19-20 July 2008
For those who aren't familiar with context, there was a little town in Asia Minor called Peramos, where all of the Petkas family comes from. Peramos ended during the population exchange of 1923, and Nea Peramos is where most of the community migrated to. Actually, there is a second New Peramos – in the mountains north of Athens -- where some of the families were sent. Such “new/nea” villages can be found all over Greece where the million plus Greeks of Asia Minor, who were expelled in 1923, were given land by the Greek government. 250,000 Greeks in Istanbul and its suburbs were exempted, but ultimately most left or were forced out – especially during the “second Holocaust” of 1956. My Dad’s grandfather, or Panagis (Panayiotes) Petkas, came over in 1908 seeking his fortune ultimately in Louisiana and Texas, and managed to miss most of the Balkan Wars, World War I, and the Expulsion (aka Holocaust) of 1923. His three brothers and two sisters left old Peramos then and came straight to the U.S. Their parents, Nikos and Eleni, settled in New Peramos.
Saturday morning, July 19th, an hour's bus ride away from the center of Athens, my friend Stratos Kinalidis from Houston and I were dropped off in front of Agios Georgos church in Nea Peramos. Stratos and his dad Chris shared their Athens apartment with me for much of my stay in Greece. We were met there by Eleni Tsakiris, her husband Christos, and another younger fellow, Stavros, whose last name I have written down somewhere.
I had gotten Eleni's number from a relation, Erifili Paganeli, who lives in Brussels. She was getting ready for a trip, on August 2nd, with other Peramiotes, to Turkey. They make this trip often apparently: a bus ride from Istanbul to the Erdek area, near old Peramos. Erifili's Mother is of my grandfather's generation, and she, like him, is a granddaughter of Nikos Petkas, though we haven’t confirmed this relationship in the genealogy developed for a family reunion in Houston several years ago.
We went to the office of the Syllogos Peramion Kyzikinon, one of thousands of organizations which keep alive the memories of the old Greek villages ('horio' is the term – [pronounced horyo with the accent on the 2nd syllable]) in Asia Minor. Eleni is the president, Stavros the vice president. Christos sells air conditioning systems, which must be somewhat lucrative judging from the temperatures in Attica, the increasing popularity of this newfangled technology, and the quality of the Tsakiris residence. We had a bit of trouble trying to find out how I fit into the family tree of Nikos Petkas. My grandfather Demetrios (James) was conspicuously absent under Panagis Petkas' line.[Panagiotis – is his full, baptismal name – Panagis for short, sometimes Panos – “g” is soft, sounds like “y” as in yes.] I called my father, who was miraculously awake at 3:30 in the morning in Houston, and he confirmed that Demetrios was the son of Panagis and the oldest brother of Rhodha (Dorothea), Penelope, and Nikos (just as I suspected). It is possible that he was absent because he tragically died in an airplane crash rather young.
Stratos and I each were gifted with a book (in Greek) written about the Peramos community, its history, members, and migration across the Aegean, along with subsequent developments. Then we were shown some of the traditional Peramiote garb, some reproduced, some actually made in the old horio a hundred or so years ago. The Peramian association hosts ethnic dance productions and a parade every year (Peramiotes currently number some 1,000 in Nea Peramos, a township of around 10,000).
From the office we drove to visit the olive press (elaiotriveion... "e-lay-o-trivion") which Nikos Petkas’ heirs gave to the Nea Peramian. The locals are currently renovating the old building, strengthening the walls and putting in a new roof. It will be turned into a museum of old Peramos, and next to it on the same lot there will be a community center (and folk dance hall). When the workers found out from Eleni that I was a Trisekgonos (great, great grandchild) of Nikos Petkas (whose name and olive press everyone in the town seems to know), they assured me that they were going to make it sparkle.
Quitting the elaiotriveion, we drove inland and up the hill a bit to Stavros's house for lunch. We met his daughter Coralia, about five, son Giorgos, about one, and his wife Christina, who is expecting their third quite soon. Christos brought the wine, Christina made gemista (stuffed tomatoes) and the rest (chicken, pita, and tiropites – cheese pies) was take-out.
Stavros, it turns out, is not a Peramiote at all, but caught the bug from Christina, who is a purebred. His father lives next door, and his father's father was a priest, and built a small chapel in the front yard.
Eleni and Christos offered to put us up for the night and we graciously accepted. Apparently, the hotel in Nea Peramos caters particularly to the sort of customers who only need the room for an hour or so; our other options would have been a few miles away at Megara or Elefsina (old Eleusis!).
We came back to their house (where we napped), which is directly off the harbor and two doors down from the house my twice-great grandfather lived in. Afterward, Christos took Stratos and me to the cemetery, where there is a chapel which was dedicated to the community by Panagi(oti)s and Helen Petkas, my great grandparents. The chapel has been recently whitewashed on the outside and the commemorative plaque with their names needs to be cleared of this new coating, as it is currently difficult to read.
We drove back home and went walking along the waterfront. Directly across the water from Nea Peramos is Salamina. Here, 2500 years ago, was staged the sea battle which more or less decided the outcome of the Persian war (the island used to be Salamis, but like many anisosyllabic 3rd declension ancient Greek nouns, now goes by its accusative even in the nominative case – c.f. Elefsina). On Salamina is a centuries-old monastery called Panagia Phaneromeni (“the Virgin Mary who has appeared”), which by fortune or providence was also the name of the monastery on the peninsula of Kyzikos (where old Peramos was located).
On this Saturday night the waterfront was buzzing with activity. There were merry go rounds, a small flea market, concessions stands, dozens of patio-serving restaurants and people everywhere. Nea Peramos (and the rest of that swath of coastline) is a popular weekend destination for Athenians, with its seafront and small town feel. As we walked along under the rising full moon, Eleni and Christos would spot their friends and visit a bit, never failing to add that I was the 'Trisekgonos' of Nikos Petkas ("you know, the one with the elaiotriveion!"). Most responded with impressed "aahs” and one or two of the older ones remembered him, and the day he left for America to join all of his children who were already gone. [Actually, Nikos never came to the U.S.: he died, I think of natural causes, during the German Occupation – or if he did come it was before 1940 and never reported to my father. My great, great grandmother Eleni (yes, my great grandmother and my great, great grandmother were both “Helen”) DID come over in the late 40’s, after the war – my great Uncle Nick brought her back – we have newspaper clippings with photos. I don’t think she liked America and returned before she died.]
We met Stavros and his family, as well as a friend of theirs, outside a loukomades (fried puff pastries dipped in honey) / souvlakia (shish kebob) stand. Stelios, the friend, was the koumparos (best man) for Stavros and Christina's marriage. He is an English teacher in Athens and works with a company called Express Publishing. They offer not only English classroom instruction, but also teaching materials, books and workbooks for Greek people (Greek explanations of English grammar), and for general students in other countries (in the form of English explanations of English grammar). To grease the axles on the sales of English books, all the Express Publishing writers have English aliases (a Giorgos Stamatakis would become Christopher Helmsley or something, etc.). They also have a small office in London, which serves as the address for all of their publications.
Like most of the other Greeks, Stelios was impressed with my knowledge of Ancient Greek. The beginning lines of the Odyssey (andra moi ennepe mousa) was quoted to me, at least once or twice that weekend, as is common among native Greek speakers when they find out about my studies). Stratos and I made a pretty good team - he could actually speak at a comfortable rate, and knew all of the words and grammar useful for survival and basic conversation, and I knew all of the obscure and compound terms, the 'hard words'. Stelios quoted Aristotle and Homer, and the New Testament several times. We talked quite a bit about Greek, and about language in general. He laments the general ignorance of the classics among today's Greeks. I was trying to conjugate a verb during the course of conversation and came out with the classical 'apethanon' instead of the modern 'pethanan' ("they died"), and he used this occasion to point out bittersweetly that most Greeks today wouldn't have recognized that form. The next day we argued politely about the phonology of short vowel diphthongs...
The next morning Stratos and I went to church at Agios Georgos (Saint George), the older and principal church of the community. All the churches in Greece apparently begin Orthros (Matins) around 7am. We arrived around 8:40, in time for the Trisagion hymn (well into the Liturgy). The norm in Greece is for the (male) chanters to do all of the laity sections in the Liturgy - even the Creed and Lord's Prayer, at which many people do in fact mouth the words and some join the chanter at around muttering volume. In fact, I did see a few people mouthing the words during several parts of the Liturgy. As the service progressed more and more people packed in the church (which was already packed when we arrived). As time for Communion approached, more people shuffled to the front -- mostly older people elbowing their kids or grandkids to the front for Communion. Remarkably few people communicated - mostly younger children. The majority of the people there were older, and more women than men. But Stratos and I were not the only young adults present.
After the service, Stratos and I introduced ourselves to the priest, Father Aristomenes. He was thrilled to meet a Peramiote from America, a Trisekgonos of Nikos Petkas. Father Aristomenes too is a Peramiote, and his grandmother was a relative (cousin, niece, daughter? he didn't specify, but I think cousin) of Nikos. He gleefully took us over to the hall for some coffee. We met his brother, Stratos, there, who spoke some English, and also their mother, who vividly recalled and spoke highly of Nikos.
We had told Eleni and Christos that we would meet them back at their house for breakfast, so we began to pay our respects at the coffee hall. Father Aristomenes insisted on giving us a small tour of Agios Georgos before we left, and we obliged. We met his wife in the process.
There is an icon in the church of 10 martyrs from Kyzikos, and another icon of 9 martyrs from Megara, both of which are dear to the parish and community. I don't know the details of their lives but I took pictures of them. There is also an icon of a saint from (Nea?) Peramos. The Church featured classic Byzantine style architecture , like most of the churches -- even modern one -- in Greece: a "Greek cross" floor plan with a central dome, and four flanking domes or vaults, and an array of pillars and columns at different levels, all of which affords the church a remarkable amount of inner surface area, which at Agios Georgos is exploited marvelously. There is an earlier stratum of icons, notably on the iconostasis and at other certain parts of the church, which dates back probably to around the time when the church was built towards the early 20th century. Then, completely covering the rest of the church are frescoes done some time in the 80's, in a more neo-Byzantine style, with blue backgrounds. They are quite exquisite and have drawn the notice of art faculty from the University of Athens, who have come several times to photograph them.
Father Aristomenes gave us some very nice Komboschinia (Orthodox prayer ropes, similar to Catholic rosaries, but consisting of series of knots, usually worn as a bracelet), and we left after regretfully telling him that we had to return to Athens that day (he would have liked to have us stay the night at his house, exchange stories, and show us his collection of Pera-phernalia), and assuring him that some day I'd be back, and perhaps bring my Father or Emily, my fiancée.
We came back to Christos and Eleni's place, and had a bite to eat. Stratos and I requested a nap. Eleni thought (rightly so) that 11:30 was a bit early to be taking a nap. We assured her, though, that where we came from it was traditional to nap after the post-ecclesial meal. At the mention of this 'tradition' (which is perhaps a tad more personal than cultural), she nodded understandingly and eagerly urged us to go and sleep. Paradosis (tradition), I think, is a very important thing to the Greeks.
After the nap, we headed towards Stavros' house. On the way though, we stopped by the residence of Despina and Spiros, Erifili's parents, who live in one of the few remaining, two-room houses built by the original generation of Nea Peramiotes. Despina (recall - the cousin of my grandfather) was especially overjoyed to receive us, and teared up as we were leaving. While there, we were served a byssinos (byssini?) drink - basically sour cherry syrup with a bit of water added. This encounter in particular (along with the whole weekend) made me want to return, and in the mean time work on my modern Greek (as I explained to Despina and Spiros).
At some point after lunch at Stavros's house, one of the lunch party saw smoke rising from over a hill. Christos, a member of the Nea Peramos volunteer fire department, was presently summoned to go fight the nascent brushfire. Soon, four fire fighting planes could be seen skimming water from the nearby bay, circling and dumping it on the fire.
When we returned chez Tsakiris (in Stavros' car), we found Christos home and all cleaned up, the fire having been quenched. He apparently had received some water, dumped on him by a plane while he was on the ground, though not as much as he had received at one point in his VFD career (Eleni laughed telling that story).
Eleni proposed that we go two doors down and see my old grandfather's house, which is now inhabited by some younger fellow with a large moustache. It is slightly unkempt, and a bit overgrown with functional grape vines (the house, that is). I felt rather uncomfortable milling about the gated front yard and snapping pictures of the place with its owner silently and not un-suspiciously sitting there and staring at me, but nonetheless I was enjoined by Eleni and especially Stratos to do so, and so I nervously complied. [This fellow may have been one of the Albanian squatters that my family has been trying to evict for years! – thus the suspicious looks .]
Afterwards we went back to Eleni's for a final visit, where she showed us a few more items from her historical collection, including an authentic Peramiote plow and a piece of marble illicitly plucked from the ruins of ancient Kyzikos (recall: nearby on the same peninsula as Peramos). She plans on giving most of her collection to the elaiotriveion once it becomes the Peramos museum.
We caught a bus in the evening, packed with beach goers headed back to dreary Athens.
