So, fortunately, this Easter has arrived and some of us are already preparing suitcases to return to our homeland, to the village. Because in the village Easter is always better.
The village for us, who do not live there permanently, is our personal paradise. It is our place, our resort, it is our personal place of relaxation and vacation. Even more so if in the village we have relatives, grandparents, cousins, aunts and best men. Then so much the better.
However, especially Easter in the village has a magic. It draws us to visit it, more than any other season.
So what is it that makes the village so enchanting these days?
They are the memories.
You may not have grown up in the village, but you certainly have a lot of memories from there. Summer holidays, nights in the square, endless chasing and hiding in the narrow alleys, friendships, laughter, crying.
In the village are all these special things that you did when you were a child and you may still do, which you can not do in the city with anything, but you feel completely free to do there.
In the village live forever the memories, even of those who have passed away. It’s weird but every time you feel like you’re still there. As if the village maintains their presence
It’s the family.
In the village is the grandmother of your dad’s cousin’s uncle, but she hugs and kisses you as if you were her own child. Besides, in the village you are all relatives. This huge “family” is the human contact you need, because it is completely true.
In the village, however, your close relatives may also live permanently. So it’s the opportunity to spend this “mommy” Easter of your childhood, to see your family and to spend quality time together.
They are the smells and the aromas.
The village always smells of musk at this time. It is as if spring has sprayed it with its most fragrant scent. Lilacs, marigolds, pansies and earrings that adorn the courtyards and balconies of houses, but also poppies, daisies and dogs that grow here and there, flood the clean atmosphere with spring scents.
But there are other smells, ah but some smells. These days housewives are feverishly preparing for the Easter table. Aromas of freshly baked buns and cookies, mixed with the smell of cleanliness and whitewashed yards. And especially on Holy Week everything is mixed together and becomes the smell of your place. Frankincense and flowers, magiritsa and lamb, everything is unique every time you visit the village.
They are the flavors.
In the village everything has a different taste. Everything is tastier. Eggs, bread, cheese, meat and vegetables, even if they are not from your garden, are actually a thousand times better than those in the city. Even those who come from the city, yes they also get the taste of the village.
They are the sounds and the voices.
In the village everything is quieter, but this does not mean that there is silence at the ends of the grave – except of course on Good Friday, when neither a bird nor a child can be heard. It is as if all the sounds sound on another frequency.
The laughter of the children, the speeches of the women, the sounds of the houses and the square are heard differently in the village. Everything is quiet and alive at the same time.
They are the neighborhoods and the walks.
The alleys, the terraces, the paths to the estates, the courtyards and the courtyards of the churches are unique in each place. But in your village, all these are your loot, they are your walks and I love you.
They are the people.
People make their place. And basically, what you love most about yours is just that. They are the grandmothers, who sit on the terraces and ask you “who are you with”, it is the joy in their eyes when they see you again, it is their simplicity that makes you put them high and appreciate your village so much.
They are the friends of the children, who you know will always be there, to welcome you, like the first time. It’s these conversations in the courtyards, the sea bream in the square cafe, the laughter and the gossip. They are the cries and tears of separation and the promise “I will come again” and “I will wait for you”.
It’s the nights and the mornings.
The quiet and the lively. The morning coffees with the neighbor, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, the muskrats and delicious cookies that you eat by the kilo. These are quiet nights, when you hear only the sounds of nature and wonder where else you can find such peace.
All this and so much hidden in the heart, is your village.
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