Remember, when in Rome… or when in Greece, eat olive oil, drink it, smother it on your skin, it’s liquid gold.
My first clue should have been that there was no picture of a cow on the foil wrapper around what I thought was butter. I was so excited to cook my eggs in butter instead of olive oil. Don’t get the wrong idea, I love Greek olive oil, it’s nectar of the gods, but there’s just something about butter on toast with eggs.
I walked up the stone steps from the village market. Eggs, tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, (I’d be making Greek salad for lunch), butter (or so I thought), goat yogurt, creme, fresh cherries, peaches, oranges, and oregano flavored potato chips because they’re better in Greece for some reason. I walk the long way home, around the white-washed walls and orange dome roof of one of the five chapels in Ano Viannos. This one the door is locked. I walk this, passed the pomegranate tree which is overflowing with fruits and the not-yet-ripe fig tree because the shorter, yet steeper way, sets off the cascade of barking dogs. The real yippy-yappy kind which tend to set my nerves on edge. There’s a chance I’ll set the dogs off barking anyway, but if I walk slow enough and don’t scuff my feet too much and don’t breathe too hard hopefully they’ll stay quite.
Sweat drips from under my arms, as I creep past the corner where the barking dogs live. I round the corner, climbing the last few steps to the top and my foot hits a stones. I freeze. BARK! BARK! BARK! comes from inside the house. The stone echos the sounds and startles me sideways. Shit. I didn’t make it this time. “Yasas!” I yell to the dogs as loudly and kindly as possible—who are a few furry creatures to take away my peace of mind?
Finally inside the cool stone Red House I open the wrapper of butter preparing the cook some friend eggs and slather it on my toast. Who needs bread when you’ve got butter? I turn on the stove, set the frying pan down and add a generous helping of butter. I take a little piece to taste this precious cream. Hmm… that’s funny, it tastes a little perfumy, maybe it’s sheep butter, or goat butter? I look at the package—gold with blue flowers, all writing is in Greek. I press the knife ever so gently into the soft, cream-colored surface, I lift another small piece to my lips, stick out my tongue and place the creamy substance on my tongue. Nope, still not butter. I look at the package again to see if I can decipher any of the words in Greek. I try a third time, doubting that my taste buts have any function at all. The taste is distinctly not butter. Dear god, I think, did I just buy vegan butter? A quick internet search confirmed my worst fears, it is “plant-based” and the website has no ingredient list to speak of. I don’t have anything against vegan butter per-se I just don’t want to eat it. Period.
Disappointment creeps in and a little bruising to my ego. I’m so silly. Oh well, I can feed it to the stray cats of the neighborhood, I think as I happily slice two big chucks and walk outside to feed the cats, redemption at last. The cats meow loudly as I come outside, hands sticky with fate butter. I walk up the steps a little ways and place the yellow patties on a smooth stone for the cats. I hurry away because they’re a little aggressive when it comes to their food. As I reach the door and turn to see if the cats are enjoying their treat, I notice they too won’t touch the stuff. The Oreo kitty is looking dejected and the orange sherbet kitty looked pissed. I burst out laughing. Even the cats won’t eat the butter I exclaim as I got back inside to finish cooking eggs in the best olive oil I’ve ever tasted and find the kitties a compensatory snack.
Lesson learned! I went back the next day and picked more carefully. This time, I took the package with the cow on the label. Clearly, this is butter. And a taste test confirmed. Butter at last. The kitties got a bowl of real cream and needless to say, I really did live and learn. What’s the fun in never making mistakes anyway?
~
Finally dropping in. It took me almost three full weeks to find a slower rhythm. Sigá, sigá (σιγά-σιγά) in Greek means “slowly, slowly.” I love this saying because it’s even said slowly with a slightly up-turned chin and relaxed eyes. Slowly is a practice for me. Not rushing around trying to fill the spaciousness that time away from ordinary life provides. Slowly is good for my nerves.
Jesse picked me up in our rental car where I waited for him in the village square. I bought two spanakopita slices, filled with spinach, native wild green and feta. I bought a bag of oregano flavored potato chips, fresh cherries and apricots, my favorite. We were on our way to the beach.
I’m learning to trust Jesse’s driving, completely, on tiny, windy roads. (Look, you may have no problem sitting back, relaxing, and letting another person take the wheel. But I am a recovering control freak, read narcissistic and co-dependent, and I absolutely habitually-even-when-not-asked double check the side mirror when I’m riding shotgun and someone else is backing up, and I absolutely check over my shoulder when the driver is changing lanes. This is not a good habit for me and I want to be completely honest and say, as a driver, I know and don’t appreciate much when my passenger is slightly untrusting of my driving. Learning to trust my driver, ahem Jesse, completely is a big, brand new step on the path of letting go for me.)
So, we drove down, down, down to the sea. We wound our way through the tiny villages and past olives trees as far as the eyes could see. In Kato Viannos the streets are so narrow there’s barely room for one car to squeak past the old stones buildings and other parked cars. We drove through Pervola, the name always making me laugh. We passed Chandros with the first view of the blue sea and on down to Keratokampos. We followed the directions we’d been given the day before by a man we met outside café Oneiro who’s father was raised in Ano Viannos. “Turned left passed the church with white walls and orange half-domes on the roof and keep going,” he told us, “until you see a line of trees along the beach. Park anywhere.” We found our spot. It was a Wednesday and there were many shade trees to choose from. We lay down our towels and made our next for the afternoon.
The sea was crystalline aqua blue and the reflection of the sun rays coming through the water made light patterns on the golden sand under the water. The beach where we were had a mix of fine sand and small, smooth pebbles the size of my finger nails. Hot. The air was hot and the sand scorched our feet on the way to the water as the sun rose higher in the sky. I took my first dip
I took a long drink from one of the plastic liter water bottles we stuck in the freezer over night and lay on my stomach in the shade reading Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko (I highly recommend this book). All afternoon we bathed in the sea. The Greeks call swimming in the sea a bath. We floated on our backs in the salty water in awe of the shades of blue and green. The sea was soft and gentle that say with tiny ripples on the surface. As I lay suspended on my back in the water, I could hear the whoosh of the sand moving underneath me. I was connecting with the pulse of the Moon. I laughed out loud because that is my sound of reverence. I felt held in the rhythm of Great Nature. Humbled as I sensed into thousands of years of human beings marking time, the great calibrator. If only the stones could talk. Or the threes, or the sand. Would I be patient enough to listen to the stories they have to tell me about life and death and rebirth? About people being people everywhere, about prayer and consequence and refuge?
~
More to come.
Come learn yoga with me in person. Check out my local yoga classes in Prescott, Arizona here.
Ever wanted to sit with your yoga teacher and ask them all the questions? Now’s your chance. Join Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtra Study Group. Find out more information here.
The Tender Hearted Warrior Yoga Immersion is happening in Prescott, AZ September 7, 8, 9, and 10, Thursday through Sunday 7:00AM-12:00PM. Find out more information here.
Check out Yogi’s Roadmap Podcast. These are conversations from the heart that I have with my yoga teacher and mentor, Bhavani Maki.