Greek Festival

The first of the month marks an important day and festival for parts of Greece. Our island has it's biggest winter celebration on the first. We had heard about the festival for some time and knew we had to attend. The only problem was the festival took place at an abandoned monastery a couple kilometers over rocky roads and steep hills. Biking was out if the question. Emma's stick shift driving abilities have not improved drastically since France, where she felt comfortable driving on paved highways, but steep rocky roads intimidated her.
An hour before the "start" of the festival we took off walking, we had heard that was what the ladies of the village did, they even did it bare foot. The wind whipped strongly off the water and up the cliff sides and as we stated to meander uphill. Emma be came our permeant flagger and we quickly got a ride. She ran up to the car pointed to the back, pointed at us, smiled and pointed again in the direction of the festival. "nai" Greek for yes ad so close to no only confused Emma for a second until she beckoned for us to join her. We crammed into the small back seat and were off.
Out of nowhere the monastery appeared and my nerves jittered. I suddenly realized we knew no Greek and didn't really know that many people on the island, nor what the festival was about. All the people we knew and had talked to weren't coming until much later. We wanted to head out early to catch the religious ceremonies. Upon arrival I instantly felt out of place, like showing up at a huge family reunion in which a) we weren't related and b) we weren't invited. We decided to do what others we doing and sat down at seats outside. We talked nervously between ourselves. We watched as people arrived greeting each other like the old friends they were. Children ran in crowds laughing and talking excitedly. We sent Emma out on a scouting mission. She came back letting us know that there was a small room with way to many people inside some dressed in religious garb some not. We decided to stay put. At one point everyone stood as the religious man came walking about waving his thurible (that incense thing, yes we had to google it). We fallowed suit, standing that is.
The men at the table next to us offered some seeds, we think pumpkin or sunflower, we indulged on our pile and were given more. We sipped some of the traditional alcohol and continued eating the seeds. We weren't sure what was happening at the festival but it felt good to make a connection. The guy struck up conversation in English and talked to us about bicycling. He told us how bicycling had changed his life.
We started noticing how everyone was eating bread. We felt left out, were we supposed bring bread. As quick as we had thought it our new cycling friend had returned with some bread, explaining how it was blessed by the priest, or made by the priest we aren't sure. We sat there nibbling on our bread. Our new friend had told us to wait, as there was a lot of meat coming. He was going to try and bring us some. We sat there, Em and I anticipating the arrival of meat. We hadn't sat there long before a nice lady turned around and in an Australian accent told us we should go inside there was food and dancing.
We wandered inside, it was the only building Emma hadn't entered on her scouting mission. The scene was unreal. I reached the doorway and was overwhelmed with the amount of people sitting at tables and the smokiness of the air. We entered completely lost, and again feeling slightly out of place. Our cyclist friend motioned us over to his table. We barely fit squeezing in. The tables and chairs were so close. Pretty soon food on platters started arriving. Stuffed lamb was first, plates of scrumptious lamb and rice with raisins and spice melted in our mouths. We digested and ate delectable feta that crumbled into perfection. The feta was summoned for Gen, but we all enjoyed. Next was dolmas stuffed with rice and meat, there was also stuffed cabbage leaves that Em and I decided were our favorites. A soft ricotta as served for desert.
We tried discussing what the festival was about, however with our non-existent Greek and our new friends poor English all we discovered was that it was religious. Hmm. After most of the food had been severed shouting began and a religious painting was being held up, tickets were being sold. By this time I was accustom to the smoke filled room and the sound of hundreds of banging rosary beads, I was fully enjoying the boisterous crowd. Music started up and dancing began. A fiddle and a Greek guitar blasted traditional Greek music. Three people took the dance floor. Bending and shifting around. Our cyclist friend leaned over to me and asked of I could tell if this was special, I could. He responded that it was a father daughter dancing. We later learned that the small dance floor space was auctioned off and families got to dance at their allotted times.
Because our tummies were full and we were full of the festival we decided to leave, walking back. The night sky was filled with brilliant stars, the lack of light illuminating their presence, the cold wind froze our exposed checks. As we walked back we all imagined walking barefoot. We decided that walking the rocky road barefoot was true dedication.

Outside view of Greek festival