Fashion, Folk Dancing, Friends

On Saturday, I drove to Girne/Kyrenia to join Gul and her mother at a fashion show for charity. What a treat! Held at the Dome, one of the beautiful seaside hotels, the show was sponsored by the Girne InnerWheel Kulubu, similar to the Assistance League or Junior League in the States. Featured were treasures from family wardrobes, women's clothing heirlooms from weddings, boudoir, and special occasions. Most of the clothing was worn by the granddaughters of the original owners--or perhaps the great-great granddaughters, as the first embroidered dress was from 1895. After the show, a group in costumes performed traditional Turkish Cypriot folk dances. Highlights were the water glass maneuvers. I was impressed when the young men did acrobatics with one glass of water on their heads. When the numbers kept mounting and one fearless guy waltzed around with five cups teetering, we were all amazed.

The air was clear in Kyrenia on Saturday. I stood, marveling at the sites, standing on the vast patio of the hotel, with the swimming pool glimmering in the bright sunshine. Across the sea we could see the stretched out shadow of Turkey, 40 miles away, tucked under the clouds. On one side of the hotel, the Saturday afternoon crowds gathered at restaurants and coffee shops or paraded down the narrow street in their automobiles, a ritual drive-by everywhere, it seems. However, next to the hotel on prime beach front property was the "military land" where the Turkish army is headquartered. Again, it was an ever-present reminder that fantasy and reality live side-by-side in Cyprus.

From Green Monday to Poke Salet Greens

Green Monday for Greek Cypriots is a happy day, one where families “go into the fields” (parks, mountains, back yards, beaches) to picnic. I was invited by my landlord to share the day with her family at their vacation home. It was a pleasurable event. A feast of fruits and vegetables, in Cyprus, is not a limited affair—our table in Protaras, by the sea, was bountiful, and the supply of food seemed never-ending. No meats or dairy products were served, as Green Monday begins the fifty-day fasting season for Greek Orthodox Easter. It was explained to me that the day is called “Green Monday” because of the vegetables (greens) we would eat and the idea of being out in the “greens fields” to do so. But, the original Greek term is also translated as “Clean Monday.”

Green/Clean Monday, in a religious sense, is a day to purify one’s mind, body, and spirit. In today’s terms, it would be “to rid one’s self of toxins” that destroy good health—physical, mental, emotional—and yes, spiritual as well. When you feel good, everything about the world is a little better, a little brighter, a little more connected to the spirit.

As I thought about the rites of spring, about new growth, new opportunity,--sort of a “do over” every year--I had a flashback to a conversation I had last summer with one of the best cooks I know, my cousin Pam.

And, here (you were waiting?) is the connection between Cyprus Greens and Poke Salet, Sallit, Salad Greens.

In spring, in my ancestral home of western Kentucky, the new fresh shoots of poke (or polk) weed are a useful delicacy. Pam, who has lived there all her life, recalls her childhood saying, “Mother used to always cook up a mess of poke greens for us; it was a spring ritual; it cleaned out the body, so to speak.” Even today, my cousin adheres to the tradition, noting the poke grows wild in the woods. “You find polk around where land has been cleared the year before, especially around dozer piles of brush. It is good eating. I always wash mine several times, blanche it, pour off that water, then add more plus salt, a little sugar and good ole bacon grease. That's the southern way to cook them.” (Of course, I have to add, any vegetable is a little bit better with bacon grease and sugar. . .but that wouldn’t work for Cypriot Green Monday!)

Perhaps upon reflection, the religious connection here is missing between the traditions of Kentucky and Cyprus, but there certainly is a comparison to be made about eating what nature provides and living a good life.

Of course, I couldn’t leave the concept alone, so I headed to the internet and read recipes for cooking poke greens--and the warnings. It seems that poke weed and polk greens (one in the same) can be seriously toxic—especially the roots and the older plants that have gone to seed—and suddenly I was thinking of the film, Into the Wild. However, on the positive side, internet sites also refer to the healing powers of polk. Native Americans used poke weed to make a salve to treat boils and other skin problems, and to ease the pain of rheumatism. Today, bloggers comment that it’s a natural way to cleanse the body—best in spring when the plants are fresh and new. Many sites offer recipes, much like that of my cousin. And, for those who have trouble wandering in the wilderness looking for non-toxic plants, one website takes orders for poke greens, canned as "Poke Salet": http://www.wildpantry.com/wildgreens.htm
Bon appetite!

Lemesos, Traditional Street Singing, Family Moments

My friends and I went to Lemesos/Limessol on Saturday--about 75 minutes away--to hear the Street Singers perform last night for the last days of Carnivale. Groups of men (sometimes with women) troubadors (about 15-20 per group) in costume and with instruments, stroll down a parade route in Old Towne, singing traditional Cypriot folk songs. Families line the sides of the street, throw confetti, and cheer as the groups walk by. Sometimes, they fold in behind their favorite group as all move toward the public square. Kids (and some adults) are dressed in (Halloween) costumes. The Old Towne is decorated, even the municipal buildings join in the festivities! It was a very pleasant, fun evening. The weather was wonderful--70 ish. We ate dinner outside, drank Cypriot wine, laughed. It was a lovely day and evening.

Tomorrow is Green Monday and everyone following Greek Cypriot traditions "goes into the fields" for picnics of fruits and vegetables, juices, water, and wine (no meat or dairy products) in preparation for the Greek Orthodox Lenten season. My landlords have invited me to their beach house in Protaras. It is supposed to be beautiful there. We will have our "fields" meal at the edge of the Mediterranean Sea. How cool is that?

Ruins, Crannies, and Flying Nuts

On a return trip to Famagusta this week, I photographed churches, ruins, walls, and castles from many angles. It is spring here, and the flowers have taken root everywhere, even in the nooks and crannies of ancient history. Tennyson was with me with this image.

Flower, in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies.
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand.
Little flower—but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.



On another note, I am constantly aware of contradictions, the old and the new, the expected and the unexpected. Next to one of the ancient church structures is a new sign: "de Molay Café and Bar." The picture I captured of the sign on the church actually contains more contrast than you may be able to see. At the bottom are new concrete construction blocks and a large yellow dumpster. The narrow lane in front was being resurfaced with blacktop. In the distance, on the back balcony of a second story apartment, an older woman was hanging out clothes to dry in the sun, under the shadow of the satellite dish.


Last evening, I was a guest at one of the best fish restaurants in Nicosia. We had the seafood meze, a table full of food that never stopped. It was exquisite: squid, calamari, fresh anchovies, mussels, sardines, baby octopi, sea bass (of sorts) and other dishes I couldn’t identify. Of course, it was all accompanied by yogurt and cucumbers, humus, fried potatoes, salad, bread, and more. We ate for two and a half hours and talked for two hours more. My dining partner, a faculty member at the University of Cyprus, is a native of Greece who spent much of her childhood in the U.S. She is now back at UCY as a professor of literature. What I didn’t know about her is that her sense of humor matches mine. What happened at dessert was one of the most hilarious moments I’ve had in life. I call it, “Karidaki, the Flying Walnut.”

Glyko Karidaki is a special dessert, a “boiled sweet,” they say. Immature walnuts, complete with their outer shell are picked early and processed in a mixture, unknown to me, cooked, and served in a tasty syrup on a little dish. When the glyko karidaki arrived at the table, it looked like an enormous black olive in a spoonful of dark oil.

Still, my colleague anticipated its delightful taste and couldn’t wait to share it with me. Taking a fork and knife, she prepared to cut it open. The nut, however, (you know what's coming) refused to crack. In fact, the knife couldn’t penetrate the shell. Evy was puzzled. “It’s supposed to be softer,” she said and returned to its dissection. I watched the dish sliding a bit, to and fro, and the karidaki resisting all efforts. I sat mutely, thinking, “I hope that thing doesn’t slide off its plate and soil the white linen cloth.”

Not to worry. It didn’t do that. Instead, it launched itself into the air, with a dark stream of syrup trailing in its path. It ricocheted off Evy’s shoulder, pirouetted across the walk space, bounced under the table behind us, and came to rest at the feet of the four men, who never knew a thing. Evy looked at me. I looked at Evy. She arched an eyebrow. And, I lost it! I have never been so convulsed in a public place before. I simply could not stop the giggles. Then, afraid I had insulted my host, I looked at her through watery eyes and chortles. She was there, head turned, smothering her laughter behind her napkin. We couldn’t stop. She kept turning to look at karidaki (he had become a friend now, hiding under the table). The men thought we were rude, probably. And, then, the fits would begin again. I had to excuse myself, stumble red-faced into the W.C., hoping I’d chosen the right one in my haze of hysteria. I recovered, wiped the mascara off my face, returned to the table, only to start again.

I'm still chuckling as I write this. It was an historical moment. I will forever remember Cyprus, where even the walnuts bring joy.

Fear

It's a different mood today--reflective, vulnerable, fearful. My house in California was broken into while I am here, safe, in Cyprus. What feelings of helplessness that news brings. I can do nothing. And, yet my land, my possession, my other life has been maliciously intruded upon--changed forever. And, it can happen again and again. Random acts of violence, perpetrators with no sense of humanity, no shame.

In the larger scheme of things, this is only one small incident for the records of the Long Beach police; nothing of worth was taken. On a world scale, it is nothing, compared to loss of lives in war, displacement by earthquakes or tsunamis, years of political turmoil and indecision.

Yesterday, before this news, I had written a piece on Cyprus, trying to sort out the conflicting views I have heard from Cypriots on both sides of the Green Zone and from the histories I've read about the "Cyprus Problem." The issues here are complex, deeply rooted. I hesitate to share that essay publicly, as I do not want to offend any of my newly found friends, in case my interpretations seem erroneous, misguided, misstated, or biased, one way or the other. I am only one person, listening, reading, interpreting. It is impossible for me to know the "truth" about Cyprus. But, as a human being, I am constantly asking, "Why can the problem not be solved? What does it mean for the future?" There are no easy answers.

Today, after my news from home, I am angry. But I am also vulnerable, anxious, and fearful about the future. What can be done to guarantee that the past criminal actions won't happen again?

I have only lived with this feeling for a few hours.

Cypriots have lived with it for lifetimes.