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).
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