On April 13th , at the foot of Athens in Pireaus, we boarded the ferry that would take us to the Cycladic island of Mykonos. We anticipated the coinciding of Western and Eastern Easters as a rare celebration on my favorite island.
The liturgical calculation of Easter is complicated. Ecclesiastical moons, paschal full moons, the astronomical equinox and the fixed equinox come in as well. So to take advantage of the stars, moons and sun all moving just at the right pace and right time, made this orthodox and western Easter even more sacred.
Spending Easter on Mykonos meant experiencing the pageantry of this all-important holiday for the Greeks. Living in Greece, I had often been struck by the fact that Christmas was a very under-celebrated holiday as opposed to a national celebration of Easter week leading up to the crescendo of Easter Sunday. Perhaps a virgin birth took second place to rising from the dead! However, it was, we were ready to join in the celebration
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Good Friday was spent fasting or having a small cup of fish stock. Solemn prayers were said at three o’clock, the moment when Christ expired on the cross. Then the town gathered in the small white-washed chapels which dotted the hora. These and large church in the main village were already humming with prayers from the priests; incense flavored the air. It was solemn day and most of the locals wore black. Black is a mainstay of the wardrobe in Greece: if your father dies you wear black for a year. If you are widowed, you wear black for the rest of your life! Soon the chapels and main church were packed with worshipers, people spilling out onto the narrow, stone footpaths. Near midnight the faithful solemnly filed home to complete their vigil.
Each family spent Saturday preparing their lambs to be slaughtered, hung and gutted. Every piece of the lamb is used. Intestines are rinsed thoroughly with water and set aside to bind the offal on the spit for kokoretsi. The head and body threaded on another long spike to be turned on the souvla for hours. The stomach was scraped to make Mageiritsa, a lemony dill laden traditional soup, said to cure hangovers and the mainstay of the Holy Saturday evening meal with horta or boiled greens.
Then, at sunrise on Sunday, the whole town formed a chanting procession with wreaths of flowers and candles, winding reverently to the church. The children carried decorated candles, some had action figures or dolls fastened to them, and although the children jostled each other and showed off their ornate candles, they were careful of the hot wax dripping down onto a paper doily. Extended families walked with their parents, grandparents, cousins and neighbors.
The main plateia was lined with tables outside the church. Earthenware jugs of local wine and baskets of bread were set out on lace embroidered cloths. Families gathered around joined tables and we took our place at the end of a table, welcomed by the islanders. Greek hospitality is legendary and even xenos were taken into the fold for this feast and celebration.
The salty smell of roasting lamb crowded out the sweet scents of smoke coming from the church’s censers. Soon, amid lively chatter and laughter, everyone began the tradition of cracking the end deeply dyed red hard-boiled egg against the his neighbor’s egg. The one whose egg cracked, lost the contest! Plates of creamy rich feta drizzled with ribbons of local olive oil, rations of grilled octopus, stuffed grape leaves and shallow bowls of garlicky tzatziki were passed around.
Opa! A collective shout rang out as the large platters of lamb and kokoretsi arrived and everyone took a hero’s portion of the feast. Our hands were sticky and fragrant with the meat and we were giddy from the wine, when the pyrotechnic display began on a barge just off the plateia,. As stars and rockets lit an indigo Greek night sky, the children ran from the tables to the waters edge for a better view. Soon trays of colorful glika, the candied local fruits, arrived and small glasses of tsipoura, a grappa like liquor, were pressed on us; everyone toasted, Yamas! to the risen Christ, the meal, the families and the country! The bouquet of the drink caused our eyes to water and certainly singed any nose hairs!
This was a holiday we would never forget and what made it especially memorable was the hospitality afforded to us by the Mykonians. Of all the countries I have called home, Greece was the one that really made me feel a part of the larger family. εξυμνώ Ἑλλάς! (I celebrate Greece!)
Such lovely memories!