Never On a Sunday

Scottsdale threw its annual Greek Festibal (note the Greek spelling here!) this weekend, so Rhiannon, Jayni and I decided to go and see how things a) compared to the Greece we knew from the Peloponnese, and b) how Arizona Greeks compare with those from Wisconsin.

The festibal itself had all of the trimmings one would expect in America, namely traditional Greek dancing (celebrating the casting off of the Ottoman Empire's yoke), folk music (with a lead AND a rhythm bazouki player), tents crammed full of plastic gypsy toys, jewelry, and reproduction "artifacts", plus the Taberna tent (serving authentic home-brew wine and brandy and Greek beer), the Kafeneieon tent (for men AND women -- I got a frappe for the first time in eight years), the Bakery tent (no bougaza...), the Loukomades tent, and an entire tent city dedicated to nothing but lamb.

Sadly, there were no vendors selling dashboard saints (or those that hang from the rearview mirror -- my Cosmas and Damien one has been broken for years), and no vendors selling any kind of Greek football clothes or scarves. Maybe next year I can fill this niche! I did see one little boy wearing a Charisteas #9 Greek national team jersey, so there is a market for the stuff.

So after spending ten minutes walking around and looking at things, Jayni bought Rhiannon a belly-dancing scarf that is worn at the waist. The scarf is pink silk and has about 12398750157 silver, jangly medallions stitched into it which made Rhiannon easy to find once we had left the festibal. Wrapping this silk around her transformed Rhiannon into a belly-dancer par excellance, and she spent the next 45 minutes on stage with the band doing her best moves.

Now, Rhiannon has had a bit of ballet, a bit of tap, some gymnastics, and a whole lot of time spent in front of Hannah Montana. Combine this preparation with the main dance of Seinfeld's Elaine Bennis (see picture above), vintage Stevie Nicks (below), and, erm, Laura Petrie.

Rhiannon captivated the crowd, vamping up and down the stage, at times on tip-toe, at times on her knees, at times raising the roof, at times shaking her drachma-maker. Other girls about her age got into the action, too, and most were better dancers, but none were more earnest. On occasion, Rhiannon summoned her inner diva and told the other girls not to copy her, or to stop following her. At other times, girls took Rhiannon's hands and spun her or did a kick-line.

In a break between songs, the drummer thanked the "Grecian Express Dancers", before the band broke into another rendition of Zorba's theme, or "Never on a Sunday", or "Some Greek Folk Songs Sound Like Other Greek Folk Songs". Grecian Express was actually a very good jam-band, and at some points during an extended hot-space, Rhiannon looked as if she had been transported to Woodstock and was being carried into the future by the Doors. At one point during the set, a woman from the Arizona Republic newspaper approached me and asked if it was OK to photograph Rhiannon -- of course this was OK. Besides, Rhiannon was cute up there in her belly-dancing scarf, "Greek in Training" t-shirt, pink Crocs, blond hair and blue eyes.

Towards the end of the set, Rhiannon started coming down off the stage for water breaks and to get her tired little legs massaged. At the bitter end, she said she wanted to go to the garden next to the festibal to rest, and then it was time for home. We'll pick up a copy of the Republic tomorrow to see if Rhiannon made the paper.

Rhiannon. Greek for "cute".

Andrew (Papa)