Nasionale Braaidag

Even if you're not fasting for Lent, many people still enjoy the celebrations that precede it. Germany has Fetter Donnerstag, Mardi Gras is not limited to France, Rio goes crazy and Venice dons her masks for carnival. In Greece, they have Tsiknopempti. From tskino, the smell of barbecuing meat, and Pempti, Thursday. So literally - Barbecue Thursday. And everyone joins in.

It feels very similar to braais back home - everyone is keen, but only three people know how to do it ("Kom ons braai! Ja! Ja! Wie kan braai? hmmm..."). It starts very late and only ends when security asks us to go home. Even then we just move indoors and have more wine.

Vast quantities of meat (kreas) are consumed. Mostly pork with a bit of chicken. Everything is eaten directly from the fire, sprinkled with oregano and drizzled with lots of fresh lemon juice. Apparently every Greek keeps a couple of lemons available at all times.

I can get along with this culture.

Remember remember

The Secret Seven was my first Enid Blyton experience. And they had the best Bonfire Nights. So when I saw a little boy out begging "A penny for the Guy", a long forgotten memory of bonfires and fireworks and politically dubious celebrations was stirred up again.

The whole week around the 5th of November was marked with sporadic fireworks from all sides. I went looking for the celebrations on a wet Saturday night.

Wandering around the streets of Bitterne Park in driving rain, I found myself almost close enough to see, yet still too far away. Loud crackers and fireworks sporadically lit the sky only to be pushed back down by the wind and rain. And the exciting smell of burning wood stayed with me the whole time.

Happy Halloween

Jack-o-Lanterns line the wall.  A spider patiently waits on the ceiling.

I squash between a drunk vampire and a tall viking woman to get to the bar.  A lively zombie is operating the taps.  One of the Ghostbusters is waiting for his drink.  Alex and his droogs are collecting empty glasses.  A mummy is shouting into his mobile, wrappings dirty with ooze picked up somewhere.

 

No angels are out tonight - the best is a lone butterfly with droopy wings and an empty pint glass.  The Catwoman is there, along with someone with a whip.  A little red devil is flirting with the man with a big sword.  A skeleton is playing guitar. 

Two more zombies are making out in a corner.  Apparently being undead doesn't dampen certain basic needs.  At least they're not infecting the living.   

I'm the academic who preys on his students.  

Alex and his zombie.