Ioannina: Psychic Babe parts 1 and 2

After Dodoni, we had a relaxing day byi the lake, where we studied a book about a Pontic refugee “Not Even my Name” written by Thea Halo in English and translated intoi Greek. It is really slow going, but a good exercise for us. We should be finished with it in about 2 years. The lake is filthy, by the way, and one grandfather helped his grandson pee into it as we watched. So the tradition continues…

We also watched tv some. Greek tv is really horrible, even worse than US tv. Most of it is soap operas, “diakopes [vacation] channels” as we call them, and re-runs of awful American movies you never heard of or saw. Still, it’s one way to pick up phrases. We also were interested in seeing the news, and how it’s portrayed here. For example, with the current war in Lebanon, there was no flinching on pictures of the casualties, as there is in the US. It’s basically shown as a pre-planned war against the Palestiinian and Lebanese people. There are aid programs up for Palestiniian children, and the US is thought by most people to be behind the whole thing as well. I think Americans need to travel outside the US more to see just how hated our country is in so many places around the world (the tv has stations from different countries besides Greece).

Since we had a car, we decided the next day to take an excursion on the 14th and visit the Pogoni area near Albania, then to Konitsa, and finish off with a paniyiri somewhere. We have a friend in Seattle, “Cindy” who comes from a village there; she and her husband are wonderful dancers and have been friendly to us. We drove up there to her village, Pogoyiani, and sat down at a cafe in the platia. The only information about her we had(we didn’t even have her real name) was that her brother (whose name we also didn’t know) had gotten married there July 29th. Sandra decided we should ask the trio of cops sitting at the table next to us; “they’ll know everybody.” So, she started it off, and it turns out that only did they know her brother, but he’s a cop too! (border patrol) So, they called him up and he showed up after we had some tsipouro and talked about how about Bush is. He was pleasantly surprised to meet us, and introduced us to his wife. We spent the next several hours with them, back at their house with their extended family, having lunch and looking over pictures. Cindy’s daughter had gotten married last year, and her mother and sister-in-law had come to the wedding in Seattle. We were now at their house, pointing out our faces in their pictures of the wedding. It was all a lot of fun.

Psychic babe event number two occurred in Konitsa. This town flows up the mountain-side in a lovely area, looking west at the mountains on the Albanian border. We were there mostly because Sandra, in reading our guide book several weeks ago, had said, “Konitsa is calling me.” As we walked around, we talked about where we should go that evening for music; we had a few towns in mind, but nothing was particularly compelling. As we walked down one street, we passed someone, and Sandra exclaimed, “That’s Dimitri from Vancouver!” And sure enough it was. Dimitri is very knowledgable about the dance and music of the area, his family comes from here, and we’d seen him and talked with him several times at events in the northwest. I had even tried to get a hold of him before we left for ideas of where to go to hear music. And now, here he was! We had no idea he was even coming to Greece. He was on his way out of town, to a panayiri that night, so the odds of us meeting at all, when you think about it, were pretty remarkable. (For the record, this kind of thing has happened to Sandra many times in the past.)

We met up with him, and his friend Apostolos, a former dancer with Dora Strtou and now a dance teacher and researcher, plus Apostolos’ wife in Pirsoyianni. The village is lovely, with increbile stonework. Apparently, this viillage was the home of all the master masons who used to do stonework throughout Greece. Now, the Greeks hire Albanians, and the former masters sit around and have coffee in cafes (at least, according to our landlord). The music was superb, all acoustic (not just the instruments, but also no mikes), with 2 clarinets, guitar, violin, defi (tambourine) and accordion. Four of the players also sang. Hundreds of people, many expatriates from Australia or the US, sat at tables in the platia close by. It was quite the event, and we left after 5 hours only because we had a long drive home, and we had learned we could see them tomorrow.

We drove all the way up there again the next day, this time up a precarious dirt mountain road that finally compelled me to stop and park and walk the rest of the way (Sandra is not fond, shall we say, of heights, and the exposed nature of this very narrow road was just too much. That she made it as far as she did was quite a feat.) The setting was a forest glade, in which was situated a chapel. Pareas (groups of friends) sat all around, and the band went to each, playing and getting paid, in what was really a continuation of the previous night’s festivities. We decided most of the players were Roma, carrying on this Greek Ipirot tradition. There was complete interaction between the band and the dancers, with most everyone singing, drinking wine, etc. Again, we spent about 5 hours there, and left as things were winding down. That we were able to see any of this was a rare gift, and I spent much time thanking Sandra (after we had both thanked Dimitri) for her unique connection to the universe…

We stopped back in the village for a coffee before the ride back. There we saw the Greek anti-father of the year: young man about 24, smoking next to his wife, also smoking, and on his lap his 18-month old daughter. He takes the cigarette and puts it in his daughter’s hand, mimics smoking, puts the cigarette to her lips, then puffs it himself and blows the smoke in her face. He then takes his beer bottle and puts it to her lips, trying to get her to taste it. I’m sure this kind of behavior is not unique to this guy, or to this Greek guy, and lord knows similar and far worse things happen to kids in the US and other places. But it’s hard not to see this as some kind of microcosm of the state of the culture here regarding smoking and kids, as unfair as such a judgment might be. [edited]