After prayer and loud, Gregorian-style chanting that pure down from the Apocalypsi – the amphitheater over the Cave of the Apocalypse – fireworks began around 10:30pm and went on if fits and bursts for an hour and a half. Different establishments and groups set off their own – it wasn't one organized Disneyland/Fourth-of-July style spectacular – it more resembled the way Balinese set off their own fireworks all night for New Year's. People milled around Skala into the late night.
Alas, my favorite gyro and grill restaurant run by the family of Ailyn's Summer 2019 "fling" (a boy her age who made faces at her and with whom she reciprocated – not knowing for two weeks that he's fluent in English because his grandmother is British and his mom is perfectly bilingual with a British accent) did not feature gyros at all last night but instead had a giant spit of roasted lamb and another of a specially seasoned pork waiting to feed the expected midnight crowd.
"This is our celebration! Welcome to our celebration!" the owner of the Agriolivadi Beach Restaurant told me today as I sat down here. Indeed, Orthodox Easter which on its face seems so serious also has an air of true festivity. While priests in traditional black garb run around town greeting the faithful, and many families are dressed formally- mostly in black suits and dresses – there are plenty of casual beachgoers, bicyclists, shoppers and cafe goers. Easter services at one of the holiest spots on Greece followed by fireworks and late night lamb-eating and drinking? People in their Easter Sunday finest enjoying a meal at the beach with beach bags of toys and towels waiting to be used afterwards? The mixture of bikinis and black dresses in one outdoor restaurant with its best outdoor grill going? This certainly isn't the Vatican. It's not even the parking lot of Valley Beth Shalom. These are people happy to listen to Whitney Houston and Cyndi Lauper blasting on the stereo while they eat their Easter lunch. This is the synthesis of serious Holy and sensual, of piety and celebration, of celebrating God right here on Earth – or at least making the best possible use of your vacation days. I'm not quite sure.
So many of the foreigners I observe are with Greek families – friends and guests. Even those are are on their own seem to have relationships with restaurant and shop owners, excited to see the proprietors sometimes exchanging hugs and catching up on the year. Clearly, Spring is the season for regulars. These are not Summer beachgoers – although there are plenty of foreign families who make Patmos an annual destination and are well known to the locals – these are people here to appreciate Patmos' beauty and traditions even when the long, lazy days of swimming, sunbathing and outdoor dining haven't yet arrived.
Perhaps deciding to write and lunch at Agriolivadi skews my view. Agrio – as it is often referred to – is not only one of the most gorgeous beach coves on Patmos, but one of the largest and best "organized" – meaning it has lounge chairs and umbrellas lined up for daily rental use as well as a cafe and taverna. In 2019, Agrio was perhaps our most commonly visited beach because it has sand which the kids like, but it's organized which I like. The older I get, the more I hate a disorganized beach. Or, put another way, why wouldn't I want my beach to be organized?
The taverna at Agrio has a great menu and nice people – and was a pleasant place for Emily and I to work. Nice restrooms and beachside ordering from the cafe made life easier for Matheus who spent long days watching the kids play and trying to get Ailyn to stop for her afternoon nap on a lounge chair. Summer in Patmos was not the most challenging time in Matheus' 1.5 years with us. If every venue has a vibe, Agrio certainly is more "work on your tan" than the more elegant crowd dining overlooking a placid and virtually unattended Petra Bay at Flisvos yesterday.
I have long wondered what it might be like to be Greek. Typically, I wonder that about cultures more different that ours – like Chinese or Indian – where the cultural base and worldview are substantially different. Yet of all the Western cultures, I find Greek to be the most curious. At face value, Greeks are one of the most relatable, at least for me. They are warm, friendly, family-loving, incredibly kind to children, hospitable, celebratory, life-loving, casual, welcoming and present. Yet the order of their world is almost contradictory at times (which I suppose someone could easily say of American culture). Healthy but indulgent, traditional but progressive, religious but lax, entrepreneurial but lazy, quality-of-life oriented but stressed. Greek men have a very masculine, machismo vibe when young, but are typically sweet and family oriented in reality. Young people have few mores and are sexually open while their elders are very traditional and stodgy-looking. Here on Patmos, they mostly scoff at COVID and their government's handling of it – but apparently, the entire island turned up to get their Pfizer vaccines. There is no seeming contradiction in celebrating Easter in a bikini.
Last night I ran into Giannis (said Yanis), Nichola's oldest son who has a jewelry shop in Skala and whose younger sister named a goat after him. He was standing out front hoping to entice visitors – especially the cruise passengers – into his shop. He caught me up on his father's heart attack two years ago, how Omicron passed through his family and practically the entire island despite being triple vaccinated and how as busy as town looks right now, this isn't the tourist season they need.
"There are maybe 1,000 to 2,000 visitors on the island. To make ALL of this work right, we need 15,000."
"What about in summer? Surely you get more than 2,000 in summer?"
"Oh, yes, well in summer we get 18,000 to maybe 20,000 in August. That is good!"
Giannis is not the first Patmian I've heard who knows his numbers cold. Clearly there is some equivalent to a Chamber of Commerce to which local business owners belong. While they appear relaxed and serendipitous, they know things like current census on the island and what the trend for bookings is expected to be. The island is their home and their business – which they take far more seriously than one might guess.
I told Giannis that a taxi driver in Athens told me the Greek government is reporting very high bookings for summer and that everyone should expect a tourism reboot ahead.
"Well….that is what they say. But we will see how it turns out. You can't pay too much attention to those things – the Government says things…. but it's not always right…"
Apparently local data doesn't corroborate the government's story.
Giannis, like most Greek men under 50 sports perpetual George Michael-style stubble. Whether George Michael – who was of Greek ethnicity – inspired the stubble or the other way around is a matter of great debate among many self-proclaimed experts in and around Athens. While no definite conclusion has been reached, much ouzo has been spent trying to drill down to the truth.
The stubble – or short-beard, sunglasses, dark hair and edgy masculine appearance belies Giannis' – and most Greek men I've met – almost pussycat-like inner-selves. Greeks are very family oriented and a man of any age will usually break character and melt for a small child. They tend to be very respectful to their mothers and sisters and turn into devoted fathers. Ailyn's "boyfriend" now spends much of his free-time with his father, doing whatever he does including riding around on the back of his motorcycle as they transport things like groceries, tools, boxes and even ladders. But in a group of other men, younger Greek men run "bro-ish".
Studies show that roughly 90% of Greeks identify as Greek Orthodox, only 17% attend church regularly and 30% pray with any regularity. I've noticed throughout the Easter week that this George-Michael-Stubble crowd usually defies wearing anything formal, but will concede to tradition with at least a sweater, short or pants in the traditional holiday black. I'm not sure if it's a statement about piety, individualism or resisting aging. Maybe it's a combination.
More than anything else in my travels, I find it fascinating how people age. Our path through life and its many stages is physiologically universal and yet culturally manifests itself in so many ways. The way we approach aging say so much about a society – about our values and worldviews. Of all the approaches I've seen, the French have the best attitude and most gracious approach to aging – having a standard of beauty at every age. An elderly woman can be as beautiful as a young one because there is a kind of beauty for her. An elderly man can adopt a handsome dignity.
Greeks, however fascinate and confuse me. There is a marked divide in the way older people dress and comport themselves that feels more abrupt and disjointed than any other culture I've encountered.
To quote myself and save some time:
The year Emily and I traveled, I was able to observe the way people aged across a variety of locations and societies from often timeless Thais to oxidized Nepalis. But Greece has always been the society in which I find aging the most confusing because of what I consider the Attire Line. Until a certain age, Greek people dress youthfully – wearing t-shirts, shorts, jeans, attractive pants, beautiful dresses, sharp button-downs. They have a fair amount of flair and style, especially on vacation where women have cover-ups whose prices and styles drop Emily's jaw. But somewhere in their 60's, many Greeks seem to trade-in their attractive attire for "old people garb" – stiff slacks and plaid button-downs for men; blocky (sometimes black) dresses and clod-hopper shoes for women. They become picture postcards of an older Greece – dressed no differently than they might have 100 years ago. For women, makeup, perfume, hairstyles go away. Plain and simple is the order of the day. And I can't imagine they aren't all boiling in the summer sun under all that clothing.
But why? Will one day Giannis receive a letter in the mail telling him he can no longer keep his George-Michael-stubble and has 30 days to comply or he'll receive a citation? Is it just that white or gray are intolerable in a short beard, but are fine for a long one? Why is it not common for a man – or a woman - to stay as youthful and vibrant as he or she can at whatever age? Why is there a retirement age for how one looks?
That's not to say the American approach of cosmetic "interventions" ranging from injections to surgery are good. I'm not a fan of the fountain of youth approach. But why not be the best of whatever we are, like the French?
I never know what to make of the Greek approach to getting older – because it might be extremely liberated. Maybe there's an age after which you don't have to care anymore? Maybe it's a phenomenon where people get back to their roots – they see the values and traditions in which they were raised as providing more meaning and guidance in the later chapters of their lives? Maybe that's when they stop wearing the black sweater and put on the full suit – because they have come to see the true wisdom and value?
In a discussion of aging, I always bring up my Great Aunt Rose, who looked amazing until the end at age 92 – nails done, hair perfect, face never betraying her true age. For Aunt Rose, her outer appearance was tied to her inner radiance. Aunt Rose loved life and the people in her life. She was a light to those around her and it was hard not to find her fun and enlivening. In her late 80's, Aunt Rose had a heart attack. She told me, "It took me time to recover and thank God I'm okay. The good part was that I lost some weight and now I'm a size 12 again! I bought a whole new wardrobe! But you know, Eric, I never knew how it felt. I have so many friends and neighbors with their own health problems. So once I felt better, I started making them meals and dropping them. And now Hank and I go out dancing twice a week. You have to live!"
Aunt Rose thrived because, as she said, she didn't hold in the anger that plagued her siblings – who all died at young ages. In my last conversation with her, I asked Aunt Rose her secret. She told me it was forgiveness. She said it feels good to forgive. "I forgive you all!" she said with laughter and her trademark Bronx accent.
Why don't sun and life-loving Greeks live more like Aunt Rose? They seem like the perfect candidates. Why when the clock strikes 65 do they only let the grandchildren play on the beach, they must stay back at the table? Why must the now George-Michael-stubble-less men watch the fireworks, but not go for a swim? If Easter is, as the Agriolivadi restaurateur said, their celebration – then why not everyone celebrate? Why the reserve they didn't have before?
Or could it be that for Greeks, getting older doesn't release you of responsibilities, but in some ways increases them? Do you become the guardians of religion and tradition? Could you in your younger years be flippant, or just more celebratory because your grandparents and great-grandparents provided you the framework of a Greek Orthodox life? Maybe the elderly are the cultural and religious anchors who balance the equation and keep the ship aright? Maybe everyone eventually takes their turn being the guardians of Greekness?
I like that theory – though I may never know if it's right. And I don't know if it will ever be right for me. I try to preserve and honor tradition throughout my life. I hope that age doesn't bring more weight or restriction (at least socially and financially) to life, but that I'll remember to follow Aunt Rose's example and bring my best self out all along the way. Whether or not I'll ever age as gracefully as her, I can't say. However, if I can till be me to the end – still bring my best and give more to those around me than I take, I'll be happy.
