Force majeure

Τις μέρες του Πάσχα τις πέρασα στο χωριό. Αρνιά, κατσίκια, κοκορέτσια. Η εποχή είναι πάντα όμορφη, οι εναλλαγές του καιρού συνεχείς: για κάποιο λόγο, το Πάσχα το έχω συνδυάσει όχι με ηλιόλουστες μέρες, αλλά συννεφιά με μπόρες που κατεβαίνουν από τα βουνά της Αρκαδίας και δίνουν στο τοπίο κατά μήκος του Κορινθιακού κόλπου μια πένθιμη (αλλά και πολύ ατμοσφαιρική) απόχρωση. Μάλλον ταιριάζουν στο πνεύμα των ημερών.
Στο χωριό οι συναντήσεις με συγγενείς και γνωστούς και η ανταλλαγή νέων (και κουτσομπολιών) είναι στα εκ των ουκ άνευ. Και φυσικά η πρεμούρα των γονιών με τους γάμους. "Αχ, στο ράφι θα μείνουν τα παιδιά μας". Και έτσι ανάμεσα σε κάρβουνα, ταψιά και ψητά και Πάριο περνάει η γιορτή μελαγχολικά, με τη συγκυρία σαν κατάρα που βαραίνει την οικογένεια, λες και από κάποια γωνιά θα εμφανιστεί ο από μηχανής γαμπρός, η νύφη, τα πεθερικά και θα τους λυτρώσουν όλους. Μόνο οι πορσελάνες και τα κρύσταλλα λείπουν.
Πρώην που παντρεύτηκε και έκανε παιδί και καμαρώνει σαν το γύφτικο σκεπάρνι. Ο betabug μου είπε πρόσφατα αναπαράγοντας τα λόγια του Willhelm Busch, "Vater werden ist nicht schwer, Vater sein dagegen sehr". Τις προάλλες σε μπαρ, μια κοπέλα της παρέας που είχα βγει, μου την έπεφτε εντελώς απροκάλυπτα και ψιλομεθυσμένη καθώς ήταν με ρωτούσε μεγαλόφωνα (είχαμε γίνει βούκινο):
"Γιατί είσαι μόνος σου;"
"Δε θέλεις να κάνεις παιδιά;"
"Δε θέλεις να παντρευτείς;"
Λάθος ερώτηση: πριν φτάσουμε στο γάμο...ας γυρίσουμε την ταινία λίίίγο πιο πίσω... και να θέσουμε το ερώτημα αλλιώς: "γιατί δε θέλουμε να κάνουμε όμορφες σχέσεις;" Μα φυσικά, γιατί περνάμε καλά και μόνοι μας! Η ζωή μας σήμερα μας δίνει τη δυνατότητα να κάνουμε ένα σωρό πράγματα κλεισμένοι στον εγωισμό μας, μπορούμε να μας παρέχουμε τα πάντα χωρίς να νοιώθουμε την ανάγκη να το μοιραστούμε με έναν άλλο. Χωρίς να εκτειθόμαστε, χωρίς να πληγωνόμαστε. Αποφεύγουμε το ρίσκο να αγαπήσουμε προκειμένου να αποφύγουμε και τον ελάχιστο πόνο. Σαν άρρωστος από καρκίνο που πριν από το χειρουργείο φοβάται την αναισθητική ένεση για να μην πονέσει. Και έτσι προτιμούμε να πλάθουμε ουτοπικούς έρωτες μέσα στα όνειρα για μια μοιρασιά που μάλλον δε θα έρθει ποτέ, αφήνοντας το εγώ μας να μας κουμαντάρει στην πραγματική ζωή. Το όραμα δε γίνεται ποτέ πράξη, γιατί απλούστατα αναπαράγεται μέσα στο κεφάλι και δεν φτάνει ποτέ έξω. Και φτιάχνουμε ένα πανέμορφο κήπο στην πίσω αυλή του μυαλού μας, που όμως δε μπορούμε να μοιραστούμε με κανένα γιατί είναι φτιαγμένος να χωράει μόνο εμάς τους ίδιους.
"Γιατί δε θέλεις να παντρευτείς;"
Ο γάμος είναι σαν το αυτοκίνητο: το αγοράζεις μάλλον επειδή έχουν και οι άλλοι, παρά επειδή το έχεις πραγματικά ανάγκη. Και αρχίζεις να ανακαλύπτεις ότι τελικά αυτό που ήθελες πραγματικά είναι πολύ διαφορετικό, έχεις φεσωθεί στα δάνεια για να το πάρεις, σου αποστερεί άλλα πράγματα, σου κοστίζει σε τέλη, ασφάλειες, ανταλλακτικά, βενζίνες, το 4x4 δε σου χρειάζεται γιατί στα χιόνια πας σπάνια ενώ δε στην Αθήνα χιονίζει μια φορά στα 3-4 χρόνια και δε μπορείς να κάνεις απόσβεση, είναι γκουμούτσα δε μπορείς να το παρκάρεις πουθενά, στο γρατζουνάνε, δεν το χαίρεσαι... Επιμένεις να το έχεις όμως, μάλλον γιατί είναι "το αυτοκίνητό σου", ο αμφίβολος ζωτικός χώρος σου στη ζούγκλα του "έξω κόσμου", παρά γιατί σε εξυπηρετεί...
"Παντρεύτηκε για λόγους ανωτέρας βίας..."

Carnival in Skyros

Like last year, I chose the island of Skyros to spend the three-day holiday of Καθαρά Δευτέρα (the Orthodox Lent) which is celebrated together with Αποκριά (Carnival). Having spent successive years in the past going at my origins village outside of Rio (close to Patra) and being pissed off by the commercialization and degradation of the country 's biggest urban carnival, the option of Skyros has emerged well into my annual calendar: close to my native town, Χαλκίδα, dense ferry schedules, and plus, my buddy, who 's serving as a doctor in the island 's tiny hospital.
The island is a personal must; it has many things I adore: a jagged landscape, diversified with forested areas in one side and rough treeless slopes on the other, local folk traditions continuing strong and a very vivid, deeply pagan carnival with loyal fans.
Until the last moment, there was a small debate between me and my companion of going there or not, since the weather forecast for the holiday was quite bad. My initial plans were to go there by motorbike, but F. 's strong objection made me take my car.
The route from Athens to the ferry port of Kymi was changing continuously from rain to sunshine in a very frequent rate, though very scenical and picturesque. When reaching Kymi, the ferry agent informed us that in the hearing of the bad weather, there were some passenger car tickets cancelations which gave us the opportunity to bring the car to the island and thus relieve us of some 70 euros from our pockets.
Shortly after the fully-packed ferry 's got off the Kymi port to the open sea, it started braving a gale-force wind accompanied by thick and wet snowflakes, ramming onto the deck, making everybody in the gallery staring with an open mouth. The ferry 's deep banking was making the passengers unrest but nontheless, remaining very talkative and loudy. In the distance, the snow-powdered lower altitudes around Kymi were revealing a very unusual scenery for us the people of the cities, but not uncommon for the local, both mainlanders and islanders. In about 10 minutes, the storm ended and a hopeful sun appeared; it was the only bad weather to appear for the whole of the holiday.
The Carnival: The sight of Γέρος, the prominent figure of the sheepherd in black, thick wollen cloak, the 40-50 sheep bells strapped around his waist whom shakes and creates a thunderous noise, as if to scare away the goblins. He covers his face in a mask of an aborted tiny goat skin. The whole sight looks awesome and makes the passers step aside to let him pass, being ecstasized of the enormous noise of the bells created by jumping here and there in the narrow cobblestone streets of the island 's capital. Often he is accompanied by a Κορέλα, a man (or recently a role played also by a woman) dressed in the island 's traditional dress with the face covered by a scarf dancing around him and waving another one. It is said that the figure of Γέρος is apparently a shepherd that most possibly lost his sheep in a storm, gathered their bells and coming down to his cottage in sadness and anger and Κορέλα tries to comfort him. The celebrations reach their peak on Sunday, where 20-30 Γέροι and Κορέλες can be seen gathered together, grooving in ecstasy and shaking their bells and us the tourists taking pictures of them. It is very interesting that almost the same tradition appears in the Mamoiada village in Sardegna, where the Mamuthones in almsot very similar outfit are striking their bells: http://www.museodellemaschere.it/museo.htm and http://www.stonepages.com/sardinia/sites/mamuthone.html
The Lent is another surprise: all of the people were down on the streets, having put tables, eating, drinking and treating the passers, knwn or not, from early midday to midnight and even later. Almost every local was dressed in the traditional costume, I even noticed some British and Dutch women wearing it! What I liked at most was the friendliness of the people and a common sense of celebration, no just another boring visit to an uknown place, just waiting for the next week to start.
I also visited the Rupert Brooke 's grave in the southern part of the island, a young British pro-war poet perished by malaria and buried there, while en route to Galipoli, scenery of the notorious 1st World War battle, while serving as a soldier. The grave lies in a small olive grove and can be passed almost unnoticed: no signs, no path, nothing; unless told so by the young guard of the military base, not far away from there.
Up on the hills, close to Brooke 's grave, a small heights meadow with a pond had attracted our attention: some of the famous Skyros dwarf-horses had come down off the mountain to relieve their thirst. Wild as hey are, they couldn 't accept our presence, and after we got too close, they fled. Hopefully, I managed to take some pictures of them, thanks to my 300mm telephoto lens.

St. Nikolaos Night: No regrets

Epaminondas Korkoneas, 37, Special Guards police officer, the one that murdered the 15-year boy, a father of 3, a former Marines soldier, appeared before the magistrate. But not exactly. Actually by confessing by memorandum, the "chicken" way, where instead of being interrogated, be asked of questions and answer on them, sent something like a "note", a paper thrown on justice 's face. In this memorandum, he shows no apology, no regrets, nothing, not even pardoning for shooting even the worst criminal, let alone a teenage boy. He instead tries to charge the boy 's side, by accusing it and its company of showing "unacceptable" behaviour and telling some incredible stories about being previously involved in clashes as a football hooligan. The most absurd, is that he already had formed a figure, an opinion about the boy 's profile: about all these rich families children, bored to death about everything and meet into teams to convert their boredom into anger and rage by frequenting Exarchia, meeting with so-called αντιεξουσιαστές, (counter-power radical activists, marked as "terrorists" in Anglosaxon countries) that isult, curse and even throw bottles at police cars. In other words, a real criminal. Hopefully, the boy 's school management has answered strictly on that:
http://www.in.gr/news/article.asp?lngEntityID=966716&lngDtrID=244
Yes indeed, he was a rich family 's seed and they have all the means to support any investigation and mobilize all their connections to find the truth. But I can 't imagine what hould happen if he was a middle or low-class family child.

December 6th, the St. Nikolaos Night in the greek ortodox calendar. A day that a spark came into a flame. A day that a problem supressed for years, decades maybe, broke loose. When all fallen-into-sleep spectators, filled up with delivery pizzas, dreaming of getting a loan to buy the new shiny SUV that saw at the commercial before the reality show, glanced their youngster on the TV news. He was missing, God knows since when. Actually they were never been interested of what he was doing beyond the usually closed door in the end of the corridor. They had given him everything: a stereo, a Play Station, an iPhone, an iPod and other gadgets. But they had never given him a chance for opening his heart, for showing his dreams, for a hug. They were thinking that their dreams of living between consumer goods should also be his dream. But they were fooled: that little piece of shit was protesting against their lifestyle. And smashing their shrines: the banks. Where their life was beginning and ending, never granted, always borrowed from them. With no dreams, no expectations.

Don 't worry about the damages, they will be added up at the plasma TV 's final price and the bank loan 's interest rate. I am really proud of these schoolchildren: finally, somebody revolts against this miserable lifestyle.