Sochos Carnival – the Parody Weddings
Sunday morning brought with it a bout of light drizzle. The overcast sky did not feel very “Carnival” to me. From within the church, the solemn tone of the priest’s chanting reminded all that now is a time for Christian worship. The Pagan revelry will come later.
There were very few signs of life outside, but that would soon change. Vicky sent me a message to say that a parade would pass the house at 12 o’clock. It was good to have the heads up as I had no idea of the schedule of events. These local traditions always seem to be shrouded in mystery. It adds to the intrigue.
As late morning arrived, I ventured out, suitably attired in a waterproof coat. The hills above the village were covered in a mist that lay heavy on their peaks. I don’t think they’ll be moving on any time soon. I made my way towards the square to assess what was going on. Several clues the day before including the Roumba – the transfer of the groom’s clothes to the bride’s house indicated that there would be a wedding. There had also been traditional dancing outside the Bride’s House, a purpose-built dwelling on one of the side streets. This is just one of several places used for the many cultural groups of the town. From what I’d seen so far, sporadic activity could burst into life at any point and in any location.
The Church of St George is at the bottom of the steep cobbled street where I was staying. One edge of the church courtyard overlooked the main square at an elevation of about 7 feet to account for the sharp gradient of the hill. This was a great vantage point from which to survey the area, albeit a bit precarious – there were no railings to stop you falling off the edge.
Being unaware of the schedule of events meant it was difficult to have a strategy. It seemed that to get a handle on what was taking place, you needed to be in the right place at the right time. My plan was to watch and wait and be ready to move at short notice. It was as good a plan as any.
The bars were beginning to fill, and the popcorn and loukoumades sellers were set up and ready to go. Although the parade was imminent, nobody seemed to be moving in that direction. Things never seem to adhere to a strict timetable, so I made my way to the top of the hill. A metal barrier was in place to prevent traffic from entering the street. Beyond the barrier, it felt like I’d entered into a different universe.
At first, I heard a cacophony of laughter. As I turned the corner, I noticed a sea of umbrellas and then my eyes were drawn to the explosion of colour and energy beneath. Nothing it seemed, was going to dampen the spirits of the carnival goers. And speaking of spirits, the obligatory bottles of tsiporou in circulation seemed to ignite the furore even further.
Only a handful of us had walked to the top of the hill. There was no vying for space or a good position to take photographs. I was able to observe the incredible array of eclectic costumes and all the paraphernalia that went with it unhampered. At the front of the parade was a beautiful, blonde-bobbed bride with an overly made-up face complimented by a beard and moustache. She sat regally on the front of her trusty chariot – a small tractor surrounded by members of her wedding party. The parade participants were chomping at the bit in anticipation of the signal to go. Moments later, they were off.
The bride took front and centre stage, followed by her entourage dressed in weird and wonderful costumes, many of which left me completely befuddled. Everyone had their own unique look, but none of the costumes looked as though great expense had been thrown at it. Many of the men seemed to have grabbed whatever they could find from their yiaia’s coat stand and topped it off with a wig. I loved that everything looked a bit ramshackle or, for want of a better word, authentic.
It pains me to write this, but due to my phone theft combined (and my own ineptitude)), I don’t have any photographs of this part of the parade. They would have been interesting images, given my prime position. However, I was able to retrieve a video that I’d posted to Facebook as it passed through the town soon after. You’ll get the gist.
Down in the town, I tried to absorb everything that was taking place. Across the street from one of the butchers, there was a full-on meat fest with all kinds of delicacies being grilled over hot coals. This period (the third week of Carnival) leading up to Lent is known as Tyrini and bridges the gap between the gluttonous consumption of meat on Tsiknopempti (Smokey Thursday) and the fasting during Lent. Tyrini is when the cupboards are cleared of dairy products, with many cheese-based dishes eaten and shared. However today, there is meat-a-plenty! With animal rearing as one of the main occupations of the area, it’s to be expected.
Outside the Bride’s House, there were a group of dancers, some in traditional costumes and others in carnival garb accompanied by a band of ‘Zournades’. One of the female revellers was dressed as the very topical and controversial figure of Donald Trump. I caught the lady later as she sparked up a cigarette. Intermittently, another bearded bride, who I later discovered was ‘The’ bride, appeared from the Bride’s House and joined in the merriment.
Further into the town, ‘The’ groom sat in waiting for his moment. This is a day of more than just one wedding it seems though just one chosen couple are at the heart of it. This is the wedding of the αράπκας or arapkas (so I’d read on the Sochos Facebook group). The word translates to arab, but I think there may be more of a nuanced meaning than this. My friend Ioannis said the word is possibly in a local dialect but could likely mean a folklore dance that includes wine and local recipes whilst being escorted by local instruments. Well, that certainly describes what has been taking place so far.
During the preparation of the groom, his entourage had a series of responsibilities that included tending to a large steaming pot, fuelled by a roaring log fire. What was in the pot remained a mystery – maybe Lenten in nature. Before the groom departed to meet his bride for the upcoming nuptials, he was shaved whilst being given a steady supply of tsiporou by his best man. That’s the way to do it!
As I moved between the square and the back streets, I came across the procession of the bride, who was now seated in the rear of an awning-covered utility truck. The Koudounophoroi so far have been very low-key, just popping up sporadically amongst the revellers to disappear just as quickly again.
Onlookers showered the bride with fake euro notes, littering the truck and the street. Nothing – absolutely nothing could dampen the spirits of the revellers.
There seemed to be very little evidence that the complex programme of events was being choreographed. It felt like everyone knew their place and what was expected of them through years of experience passed down through the generations. At times, it felt like utter carnage, but there was something so innately primeval about it. This ancient Dionysian ritual in unique Sochiot style was about invoking fertility and manifesting a bountiful harvest. A part of it is also about remembering dead ancestors and asking them for forgiveness. Some villages still cook food which is eaten with family members on the graves of the dead.
There is something about this festival that cuts through to the core of human existence. It is a far cry from the overly staged and highly choreographed carnivals seen in other parts of Greece. This is a local event for their own community, and they don’t need to put on a highly polished display for tourists – it is by them and for them. Although I can’t claim to have understood everything that was going on, I just loved it!
The day ended with dancing in the square and breakout events popping up in what felt like random places. The craziness went on into the night. Let’s see what tomorrow’s Clean Monday finale brings!
