Ode to a Grecian Grandmother

Standing in the sultry gym of my middle school with one hundred other eighth graders and their families, I listened anxiously as one of my classmates played the "Star-Spangled Banner" on her flute, opening the graduation ceremony. About halfway through the song, I suddenly realized I could hear a single voice singing along to the music, just audible enough. The awkward, 13-year-old, diffident me froze in horror. My terrified ears widened my eyes. No. No... noooo. Turning to my neighbor - fortunately also a friend - I couldn't contain my panicked recognition. "That's my Yia Yia," I mouthed. 

A few months earlier, I had gone with her and my father to their church when my uncle, a priest, was visiting from New York with his youth group. Standing next to Yia Yia in the church's gymnasium, she hollered over to a group of young boys my age huddled in a corner across the court. Her bold but honest cry of, "YOO-HOO! BOYYYSSSS! COME MEET MY GRANDDAUGHTER DANIELLE, ISN'T SHE BEAUTIFUL?!" will forever be cringing-ly ingrained in my memory. It wasn't exactly a thrilling moment for a shy pre-teen girl, and as for my father, he couldn't steer me out of that gymnasium quickly enough.

The memories I have of my Yia Yia are almost endless. Perhaps they begin when I was three or four years old, with YiaYia singing the Greek national anthem as I paraded around her house, waving the Greek flag as directed. 

At every single birthday, whether it was my own or my younger sister Stacey's, there would be a pile of gifts for each of us to open, always clothes upon clothes, mismatched outfit upon babydoll dress. "What is it?" Yia Yia would crow after every box. "Hold it up so everyone can see it! Oh, look at thaaaat, isn't that nice? That's just beauuutiful," she would admire as Stacey reached the brink of throwing a tantrum from a combination of exhaustion and disinterest.

A couple of years ago we were sitting in my grandparents' living room when someone commented about "Motel 6 - the '9' fell off the sign." As the room broke into laughter, YiaYia looked around, smiled, and chirped in "Motel 69, haha, that's cute!" She wasn't always exactly on the same page as everyone else.

There were her compliments about the blue shirt I was wearing that was actually not blue but pink, her insistence that I go Greek dance with strangers at the annual church fairs and my older cousin's Sweet 16, her nonstop urging for me to eat and drink something, anything. 

But though nary a memory I have of my Yia Yia goes untinged by a bit of embarrassment, the most important truth I have come to know during my 20 years with her is that all of those moments of crimson cheeks have always resulted only because of Yia Yia's love. If Yia Yia was one thing, it was unapologetically proud. Proud of her sons, proud of her granddaughters, proud of her friends, proud of her homemade pastries, proud of her Greek heritage. (And her pride also rendered her constantly happy - I don't ever think I saw her truly angry or upset.)

She sang the along to our national anthem, a song intended to ignite a sense of pride in citizens, and YiaYia was proud of her granddaughter graduating middle school. Sitting in that church gymnasium with the youth group, she was proud to show off her then 13-year-old granddaughter whom she really did think was beautiful. She was proud of her Greek family as she marched me around her house. She was proud of the gifts she was able to spoil her granddaughters with.

It is in YiaYia's pride that her love for everyone, for everything (Greek), and for life is more than evident. Now, with an angel watching over me, I can only hope that I continue to make my crazy, Greek, loving, loved Yia Yia so proud.

Paris, je t'aime

Last night in Paris. Struggling with how to pack countless memories into two suitcases. Said goodbye to the host parents, took off back to my room crying, and three minutes later my host mom came to my room to take a picture of me. Life's a mess. À demain, America.

Grèce: Partie 1

Spring break is already here, and we kicked it off in Athens. Our flight was on Friday, April 13, but the only bad luck that met us was a €25 fine because we apparently didn't have the correct supplemental
metro passes to ride the RER train to the airport. Not such a fun way to start off a vacation.

We flew Air France, and it turned out to be the best experience flying that I've had. The attendants were incredibly nice, we got a not half-bad meal for the 3 1/2 hour flight, and we passed through the
friendly security with only minor complications (those hairbrushes are pretty suspicious, you know. They served fish on the plane, which I found surprising and a little skeptical. After a few months in Paris, I've taken to applying the old rule of thumb “don't eat anything the animals won't” (Little House on the Prairie had some valuable lessons, you know) to French people. If a French person won't eat it, neither will I; so, like my aeronautical neighbors, I stuck to the cheese, bread, and Greek salad.

We arrived in Athens around 17h, and followed the signs for the exit/ passport control. We walked through the final set of double doors to find out that passport control consisted of one disinterested security guard and a crowd of people facing us waiting to pick other travelers up.

It was cloudy when we landed but still beautiful. As we drove towards our hotel, we were surrounded by mountains. As if thrown back hundreds of years, I could easily picture Spartan soldiers flooding down the slopes to invade the city; that is, until I spotted the Ikea down the road from the airport, anyway.

We got off the bus one stop too early because apparently that stop hasn't been added to the listed route on the bus. But there was conveniently a taxi there and it was only a short ride to our hotel. Neither Devan nor I speak or know any Greek. I did take ancient Greek during my senior year of high school and although it is very different than modern Greek and I've forgotten most of it anyway, it did actually help when I was able to read the bus stop names and match them to the names on our map. The Greek alphabet is different than the English alphabet, and it would be more difficult to read the street signs, even if I don't know what they actually mean, if I wasn't familiar with it. This is especially true for the places we were looking for for which we only had the English transliteration of the Greek name. I wish I knew Greek, but at the same time there is a certain beauty in the language that I think I can better appreciate
because I don't understand it.

We stayed just outside of Athens, in the port of Piraeus. We settled into our hotel, Hotel Noufara, and took the bus to Athens (Santygma, last stop on line 40, in front of Parliament) for dinner. We headed
toward Plaka, a section of the city known for its shops and eateries. We both got chicken souvlaki at a chic little cafe, and afterwards strolled the narrow streets. Because it was Easter weekend, I was surprised to see how lively everything was. As we later learned, everything opens up as people celebrate after church at night.

We had passed by one small jewelry shop where we saw rings that we really liked but the shopkeeper was no where to be found. We returned 10 minutes later around 23h and decided to step inside so someone would see us and come over. Sure enough, a minute later a woman hurried in and, looking embarrassed, greeted us with, “I hope you can't smell the ouzo, I've been taking shots.” Can't say I've ever been greeted like that by a Wal-Mart greeter or anyone else in the states.

I got a ring with the Greek eye, just 10 euro, and after taking some pictures of the illuminated acropolis we decided to try to find the bus stop. An equally lost couple from Egypt asked us for directions. This is one of the things I love most about studying and living abroad. When else am I going to randomly meet someone from across the globe? Egyptians aren't exactly common frequenters of New Hampshire.

We eventually made it back to our hotel a little after midnight and slept well to prepare to walk up the Acropolis the next day...