Greece 2023: A Visit To Saint Spyridon

 During our travel from Meteora through the Greek Alps, we had occasion to stop at a rest stop to use the facilities (rest stop facilities, in case you are wondering, are more or less the same in the Western World).  During our stop two vans pulled up to use the same facilities.  After listening for a few minutes, our tour guide told us they were likely Ukrainians on a pilgrimage to visit the relics of St. Spyridon of Corfu.

It was an interesting note and one that I filed away under the "interesting but fairly useless fact “ file - until I was reminded of it again when we were on the ferry and sure enough, there were our fellow rest stop travelers.

St. Spyridon (for those of you who, like I, have a vague if any knowledge of the major Saints, let alone the lesser well known ones) lived from approximately 270 to 348 A.D.  Born in Cyprus, he was a shepherd who eventually joined the church, rising to the office of bishop.  He was a participant in the First Ecumenical Council of Nicea (from which we get The Nicene Creed) as an opponent of the Arians.  During his time there, he was reported to have converted a pagan philosopher to Christianity by using a shard of pottery to demonstrate how a thing could be composed of three different entities (earth, water, fire) and yet be one (like the Triune God).  The shard supposedly dissolved into its three elements upon this, the philosopher was converted, and Spyridon is now always shown with pottery or a brick with flame in his hand.

After the conquest of Cyprus by the during the 7th Century A.D., the body of Spyridon was exhumed and found to be incorrupt, thus establishing his holiness and sainthood.  The  body was taken to Constantinople where it was kept until 1453 A.D. when that city fell. It was then transported in turn to Corfu, where it has remained.  Spyridon is the patron saint of potters, the island of Corfu, and the Greek city of Piraeus.

(Source)

In keeping with the architecture of Corfu City, the church itself is fairly unremarkable: a squat building painted yellow in keeping with the other buildings, a taller bell tower the only indication of its heightened stature

We passed by the church the first time but found that service was in session and after a very brief look through the side door, went on our way.  Returning later in the day, we found the parishioners were gone - but there was a line of people to one side of the altar.  The crypt of St. Spyridon was open for viewing.

I have seen a number of relics over the years:  the arm of St. Stephen in Hungary, the full on body of St. Mundita in Munich, and even on this trip the reliquaries of St. Demetrius in Thessalonniki.  But all of these were sort of "open viewing", where one simply walked up and viewed the relic.  Not what this appeared to be:  a controlled entry.

I looked, and then started to sit down - it is one thing to view a thing, quite another to do it as part of a group about which you may or may not know the correct way to act (interestingly on this point, it seems to be a Christian thing; Buddhist and Shinto temples have always very much had the attitude of "come on in" when I have visited them.  I never felt nervous in the same way).  Then The Ravishing Mrs. TB made a solid point:  You came halfway across the world and you are not going to do this?

I got in line.

The line shuffled slowly, the doorway of the crypt becoming more visible.  Inside were two priests, chanting something (Greek?  Ukrainian? I had no idea).  As I continued to close in, one could see the practice:  bow and kiss the foot of the coffin, move to the front, and then bow and kiss the head of the coffin.  I continued to shuffle forward, feeling the slightest bit of unease for no other reason that I might get something wrong.

I entered the crypt - which was filled with not just a casket, but a silver casket packed into a room that seemed a bit above an oversized closet (as it turns out, there is a wooden casket inside the outer one).  The doors of the head and foot of the casket were open - there was not just relics of the saint, but the full saint himself.  His feet - now exposed to me - had red velvet slippers and were completely open to the air while his face and head were behind a plexiglass sheet.

Ah.  They were not just bowing.  They were bowing and kissing the actual slippers and then close to (or on) the plexiglass sheet.

I suspect in the moment I entered it was clear to both of the priests and myself that I was not from around there originally, if the look they exchanged between each other meant anything.  That said, they did nothing but watch as I approached the coffin - alert, I would guess, if I did anything that reeked of disrespect.

I bowed at the feet and came close to the slippers (but not touching them at all.  I have a thing about dead people), then moved to the head.  The face of St. Spyridon, gone these 1800 years, looked up at me.  I bowed; St. Spyridon remained expressionless as his mortal body has these many long years.  With that, I exited the crypt.

I would like to tell you that there was some great revelation I had, some sign that the saint (and yes, I do believe that Spyridon is in Heaven and that perhaps I will meet him) actually noticed I was by.  Sadly, nothing like that occurred.  We continued on our tour, the parishioners continued their reverence, and the world moved on.

In 1716 A.D., the Ottoman Turks besieged Corfu as part of their campaign against the Venetian Empire.  During this siege, a storm broke out which impacted fleets both Christian and Ottoman, although the Ottoman's had the worst of it.  During the siege as well, Corfiotes (inhabitants of Corfu) alleged they saw St. Spyridon himself on the city walls, a monk threatening the Ottomans with a torch.  

So perhaps Spyridon is there, waiting for my own siege - mental or spiritual - to manifest itself so that he might appear, torch in hand, driving off the invaders of my own making.

Wars And Rumors Of Wars

 The first international/military event I had a conscious memory and (at least limited) understanding of was the 1979 Fall of The Shah of Iran and the Iranian Hostage Crisis.  Prior events are somewhat removed from my memory although by all rights I should have some recollection of the Vietnam conflict.  It was the first time that unrest was real to me outside of books on World War II; I still remember the burned fuselage of the airport from the failed US rescue operation.

Soon after that (at least in my mind) came the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan.  Suddenly not only world conflict and international events were introduced to me, but I got my first view of the Cold War.  

Since that time, I have watched as the series of international events and conflicts had thundered across the stage of the late 20th Century and early 21st Century.  Some of them I remember where I was when they started:  the 1991 Iraq War, the Long War in Afghanistan.  Others I heard as I read of them:  the civil wars of El Salvador and Peru, the Chechnyan War, the Iran-Iraq War, the Fall of Yugoslavia.  Wars upon wars, military actions upon military actions.  The weapons change: the carnage and cost remain as they ever were.

I long ago surrendered any sense of surviving an actual nuclear conflict. Part of that is simply the fact that I have always lived in places that would be directly or indirectly impacted by such strikes.  Part of that is thought that likely I would not likely live long through a post nuclear strike world.  In a way that has been a great weight lifted of my shoulders:  one thing I have no control over to not worry about.

But as virtually my entire life has shown me, there are a lot of gradations up to that point of no return.  And add in all the issues that come with wars up to that point - economic disruptions, civil disruption, civil rights disruption - and seems there are only varying shades of undesirability. 

To be clear of course, one does what one can to prepare.  A hard Winter or economic disruption  are things I can understand and plan for.  A major military event for which we have now weapons of such power and precision that - to be fair - anyone that wanted to target a individual could take them out by home or by city - is a bit more difficult to build a crisis plan for.

Christ said that we would have "wars and rumors of wars" before the end, of course.  And I suppose in certain quarters antennae are all atwitter with potential prophetic implications.  That is not to deny that it could be "The Time", of course; but given my own lifetime of watch world conflict, I find I am not as worked up as I could be - or perhaps should be.  

I have at least lived long enough to understand I have no control over such international events.  The only thing I can contain and control are my own thoughts, emotions, and actions. And maybe the small things I do to get ready for "something" will not give me a chance at surviving "The Big One", but at least it will help me feel I am in a position to get through lesser events with some degree of confidence.

Pray hard, as always - and be sure to plant your garden.

On Missing The Mark - Lying

With the changes that have occurred in my life over the last 6 months or so, God has been continually dragging me back to things in my life that need dealing with.  In some cases these are things which have been embedded in my life for decades - it turns out that between commuting and hours on Produce (A)Isle, one has a lot of time to think and be in confrontation with one's self.

The past month has been about an ingrained habit of "white" lies.

I say "white" lies.  There really is no difference.  There are just lies.

The issue has become apparent twice in the past month, in both cases around something that had literally no impact on my life.  But it is was almost instinctive, the slight shading of truth - not harmful, not bad, not anything that really mattered.

But bad.

Both after the first and now second times that it happened, I have been delving into my reaction: How long have I been doing this?  Why do I feel the need, especially if it is over things that really do not matter?  How do I reconcile this with the self image I actually believe myself to be, or at least try to hold to?

There are, I suspect, a lot of roads that led here.  Part of it is being an introvert that reacts badly to interacting with people, let alone not dealing at all well with confrontation.  Part of it is the social play that we all end up being a part of, the "greasing" that makes things run smoothly.  Part of it is simply character related failings on my part.  And part of it...part of it is simply that panicked feeling that one gets when a question comes up from the blue and feels one has to react rather than think for a second and then answer. 

All of this, of course, leads to the "white" lie, the answer slightly shifted, the question slightly redirected, the truth slightly hazed.

This, of course, does not even cover the lies I tell to myself.  Those, at least, are pretty straightforward:  excuses I make to myself for undesirable behaviors.  "Laziness" and "Overeating" cleverly disguised as "Sure, you are tired" and "I am choosing to do this because I am empowered to eat entire sleeve cookies because I am an adult".

The rest, of course, is much less benign.

Oddly enough, I claim that I value truth.  I work in an industry where truth is 100% needed.  So why is it that I have allowed this slight tarnishing of my character, this somehow allowable (and, to be noted, largely socially acceptable) blemish?  Like other things of this nature, I suspect it simply becomes a habit - and once a thing is a habit, it becomes incredibly difficult to walk back. The mind becomes oiled and grooved into a particular set of actions - the best example of this, of course, is the common "What is wrong?" followed by the immediate response "Nothing" - when both party know something is wrong.

We - or at least I - should always be examples of the things we espouse to the greatest degree we can - not just because it is good to be an example, but simply because it is the right thing to do.  And I, at least, should hold myself to the standard I expect of others.

Like any bad thing, it is a habit.  And like a habit, it can be broken.  And like any old habit, it simply will take a very long time and a great deal more effort than one would have thought necessary.  But at least in the end, I can sleep at night knowing I held to my honesty in all things, not just in the "really important" ones.

The Secret Of Happiness

 

This concept has become more relevant to me the older I get.

At some point (at least for me) I had a twofold realization.  The first is that there is simply not enough room in my house for all the stuff I might desire.  Certainly I could expand into the garage (already have to some extent) or get an outbuilding (never) or even rent a space (never times two) - but even then, I would simply have "stuff".  It would not be stuff I used daily or even periodically; it would become stuff that was at best hauled out like seasonal decor and then put back for 11 months of the year.

The second realization has been as I have continued to sort through my parents' stuff.  Yes, a lot of it is useful, but even then much of the stuff they kept was likely there for their own sentimental reasons.  And while they received many years of use from it, in the end they are separated from it; my mother lives with literally nothing she had owned and the house slowly gets cleared out of all those things.  Some of the things I know and recognize; others I have no idea of who they are associated with or where they come from.

It has made me take a hard look at my own life.

Books. I love books.  I tend to buy books almost reflexively if I see them; it is only in the last year or so I have started asking "Why do I want this?  What need does this fill in my library?"  And looking at the remaining space, we are rapidly reaching the point where I have either perform a mass cleansing or limit my purchases to books I recognize a need for as reference.

And then I slowly work my way out from there into every aspect of my life.

If I were bitterly honest with myself, other than items that wear out such articles of clothing that cannot otherwise be repaired and "big ticket items" that are useful for modern living (a new roof, for example, comes to mind), I could go virtually the rest of my anticipated lifespan without needing anything else.

I say "need".  But that is not the precise thrust of Socrates' quote.  The real word is "enjoying".  Or if one wanted a synonym I suppose, one could use "content", or even "joyful".

Perhaps the better question - beyond just recognizing the difference between a need and a want - is the question "How can I enjoy what I have without wanting more".

Tales From Produce (A)Isle: The Turning Of The Fruits

 One of the things I have become exposed to on the tropical beaches and gently waving palms of Product (A)Isle is the changing of the agricultural year as denoted by the fruits we feature and are on sale.

When I originally started working in earnest in July, cherries were the top of our list.  Throughout July and even into August, we went through 8 to 10 flats of cherries even during my limited shifts.  Most of the cherries were from Washington.  Some just came in boxes, their bags encased on white plastic bags, others came in artfully decorated boxes with full colour inserts telling us how these were carefully grown in an artisanal style.  

Perhaps unsurprisingly, our customers have no concern about the artisanal nature of cherries and are purely concerned with price.  Out went the bags of cherries with the inserts and decorated boxes to grace a recycle bin.

Cherries in turn gave way to stone fruits and their kin. Peaches and nectarines graced the coconut groves.  On the whole they are easier to deal with as they containers they mostly come in - black folding containers called IFCOs which undoubtedly stands for something I cannot remember - can be easily stacked on the tables and slanted shelves, and the cardboard boxes that the rest come in are easily manageable in terms of weight distribution - the fruits being more fragile than, say, onions, and are packaged accordingly.

One additional advantage of stone fruits:  unlike cherries, where the unwritten code seemed to be "it is okay to sample and spit your pit out on the floor", stone fruits are much too big to each sample and spit the pits to the side.  (We are still finding cherry pits on the floor under things from three months ago; my view of human nature on the whole remains as dismal as it ever was.)

Stone fruits have in turn given way to grapes and pears and apples.  These are more familiar fruits and timing to me as these were all grown in Old Home and local towns would have entire industries geared around them.  Most of the applies we have are the ones that we usually have throughout the year, although there are some specialties (Sweet Tango, Kanzi) which seem to have appeared.  At least three kinds of pears as well which I find amusing:  my memory of pears growing up was from a single tree that my mother faithfully canned for many years and of which I could not tell you the name.

What comes next?  Frankly, I have no idea - but that is one of the joys of this job among the many including no after work emails and being able to leave the job on the beaches and in the groves.  It is nice to have a job where more than likely the surprises are all actually pleasant and educational ones.

The Collapse CXXII: Driving

21 June 20XX +1

My Dear Lucilius:

Driving. When was the last time I drove anywhere? When was the last time I even rode in the back of a truck?

The truck itself was a model I remember not just from just long ago but longer ago, as the rust patches and crumpled body portions attested to, confirmed by the letters on the front that were from a line that ended long ago. The driver smiled a bit as we piled into the back; it might not be in best condition, but it something he had been able to keep running himself long after newer units became too complex or parts became unavailable.

We were a mixed lot as we piled in, a collection of 10 or so individuals of various ages and sexes (although to be fair, mostly male) with wildly different equipment loads. The 5 or 6 people already in the bed nodded to us as they moved back and we moved in, trying to align ourselves and our packs in a way that the next round of travel would be bearable, if not comfortable.

With a lurch, the truck starts up again.

It was lovely early Summer day here, the sort that in times past would have made for a fine ride to somewhere else or even just to sit under the eaves and read. Now we slowly drive down the road at as speed that in years past would have caused someone to honk at us and then speed on by. The wind speed is so slow that we could carry a conversation if we wanted to. No one does.

The road is, perhaps surprisingly, in good shape – although I have to keep reminding myself that it has only been a year since maintenance truly stopped. Like many things time has stretched out in ways that seem remarkable to me. A year ago I was likely complaining about how some things were unavailable. Now, they all are.

We pass through the next town – literally a ghost town of old buildings from 180 years ago – where we collect a pair of older men. We ease around the side of the truck again; it is getting rather full at this point. We then continue the two miles up the road to the next town, which was the former county seat once upon a time when there was such a thing as a county. To the right as we pull into town is a parking lot as with two other trucks present. We pull in and park, extricating ourselves with care from the bed.

Not having ridden in a truck bed is so many years is telling, at least on me. I slowly creak my way out; Young Xerxes gives me a hand down.

As we gathered around the trucks, the head count I can get is about 40. We are a motley crew with similar characteristics to when we first loaded up: a mix of older and younger men and women (weighted toward older men, interestingly), some with the full hunting gear and a few with body armor and one fellow wear a sporting blazer – I suppose if one goes to war, one should look one’s best.

An older man hops up on the back of the truck bed gate. For the sake of discussion I will call him The Colonel, although if had ever held rank he never mentioned it (Colonel, as you may recall, was traditionally the rank given to those during the 17-18^th centuries who raised their own regiments). The two noteworthy things about him were his beard, long enough to be tied off in a holding queue, and the hardness of his visage. Next to him was The Captain, whom except for being slightly shorter and younger was a mirror image.

He thanked us first as we gathered around, for the commitment to our friends and neighbors and being willing to offer up a defense – a defense, he said, meant hope and hope meant a future. He knew were were likely all not soldiers or even hunters – that got a chuckle, especially from Blazer Man – but spirit and a sound plan could overcome a great many things. He asked for two things: for us to follow orders and trust those in charge – tall orders, he admitted, given the circumstances of our assembling.

The plan – there was a plan – would be handled as it became necessary. The first part of the plan involved getting to the site. There was a road to the next town over of course, but it was well known and rather exposed and it was assumed it was being watched – and of course, any traffic now would attract attention.

There was another option, though…

Like the Spartans at Thermopylae, there was another path. For them, it was goat track around Mt. Kallidromos leading to a position behind the Spartan lines at the pass. For us, it was a forest service road that went to the east and then dropped back down about 10 miles out of town to a road in. A chance always existed of being noticed of course, but a chance that was a reasonable one in that it would allow us to arrive unnoticed. The plan was to take the service road over the hill to the road and then hike the remaining distance into town, where we would stay for the night before moving out.

At this, he and the Captain hopped down. They began separating individuals into groups: some they obviously already knew, some they addressed questions to. As the groups grew, it was clear that the separation was between those that had military experience or even hunting experience and those who did not. Young Xerxes got swept up into the first group; I was swept up into the second group, which was perhaps ironically all populated by older men who looked more like scholars than soldiers.

The Colonel nodded and hopped into a truck, the rest of us following into the trucks that brought us. With a rumble of internal combustion, we were off.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca

Greece 2023: Corfu City

The history of Corfu is the history of Greece.

Corfu was founded as a colony of Corinth in the 7th Century B.C. and was the site of the largest naval battle to date at that time (665 B.C.).  Conquered by Corinth, it remained under tis control; its rebellion from Corinth was one of the proximate causes of the Peloponnesian War. 

(Ruins of the Ancient Agora)

The island was eventually controlled by one of Alexander the Great's successors until it, like the entire Balkans, eventually became a Roman possesion

(Roman Ruins)

The Roman Republic became the Roman Empire and the Eastern and Western Roman Empires.  In 551 A.D. Corfu was raided by the Ostrogoths but remained under the control of the Eastern (Byzantine) Empire.

(The Old Fortress)

From the 11th Century A.D. on, the island became the battleground of Normans, Local Despots, Italian city states, and the Byzantine Empire until in 1386 A.D. control passed to the Venetian Empire.  The city became a key lynchpin in the defense against the Ottoman Empire, surviving not less than four major assaults.

In 1797 the city passed to Napoleon after his conquest of Venice but only remained there for a brief time (1814),  when it passed to the British as a protectorate.

(Gardens of the British Residence)

(Residence of the British Governor, now a museum)

In 1864, the British Protectorate was transferred to the Kingdom of Geece.

More than anything else, to walk in Corfu city is to walk in Venice.  The city has retained its Venetian look and architecture.  It even influenced are: An entire style of painting icons and churches with traditional Orthodox motifs but in Renaissance style is called the Ionian School

(Is this Italy?  Greece?  Could you tell?)

(View of the Old Fortress)

The Ionian Sea was so clean and clear.

The two pictures below are of a gate into the Old City, dating at least from the 1600's.

Orthodox Church:

The Corfu City Opera house, built during the Venetian period.

 

Greece 2023: Sailing To Corfu

We left the Meteora region and headed over what is known as the Greek Alps; apparently there is skiing here in the Winter.

Greece has skiing; who knew?

Descending to the coast, we reached the town of Igoumenitsa, a town located on the Ionian Sea.  Here, we would be taking a ferry to the island of Cofu ( Gr.  Kekyra, or Κέρκυρα).  Our ferry drove on, and we went upstairs.

The trip took about 1 hour.  It has been years since I took any sort of ride on the ocean of this nature.

A view of the Old Fortress. We will see more soon:

Looking back towards the Old Fortress:

From our hotel room overlooking Kalichiopoulos Lagoon.  This was likely the harbor of Corfu in ancient times.

Dinner was a buffet:

View from our hotel room at sunset:

 

Of Credit Fraud (An Update) And A New Roof

1)  A follow up to my post last week on credit card fraud:  turns out it was good news and alarming news.  The good news was that it was not fraud in that it was a charge for an annual renewal fee (VPN, as it ironically turns out) and was an expected charge (although apparently, forgotten by me).

The alarming part was that I had not updated my credit card with them, yet somehow they had the new number.

I went and did a screen of some other sites I use.  Nope, all of them had the old credit card that was canceled because of the original fraud.  Yet somehow, this company had the newly issued number that had been in existence for less than two weeks, if you count from the time it was issued and sent to me.

My gut tells me that somewhere in the terms of service there is a clause that somehow links the bank/credit account to that service.  But still find it disturbing that the number just somehow "magically appeared" when I had not notified them of any change at all.

Deep trust of technology deepened.

2)  Two weeks ago we experienced a severe hail storm in our area (naturally and once again, when I was away from New Home and at Old Home).  Severe does not cover it:  we had friends with broken windshields, broken home windows, and actual holes in their house.

And, of course, ruined roofs.

We did not have a contractor in mind (although they were literally making the rounds the day after) and finally just stumbled into one who seemed at least reputable on the InterWeb. They said we had damage - no surprise given the storm and even less of a surprise as the roof is at least 20 years old, and probably a bit older.  

I filed the claim; the adjustor came by on Saturday.

The adjustor was a super nice guy and let me know up front that apparently there was a declaration on our policy that they would only pay replacement costs based on the current value of the roof - that is to say, the roof had likely depreciated beyond anything that had value.  He would do what he could for us, but said that it was possible the insurance company would not pay at all.

The reimbursement offer came back that same day. I have no idea what roofs are going for now, but I am hopeful he estimated high to get us some kind of reimbursement:  we got 12% of what the roof estimate was.

This is not an ideal situation.

The next step is to contact the roofing company and see what an acceptable roof will actually cost.  Even at that, there will be some creative budgeting and belt tightening to manage it.

Two lessons:

1)  Check your homeowner's insurance policy for a declaration on your roof and current value payment.

2)  When you get your roof replaced, contact your home insurance company.  Apparently they will update the policy to remove the declaration.

The Modernist

 Commentary:  Per the Open Doors organization, 360 millions Christians suffered persecution in 2023 to date, with 5,621 martyrs.  Likely you will not hear a whiff of this from a great many churches, let alone from the rest of the world.  Persecution was something that happened in the Days of Yore, not in today's modern world.

The fact that the modern world is not bothered does not surprise me.  The fact that the Church is not bothered bothers me greatly.