Well, that was something!

Today is August 15th, Panageia Festival – the big day in the calendar of Tinos.

At Margit’s suggestion (almost insistence!) I went in to town yesterday evening and up to the big church – everything seems to always start the evening before the festival days with a vigil. The place was packed. Up by the big church there was an impromptu market hosted by the many visiting gypsies. The town was full.

I was delighted to find my apartment key had been found on the bus on Thursday and it was waiting for me behind the counter of the KTEL bus station.

An hour of town was enough for me and I hopped on the last bus back to Porto and tried a taverna near the beach – it was actually quite disappointing – I think they might have forgotten to put the fish roe in the taramasalata and it was more of an onion dip. I was initially pleased to see that it wasn’t Angel Delight pink as the best tarama I’ve tasted in Naoussa, Paros, wasn’t pink at all – but it was a disappointment. I did, though, enjoy watching the group of four north europeans at a nearby table – particularly the expression on the face of the woman who’d ordered a plate of spinach.

Today was the day for the big procession of the icon – at about 11.

This morning I got my self up early and had my swim and breakfast and trotted up the hill to the bus stop for the 9am bus – I was only just on time and was very surprised to find that there wasn’t a group of people waiting. I checked the timetable in the shelter – there is no flipping 9am bus. The service is hourly from 8am to 10pm apart from 9. Bugger! I picked up a couple of things in the minimarket (I spotted that the service in the big church was being broadcast live on TV) and walked back to the apartment and to cool down before a more leisurely walk up the hill for the 10am bus.

Well, if I thought last night was mobbed, this was something else.

All the way up megalohari there were people crowded into every patch of shade.

Every balcony and even some rooftops were being used for a good view.

I went about half way up and it wasn’t long before it all came down the hill. There were two bands. Most surprisingly there was quite a large group of Ethiopian women (would they be Coptics?) – joyfully singing and dancing along behind the stodgy bands and just in front of the serious-faced men wearing gilt embroidered tablecloths.

The procession was slowed by the fact that people were getting in line and ducking and pretty much getting shoved underneath the icon as it came down. Reminded be of the children’s game Oranges and Lemons (but without the head-chopping off bit).

There was of course the noise: every church bell in town (and there are many) and maroons were being fired from the navy boats. When the great and the good all reached the harbour there was a big sermon and then I think the Mayor spoke then it all went back up the hill (at at least twice the speed) and before you knew it it was all over. Many heading back to the ferry terminal (lots of gypsy kids jumping into the harbour wearing their underwear).