Tuesday, 14 April 2009
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Holy Monday | Cyprus Pascha 2009 Blog
How naive we were to think that jet lag would be easier on a little person than us! Yesterday (Monday) was spent looking for sleep at all the wrong hours with a few mini adventures thrown in. We made a morning exploration into the village, assuring Audrey that we were looking for the feral kitty she'd spotted the night before. Our base camp seems to be pretty well near the center of the village, and we pushed the stroller (buggy, pushchair, pram—we learned all the possible English terms when dealing with airport staff) up the windy, narrow roads. Clinging to the stone walls that flank the street, we avoided major traffic (2 cars in ½ hour) and managed to snap a few photos. We found a supermarket, defined as such by having more than eight aisles, and picked up the real genesis of our expedition—a pack of olives and some fresh bread. As we passed through the center of town, we waved to several people, a couple of stone workers, an old man, and headed for higher ground. The village is situated at about 800 meters above sea level and even though the day wasn't perfectly clear, we smiled at the sight of the Mediterranean Sea framed by the thousands of yellow flowers every single tourist website about Cypress had mentioned.
Later, Jake and his mom and sister headed to a larger town to exchange money and deal with the rental car business. He had the chance to take a tour of one of Cyprus' beautiful painted churches-the Church of St. Andrew in Polis- and venerate some relics. (See Photo Gallery)
After a dinner made from pasta, fresh tomatoes and the remaining olives from our morning shopping, we responded to the call of Church bells and walked up the street. We entered from the side, walking in on chanting. Audrey is two years old and when she enters a Church, she makes the sign of the cross like a mime trying to wave away bees. After lighting candles and venerating the icons, our little family split up. Jake stayed near the front with the rest of the men and I joined the ya-yas near the back. Before we left, a friend had bade me to expect men and women to stand on opposite sides of the church, but the construction of this narrow building meant that instead of being split right to left, there was more front/back differentiation. I cringed accordingly when Audrey's little voice warranted shushing from the nearby women and then rejoiced when she quickly fell asleep in my arms.
We brought along a Greek/English Holy Week services book, so we would be able to follow along with the service. Last night, when Jake went to the service alone, he said he was often more lost than not with the book, so I embraced the waves of Greek washing through the church, incomprehensible, yet so often familiar as the service followed a pattern that is taking hold in my heart and mind as I spend more time in the Church. My prayers, while sometimes matching with a recognizable “Kyrie Elieson,” thanked God for the small triumphs of the day—a very long nap while Grandma snuggled my daughter, bountiful cups of coffee and the opportunity to share in the traditions that the women around me have been celebrating for anywhere between 20 and 90 years.
Our night ended with Jake in the bedroom and me snuggled on a futon with a toddler who just learned how to climb out of her crib. After our first full night of sleep in 4 of 5 days, all of us are finally rested and ready to explore the surrounding area and respond again when the Church bells call us to continue our preparations for Pascha.
