Feaster

Easter has always been a holiday of landmarks and excitement for me. I came down with chicken pox on Easter when I was three-- that set the bar. In college, I had a delightful tradition of visiting friends in the New York area to share in their Easter traditions and one very special Easter spent in Florence at the beautiful Duomo. I spent last Easter with my beautiful cousins and a friend of ours in North Carolina, and I forced them all to go on an epic Easter Egg Hunt at an unfair hour of the morning. This year was no exception to the Easter jubilee as it was my first Greek Orthodox Easter.

Easter here is a big deal. Like, a really. big. deal. More of a big deal than even in, dare I say, Italy. The whole country shuts down for two weeks, so don't try to get anything done during Easter season because you can't. Everyone is travelling back to their respective villages or vacation homes or simply resting and cooking. Our faculty actually got two weeks off, so we had a fantastic opportunity to travel in Europe and enjoy a spring break (oh, the perks of working in a school). Whitney and I traveled to Croatia and returned in the afternoon of Holy Saturday, which is the day before Easter Sunday. In the Greek Orthodox religion, all Easter services are at midnight on Saturday. That is the only option. Tired as we were from our travels, Whitney and I decided to check it out.

There is a church very close to our house called Agia Sofia, so we got ourselves down there around 11,45. The place was relatively empty, but at 11,58 it was like the bus had just arrived, and hundreds of people starting flooding in from every corner of the church's vicinity. It was much like a locust invasion in New Jersey.

The tradition for the opening of the midnight vigil is that everyone in attendance carry a candle. The result is stunning. Now, Whitney and I seem to have missed this memo. We were under the impression that the candles were only for the children as they are traditionally given to children by their godparents, but apparently everyone should participate in the "lambada." So, as if we didn't stick out enough already, betrayed by our scared-doe eyes and gaping mouths, our lack of candles further gave us away. We enjoyed the roles of peaceful spectators, though, and were welcomed.

As you can imagine, there was no way that the swarms I have mentioned were all fitting inside a tiny church, so everyone rallies in the "parking lot" of the church where there is an altar situated in the center. A covey of priests and clergymen gather at this altar and give blessings and such to start the Easter celebration. It should be noted that the entire service was done in the style of chanting iconic of the Greek Orthodox Religion. I'm fairly certain maybe a grand total of five words was spoken during the entire service. It is haunting and beautiful. An Easter opera.

After the opening and the candlelight procession, people started to, well, leave. The few, the proud, and the brave marched into the church with their candles, which I am certain was the most dangerous thing I have ever been apart of (skydiving was safer, yes). All that fire in a tiny church with tons of people? I'm actually stunned that my hair didn't catch on fire or that the whole place didn't burn down. An Easter miracle. Anyway, once inside the church, the priests began kind of doing their own thing. They were often behind closed doors chanting but would emerge from time to time to regale us with clouds of incense. That plus the five million candles made the whole thing a rather smokey situation. Afterward my eyes were redder than an NYU freshman's.

Slowly, more people began to leave. Soon the place was only filled with devoted grandmas and their grandchildren that they were clearly forcing to be there. Whitney and I left around one in the morning when our eyes could take it no longer, and I must say, we outlasted 98% of the original church-goers. My gentle observation, then, is that it is the opening/outdoor/candle part that is the most important to the culture. The activities inside the church are mostly spiritual preparations done by the clergy that the rest of the congregation is welcome to attend and meditate or, frankly, just socialize. I didn't understand, well, any of the proceedings, but the tone was both solemn and jubilant, which is how Easter should be, I suppose, so the message was received.

The next morning, Whitney and I boarded a bus for Porto Rafti, a gorgeous seaside town outside of Athens. This is where our Greek teacher, Angeliki, lives. We invited ourselves over to her house. We asked to be adopted as we had nowhere to go for Easter. She gladly welcomed us.

The feast we were greeted with at Angeliki's house defies description. There was, yes, an entire lamb roasting on a spit. The innards and the head were also served. I don't ordinarily eat lamb, as you have probably figured out by now, but any attempt to refuse this meal would have been a supreme insult, and also there just seemed to be no real option. Angeliki's father gave us each huge helpings and then stood there eagerly waiting for our verdict. Despite myself, I must say, it was delicious. Never again. But I'm glad I experienced the special Easter lamb.

But the feast did not stop there. Oh no. Cheeses, salads, tyropitas (cheese pies), stuffed mushrooms, lord, I can't even remember it all. It was just endless. In addition to being a lamb roasting expert, Angeliki's dad also makes his own wine. He had made four of them at this point and insisted we have ample servings of each so that we might determine our favorite. I gotta be honest, by about wine number three they all became equal to me.

There were turtles and cats and children and music and dancing and just general celebration and chaos. It was everything I could dream of in a Greek Easter. So, the tradition lives on for me with my landmark Easters. Xristos Avesti!