once major crop of high quality garlic is no longer cultivated on a large commercial scale. Greek merchants sold out to, or rather bought in from, cheaper Turkish and Chinese markets, dealing a death-blow to the livelihoods of local suppliers. 

Every one of us is suffering to some extent from the austerity measures.  So , yes, we sympathise, but the farmers have made their point. Their antics are disrupting the smooth flow of essential supplies and deliveries, adversely affecting business concerns already struggling with capital controls and a shrinking market. After nearly 40 days of this, It’s time to break the blocks and literally move on.

 
One further pressing problem here is that of the migrant/refugee influx. In the background of this TV screen, you can see tents set up to afford them some degree of refuge; you can see the newscasters wear expressions of concern as they outline the current conditions. Our Mr Mao also seemed to show unprecedented interest in the solemnity of the situation.
    


                                      
And it is no joke. Today a reporter announced that between 20,000 and 30,000 people of such status are currently in Greece. Our country simply cannot cope with this turbulent sea of humanity, arriving daily in their thousands in a quest for a better life. 

 What is curious and concerning is that they come with a  very clear idea of where they want to go and how, ignoring the local efforts to ease their route. In Athens they refuse to sleep in camps set up for them. Fearing they will be locked up or sent back, they sleep rough in squares with no facilities and sometimes in harsh weather conditions.

 Here in Diavata, just outside Thessaloniki, in the face of great local resistance, local authorities converted a disused military facility to be used as a refugee reception camp. Where previously locals had broken into the camp to prevent the work from taking place, ironically, shortly after arriving there, the refugees themselves mirrored those actions by breaking out of the camp. Similar exits were made at the Schisto camp near Athens.  Many are now refusing even to travel in the coaches offered them, preferring to continue this relentless trek north to the Idomeni crossing-point into FYROM and beyond to Northern Europe. Now that these borders have been closed – allegedly at the behest of one of our European ‘partners’ – there are currently over 3,000 stranded souls there with thousands following that same route on foot. These are hot spots ready to conflagrate.

Europe has to take a consolidated stand and rapidly find a humane solution to their plight. Many of these people are without any real hope for their future. If we don’t cater for their needs in some acceptable way, (and I know that’s the hard question: how?) this tsunami of the helpless and the needy can easily be turned against the western world in its entirety. Malevolent forces are already committed, motivated and powerful enough to set such a strategy in motion and to use these hapless people as pawns in their evil game. How we deal with this now may have momentous repercussions


Topic change required!


Our prunus is always the first to produce its bright blossom to lift our spirits. Or how about this vibrant bouquet of irises? 
                                
                        










Yet there is little to match the unassuming daffodil as one of nature’s marvels. She pokes her sturdy stem through rock-solid soil, then displays her delicate bloom which manages to withstand the strongest of spring storms. 

 Last year I made an elementary attempt at capturing their beauty in water colour. This year, unfortunately, tendonitis – after over-vigorous work in home and garden – prevents me from making the clearly necessary attempt to improve on that!
                    
                                           

 








 



So instead of the artistic mode, I’ll access the verbal, literary mode.
In his opening stanza of ‘To Daffodils’, Robert Herrick regrets their withering:

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;

And compares their brief time on earth with our short lives.

 But for a more upbeat tone and a delightful daffodil appreciation, there is none better than William Wordsworth’s   ( 1770-1850) lyric poem, ‘Daffodils’. Let’s enjoy it together:

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

I leave you with a visual image: a display of golden splendour in our garden.

                                                       


   

Tuesday 16 February 2016

Hogmanay Reveillant and ...Cakes



At Giannitsa the table is laid for the special feast, complete with champagne flutes and crackers. Beforehand the cousins, Dimos and Zissis, watch a video of Uncle Dimitris playing the clarinet at a function in Koufovouno, their home area.


                                        



     





Here we’ve pulled the crackers, read the jokes and Dimos’ son and daughter, Christos and Kallia, sport their cracker crowns. Incidentally there seemed to be a prevalence of snowmen jokes this year:
  • What do cool snowmen wear on their heads?  Snowcaps
  • Where do snowmen go to dance? Snowballs.
  • How do snowmen travel? By icicle.
  • Who is the snowman’s favourite relative?Aunt Artica. (I love that one!)
  • What does a snowlady put on her face? Cold cream.
  • What do snowmen eat for breakfast? Snowflakes.     And finally …….
  • What do snowmen sing at birthday parties? Freeze a jolly good fellow. (Gerrit?)
 Right, that’s enough – and sorry, I couldn’t resist that little ‘diversion’!!

       
 







                          
Eleni, our hostess, had surpassed herself in terms of goodies offered. The menu contained, among many other dishes, delicious   coq au vin and osso bucco, accompanied by tsipouro and a variety of wines from Dimos’ vines. I’m sorry you can’t see the full extent of the spread but, since the meal began quite late in the evening, we set about the food with such enthusiasm that to record it on camera …. came very much as an afterthought! 
 

 






 
                      
  On the stroke of midnight, a knock at the door announced the arrival of our first-foot: a jaunty clarinet-player. Here are our hosts, Dimos and Eleni, flanking the revellers: Zissis leading a Thracian jig.  It’s hoolie time, folks!         
                          

 







       
  Later the tone became a little more solemn as a musician of Pontic descent took the floor.  Playing the traditional lyre, his music was both rousing and plaintive. Greek colonies were known to have existed in the Pontus region, around the Black Sea from as far back as about 1200 BC.  Historic events both in the Ottoman Empire and in Russia gave rise to waves of migration from these areas. The Pontoi in Greece   continue to uphold their traditions, keeping their dialect and culture alive and thriving.

    
 

  






 In Greece on January 1st we celebrate the name day of St Vassilis, or Basil, so the year begins with the cutting of the Vassilopitta, a close-equivalent- in role if not in recipe, to the Scottish dumpling.                Kallia found the concealed coin in her slice, thus ensuring good luck for the duration of 2016. 
                      
In my last post, I mentioned Guy, our great great-nephew and stacked-pancake enthusiast, and I was remiss in not including a picture of him. Here he is with his uncle, showing he has his angelic moments.
                                                                    
 
           
Still in  Durham and on the sweet theme,  our  great great-nieceand sister of Guy, Neve, had made and decorated a Christmas cake for the family celebrations, complete with marzipan Christmas trees and reindeer in flight. Isn’t she talented?


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 Later her grandma - herself no mean cook and baker- arranged for her grand-daughter to have a lesson in making sugar-paste roses. Clearly we can see the very happy outcome, with Neve and Gran proudly displaying her piece de décor. 
                                                 
 I leave you with a close-up her nosegay, in keeping with the recent observation of St Valentine Day.