Greek Easter: Eternal flames, Extravagant Feasts and Red Super Eggs

Greek Easter: Eternal flames, Extravagant Feasts and Red Super Eggs

  

Imagine this: you’re in Greece, in a small village-suburb of Athens. It’s ten to midnight, you are standing in the street with a hundred other Greeks and all the lights in the village are out. You can feel strong coastal breezes on this unseasonably cool April night, though your Greek friend tells you it’s always this windy. Men, women, children, grandparents, teenagers—the whole community are standing in groups, facing a white stucco church’s bell tower, waiting. You notice that young women are teetering on stiletto heels, standing in potholes and cracked tiled sidewalks. They’re dressed to the nines, arm-in-arm with their Ya-Yas (grandmothers) who don layers upon layers of large black scarves over their heads and bodies. You’ve been given a long white candle, told it’s called a labatha. There’s an energy in the crowd, a sense of anticipation, or maybe they’re just really hungry, eager to end lent and get back to their homes where a midnight feast awaits.

Over the heads of the crowd, you hear a Priest orating a sermon in Greek, and you notice people are taking out their candles. The bell clock strikes midnight and the Priest says “Christos Anesti,” which means ‘Christ is risen’. The crowd returns with “Alithos Anesti,” which means ‘truly, He is risen’. Suddenly the bells start ringing, fireworks erupt behind the church, and everyone’s faces are alight. You’re probably picturing a few fizzling sparks here and there--but this is a serious fireworks show! A child squeals beside me, her mother squeezes her hand and smiles. It’s a delightfully dizzying experience.

When the fireworks show has ended, the sky again goes black and one bell rings out its last note. The crowd breaks in front of you, and a man turns towards you, his hand sheltering his lit candle. He motions for you to light your candle with his. Your candle is now lit, and you do the same, passing your flame to the community standing behind you, patiently and anxiously awaiting your flame. Your Greek friend tells you that this is the Eternal Flame, brought to Greece by military jet, which is in turn passed to local churches all over Greece. You must now bring that flame back to your host’s home, and make a sign of a cross with smoke on their doorframe, symbolizing that the light of the resurrection has blessed the home. If they have to bring it by military jet to Greece, you think, transporting it a few blocks won’t be too hard. The crowd begins to walk down the streets, through lane-ways and one by one, they tuck into their homes for feasting.

A few blocks down, you witness a family get into their car with a lit candle and drive away. At first, you think that’s cheating. But as the winds pick up, your flame is quickly extinguished. You run across the street where a family is sheltering their last lit candle in an alcove. They graciously share their flame, and you walk further down the street, both eyes on the flame, one hand sheltering it from the wind. An elderly woman and her husband are waiting at the next corner, without fire. You help them out, and they say something to you in Greek, which you don’t understand, but you smile anyway. The wind has picked up, and you and your friend decide to use your jacket to protect the flame. Otherwise, you’ll never get across the next block as there are a few derelict and partly destroyed buildings, which won’t give you any shelter. You take one look back, and realize the large crowd has dwindled down and the streets are dark again.

You hear a loud ‘pop’, which sounds much like what you suspect a gunshot or a small bomb would sound like. Your friend reminds you that these happen often, they’re just noisemakers. So, sheltering your candle, with wax dripping down onto your hand (you don’t even feel it now, with all the excitement) you venture across the street. You’re completely invested in getting this flame safely to your host’s home. You’ve seen windows lit up and large families sitting around tables, feasting. You’ve got to get that flame home.

But your Greek friend doesn’t seem as invested as you are. She laughs when you are distraught when the flame finally extinguishes, a few blocks from your destination. She rushes you home to the feast. Her mother has been cooking most of the day, and when you break the news that her home will not be blessed by the resurrection flame, she too laughs and asks if you’re hungry. Your answer to this question will not matter over this Easter weekend of feasting, but it will it change. ‘Yes, please!’ ‘Maybe a bit more.’ ‘No, way too stuffed—okay, okay, more.’

At the table, feta, olives, cucumber, tomatoes, tzatziki, ceviche octopus, meat pie, tsoureki, a traditional Easter-time sweet bread and mayiritsa, the Greek Easter soup made of lamb offal are spread out on the table, with Fix beer to wash it all down. After generous helpings after generous helpings, red Easter eggs are brought out and a traditional Easter game is played. Each person chooses an egg and tries to crack or smash their opponent’s eggs by hitting the tops and bottoms against each other. Your egg is triumphant, and you wonder if you’d be allowed to take your Super Egg home.

Then you’re escorted to their backyard, with promises of more feasting tomorrow. There, you stumble upon a pit dug into their lawn, with two y-shaped metal rods sticking out of the ground. You’re shown a rather pale-looking lamb on a large metal rod and you get a whiff of a delicious garlic, lemon and herb marinade the lamb seems to be bathing in. It’s two a.m. and you’re told you should get some rest, as this lamb needs to be put on the fire at around six a.m.—and you’re in charge of turning the spit. A task that you’ll readily accept! What you’ve realized, or rather, what this writer has realized, is that the sense of community—sharing the Eternal flame, sitting down to a feast, participating in tradition—is what Greek people are all about. Though you don’t have to imagine, you just have to go—with an empty belly, of course.