Griekse kerst … het is een heel ander gevoel dan de Belgische kerst. Zeker wanneer de temperaturen maar niet zakken naar winterse waarden en de zon het redelijk goed blijft doen. Het brengt me niet echt in kerststemming. Nochtans doet men hier flink zijn best: kerstmannen, lichtjes, verlichte balkons en vooral Amerikaanse kerstliedjes (ze komen me werkelijk de strot uit). Kerstdag is hier ook de dag dat er een gevulde kalkoen op tafel komt. Het is allemaal zo Amerikaans, hoewel me dat in Belgie toch ook meer een meer die kant lijkt op te gaan.<\/p>\n
Maar goed, over Amerikaans gesproken: aan de overkant van de plas hebben ze een traditioneel kerstverhaal “The Night before Christmas”. Daar is een Grieks-Amerikaanse variant op (denk “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”).\u00c2\u00a0 Ik weet niet echt hoe vertrouwd u bent met het Grieks, en of u alle woorden zult begrijpen, maar onderstaand verhaaltje vond ik te grappig om het niet te publiceren. Twas the night before Xristouyenna and all through the spiti, I could smell fasoladha & pastitsio through my myti. Patera in his krevati was snoring pretty hard, When the thorivo came from outside the porta, The knocking on the door, such a rude, loud barrage, Then, standing in the garage right next to my car, About two hours later I heard a noise down the stair, He was all dressed in red and as big as an ox, Smelling like a katsiki with a touch of “Old Spice”, He was putting the presents out under the tree, Vrakia & 6 kaltses from Sears for me, This Santa was paraxenos, nothing like the fable, I yelled “Eh, Ay’ Vasili, ti kaneis ekei?” The look in his eyes was nothing but fright, And he called to his reindeer, and called them by name “Aide grigora na pao gia katourima”, Griekse kerst … het is een heel ander gevoel dan de Belgische kerst. Zeker wanneer de temperaturen maar niet zakken naar winterse waarden en de zon het redelijk goed blijft doen. Het brengt me niet echt in kerststemming. Nochtans doet men hier flink zijn best: kerstmannen, lichtjes, verlichte balkons en vooral Amerikaanse kerstliedjes (ze komen […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","_s2mail":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[18],"tags":[101],"class_list":["post-1648","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-humor","tag-kerstmis"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/btersago.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1648","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/btersago.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/btersago.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/btersago.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/btersago.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1648"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/btersago.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1648\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1650,"href":"https:\/\/btersago.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1648\/revisions\/1650"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/btersago.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1648"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/btersago.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1648"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/btersago.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1648"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\nPandofles were hung on the fireplace quite low,
\nHoping Ayios Vasilis would bring some ouzo.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nTired from stealing the tree from our malaka neighbour’s yard.
\nMama was in the basement cooking like a nikokira,
\nadding just enough lemoni to her fresh made horta.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nBaba yelled from his room “ela mesa re malaka”.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nI yelled through the window “It’s a Greek house re malaka, come
\nin through the garage!”<\/em><\/p>\n
\nwas my drunk thio Mitso coming home from the bar.
\n“Aide kimisou methismene” I told him with might,
\n“you’ll ruin my chances of seeing Ayio Vasilis tonight”.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nI jumped from my krevati to see who was there.
\nStanding by the tree eating leftover fakes,
\nWas Ayios Vasilis reeking of tsipouro no less.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nWearing brown “pandofles” along with black socks.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nHe’d been drinking for days and smelled not very nice.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nThey were wrapped like skata, it was quite plain to see.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nand 12 for my brother coz he’s only 3.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nBefore leaving he stole my tsigara from the table.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nand he turned and he threw his “pandofla” at me.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nHe said “ande fiye apo tho, re malaka” and dashed out of sight.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nI knew they were not the same animals from “Jingle Bell” fame.
\n“Ela Mitso, Sotiri, kai Nektario,
\nYianni, kai Taki, Thanasi kai Yiorgo…”<\/em><\/p>\n
\nand he yelled as he went “KALA XRISTOUYENNA” <\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"