The world from my window

The plateia is quiet now, after the lunchtime rush. Whole parties of families gathered in the village tavernas and locals celebrated around big tables in their gardens. Today is one of the most sacred days in the Greek Orthodox calendar, marking the Dormition of the Theotokos or the 'falling asleep' of the Virgin Mary. The feast commemorates the end of her earthly life and her miraculous assumption into heaven. It is the name day for Marias, Marios, Panagoitis and Despinas, and a public holiday in Greece. Last night, as we have done for several years, we walked in the procession through the village from church to church to church, ending at the cemetery high up on the hill. I lit a candle for my own family's Mary and paused to remember her. Outside, the graves glowed in candlelight. Back down in the village and into the plateia, the lovely white-haired Maria dragged me in to collect a bunch of basil, the herb that is said to have grown at the base of J...

The incense hits my nostrils as soon as I enter the church. We're at the back, listening to the chanting. The candle-style light bulbs in the chandeliers overhead give the interior of this church an ethereal glow. The air conditioning's on and it's much cooler in here than it is outside in the plateia . Just before nine, big blotches of rain turn into a downpour. The people who, seconds ago were sitting on the kafenion tables around the plateia , huddle inside and under the awning. And then the rain stops, the bells clang and the parade through the village begins. Up to the next church we go, in one door and out the other side, and then up to the top church and the cemetery. Votive candles glow in the churchyard and people peel off from the parade to pay their respects to family buried in ornate graves. And the parade returns, past busy tavernas and open-mouthed tourists who can't believe their luck in coming across such an interesting tradition. We sit outs...

It's a bank holiday weekend in Corfu Town as the island prepares to usher in Clean Monday and the beginning of Lent when Greeks celebrate the fast and welcome the dawn of spring. A van stuffed full of artichokes is parked just up from the supermarket. A man in the old town is selling large shrimps from a basket. They're still wriggling. There is bunting hanging across the streets and a civilised demonstration by young Communists outside the bank. The smell of freshly-baked bread pulls pedestrians in from the pavements and into the bakery. Two South American men set up on the pavement and, soon, the ubiquitous sound of amplified Andean panpipes wafts up the street, past a beggar boy sitting in front of a Kentucky Fried Chicken box with a few cents inside. A couple of doorsteps up are his mother and sister, hands out for money, while further along is the Corfu bag lady, who, as usual, sits asleep in a shop doorway, with her parka hood up and sunglasses on. She doesn...

On Christmas morning in Agios Magikades, the church bells clang at just after seven thirty and then again at nine. A little old man with a wizened face and a young man with an enormous moustache ring the bells outside. The younger man is joined by his son, who takes hold of the rope and goes up with it, several times. We follow two smartly dressed people from the platia in through the north door. The service has already been going for at least an hour. The church is full, men at the front, singing responses to the litany as the white-and-gold-robed priest stands the other side of the iconostasis in front of the holy table. He has his back to us but we see and hear him through the central door, known in the Eastern Orthodox tradition as the beautiful gates. Two small children run up and down the aisle, a boy with gelled hair and a girl with a new Barbie doll. A woman puts a euro in the box, pulls out a candle and lights it. The air conditioning units blast ou...

After a hairy few minutes wrestling with the world's smallest turkey, the creature has been stuffed, trussed up and put in the oven. If there is such a thing as the runt of the flock, then we've got it. It was the turkey at the back, the one that came last when the birds scurried across the village road to avoid a passing scooter rider with a grown-out Mohican haircut. It was the cougher, the wheezer, pigeon rather than barrel chested and if it could speak it would have had a high-pitched voice like the comedian Joe Pasquale. Still, with Delia's chestnut and apple stuffing and an assortment of vegetables around it, Lefteris the turkey might just make the grade. It cost an arm and a leg, so it had better be good. No wonder villagers call Spiros the turkey man the Roman Abramovich of Kerkyra. We are having our Christmas meal this evening, a break with tradition but we wanted to get on up to the village square tomorrow where, for our favourite taverna and kafenion, it...