We were on a tour of classical Greece.
On the morning of 23rd April we were at Delphi, that home of the ancient and intriguing gods.
Our splendid tour guide told us that we were very near to a small town named St. George's (in English), maybe Agios Georgios (in Greek).
Would we like to go there to observe the locals on their feast day? Would we? We jumped at the chance.
We saw the row of Greek widows dressed all in black as they watched the goings on and doubtless made funny or sarcastic comments to each other.
We saw the old men, dressed in street clothes (with flat working men's caps) as they, already well oiled, danced in the street and fired their rifles into the air. (Food for the widows' chatter!)
We saw the young women and men, all beautifully and handsomely decked out in (Greek) National Dress. (In truth there are regional variations on what non-Greeks call Greek National Dress). They wandered the streets and greeted we tourists with warm smiles.
We saw the lambs as they were being roasted whole on spits.
I (not we) enjoyed the proffered "nibbles" of meat from the inner organs: heart, liver, kidney, ready to eat before the lamb itself was completely roasted. YUM
So, twenty years on, I am celebrating St. George's Day with this feast of memories.
(N.B. St George, the Patron Saint of England is also recognised as a Saint by some Muslim groups).
My photo's from that day are long since lost, so what you see below has been lifted from the web.
|Older Greek man (this one is sober!)|
|Lamb, my favourite meat.|
|From Arachora in Central Greece (1)|
|From Arachora in Central Greece (2).|