Not Wittenberg, in Anafiotika
A recent social media storm has taken place in this little church on the edge of Anafiotika, the Greek islander settlement on the foot of the Acropolis, St Nicholas Rangavas. When I realised it was right next to me as I was touring Plaka, I thought it fitting to make a detour.
Fear and loathing in Exarchia
The Niarchos Centre
The navel of Athens
The navel of Athens is not the Parthenon. OK, strike that. The navel of ancient Athens is the Parthenon, but not for me.
The navel of Athens is not Parliament. OK, strike that. The navel of contemporary Athens is Parliament, but not for me.
The navel of Athens is not the Orthodox Cathedral, nor is the Catholic Cathedral of St Dionysius the Areopagite. Although that particular Catholic church is not as understated as some Catholic churches in Greece.
No, there can only be one navel of Athens. The cluster on University St: The Old National Library, the ceremonial hall of Athens University, and the Academy of Athens.
The books of Athens
Remember how I pointed out in Salonica the National Bank Educational Institute bookshop, and how it is kryptonite for my wallet?
Remember too, how I said that I wasn’t familiar with the Athens bookshop, because it was in a side street.
It was indeed in a sidestreet. Two blocks away from the Dialect Research Centre.
Bye-bye money belt. I did find books to buy there, though not a huge number; I’d almost exhausted what I wanted to get for linguistic purposes, and most books from here were to fill in other niches of my Greek cultural knowledge. I bought a book of essays on 19th century Ermoupolis, for example, the Greek New Orleans, so I could better understand the world that rebetiko (or at least, Markos Vamvakaris) came out of.
There were other bookshops, but in contrast to past years, quality bookshops are now concentrated in Hippocrates St and Aesclepius St, just to the west of the Old National Library. I’ll be going through them once I’m back, once I’ve received them through the mail (at not inconsiderable expense), and once I take my next week off—at this rate, not before Christmas.
One book is know is going to be fun is a collection of commonplace sayings from Crete. I’ve described Crete as a land of Brian Blesseds; their conversational strategies and aphorisms match that, and I already had a great time reading Contossopoulos’ assortment from the 60s. The phrase I grabbed through a preview peek is still with me.
Spoken of someone whose purchases have not demonstrated due diligence and attention: Καβαλάρης πουσούνιζες;
DID YOU GO SHOPPING ON HORSEBACK?!
Uphill and downhill in Kolonaki
Greeks mangling English
Poster sighed in Athens, for a book fair.
The Historical Dictionary
My business in Athens, aside from continuing to work for my employer and visiting my kin, was to visit the Research Centre for Modern Greek Dialects in the Academy of Athens, publishers of the Historical Dictionary of Modern Greek. My friend Io Manolessou is now director of the centre, and my friend Dion Mertyris has just started work there as one of its editors.
I have a history with the centre myself; it’s where I conducted my doctoral research, back in 1995–96, when they were in Agios Sostis, on the southern edge of Central Athens. Now they are to its north, at the beginning of Kolonaki. Which is why I ended up staying on the other side of Kolonaki, a downhill 10 minute walk away. (Downhill one direction, at least.)
The centre was established in 1908, and history weighs heavily upon it, as its staff continue to discharge its mission. They do so under the watchful eye of the grand old men of Greek dialectology—
- Back row: Paul Kretschmer, Max Vasmer, Hubert Pernot, August Heisenberg.
- Front row: Albert Thumb, George Hatzidakis, Berthold Delbrück.
These names won’t mean anything to many of you, except that a few more of you will be familiar with the son of one of these guys.
Back row, right. August Heisenberg. Byzantine studies professor, Munich. Recorded Greek POWs for dialect in Görlitz, during WWI.
And father of Werner.
When I visited in 1995, I had the privilege of meeting the three living former directors of the centre, Krekoukias, Contossopoulos, and Vayacacos. I was happy to see their pictures up in the new location.
- Dimitris Krekoukias, 1981–1984
- Nikolaos Contossopoulos, 1985–1991
- Eleftheria Giakoumaki, 1991–2007
- Dikeos Vayacacos (top), 1954–1955, 1967–1980
- Ioannis Kalleris, 1955–1964
And going further back,
- Anthimos Papadopoulos, 1932–1953
- Ioannis Voyatzidis, 1925–1926
- Phaidon Koukoules, 1926–1931
- Panagis Lorentzatos, 1914–1923
- Petros Papageorgiou, 1911–1914
- Konstantinos Amantos, 1924–1925
Under Amantos, Georgios Anagnostopoulos, who wrote a grammar of Tsakonian while working here as an editor…
… and Thanasis Costakis (1907–2009), who worked as an editor for the centre, while compiling a grammar of the dialect of Silli and of Anakou in Cappadocia—and who, as a native speaker, has a towering presence in the history of Tsakonian studies. No longer the eager 24-year old contributing to Pernot’s grammar of Tsakonian, nor yet the resigned, kind old man I interviewed in his bedrobe in 1995.
Dialect death and Sior Nionio
I’m going to conclude with something silly. Except it isn’t.
Like many Greeks of my age, I was brought up with the televised shadow puppetry of Karagiozis, as performed (for colour TV!) by Evgenios Spatharis; in fact, one of the few Greek recordings of anything my parents had in Tasmania was a recording of Karagiozis.
Karagiozis featured stock heroes from a couple of parts of Greece. Which means that I got exposed to Sior Nionio (= Signor Dionysis): the stock figure of a Westernised Zante nobleman, fallen on hard times.
Vaudeville dialect accents have a kernel of truth to them. The Turks in Karagiozis, after all, have the back /a/ that Turks (and Istanbul Greeks) do use speaking Greek.
But even at this advanced stage of dialect death, I’m pretty confident Zantiots don’t speak in this singsong an intonation.
What little I’ve heard is like in Corfu: only faintly singsong, and with a lot of falling tones. This example will serve, though long: it’s a performance of an omilia, a folk play, St Gryphon’s Underpants (starts at 2:30).
On the songs of Italian retirees
A random observation, as I sit in Foscolo café-and-cinema.
Greece is full of retirees from elsewhere in Europe. Some of them find out how the place works; some of them pick up some of the language.
There was a tableful of Italian tourists behind me. There was a tableful of Italian retirees in front of me, and their Greek was heavily accented, but decent. In fact, one of them is telling his life story now, and his parents spent a lot of time here too.
Like I said, the cultural connection of the Ionian Islands with Italy endures, two centuries after Napoleon swept the Venetians aside.
I am always touched when someone who isn’t from here makes here their home, and makes an effort to fit in, instead of staying aloof and apart. It is love for what I love, and I cannot but appreciate that. I’ll certainly excuse the joyful “SO WHERE IN ITALY ARE YOU FROM!” that the Italian tourists behind me got; I was no different in the post offices here with Irish and Australian tourists.
… But. For the love of God.
Do you HAVE to keep breaking out into spontaneous duet singing of O Sole Mio?!!
At least tenor Marios Frangoulis is paid to do so. And then follows up with Zorba’s Dance, not as the tourist special, but as the beautiful song Theodorakis penned over it for a play. (Nick Nicholas’ Answer To: What is the story of the song lyrics from the famous movie Zorba The Greek “Στρώσε το στρώμα σου”?)