clean monday

Everybody loves lagana.

The almond trees are the first to bloom, wispy, white, and fragrant. The peach trees are next, I think, their blossoms faintly pink. It’s winter in Heraklion, here on the northern coast. In the village, in the south, spring is already on its way to summer. The sun is high and bright; the sky, cloudless, windless, and blue. Yesterday was the perfect day to visit, to take pictures, and to eat, since the fast is about to begin.

The buka was on her best behavior. She put all her sensitivities aside and let her grandmother, her great-grandmother, and all the little old ladies from the village fuss loudly over her, and do whatever old women do when they get around babies. It wasn’t so easy for me. “The first person who ever held you, the first person who ever fed you, that was me!” That was the mil, of course.

But the buka has her way. She showed them who comes first now.

The best moment was when one of the women hilariously confused the buka with her mother. “Look, she’s thinking about something,” observed the mil.

Her crony didn’t miss a beat: “Το γκόμενο.”