As I shook Audrey to wake her around 10pm, just after the first bells called us to the Paschal celebration, she buried her head in her pillow. For weeks, she'd been reciting the litany of “Mommy go to Pascha and Daddy go to Pascha and Audrey go to Pascha,” but when it came time to slip out of jammies and into an Easter dress I'd been saving for the last two years, she was having none of it. Looking back on this week of exhausting services, I saw how often I'd behaved like this little child, wishing I could just relax instead of doing the sometimes grueling work of the liturgy. But, just like her mother, once Audrey realized the true excitement of the situation (and had her pink candle with a bear (!!) on it) she was ready for whatever the service might hold.

I don't know an elegant way to put this—Pascha in Cyprus is a celebration like nothing I've ever seen. Jake, Audrey and I made our way to the Church that was quickly filling. When the toddler fell back asleep, despite the loud banging of firecrackers outside, someone gave me a chair and we watched as more and more people crowded into the little church. Jake stepped outside to snap photos of the 40 foot bonfire setting Judas ablaze with teenage boys celebrating in their own fashion. Soon, it was time for the lights to go out and I woke Audrey so she could light her pink candle. Following the tide of people, we washed out of the church into a courtyard packed with nearly 500 people. Simply put, Cypriot Pascha puts American Independence Day to shame. Just above our heads, firecrackers exploded in what Audrey dubbed “sparkle rain” and we shouted Xristos Anesti with everyone from the village.

As the priest and some of the parishioners went back into the Church, the majority headed for dinners of lemon soup and eggs. We stayed in the Church for a few minutes but between the wiggly toddler and the emptiness of the service, we decided to follow local traditions and head home. Wired from the celebration, we stayed awake late into the night, remarking on what we had just seen and listening to the sound of firecrackers still exploding in the distance.

The next morning, we cracked open our red eggs and sang “Christ is Risen” in English. My Greek is absolutely awful but I'm getting better at responding “Alithos Anesti.” We spend our Sunday wandering along the waterfront in Paphos, enjoying ice cream and lamb for dinner.