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Interesting business

Sunday, November 1st, 2009

I wonder what a UK trained accountant would make of the Greek way of doing business. Especially one who was auditing the accounts of our local post office.

The man who runs the post office doesn’t seem to like giving change and tries to avoid it whenever he can. On a recent visit I wanted to buy 2 stamps costing €1.40 in total, and offered a €5 note. He asked if I had change, which I didn’t. So rather than give me €3.60 change he gave me the stamps for free. And this isn’t the first time it’s happened, nor are we the only ones it happens to. Occasionally he will tell me to pay next time, but not always.

This is a post office, it’s supposed to have money – and it does. People pay all sorts of bills here, and obviously buy stamps and pay for other postage. This man has a till full of change. There’s no excuse for his actions. I didn’t give him a €50 note; I offered just a small amount of money over the cost of my purchase. If I’d offered a €2 coin he would have given me change: he can manage to part with a few cents but not his euros.

I’m assuming someone, somewhere expects our post office to produce accounts, which are surely supposed to balance. How can this happen if our postmaster keeps giving away stamps for free?

When we bought our land there were various payments included in the costs. The lady in the local notary’s office who produced the paperwork, for example, was given something like €50. I’m sure she gets paid as an employee, but if she picks up this type of ‘tip’ for every case she works on she probably makes a fair amount on top of her salary.

And of course there were the ‘usual’ payments to people in the official departments, to make sure the paperwork was moving along speedily.

A friend was telling me the other day that some tavernas only produce paper receipts when they know there’s a tax inspector in the area. At other times it’s all verbal so there’s no way of knowing whether all the money received from customers went into the till.

Years ago Ken ran a carpet and upholstery cleaning business in the UK, and some of his customers paid in cash. The tax inspectors went through his books carefully to make sure he accounted for every penny he received, checking payments against his appointments. If they thought he wasn’t declaring all his cash receipts they could estimate them, based on those he had declared, and charge tax on the notional amount. And, other than asking people not to pay in cash, there was no way he could prove that he had accounted for all the cash he received.

There’s a lot of publicity about corruption in high places at present: UK politicians’ expense claims, free holidays for businessmen and so on. Here in Greece corruption at the highest levels of government and business also gets noticed. But this is a country that still has many practices that encourage people to under declare their income, personal or business. It seems that as long as things are kept at a reasonable level, and no-one gets too greedy, this will continue to be accepted.

If even part of that unpaid tax was recovered maybe there would be more progress on projects that are urgently needed, such as a local hospital or a completed motorway, or more firefighting resources. But this is probably naive of me, given the stories I’ve also heard about public money being spent on the pet projects of local politicians rather than the things that are most needed.

And even the greedy are catered for:

I’ve heard of a developer who was taken to court for taking a client’s money but failing to deliver the services agreed. A guilty verdict resulted in a prison sentence, and I believe the guilty party actually went to prison – but not for long. He was able to return the client’s money and get out of prison after just a few weeks, presumably pay a fine?

Not much incentive there to keep to the straight and narrow then?

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So where’s the hurry?

Wednesday, October 28th, 2009
Somewhere to sit while waiting for 'methavrio' to arrive

Somewhere to sit while waiting for 'methavrio' to arrive

This week, next week, whenever…

The Greek equivalent of mañana is methavrio which technically means the day after tomorrow, but in practice means some time in the future. We often encounter it. To put it bluntly, we just never know when something will actually happen: expectations and reality can be very far apart. Here’s an example.

When we first moved to this apartment last November, our landlady told us she was planning to get an internet connection in her office, which would give us the opportunity to ditch our current, relatively expensive, wireless and use her broadband. Great! We thought, but fortunately didn’t rush out and cancel that contract.

Over the following months the subject mostly went quiet, but every few weeks she would tell us that the broadband was coming – this week or next week usually being the timeframe. In July we got neighbours: a Dutch couple staying in the studio opposite for 2 months, who’d been trying to get internet access down in one of the local cafes, but without their own laptop it was difficult. Again I heard the statement ‘I will be getting broadband here next week’, and hoped their need wasn’t urgent.

Then two weeks ago we were told it was definitely ‘next’ (i.e. last) week. And about three days ago the much awaited broadband finally arrived.

I don’t think our landlady is entirely at fault for raising our expectations as she was in the hands of other people, who presumably kept giving her dates that they failed to keep. What I find interesting is the fact that it never seemed to bother her to keep telling us that broadband would be here ‘next week’. Faced with so many failed deliveries I would have been too embarrassed to even raise the subject until the thing was installed and performing.

Maybe here they’re so used to things not happening when planned that they’re comfortable with these non-appearances, but I know that if I’d made any plans based on the early promises I would have been very disappointed.

And that broadband for us? So far we can access it on one of our two machines – for some reason her network can only accommodate two machines and one of those is obviously the office one. We’re trying to pick up a wireless signal through concrete walls so it isn’t always that good, and our PC has a much more difficult time picking it up than our laptop. As we want both machines to have internet access at the same time (we’ve tried juggling one machine, it just doesn’t work for us) we don’t yet have an acceptable solution.

So we’re not abandoning our trusty wireless connection yet despite the shiny new box sitting in the office. The attraction of faster broadband is definitely there, but we know we won’t have access to this when we finally move so we’ll need our wireless connection long-term. But maybe adding up the costs of installing phone lines and getting a new broadband connection is a good idea as we could be here for some time yet…

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It’s Started…

Sunday, August 2nd, 2009

One night last week we sat and watched a hillside burn.

This sort of red sky at night doesn't delight anyone

This sort of red sky at night doesn't delight anyone

And the following morning …

Well actually, we sat and watched a hillside smoking in the morning, the fire on our side had finally been put out, but it was still blazing away on the other side of the hill.

Fortunately we were far enough away from this, the first local fire of the summer, to be able to watch without fear, and marvel at the power of fire and the challenges of trying to tame it, especially in darkness. Looking at our map, it’s possible the area affected was mostly hillside, but it’s also possible that the fire got close to some small villages.

Whether human life and property was affected or not, the devastation created by these fires can take years to disappear. We drive to Athens through patches of hillside still covered in burnt-out tree trunks from the big fires two years ago, the land still struggling to recover its greenery.

We haven’t yet heard how the fire was caused. It didn’t seem to start until late afternoon so it’s possible that it was natural. But sadly it’s equally possible that it could be arson, something that figured strongly in the fires of 2007. People with a desire to clear land of its natural plant life for their own use. And a selfishness in that desire that ignores the real danger of setting loose a force that is so difficult to control.

Plus a disregard for the costs – financial, emotional and human – of fighting these fires.

Fire engines, 2 helicopters and 2 planes for several hours doesn't come cheap.

Fire engines, 2 helicopters and 2 planes for several hours doesn't come cheap

A couple of weeks ago a young farmer died here. He was working in his olive groves when his tractor overturned, causing him injuries that didn’t need to be fatal. But this area has no local ambulance service and the local hospital is 50 km away along coastal roads. Not a quick drive in an emergency.

The length of time it takes for an ambulance to attend an emergency and get the injured person to hospital means that people die who might have lived. Understandably residents have protested to the authorities calling for better facilities locally. But money has to be available to fight forest fires, and there is only so much money.

The Greek government have announced extra money for firefighting services this year. Just as important, they are focussing more human resources to investigate possible arson in these events. Greek justice can be a mixed bag at times, but let’s hope that anyone stupid and greedy enough to create fear and damage by starting fires gets exactly what they deserve.

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Things We Love About Greece #6

Sunday, July 5th, 2009

Generosity

A couple of recent incidents make me return to this theme, which I’m sure will crop up fairly often, as a demonstration that there are still some places in the world where the old values haven’t completely disappeared.

Often, when we shop in the smaller local shops and markets, we get more than we bargained for – but in the nicest way:

The fruit seller, unable to offer us grapefruit this week, pushes a couple of large oranges into my hands.

The vegetable stall weighs my bag of potatoes, gives me the price, then slips a few more in, and maybe an extra onion.

At the bakers, seasonal treats like soft bread plaits are popped into the bag with our usual loaf.

Restaurants bring free plates of water melon or apple, pieces of honey-soaked cake, or sometimes a small glass of spirits to end your meal.

All these people know that giving a little extra is good for business.

But the one that really made me sit up was recounted by friends. They’d been on a drive out and stopped at the taverna in a small country village. Their meal – salad for two, bread, a jug of wine and several beers – came to an extremely reasonably 9 euros or so. After serving up some fruit the proprietor asked them to close their car windows.

A little curiously, this was done, and the proprietor turned on the hosepipe and washed down their car!

I know I can’t say it would only happen in Greece, but I’m fairly certain it wouldn’t happen in England.

sculpturalplant

Just a nice plant I saw on a recent beach visit

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Things we love about Greece #5

Sunday, June 21st, 2009

Traditional Shopping

If you’re a shop-a-holic or you like browsing around the famous shopping chains Greece definitely isn’t the place for you. The only place you’re likely to find clothing shops you’ve heard of elsewhere are the big cities such as Athens and Thessaloniki, and even then the chances are they will be far smaller outlets than you’re used to.

Even the well branded supermarket chain Carrefour is a shadow of the French outlets. In fact, the only shop that bears a close resemblance to outlets in other countries is the discount supermarket LIDL. But at the other end of the scale Greece really comes into its own.

There are many old-style shops that seem to sell literally everything you could ever need, and many things you never realised you needed, or had lost all hope of ever finding. Plus there are shops that you’ll either love or hate, where you can buy more different types of nails, rope and such like than you can imagine. And they are still sold in the old way: you measure out your rope then pay for it by weight; your accurately cut wood is then totally and charged by volume.

But what we really like is the plethora of traders who bring their goods to the villages.

I can still just about remember mobile grocery vans from my childhood, and and bakers vans were still a common site in England not that long ago, but most of these traders gave up eventually. Here in Greece, loudspeakers announcing the imminent arrival of all manner of traders are a regular, almost daily feature, both in small remote villages and the larger towns. And the range of goods on offer also contains some surprises.

Organic produce straight from local farmers’ fields compete with live poultry (get your baby chicks/turkeys here!) and fish caught that day. Garden plants including tall palms can be seen swaying above trucks as they meander through the narrow lanes. Carpets and rugs peep out from the back of transit vans and even clothes wave precariously on their hangars as a tight corner is negotiated.

Terracotta pots are packed densely and piled high, but our personal favourite has to be the chair man, his announcement always preceding him by several minutes: ‘I have chairs, I have tables, bamboo, wood, plastic … come and look’.

And he does: stacks of white plastic chairs jostle against cast iron and wood garden benches, bamboo chairs and tables balancing precariously in their midst. And all piled in the back of a small pick-up truck. I wonder how often he has to unload the whole thing to get at that particular chair that will go so well on the terrace?

Stop me and buy some: get your garden furniture here!

Stop me and buy some: get your garden furniture here!

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Gardening Update

Sunday, June 14th, 2009
Almost a foot long in less than a week - and still growing fast!

Almost a foot long in less than a week - and still growing fast!

We seem to have hit the period of endless hot, dry days faster this year than last. One day it was cool, the next it was like a wall of heat, and it hasn’t eased up much since. There does seem to be more wind though, sometimes with a cool edge but at others a hot, dusty breeze that feels like we’re sitting in the path of a hairdryer. A couple of nights ago a strong wind – reminiscent of winter – started in the evening and continued through the night. But with it came lower temperatures and I gladly slept with the windows open. It was beautifully cool, the breeze wafting the bed sheet like fingers gently massaging my back.

My intention had been to get up around 6am the following morning to water the vegetable garden before the heat of the day kicked in (it can be uncomfortably hot by 8am), but as it was still windy I decided to give it a miss. Better to water the ground slowly later, I thought, than get myself thoroughly soaked as the wind whipped the spray everywhere. So at 8am I was out there, working slowly among the plant with the hosepipe, doing my best to water the soil and not the plants themselves.

For some reason I was preoccupied when I finished the task, and I forgot to turn off the water at the main tap. Unfortunately I didn’t discover this until around 12 hours later, as I put my foot down and sank quickly into the muddy ground along the side of the plot. Oops!

Despite these mishaps, our gardening experiment continues with mixed results.

On the positive side every type of vegetable we’ve planted is growing, although we’ve lost a few individual plants here and there. The speed of growth is surprising, and we’re already faced with dilemmas like what to do with 5 large cucumbers, all ready at the same time. But that’s where non-growing friends come in. So far we’ve harvested our own lettuce, French beans, cucumber, courgettes, strawberries and tomatoes.

Courgettes are also coming along well

Courgettes are also coming along well

The heat is taking its toll, and lettuce and carrots are protesting by bolting. A day is a long time in a sunny garden, and we’re learning the hard way about the need for regular feeding, as the water quickly dilutes the impact of the feed. We need to rig up some sort of shade – olive netting over some bamboo poles should do the trick – to try and give the plants some respite in the afternoons, otherwise I think we could lose more to the sapping heat.

The only times of day when manual work is comfortable are early morning (preferred by me) and late evening (preferred by Ken). The ground is so hard – a combination of heavy soil and lack of moisture – it’s difficult to dig down more than a few inches, and gardening tools can easily get damaged. The weeds are, obviously, comfortable in this environment and grow so fast that we need regular weeding sessions among the vegetables to keep ahead of the game.

Container growing seems to be a good idea, giving us more control over watering, feeding and shading options. We already have carrots, strawberries and potatoes in containers, and may have a go with a few lettuce and tomatoes.

Potatoes seem happier in containers where we can almost see them growing

Potatoes seem happier in containers where we can almost see them growing

Although we haven’t had particular pest problems (a few holey leaves is all) we’re also trying some companion planting, putting basil and oregano in amongst the crops. Basil is also finding a use as insect repellent (pots by windows and doors) and to treat insect bites. The oregano was collected from where it grows wild in the hills, in the company of our landlord’s mother. She’s 70, but put me to shame as she climbed up and down the steep slopes like a mountain goat, gathering bags full of herbs, most of which she apparently gives away.

As if caring for our own patch during the few comfortable hours of the day wasn’t enough, I seem to have become unofficial gardener for the rest of the site where we live. We had already offered to water the flower beds each night, which made sense as we were already out there watering our own stuff, and another 15 minutes or so would make no difference.  But then in casual conversation I said I was tempted to weed an enclosed bed where the flowers were fighting for space, and suddenly I was being given requests (I’d like that one moved somewhere else please, and these things in tubs need to go somewhere – put them wherever you want) and presented with new plants to incorporate into the beds!

Actually I don’t mind at all. It’s a good way to get some exercise, which is a rare thing these days, plus it means we get to learn more quickly about which plants will grow best in this climate. Another bonus is the opportunity to take whatever cuttings we want, which means we can start to build up stock for our own garden now, and without the expense of buying plants.

And it’s another example in Greek trust: our landlady gave us the keys to her pick-up yesterday, phoned ahead to the garden centre to say we were coming, and told us to go and get whatever we wanted – on her account.

It’s also confirmed for us that we don’t want extensive flower gardens ourselves. Lots of stuff in pots, and ground cover plants spilling onto gravelled areas makes much more sense – and much less work!

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The Swings and Roundabouts of Greek Bureaucracy

Sunday, May 31st, 2009
Greek bureaucracy is much like swings and roundabouts

Greek bureaucracy is much like swings and roundabouts

Sometimes it seems like Greek systems are designed so they could never be understood by someone who isn’t Greek.

For me this creates a dilemma. I like to be able to sort things for myself: to understand how to do things then get them done without having to rely on someone else to do it for me. I’m not a control freak (although I do have my moments) but I know I’m an intelligent human being who is perfectly capable of dealing with things, and of understanding them. But here we are in Greece  where it’s not always that easy.

Take taxes.

We know we have to make a tax declaration even though we don’t don’t expect to pay any tax yet. We first spoke to a local accountant last spring and explained our situation, conscious of a potential deadline. ‘Come back in January’ he said, which we did, to be told ‘Come back in March’ which left us wondering why we’d been told January. ‘Come back in May’ was the next offering.

Lulled into a feeling that we were going to be sent away on every visit, and knowing we have little, if any tax liability at this stage, we didn’t rush back at the beginning of May but sauntered in mid-month. This time we were told the deadline was the end of May, a fact we would have liked to know earlier, but clearly weren’t to be worried with. It also appeared that we should be sponsored by a Greek person, and that having non-resident status could be better for our tax situation. An interesting point, since we needed a tax number and residence permit to buy a car and to buy land. No-one asked us for a Greek sponsor when we applied for the tax number. And all we had to do to get residence permits was go to the police station and ask…

We were also told that we need to supply information regarding our rental arrangement, depending on how we want to deal with it – we do have a choice, it seems. We can declare that we are renting, in which case we need to show monies paid each month and our landlord’s tax details. Or we can choose not declare, in which case we still need to provide our landlord’s tax number, but in this instance to indicate whose ‘guest’ we are. Seems the tax authorities are happy to accept that people accommodate others for months, even years, without taking any payment for it (and even when they’re not family).

The next step was to discuss this with our landlord. We didn’t mind either way, but there could be a tax liability for her if we declare the rental, so we felt it should be her choice. Her reaction wasn’t the one we expected. Yes, she was happy to give us her tax number but she was more concerned that we were going to someone else to submit our taxes in the first place. ‘Give me your papers’, she said, and I’ll put them through my accountant.

‘But if you do it all for us we won’t understand the process’, I said, ‘and what happens if you’re not around in the future?’ To her credit she fully understands this viewpoint, even though it’s not the one taken by every foreign resident, many of whom are happy to hand everything over and not think about it. She’s agreed to explain the paperwork to us, and said that once we are settled in our own home we can – of course – do this ourselves, although she would still be happy to provide this service, as she does for other people.

Then there’s bank accounts:

When we first arrived we opened an account with one of the local banks, managing to get money transferred and a cash card issued without any help. The latter involved persuading the cashier to get our card sent to the bank for collection since we didn’t have our own individual postbox. But as interest rates in the UK headed towards zero and the exchange rate also headed resolutely in a downwards direction, we decided it was time to minimise our future losses and get our remaining funds over to Greece.

The question to our landlady was simple (so we thought): can you please help us to look at Greek banking websites and work out which is the best option for our savings. The involvement we were seeking was clearly defined: help us understand the system so we can make a decision and act.

The solution was different. Once again we found ourselves caught up, being helped beyond what we had asked for. This time our landlady spoke with a friend of hers who worked in a local bank, and also mentioned our request to her father (in passing we assume though you can never be sure) who told her of offers in other banks. The upshot was that a few days later we found ourselves being introduced to our landlady’s friend and being offered a savings rate that was very competitive.

And even though we were happy to accept the first rate offered she kept nudging it up a little higher until we knew we had an excellent rate. Something we wouldn’t have achieved without our landlady’s help. We would never have known that it is possible to negotiate an individual savings rate, different from the standard advertised one. And even if we did know, we wouldn’t have been able to achieve it without a Greek go-between.

Okay, the final decision to deposit the money was ours, but who’s going to get up and walk away from the best interest rate on offer?

So it really is a swings and roundabouts situation. To find your way around the intricacies and quirks of Greek officialdom is challenging for a non-Greek (and many Greeks as well I’d guess). Going it alone is possible, but sometimes being willing to give up some of that control gets you the better result.

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One Reason to Rent Before Buying

Sunday, May 24th, 2009

Many people who buy holiday or permanent homes abroad make that first crucial decision – where to buy – during a short holiday trip, or maybe after a couple of visits to the same area. Mostly they don’t spend time there, particularly outside the holiday season.

I’d suggest this is very unwise, and today I’m going to have a bit of a moan to illustrate some of the reasons why.

We’re currently renting an apartment that, in many ways, is ideally situated for the lifestyle we want. We have sea views, can be on the beach in little over 5 minutes, the town in around 10 minutes, and have a bakery about 100m away that’s open almost every day for fresh bread and a mini market about 600m distant.

There’s little more enjoyable than sitting on the terrace with a cool drink, listening to the sound of the sea, or the newly fledged birds chattering as they practice flying and their parents teach them how to find their own food. But it’s not always like that. Sometimes it’s so noisy it beggars belief for this rural area of the Peloponnese.

There are 3 kinds of noise:

Firstly there’s the road. We live on a ‘main’ road., one of just 2 roads into the town so it gets a fair amount of traffic. The busy-ness of the road is relative. 95% of the time it’s a trickle of vehicles which occasionally ramps up into the local equivalent of rush hour (more than 5 vehicles in a single minute). It’s a straight road just where we are, although blessed with patches of the same uneven, poorly repaired surface as many Greek roads. It’s one of the few stretches where you can put your foot down and get some speed up, and many vehicles take advantage of this.

Motorbikes hurtle along, their roar echoing back from each concrete wall they pass. Noisy scooters pass more slowly, 2 abreast, with shouted conversations between the riders. And the mechanic further up the road uses it as his ‘test track’, usually for the noisy old bangers which he drives up and down several times before he’s satisfied.

Secondly there are the neighbours. The next house is about 100m away, but voices carry easily across the space in between, especially the type of voice our neighbour has. It’s a monotonous refrain: ‘Maria’ – or rather, ‘Mareeea’ screeched several times a minute at a pitch that could cut glass. The recipient of this attention is a small child, who seems unable to do anything without being chastised. If she’s out of sight she gets shouted, if she’s in sight and playing she has to be watched constantly it seems. The poor child is likely to grow up hating her name, and probably sufficiently conditioned that she’ll do the same with her own children.

I’m often tempted to throw my head back and shout ‘SHUT UP AND GIVE THE KID AND ME A BREAK!’ just to balance things out a bit.

Give me a break!

Give me a break!

I don’t like air conditioning and would prefer to avoid using it if we can. Which means that as the nights get warmer I’d really like to be able to sleep with the bedroom window open. And it would be possible apart from the third noise-maker: the dogs. Two families live in the building next door to us, and each has a German Shepherd, probably around a year old. In the usual Greek way they are kept outside all day and night.

Barking during the day blends with the other noises around but at night it really comes into its own. There can be nothing for hours, then just around the time we want to go to bed it starts. One dog sets off another, and they in turn set off dogs living further away. Deep barking alsations combine with yapping terriers in a cacophony of sound which never seems to stop. With no other sounds around it’s magnified, and our bedroom window is ideally situated to pick it up. So the window remains closed.

I’m not suggesting that it’s always possible to get 100% of what you want. And living somewhere too quiet isn’t everyone’s ideal. And of course you can’t choose who comes to live next to you. But if you don’t jump into that buying decision too soon you can check out things like traffic volumes and the existence of other things that might not suit you, like noise from businesses or houses around with animals that might be noisy.

And it is worth doing. We met a couple who had an expensive house built in a small village a few km back from the coast. While waiting for it to be completed they stayed in Kalamata, the nearest ‘city’. When they moved into their dream home they quickly found it didn’t suit them. It was too far from the level of social activity they’d decided they wanted and they didn’t like the noise of the cicadas (a constant in summer) or the amount of general wildlife in their idyllic little village. So shortly after moving in, they were looking to sell and move to the big city.

Both these disadvantages would have been easy to learn from a brief rental stay and could have saved a lot of time and money.

And just to show I’m not getting too uptight about all this, I’ve been getting back into using my camera as more than a point-and-shoot box. Here’s a picture of one of those fledgling magpies whose chatter is amusing rather than irritating.

Magpie in flight

Magpie in flight

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St Mary’s Day

Sunday, April 26th, 2009

St Mary is the patron saint of Koroni, and her feast day falls on 24th April, so hot on the heels of Easter we had another procession to witness this week.

There seems little point in saying we almost missed it, since this is becoming our standard experience. We knew something was happening as for once we’d actually seen posters advertising a service at one of the churches. We heard the local shops would be closed, but we didn’t find out there would be such a large celebration until the day before.

Our first questions were about timing: was this a morning or evening celebration? As our informant told us things would start with a church service around 8am, the look on her face said she knew we wouldn’t be around for that. But, she continued, the procession wouldn’t start until around 10am, a much more convenient time.

So off we set around 9.45, to the church above the beach. We were in good company: cars were parking way out of town so it was clear the crowds were gathering. The police were on duty, confusing things as they do throughout the world. If you want to create traffic chaos, get a traffic cop certainly works over here. One of the few car parks at our side of town had been given over to a market, which also spilled over into the side streets. Not surprisingly lots of things related to the Virgin Mary were on display, plus other general religious items just in case.

Waiting is something Greek people do very well

Waiting is something Greek people do very well

The church of St Mary is at the end of a long drive shaded by plane trees, and we joined the stream of people heading towards the sound of singing. There were lots of people carrying pieces of bread, the standard offering at any religious festival it seems. But when we reached the foreground of the church we found what is coming to be the usual situation: lots of people standing  waiting for the service to finish.

Ten o’clock came and went. The band were standing around, together with army and navy personnel in their finery, and people holding flags and pennants. People were chatting in groups. Women were shifting their weight from one stiletto heeled foot to another, children were fidgeting. It was a sunny day, but fortunately there was shade for those in heavy costumes and uniforms.

Ten thirty came and went. The singing went on and on. Sometimes it was one voice, sometimes two almost competing with one another. There was an ‘amen’, but then another, and another. It seemed like a contest to see how many different ways they could sing that single word. The singing stopped – we hoped – but it was only a pause for breath.

Ten forty five came and went. People were still arriving at the church (they were obviously better informed about timing than we were).

Then eventually, just at the point where we thought it would never end and we were pondering whether to go shopping and put it down as a non-event, the singing stopped, the bells began to ring and the procession was forming up. Last minute instructions were given to the group of teenagers who were at the front, the band struck up, and they were off.

Young and old join together in the celebrations

Young and old join together in the celebrations

The focal point of the procession was a bier similar to the epitaph carried at Easter, except this time the picture was of Mary. It was carried by several navy personnel, one of whom was waving an incense burner in front of the bier, flanked by priests and young people carrying pennants, and followed by the several hundred people who had waited so patiently.

After leaving the church the procession made its way up to the castle, and was then due to go around the town. We went back home to to get on with the rest of our day and met our informant.

‘Where were you?’ I asked.

‘I’ve seen it before,’ she said, ‘I wasn’t planning to go this year. Did you enjoy it?’.

‘It was interesting, but we spent a long time hanging around waiting for the service to finish.’ I replied.

‘Oh, I forgot about that,’ she said, ‘I should have told you to go later.’

Hmmm …

But maybe it goes some way to explaining why the Greeks are so laid back about the speed at which things happen. There are always lots of children and young people at these events. They grow up waiting around for things to happen. And we don’t mind this relaxed approach at all, we’d just like to understand things more clearly so we don’t turn up so early for things that we’re tempted to leave before it gets to the part we’re actually interested in.

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Easter in Greece

Monday, April 20th, 2009

I find it a bit strange that the Greeks put much more focus on Easter than Christmas. After all, if Jesus hadn’t been born he wouldn’t have been able to die for our sins. But however they explain it, Easter is definitely the most significant religious festival of the year.

We didn’t really experience much last year, but were determined to find out more this time round. As usual we were partially successful.

This being Greece it can be difficult to find out what’s happening: all the Greeks know, so services and other activities don’t really get advertised. Unfortunately I’d already committed a fauz-pas by hanging my washing out on the Friday morning. How was I to know that, as a day of mourning, it was the one day of the year when women don’t do any household chores? Can’t imagine the men making all the food though so I’d guess it’s just some household chores that get left.

We’d been told that on Friday evening there was to be a procession where the ‘Epitaph’ – a flower-decorated bier containing an effigy of Christ – would be carried through Koroni and we were keen to watch this. Informed that it would start at 8pm we headed off into town at 7.30 to be in good time. The first decision was which church to go to. There are at least 3 churches in the town, and we thought each was likely to be having its own service. In the end we decided to go to the main church in the square, on the basis that if everything was going to come together it would be more likely to happen in the centre of town.

A few people were waiting around, all armed with candles, and there was chanting coming from the church, but at 8.30 we were still waiting for something more to happen. The crowd was building and people had started to go into the church to light their candles, but still the chanting went on. Eventually the people with lit candles formed the majority and started moving towards the edge of the square. Then the bells started ringing and the Epitaph was carried from the church, accompanied by at least a couple of hundred adults, and children, from the elderly to toddlers.

At almost the same time the church up the hill was also starting its procession, and we learned that both were heading for the monastery in the grounds of the castle ruins. Koroni being comprised of so many alleyways we were able to get ahead of both processions and find a good position to see them approach the castle. Fire crackers were thrown by some of the men, possibly to ward off evil spirits, but equally effective in making you jump out of your skin and momentarily lose your hearing.

Candle-holding crowds accompany the Epitaph

Candle-holding crowds accompany the Epitaph

Each separate procession was followed by people singing and lit by the glow of hundreds of candles. They reached the castle within a couple of minutes of each other – impressive co-ordination – and went into the castle grounds.

We didn’t follow the procession to its final destination, but on Saturday decided to visit the monastery to see the Epitaphs. And there was our next mistake: inside the castle grounds there are several churches and chapels, both in the monastery and outside it. We looked in every one, but there were no Epitaphs to be found. Maybe they’d already been taken back to their respective churches, or maybe they’d been spirited away somewhere private. Looks like we’ll need to stay around to the end of the procession next year to find out more.

The Easter resurrection service is held on Saturday evening, and everyone again takes candles. At the end of the service, the lights in the church are extinguished and the candles are lit from a single flame, reputedly brought from Jerusalem. Midnight is marked with church bells and fireworks as the resurrection celebrations begin.

Sunday is a day for feasting, especially welcome after the privations of Lent. Our quiet apartment was suddenly in the middle of large family groups, all spit-roasting lamb and competing with one another to play the loudest music and make the most noise. By mid afternoon things had returned to normal, probably as a result of everyone disappearing indoors to recover from the excess of the feast.

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