Tag Archives: greek

Apologies in advance for this one

It feels like ages since I’ve #IBOTed.

I miss my Tuesdays terribly but life is running at one hundred miles an hour.  Time gets away too quickly.

I have been marking junior narratives since last week and I think I’ve finally lost my marbles.

Feeling a bit cray cray.






So I thought I’d take a break, write a quick post, say hello and impart some late night/early morning useless information.



Did you know this?


The Greek word for torch is φακός pronounced, fuck-oh.

Greek lentils are φακή. That’s right, fuckee.

An envelope is a φάκελος.  Say it with me, fuck-el-os.


Γάμo, that’s Gahmo, is the Greek word for ‘wedding’ but with the accent on the ‘o’, as in Gahm-oh, it means fuck.


Incidentally, Hollywood actor Charlton Heston had a hard time in Greece.  His name, Χεστον, that’s Heston…

It means to shit on someone.


His publicist advised the name Charlton Easton for over there.



Please.  Move along to all the other posts over at Essentially Jess.







Robo X

My Island

I often share the subject of this post with people I meet, so I’m pleased to have the opportunity to share it with you at The Lounge.



Today, I’m writing about a place where history spans back to Greek mythology.

Folklore tells us that my place was once a beautiful woman and she was abducted by Poseidon – God of the sea.

Since her landmass was rich with succulent fruits and fragrant flowers, the Gods called her their bank – God’s Bank.



Her pronunciation and spelling have changed over the eons but she is known today as Astypalaia – the butterfly of the Aegean Sea.





When people think of the Mediterranean, popular islands usually spring to mind.  Mykonos is known as the place to party while Santorini is known for its whitewash and sunsets.  Other islands are known for their architecture and churches, their history and their holiday lifestyle.



Unlike her sister islands in the Dodecanese, Astypalaia is not known for a great deal.  My personal view is that people don’t visit Astypalaia because the Greeks, quite cleverly, do not talk about her.


Those cunning Greeks!



Astypalaia is a place of vast beauty and intense serenity.  She is rich with archaeology and ancient ruins can be found high on hills and low down near pebbled beaches.



The view from The Kastro, The Castle, which was built on a high vantage point, to detect invaders.


This is the church of Panagia Portaitissa, located within the walls of The Kastro.

I lost myself by day, on beaches, winding paths and roads to nowhere.  And by night, I partied my hardest, with ouzo, bouzoukia and tables built for dancing.

SONY DSCChora, or the main town.



I’m a lucky girl.  Astypalaia happens to be my father’s home.

I’m connected to this island.  I’m drawn to it.

If I could only choose one island to show my kids, it would be this one.


Is it naff these days to say, spiritual home?

If not, I have more than one…



  This aspect is from below The Kastro – my elderly Aunts live in those homes just below it.



As a tot I was taught this song by my Dad.

Το κάστρο της Αστροπαλιάς
έχει κλειδί κλειδώνει,
Έχει κορίτσια έμορφα
μα δεν τα φανερώνει,

Loosely translated, it means:

The castle of Astypalaia,

has a key which locks it.

It also has beautiful women,

but it does not reveal them.


I’m teaching my Miss 2 that little ditty.



So I’ve only ever met one couple who have visited My Island and they raved about it more than me.


 If you tell me you’ve been to Astypalaia, I’ll lose my shit…

Where is your spiritual home?

Have you been to the Greek Islands?



Share your travel tales with us at The Lounge link-up – this week over at The Very Inappropriate Blog.


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Robo X
Email me for image sources.



The white marble rock

As a young kid in the eighties, a memorable moment of my first trip to Greece, was standing in front of the crumbling Parthenon.  I had a white marble rock in my hand, one I’d picked up from within the roped barriers.


Parthenon in Athens

Image Source

I whispered to my mum in Greek:  “Θέλω να το πάρw”. I want to take it.


‘You can’t’, she whispered back, firmly, a polite look on her face but clearly thinking, ‘Drop the rock, kid!’



What happened next was this.  A nearby security guard, overheard my desire to take the rock.  He raised his hands above his head and without reserve yelled, ‘Take it home, my girl!



I thanked the man and quickly shoved my newly acquired piece of Hellenic history into mum’s drawstring handbag.


I will never know why the guard yelled that out.

I believe though, that he felt an immense sense of pride. 

Pride, in that the pinnacle of his country was equally revered by a cute little ‘xeni’ girl, who spoke broken Greek.



That memory of Greece is important to me.  It signifies the essence of being Greek.



Greeks are proud, generous, passionate people.  Yes, anyone who knows a Greek well, will say that they are not without their eccentricities but generally speaking, a Greek will quite happily oblige, just to please you.



I was born here in Australia and I identify as Australian.

No question.  Proud of it.



I also consider myself Greek.

My heritage is Greek.

And cultural heritage becomes lost, if not fiercely preserved.



My parents are first generation Australians, Assisted Passage immigrants.

They arrived aged 17 and 19, looking for a new life.

And a new life they received.

Australia delivered in leaps and bounds.



My Grand Parents, Great Grand Parents and as far back as my family history can be traced – they were all Greek. I can speak, read and write the Greek language, though not too well.  I eat Greek food, uphold Greek Orthodoxy, and I have Greek friends.  I watch the Greek news, I have Greek relatives and I participate in Greek traditions.

When times get tough, I dream about escaping, to Greece.



I think that kid in the 1980s understood more than her Mum expected, in wanting to nick that little piece of Ancient Greece.

As much as we are products of our environments, I believe culture is also innate and it shouldn’t be denied.





I love both. I am both.



What’s your story?  You from elsewhere or are you dinky di?


Robo X


NB.  I have since learnt that taking rocks from the Acropolis is illegal.  It is termed Elginism, after the British Lord who removed the Parthenon Marbles and transported them to England.  I plan to return my rock, as soon as I can.

It belongs there.