My Images of SEE – 14:17, Mon 8th August

So, this morning my alarm didn’t wake us up at our scheduled time of 08:00. It was my intent to leave early to get to ‘Simeondis’ travel agents for 09:00. However, we slowly crept from our sleep to get ready for going out. Liam was frozen all night, him sleeping under the air-con and all, meant he had a disturbed sleep. I, on the other hand, stirred only once. We departed our hotel at 09:25 and headed west towards Democracy Square. We then turned off down 26^th October Street. I expected the shop to be at the bottom of this street – a good mile away. However the Law Courts, as indicated in my e-mail instructions, appeared to our left. So we crossed over and located our building. A porter indicated, using sign language, the first floor. So we went up. On the door there was a sign – in Greek. It said ‘Simeondis’ on it, but there was no answer. We tried opening it but no luck. Reading a number (and a vague similarity to numbers, a second ‘numeral’ we assumed it opened at 10:00, so we departed. To kill time, we discovered the old city wall. So we walked around the back (behind the Law Courts) via a small park, back to our original destination. The walls were a good 3000 yards from the sea, beating my assumption that they went all the way to the waters edge.

Once 10:00 had been reached, we moved in once more. Again the door remained unanswered and locked. Liam suggested we go up a floor, which we did. Lo and behold, there was the office. I produced my e-mail to the girl on the front desk. She opened her book and saw my name. I noticed it was at the top of the list for the bus that day – talk about forward planning! She took our passports, and gave us a stamped ticket and our passports. We paid €20 each for the one-way coach. It was to depart tomorrow at 17:30 opposite our building.

We then walked back to our hotel room. We rehydrated and applied sun cream before departing again – handing in our room key to the friendly reception man. Liam noticed a fort of the hill yesterday, so we decided to hike it there. So we stuck to a northeasterly route up the hill. We passed a massive open space, in front of what looked like a municipal building, which contained what one could only presume to be Roman/Greek ruins. They were spectacular, especially against the overbearing buildings around us. We then continued.

Above one of the next east/west roads we appeared to be in more residential surroundings. There were still slim and windy streets but the gradient was getting steeper. The housing must have been built mostly in the 1950s or 1970s – depending on the block. All had small balconies and over them had screens for shade. Cars were almost always parked chaotically on the road, especially at junctions. We pressed on.

Only for the local bus going past, to indicate some sense of familiarity in somewhat unfamiliar surroundings, we were best able to predict that we were on the right track. So we pushed on. We then got to a point where a house wasn't built in-between the sandwiched buildings.

The views were superb. It reminded me of images I have seen of Jerusalem – only with a bay; the crisp, turquoise sea glistening in the midday sun. Facing south, we could see east to where the airport was, scanning the bay – with its smattering of sea vessels – across to the tip of the port in the west. To our left was the old city wall, crawling past us, up the hill, to our destination. The Fort.

So we continued on for the last leg of the journey. Once we reached the ‘summit’ we realized it was closed. But I did get the opportunity to buy postcards and fridge magnets. We then went to the door of the tower, which had a decked area. The views were stunning. Now you could see the entire port too. 

 

Directly ahead of us, looking south was the wall striding towards the Rotunda. We could see the small, spiky tower next to the Archaeological Museum we visited yesterday, and the vastness of the Thermaikos Gulf before us. We then retreated back to the town, following the wall south, capturing a glimpse of the Rotunda close up as we went past. 

Its brick was almost sandstone like. Its accompanying tower must have been a later addition. We retraced out steps westwards down Egnatia in search of food. We intended on going ‘local’ out of a street side fast food outlet, but were put off by there being no English to help us make an informed culinary choice. So we walked down the ‘Bond Street’ of Thess, Tsimiski, and back to Aristotle Square. Here we ate at a different establishment, but still soaking up the daytime atmosphere.

Liam then wanted to witness the forum. So we walked up to Archea Agora Square, where we saw a pack of wild dogs snoozing in the shade, and onward to the forum beyond. Another sighting of a vast Roman settlement. A massive plaza in its centre but then tunnels and archways underneath, at its edge. To the right, an amphitheatre where Liam said discussions would have been held. Battling with the heat, we returned to the hotel for 14:00.

Watching some TV, it is interesting to observe how it compares to UK TV – and I do say that it is no competition. A TV show that looks like it is a 1990s repeat does actually seem to be recently made. So I opted for Eurosport – always modern!


It was on this day that I became aware of the depth of history of the city. I had known the regional history, but that it made its appearance in a city, hiding under grass, near the sea, next to more modern buildings, brought home the idea of Thessaloniki having more that what was being presented at first glance.

Since my visit, I have read Mark Mazower's Salonica: City of Ghosts (2004). This book enlightened me so much on the history of the city covering the last 500 years. Given that it rests within a Greek state, this city has been under Byzantine, Ottoman, German and Greek rule, and been targeted for rule by Bulgarians and Serbians. This was already known to me, but the diverse make up of the people that made this walled city was unknown. Most presentations of the city look at the Greek, Turkish or Bulgarian populations that inhabited this city, but lacking in study were the Jews who, up to 1912, were the largest ethnic group in Thessaloniki. The Ladidka is what remains of their physical presence in the centre. This was not only down to the mass slaughter on the city's dwindling population by the Nazi's during the course of World War II; but also because of great many a fire in the city over the years, or economic opportunities elsewhere. These residents and a host of other peoples resided in Thessaloniki over the centuries, ebbing and flowing in numbers as time went on. This book captures the vibrancy of how these people lived, how they were organised, what the customs were, and in what buildings they lived. One of my fascinations is the aesthetic beauty that buildings have, and my curiosity as to the intent of a certain style. At present the Modernist builds project rationality and purpose. But past building had other purposes that may be redundant now yet instead posses that aesthetic beauty somewhat more.

The home of Ataturk, the founder of modern Turkey, had Ottoman as its style, with its characteristic bay window which can still be seen today. On the note of Ataturk, who would now have been born in Greece, it should be remembered that after Greece took over Salonica, he was one of the Turkish generals engaged in the war between Greece and Turkey in 1923 that saw hundreds of thousands displaced. Greeks fled Anatolia, whilst Turks and Muslims fled to Turkey. This meant that by 1929, 75% of the city was now Greek. The Greek nationalising of the city could then begin in earnest.  

And it is this ethnic homogenisation, along with the binary of nationalisation/de-Ottomonization of Thessaloniki, that can be witnessed at present in the architectural and social structures of the city. This is what Maximilian Hartmuth observes in his article in Urban Life and Culture in Southeastern Europe (Roth and Brunnbauer, 2006). This leads on to the wider concepts of national identity, nationalism and citizenship, as categorisations of people, whether objective or subjective, and the processes that these concepts engage in or emanate from. But these will out in further debates. Only to finally say that Thessaloniki is a city that may seem 'modern' in its presentation, and Greek in its identification, but it has 'resided' in numerous states and empires, yet always remained regionally in 'Macedonia' (however one wishes to define its borders) whilst being historically diverse in its populations.

My Images of SEE – 23:04, Sun 7th August

After our brief break we left the hotel once more and headed due south towards the sea. We noticed to our right a small square with numerous restaurants there. It must have been 20:00 yet only a handful of people were in each of the 5 or so establishments. We picked one that had ‘meze’ in its title. 

We sat down to an English menu that our waiter correctly predicted we’d need, and noticed a list of Ouzo. The price was rather steep, but it was interesting to note the wide selection. By 21:20 we had finished. We had a mint-like tasting meatball platter in tomato sauce; a pastry wrapped cheese and tomato roll; a potato, bacon and cheese lasagne-cum-shepard’s pie, and stuffed peppers. All fantastic. We had beer, water and to finish – fresh slices of watermelon. All reasonably priced. Again the street sellers were out, others had musical instruments now.

We then went for a walk along the front to the place where we ate today. The moon sent a shimmering reflection down to the bay water. An ever so light breeze blew, and the locals were out in force. It must be that with the heat so high in the day that the locals only come out at dusk. We reached the square that was now buzzing with life, and sat on high stools at one of the trendier bars. This was indicated by the price of the drinks.

We observed the atmosphere enjoyed by the locals. Some with families, some men on mobiles texting away, a gaggle of girls drinking cocktails and getting chatted up by the barmen. Also an older man swooning over his somewhat younger partner – and the occasional broken glass. After finishing the complimentary nuts and crisps, we headed off back up the hill to our hotel. What a pleasant evening.

This short diary entry is a hangover from the previous one, and just rounds off the first day in Thessaloniki. It does denote my first awareness of the different daily routines that people from alternative climates have, which dictate their work and leisure routines. It also describes the presentation of eastern Mediterranean cuisine – meze/tapas in its delivery, with pastry and meat as their staple. Again, not much more to add only that the area where the square with the restaurants on was the Ladadika. This was actually the old Jewish Quarter up to World War One, and in its small area contained buildings (whether actual or reconstructed) from that time, which made it stand out from the more post World War Two modernist style of the majority of the city.

Thoughts on Gerald Creed's 'Masquerade and Postsocialism: Ritual andCultural Dispossession in Bulgaria'

2014 saw the relaxation of the transition controls that were imposed on Bulgaria after it was accepted into the EU as a mechanism to reduce the number of workers who travelled west seeking employment. Whilst this has been at the forefront of British media and political discourse over the past two months, and with it this notion that large swathes of Bulgarians teeming at the border eager to plant themselves in the UK, this refreshing text enlightens us with the converse notion. Creed returns to the villages of Bulgaria and their remaining residents to observe the annual celebratory events known as kukeri or survakari, and seeks to place them in their new postsocialist, globalised setting.

Kukeri, or mumming as it is known in English, is as striking in its visual display as it is unique in the rituals that it follows in the early months of the New Year. Creed, in his general introductory observations, describes the participants as usually having masks, furs, bells, a staff, and an assortment of other props. A usual celebration lasts a day or two, and starts from the making of the masks or the unpacking of ones from past events. The acts that make up this event consist, in varying order, of a procession, a ritual dance around a fire in an open space in the village, trips to nearby villages or visitors from them to perform together, setting up road blocks for ‘donations’, but all contain a central event – the procession around each of the houses in the village.

Each participant is assigned a different role, and each has their part to play during the proceedings. Even these adhere to village specific protocols. All the participants are traditionally men, their varying roles including the bride, the groom, a priest, an arap or gypsy, a bear and bear tamer, as well as other carnivalesque figures. He describes many visits, ranging from those residents accepting them cheerfully; to those who are obviously not playing the game, to those who lavish food, brandy and paper money or those less able that provide eggs, beans or coins to the guests. Mocking of the people or property through pinching or throwing yard furniture around is to be expected. The perishable booty is then consumed and money counted in the evening. This could be repeated the next day.

What Creed then does is go one to describe in more detail individual rituals but in the context of four themes: Gender and sexuality, civil society and democracy, autonomy and community, and ethnicity and nationalism. On the first, he looks at how gender relations have evolved through socialism and postsocialism, and how the mumming ritual took on or replaced lost symbolic meanings for men as women became more equal. Also, since socialism departed a Western image of homosexuality arrived and began to alter the way in which an all male troupe saw their innocent comradeship, especially centered on the transvestite bride.  Katherine Verdery and Jane Sugarman in their commanding review for the Slavic Review (Vol. 71, No. 1 (SPRING 2012), pp. 135-137) focus on Creed’s analysis of masculinity in this context, and highlight his observation that prior to the transition masculinity was a ‘whole’ and took on many behaviours, but now rested on a continuum whereby being a lesser ‘man’ equates with new ‘feminized’ behaviours. The homogenization of gender and sexuality roles is the consequence of postsocialism. In looking at civil society, he takes umbrage at the West’s perception of what civil society does and what it should look like. Mumming, he argues, has taken on this role, as the state withdrew during the transition, and it either retained or nurtured further relations between villagers and villages. Accepting that civil society can be formal and informal, in its interactions with the state, he sees elements of civil society in mumming that the West tend to ignore because he believes it is seen as a premodern ritual in a supposed modern state (i.e. a representative democracy with a formal civil society); and thus not accepted to be included in such classifications.

In terms of the third theme, he observes the paradoxes of conflict and atomization & community that the rituals express in social relations in the village. On the one hand social relations express conflict – over booty, over who plays what roles, between the performers and the villagers in their homes, or between rival groups. But it also showcases unity – in the face of ‘outsiders’ such as other village troupes, arguments between families actually underscore their unity as a ‘village’ through the autonomy and interdependence of households. Finally, in addressing ethnicity and nationalism, he looks at the character of the gypsy in the mumming ritual along side the inclusion of Roma in the events themselves. Although inclusion was ambivalent with racism still present, mumming allowed Roma to participate because indigenous Roma (according to the villagers) were ‘their’ Roma. However, the threat to inclusion was always from those who returned and never interacted with the Roma on a daily basis, anchored in ethnic Bulgarian feelings of national inferiority. And so Creed ends by mourning the modernizing trends in mumming ritual and appearance, as a result of the transition from socialism and the penetration of Euro-American norms.

Creed’s text does provide a provocative insight into one cultural event that Bulgarian’s enact by weaving it into a polemic on the legacies of socialism, the ‘transition’ and the difficulties of postsocialism for the ‘village’ and villagers. But by describing mumming as ‘modernity in drag’ he does perhaps pine too much for what he sees as a ritual that had better days before it, and perhaps even under socialism. But he does this not from a rose tinted view of the ‘golden age of mumming’, but more as a critique of how Western imaginings, assumptions and concepts have altered the symbolism and meanings the rituals had as they were carried out by the mummers. I would argue though that the cultural value of the ritual must still be worth something if villagers continue to practice it, even if it has ‘modernised’ in its attempt to be more Western. And this chimes with Creed’s pursuit to account for the increase in the practice of mumming. The fact that the celebration takes place owes much to the value it has to the participants and the observers, many who travel home to witness it, despite the overarching postsocialist and neoliberal challenges to it from outside ‘the village’.

My Images of SEE – 17:37, Sun 7th August

To add a more personal flavour to this blog, I thought I would share with you the diary I kept when I travelled around South-East Europe in August 2011. The accounts span from part of a day or up to a day and half, depending on when I was able to sit and write. I will provide the mainly unaltered diary entry italicized, then add my current thoughts on that trip along with views garnered from readings undertaken since my MA studies; as well as some pictures of my trip. This first entry details my departure from the UK and my arrival to Thessaloniki, but I will leave this one without comment. I travelled with my partner of the time, but I have changed his name for this purpose. Enjoy.

Today is the first day of this mammoth trip that I am about to undertake, along with Liam. I will write this at the specified time, but will begin where I previously left off. However this being the first day, I should begin at the start.

I awoke at 2:07 this morning, and hour before my wake up alarm. I blame it both on the worry of sleeping in, and the apprehension of taking this trip. I wished away the minutes to 3:15 then promptly woke Liam up.

We showered, changed, received a call from the taxi firm, then had a quick brew before being whisked away to Gatwick Airport. We found our area to check in, but had to cart our backpacks to a separate location, as they couldn’t go down the normal conveyor belts. We then marched to security and swiftly got through. I needed to buy cough/chest mixture, so did so at the Boots store.

After that the boards showed our departure gate so we briskly walked the 15 minutes route to arrive there. We had a snack from Costa Coffee whilst waiting.

Within 20 minutes people were queuing up as a steward showed movement – so like sheep we obligingly followed. I notified the world via Facebook of my growing nerves about the flight.

We slowly and surely began moving. We got on to the plane, a larger on from EasyJet than I’m used to but still not massive. I luckily had my preferred seat on the last row.

Take off was fine, although I still had to show fear. We dozed off for an hour or so during the beginning of the flight. We then emerged out of our snoozing, and I decided to read the Lord of the Rings that I had brought with me. In between doing this, I kept peering out of the window with Liam as we passed over Montenegro.

The pilot then informed us that we would be passing over Tirana shortly, then begin our descent.

30 minutes later we circled the Bay, at which Thessaloniki was its head, then landed smoothly. We then piled into busses to get to the terminal to collect our bags. The weather was clear, a slight breeze but a glorious temperature. It was now 11:10 local time.

Inside the baggage hall, Liam struck gold with his bag coming out first. However a moment of panic gripped me, as mine wasn’t to be seen. So I went closer to the entry point and I could see it at the bottom of the pile waiting to get out. 5 minutes later I was reunited with it.

We then left the departure area looking for signs for a bus to the city, we followed what we found, and saw a two-piece ‘bendy bus’. I asked the driver, slowly, how much. He explained in easy English that I get a ticket out of a blue machine in the back – a choice of two. I directed Liam to the farthest door, so I took the second farthest to buy us both a ticket.

Two Euro’s later and a validation stamp meant that we had paid our way into town on this packed bus. However, armed with only a tightly focused map of the hotel, and an impression that the bus would go down the main boulevard ‘Egnatia’, I hoped a park or name would be familiar. After reaching a small, local bus station, we realized we’d gone too far. I stood up as if ready for the next stop but people were still on the bus from the airport; so again, following others (locals I assumed, too), we stayed on until the end. This happened to be the KTEL bus station. What looked like a run down domed cathedral/ice rink was in fact the transnational bus station. We could either try our luck on the 78 again, or get a taxi. Liam opted for the second option.

So I pointed out to the taxi driver the name and address on my map. He took us back the way we came and dropped us off outside ‘a’ hotel, just not ours. As we walked in another direction, he exclaimed “that is your hotel”. Not keen on offending him, we did the British thing and went to the door of the hotel, waited until he drove off, then walked to where our hotel really was – 50 yards away on the other side of the Egnatia.

A few comments on the first impressions of Thessaloniki. As we drove through on the bus going north, you could instantly tell that the recession and current financial turmoil was having its effects. Closed forecourts, empty buildings and a quiet feel of a loss of hope. We drove past a very ‘western’ shopping park towards the town proper. Upon entering its eastern city limits, you could tell it was the area of low socio-economic residents. Unkempt gardens, rubbish patterned about the place, and a lower standard of shops and services.

Once we started approaching the city centre the content of the shops, or people outside, changed somewhat, but the general ‘untidiness’ remained. Graffiti is widespread, as is the case with most European, continental countries. When we bypassed the city centre, the malaise I could sense drifted back – epitomized by the bus station I previously mentioned. The city didn’t seem alive, although I do concede that it is a Sunday. Maybe it will spring to life tomorrow.

This general feel for the city so far, although not disappointing but also not awe inspiring either, reflected my impressions of the hotel. Upon entering we were warmly greeted by a young Greek who spoke great English. He gave us our key to our room, took my passport to make a copy, and kindly highlighted a map for us to some café’s for food.

Entering the room was akin to stepping into an Agatha Christie tele-movie starring Poirot! The best word to describe it is quaint. Neoclassical style décor with tiled flooring and an old fashioned rug struck jarringly against the 14” LCD TV. However it looked comfy and had air-con. After refreshing, we departed a light lighter, grabbing my passport on the way.

We walked the 10 minutes to Aristotle Square then down to the front. We found a café with fans so sat down and ordered two salads, beer, Cola and water. All this gave us a second wind. One thing that I can see will be a regular annoyance is the street sellers. 4 times we were disturbed whilst eating. Their wares are fake DVDs and jewelry; the sellers of black ethnicity and possibly north African descent (as I don’t know the accents).

We walked eastward along the front to the White Tower. A beautiful sand-like coloured tower, some 40-50 meters tall and the same distance from the sea. We walked around and tried to get in, but as it was 14:55 we were denied entry as closing was 15:00. So we wandered back to a Starbucks we saw for a light, cool relief. Again, the street sellers were out in force.

We walked north-east from there for 10 minutes to the Archaeological Museum. €6 each and Liam was in his glory. Lots of pots, tools, jewelry, sculptures, sarcophagi, grave stones, and more reflecting 8 centuries of Macedonian culture from 4^th century B.C. It was all very educational – especially the technological side to the experience.

We departed there heading north-west to Egnatia, where we came across the Arch, and further up the hill, the Rotunda. The Arch is not that impressive size wise, but its carvings were excellent. A little tired, we walked back to the hotel for a short rest.