Bric-a-brac

There's so much to see in this photo, I don't know where to start from.

First things first: would you buy men's boxer shorts from the three-wheeled cart on the pedestrian crossing? How about a linen embroidered tablecloth from the gypsy lady crossing the street (with a huge white sack over her shoulder), next to the grandmother (wearing black from head to toe) pushing the baby in the pram? The blue recycle bin, the (paradoxically) green litter bin, the bus stop, and the men sitting under the trees passing their morning at their favorite meeting point.

The bric-a-brac stall is permanently stationed where you see it now, come rain or shine. I wouldn't be surprised if it belongs to the person who runs another bric-a-brac roadside stall right across the road on the right - which coincidentally is in front of the central market in Hania, the Agora.

And yesterday's baobab tree was in fact a celery root.

ABC Wednesday: Street sweeper

It's ABC Wednesday again, and S is for street sweeper.

I admire the patience of this immigrant to my town, taking on the job of sweeping the main street right in front of the Agora clean for the benefit of the locals and tourists alike. He didn't bat an eyelid when he saw me photographing him; he just proudly carried on with his work. Notice how he's tied a few blue bin liners behind him; he's just doing his job.

The district court

The district court of Hania looks very imposing at night with the lights all lit up. It's a different sight altogether during the day, with suited men and briefcase-holding ladies ascending the stately steps. The street market takes place on the left hand side of the court every Saturday.

The kafeneio

If I were retired, and living in the middle of town, and it was a fine day, this is what I'd want to be doing, and this is where I'd go to do it - meet my friends at the local kafeneio (cafe), a predominantly male domain, where the local males meet up with each other, have something to drink, talk politics, read the newspaper, and keep out of women's way. This kafeneio is near Saturday's street market, a place to buy local produce.

The pastry maker

This is my pastry man. He works in a little basement with a few stairs that lead up to the road, on an old street behind the Agora of Hania. How can the street be old? It's dusty, and the pre-war buildings look very tired from the weight of the metal and glass that has been added to them to modernise their appearance and make them attract tourists. There's also a site with ancient ruins further down the road, sectioned off with wire netting, to keep people and their rubbish out.

When I visited the pastry maker today, he was in the middle of stretching out a piece of dough. His hair and eyelashes were tinged with flour, and so was the staircase and the banister.

Good morning, can I take a photo of you while your working?
Sure, do you want any filo, or should I just go back to work?
Oh, I want a kilo of filo, too!
OK, I'll get it for you first.
He comes up the stairs.
Thick or thin?
Thick, please, for kalitsounia (of course I wanted it for hortopita, spanakopita, kalitsounakia, tiropitakia and strifti, but I kept this information to myself). How long have you been doing this job?
Oh, years and years, over 50.
You've been running around like that for over 50 years?!
Yes, and I don't think I'll ever stop until it's time to go away for good, if you get what I mean.
We laugh together.
Exercise is good for everyone. I can't sit around in an office, never ever. I notice that he is a very slim man for his age.
I point to a photo on the wall. Is that your father?
No, no, that's the owner's father, the young lady who you see here many times. I was a friend of her father's. A kilo of... oh, it's more than a kilo. Would you like me to remove some?
No, no, I'll keep it, I'm sure I'll need it.
Here you are. I pay him. Now you can take your photo.
He goes downstairs. The tourists are starting to come in now, and they take photos of me. Every year, they take hundreds of photos. I've seen myself in the same pose in photos taken by different people hundreds of times. Tourists love this sort of thing.
Is it difficult work?
What, stretching the dough? This is peanuts. The difficulty was when we didn't have mixers and I had to mix the dough myself. Those were hard days, I can tell you...

I watch him stretching the dough. When he's finished, the filo covers the whole table in a perfect square with rounded corners. It is then covered with hessian sacking material, which keeps the dough soft and allows it to breathe without drying out. It is then cut up into smaller squares to make it easier to package it and for customers to work with it.

When I finish the video, I thank him and say good-bye - until I need more pastry. Why bother making my own? This is the real thing.

My family's favorite recipes using the PASTRY MAN's filo
Prasopita (leek pie)
Kalitsounia in the oven (square pasties)
Hortopita (spanakopita)
Tiropitakia (cheese and honey pies)
Bougatsa

The bagel lady

This lady is a regular sight in our town. Every day except Sunday she is seen on the street selling 'koulouria', the local variety of what is universally known as bagels. She usually cycles among the other traffic on the road, delivering her wares on an improvised three-wheeled bicycle with a cart full of bagels attached at the rear end. Today, she is immobilised at Saturday's street market stalls, selling her bagels to the visitors to the open-air market. She isn't Greek by nationality; she is actually Albanian.

Immigrant Albanians in Hania have a reputation of being very hard-working, frugal shoppers and good savers. In my few conversations with them, most always mention going back 'home', even though their children were born here and have assimilated into the mainstream community, taking part in all activities that the average Greek child would participate in, eg sports clubs, language classes, after-hours preparatory lessons. They remind me so much of my Greek-New Zealand parents, who did exactly the same thing as these immigrants are doing here now: working hard, saving money, striving for a better future. That's why I think most of them will not go back 'home', but they will make this town their home.

I don't know her name, but I've seen this lady around the town for the last fifteen years. I see her every day that I am in the town, and would really like to ask her if she is happy with her adopted home. In a sense, I feel very much like her because I wasn't born here either; I stayed here because I liked it.

The open-air market

Strictly speaking, I should be taking a photo each day, but today's photo was taken yesterday at the street market. The vegetable stalls are held outside the district court building every Saturday, a perfect way to use the parking area. Here are a few hawkers' cries that I heard yesterday:

(at a stall selling very old-fashioned looking XL jumpers)
Everything cheap! Everything free today!
I'm not making any money today!
I'm giving it all away!
You may be wondering why I'm doing this:
Because today - I'm celebrating my happiness!

(at a stall selling shoes)
Everything for ten euro today!
One left shoe and one right shoe, only ten euro!
Or two left shoes or two right shoes!
All combinations possible!

(at a vegetable stall selling stamnagathi - spiny chicory)
Stamnagathi straight from the mountain!
Fresko fresko, come buy it now!
Summer's coming, stock up now!
Only four euro a kilo, cheaper than tomatoes!