Village Trip

I spent the weekend with a student and his family in the village of Riza, Greece: population 500. Riza is a quaint village in the Chalkidiki region, about one hour Southeast of Thessaloniki, and features plots of farmland and picturesque mountains as far as the eye can see. All of the homes have red tile roofs reminiscent of many Emory buildings and rural Mexican abodes. The alpine climate was significantly colder than Thessaloniki, and we entered the village by bus in a cloud of fog that obscured the road and made it feel like we were riding in a cloud. Somehow, the driver managed to see through the seemingly impenetrable mist(even though he was wearing sunglasses), and we arrived safely in Riza. After a short walk from the bus stop, we reached Chez Prassas, my home for the weekend.

The Prassas family numbers six: the parents, three daughters, and Vasilis (the AFS student). Immediately, they rolled out the red carpet. I took one step into the home and one of the daughters ushered me to the dinner table where Mama Prassas stuffed me full of amazing home-cooked delights. While I was eating, another daughter brought a pair of slippers and laid them on the ground at my feet; I felt like a Greek god. The hospitality and sumptuous feasts continued throughout the weekend, and I got to know a charming village family. The most entertaining member was the youngest daughter, 6-year old Dimitra. After a 30-minute silent and shy warming-up phase, Dimitra let loose and didn't stop talking or moving for the rest of the weekend. She loved to dance around the house, sing, and repeat any phrase uttered by her less-than-amused siblings and parents. She was unable to sit still for 5 seconds, and she often chose to perch in bizarre, unconventional places. For example, she chose to watch TV while balancing on the narrow shelf above the fireplace instead of taking a seat on the couch. Moments later, she would be sitting legs-crossed atop the kitchen table. Compared to the rest of the friendly yet composed Prassas clan, Dimitra was a spark plug - maybe Mama Prassas had a fling with the Energizer Bunny seven years ago. Who knows? I'll move along.

Vasilis is applying to colleges in the U.S. and I have been assisting him with the application process. When we arrived at his home, he had an email from the admissions office at Vassar College indicating that he had forgotten to include his street address on his application; he had only provided his name, city, and zip code. This launched a fascinating discussion about the ways of his village and their "postal service." Riza is so small that they do not have street names, nor do they have a formal postal service. Once or twice a week, a mailman delivers all of the village's mail to a cafeteria, which is popular among the older Riza men. There are no P.O. Boxes or mail slots; the mail is not alphabetized or formally sorted. The mail is literally dumped onto a table, then the old cafe patrons sift through and somehow notify residents when they have mail. In the Prassas family's case, Vasilis' grandfather spends a lot of time at the cafeteria sipping coffee and yelling with the other geezers, so he notifies the family if someone receives a letter. So it goes in Riza.

Vasilis and I walked around and he knew everybody. By the time we had walked for 10 minutes, we had reached the end of the village and had accrued a sizable posse of young Risa kids who had joined our stroll. As we walked, they lit matches then threw them on the ground -you know, just for fun - and asked me very important questions such as, "Do you throw your trash on the ground in America?" As I answered, "No," a few of them triumphantly tossed candy wrappers and other general refuse onto the ground as if to say, "This is how we roll in Riza."

That night, we went to a cafe where we ran into many of the same village folk we had seen during our stroll. The cafe was suffering from a serious identity crisis - they had a big-screen TV hooked up to a Playstation 2, a card table, and four computers. These "entertainment stations" were all full and the computers were occupied by villagers who were all independently perusing Facebook - strange scene. Vasilis and I rolled a few games of backgammon, sipped some tea, then decided to check out the scene at the other cafe in the village.

The next place was bizarre as well: the tables were neatly dressed with white table cloths and nice silverware, but nobody was eating. It also featured a large TV hooked up to PS 2 where kids were playing the same game as at the previous cafe. They had three TVs showing music videos and played loud music, but the music didn't match the videos (which reminded me of one of my favorite college hobbies of watching rap videos on mute while listening to other tunes). Most bizarre, however, was the centerpiece of the room. Amid the nice tables which gave the impression of a nice restaurant, a ping-pong table loomed on a platform. The local ping-pong aficianado stood pretentiously next to the table and Vasilis talked him into a match with me. It was like a scene out of a movie - the Wizard starring Fred Savage immediately comes to mind - where a road-weary, unassuming protagonist comes to town and challenges the cocky incumbent champ. As we warmed up, more and more onlookers gathered - including all of the people from the first cafe who had relocated to watch the showdown - and it felt like the whole village was there. We ended up playing 15 games, 11 of which I won to the spectator's disbelief. It was a good night.

Saturday was a "MAN DAY" that would have made A-Train Wilson, the innovator behind many a MAN DAY, proud. After a visit to the local butcher (a very manly activity), Vasilis' dad took us up to a park in the mountains with a manly view of Riza. We built a manly fire in the rain, roasted sausage and pork ribs, while sipping Greek wine and talking about manly things. Believe it or not, our activities were so manly that I grew a full beard over the course of the afternoon. The meal was amazing, and we watched the top local soccer team play a match afterwards. It was a great man day and the perfect end to a great weekend.

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We have school until Wednesday, Georges and Charlene arrive Friday, then it's up to Budapest and Prague on Sunday. I can't wait to see the 'rents and explore Eastern Europe. Kalla Xristougenna to everyone (and by everyone I mean the three people who read this blog, two of whom will be visiting on Friday).

Linguistics and Tones May Clog My Dome, But Words Will Never Hurt Me

I’ve started attending an Intermediate Greek course at Perrotis College; it’s challenging and fun. Greek represents the fourth language that I have formally studied. It’s the fifth if you count the Spanish lessons with Senora Stierlen at Saint Thomas Moore, but that was more about learning how to pester then subsequently watch an impatient teacher erupt than it was about learning. That trend pretty much sums up my career of Catholic school education—but I digress. I don’t know how much space is left in my noggin for new vocabulary, a new alphabet, and such, but I plan to stuff foreign languages into my head until it explodes.

My Greek studies thus far are difficult in that I’ve been lumped in with students who have lived in Greece and studied the language for over a year, but I have ample time to study during the day and the AFS students are more-than-happy to practice with me. That being said, speaking Greek with the high schoolers negates my primary duty of enhancing the students’ English abilities, so I tiptoe a fine line.

Grammatically, Greek poses a challenge in that all verbs in any sentence must be conjugated, whereas in English and French, all verbs (other than the first) in a clause assume the infinitive form. For example, I would say “I want to learn to speak Greek.” “Want” is conjugated to match the subject, but “to learn” and “to speak” become infinitives—pretty simple. Easier still is Chinese in which there is no such thing as conjugating verbs. The only word that deviates is the subject, and even tenses are created by adding words—not by adjusting the verb. In Greek, however, if I want to relay the above message, I would say the equivalent of “I want I learn I speak Greek.” Plus, a meaningless connector word, “na,” is added between each verb phrase. Not to mention the seemingly dozens of tenses. Not tight—again I digress.

After ruminating on the differences between the random languages that I’ve studied, I’ve come to a few conclusions. The Chinese language is brilliant because it is so pragmatic. They say as much as possible in as few syllables as possible. My only gripe with the Chinamen is that they have not adopted a simple alphabet; if you want to read Chinese, you have to memorize thousands of characters. Greek on the other hand is very complex and features many lengthy words. Take Greek names; most surnames leave me out of breath, and verbally taking attendance in class or at soccer practice takes at least 30 minutes.

One of my favorite tricks in learning new languages is to learn the literal English translations of phrases. It is entertaining and effective because the literal translations are often amusing, and understanding the logic behind the vocabulary helps to build other phrases. For example, the Greek word for hotel is “xenothocheio” which translates to “foreign person acceptance place”.

At this point, I’d like to share a few common Greek phrases and their literal translations; I’ll also throw in some noteworthy translations from other languages. Here we go:

Most Common Informal Greeting: “Hello” or “Hi.”

Greek Phrase: “Gia Sou.”

Literal Translation: “Health your.”

Comments: Already, the vocabulary grows. We learn the common greeting, the word for health, and the second person possessive. Nice start.

Chinese Phrase: “Ni hao?”

Literal translation: “You good?”

Comments: So efficient. The person is greeted and asked how they are doing all at once.

“How are you?”

Greek: “Ti caneis?”

Literal Translation: “What you do?”

Comments: Practical. Not too verbose.

Chinese: Already asked with the greeting.

French: “Ca va?”

Literal Translation: “It goes?”

Creole: “Sak t’Passe.”

Translation: The verb is reflexive, so there is no literal English translation, but it equates to,“What happens to you?”

I’m fine.

Greek: “Eimai kala.”

Literal Translation: “I am good.”

Comments: Harmless, to the point.

Chinese: “Hao.”

Literal Translation: “Good.”

Comments: Eliminate the subject—it’s understood. Practical.

French: “Ca va.”

Literal translation: “It goes.”

Comments: A snappy, snide retort…very French.

Creole: “M’ap bule.”

Translation: “I am burning [in a good way].”

Comments: Poetic and passionate. Haitians are intense.

Most Common Cuss Word

English: “Damn it.”

Literal Meaning: I condemn ‘it’ to eternity in hell.

Comments: A harsh utterance when the situation is usually trivial. For example, if I miss a shot in basketball and yell “Damn it!” Do I actually want that shot to burn in hell? Maybe if it was an airball.

Greek: “Malaka.”

Literal Translation: One who masturbates.

Comments: Greeks say “malaka” at the end of any sentence to add emphasis, whether good or bad. The high school students throw “malaka” out at every possible opportunity. It is funny to hear someone say the Greek equivalent of “That was an amazing sandwich, masturbator” or “Did you see that backgammon roll? You masturbate.”

French: “Mierde.”

Literal Translation: “Feces.”

On that note…Enjoy the holidays! I’m looking forward to a visit from my parents over Christmas break then an Eastern European adventure: Hungary and Czech Republic with Charlene and Georges, then Macedonia, Kosovo, and possibly Albania with homies from Perrotis College.

Anatolia Tournament Pics

The hooligans.

The squad.

Fall Sports Tournament

After months of training, the AFS sports teams were ready for the big tournament of the fall season. About twenty private schools from all over Greece and a few other Eastern European countries participated. We entered teams for boys and girls soccer, boys and girls basketball, and girls volleyball. It was hosted by our cross-town archrival Anatolia: the Marist to our Pius, the Wash U to our Emory, the Pepsi to our Coke, the Valley to our Bayside, the Nu to our Chi, the Ohio State to our Michigan, the Wile E. Coyote to our Road Runner, the Newman to our Jerry – you get the point. I have seen significant progress in our boys soccer team since the start of training, but I had no clue what to expect from the other teams; most are much larger schools than AFS.

Our boys soccer team won two matches and lost a tough battle to one of the premier private schools in Greece, Athens College, whose enrollment is 3500 students compared to AFS’ 250 students. The rest of the AFS teams were not as successful, but we picked up one victory in volleyball and a tie in girls soccer. Overall, the competition was a great experience, and I came away from the experience with a newfound respect for our students. Although their athletic prowess did not turn many heads, the AFS students were far and away the loudest, most spirited fans. At every match, regardless of which team was playing, throngs of students sang, chanted, cheered and pounded on a massive drum. By the end of the weekend, most students had lost their voices and most of the other spectators had impaired hearing. Even in blowout losses, the AFS cheering section belted out non-stop “We can’t hear you” chants and a catchy song that features the repetition of “AFS I love you” in Greek. Whenever our soccer team scored a goal, the AFS mob launched dozens of streamers onto the field, which forced delays in the game, but did not warrant reprimand. How can you chastise students for too much spirit.

Another area in which AFS students shined was sportsmanship. I was very proud to watch our athletes win and lose with class. Most of our students are from rural, modest homes in Greece, whereas the other teams represented distinguished international schools and elite private schools of Greece. At times, the opposing supporters criticized the AFS athletes because of their agriculture-infused curriculum. On one occasion, American students from a wealthy school in Athens pestered us while I warmed up our team. The encounter went something like this:

Obnoxious American Girl #1: “American Farm School? Do they actually go to school on a farm.”

Obnoxious American Girl #2: “No way. It’s just the name of the school.”

OAG #1: “Excuse me, is your school on a farm?”

Me: “Our school has a working farm on campus.”

[Some of the group started giggling]

OAG #2: “So do your students like learn how to drive tractors and stuff.”

[Laughter from the cronies]

Me: “Some do. We have agricultural training in addition to the standard academic curriculum.”

OAG #1: “Do you have cows?”

Me: “Yep.”

OAG #1: “Oh my God. There is no way we can lose to Farmville.”

[The hecklers cackle at which point Vasilios, one of our best players and smartest students, approaches the group]

Vasilios: “If farms and schools like ours didn’t exist, how would your butlers buy milk for you?”

The comment quieted the taunting momentarily, but they let our team have it during the match. As we rolled to a 2-0 victory, their jeers dwindled and were drowned out by the thunderous clamor of the AFS supporters.