Morning Journal #3

Ermoupolis, Greece, January 26th, 2025

These next few days are supposed to be very still, which is unusual for Ermoupolis; no wind. They call it Alkyonides Days (Halcyon Days), referring to a period in winter, usually around late Jan, early Feb, when there is an unusually mild, calm spell of weather, specifically in the Mediterranean. The sun already has a distinct exposure, brighter and hotter. From the turret window, I see a crisp, blue sky cutting a sharp edge around the imposing Greek Orthodox Church sitting royally on the hilltop.

In contrast, we’re still singing Christmas-themed songs for some reason, and it's nearly February. February, I find, always comes in fast. As a child, the transition from January into February felt like a marker of time - it gave me a pang of remorse that there was no more January when February arrived. I could have had that same thought about every hour, every second, or every day, but there was something about the end of January that held significance for me.

It led me to contemplate the virtue of endings, as one season led into the next, sometimes gracefully, often not. Take our bodies, they distinctly show their incongruence as they evacuate the previous season's toxins via various flu symptoms, and we begin the transitional dance of taking off the jumper and putting back on the jumper. Plus, in our household, no one seems to have the right weight of coat to wear. It’s ‘in-betweeny’ season. Neither one nor the other. It’s when I have prolonged conversations with my mum on the theme of ‘layers’. Seasonal transitions are known for their complexity of comings and goings. In Vedic astrology, moving from a Water season into a Fire season can be one of the trickiest. I couldn’t agree more. Those two elements are clunky, no explanation needed. Get curious around July 23rd, November 21st & March 20th.

February here in Greece is harsh. It's not the sunny beach holiday anyone would imagine. The wind has you buttoned down inside the carcass of a (usually) black puffy coat, shoulders hunched, and head concertinaed south to find maximum coverage. It’s very unergonomic.

The distinct Halcyon Days are welcome, even for a week.

We’ve recently switched from Capricorn (an Earth sign) into Aquarius season (an Air sign) and will soon say goodbye to January once more. These days, I’m good with saying goodbye to January, I’ve grown to love each month without remorse. A good chunk of January is Capricorn season, and as an adult and as an astrologer, I like to cultivate Capricorn traits because I have no planets in Capricorn. Growing up, I had an imaginary friend named Isobel; she stuck around for years. Isobel was very good at maths and was born on January 1st in Capricorn season. I was very proud that she was born right slap bang on the 1st of the Gregorian New Year, at the ‘top’ as I called it. She had those lovely wintery, Capricorn traits: consistent, persevering, enduring, serious, sharp, and smart. She mostly visited me in the privacy of the bathroom and under the weeping willow at the bottom of our garden. I find it humorous that I had intuitive knowledge of a need to balance my polarities and, therefore, willed them into an alter ego in the form of an imaginary friend. Genius. (Piseces SN in the 10th house)

I’m contemplating Capricorn traits, or perhaps the lack of them, as I write this morning because yesterday I slipped royally off a committed veg and protein diet perch.

I ate;

two mini croissant sandwiches,

two ham and cheese sandwiches on bouncy, extra-terrestrial white bread,

a savoury bread/cake, full of glutinous bounce, with dried tomatoes, olives, and herbs,

and a square of some incredibly fluffy, honey drenched, praline topped, walnut cake.

It was divine.

I woke up with ‘Grain Head’ and a stomachache to boot.

Incidentally, Horatio (our nutritionist guru) got in touch with me yesterday to check in. I said we were all fine, which I was when I ate that walnut cake. I can hear him say I’ve “fallen off the wagon” and I “lack discipline”; discipline, a Capricorn keyword, is his favourite. He’s right - jokingly/not jokingly, I am scoring a -10 in Capricorn attribute integration right now!

And here’s why.

Well, yesterday, these nibbles were part of an olive farm experience we attended, but independent of that, Ermouplis is an imp of culinary deviance.

Let me tell you about the thousands of confectionary shops in Syros.

Sugar is a main food group and crafted in a festive riot of exquisiteness; it's an art form of all things sugary. Each shop wafts beautiful smells into cake-coloured alleyways and around frothy, coffee-shopped corners.

Some carry chocolate and sweets in beautiful gold, ruby, and emerald coloured wrapping, stacks and stacks of them covering shelves. Some sell the genetically made substance of the ‘Hairibo’ class and every colourful packet of confectionary you could imagine. I saw Toblerone and Smarties there, which took me back to my childhood! And there isn’t just one store. These shops create a revenue despite a competitor with precisely the same merchandise a block away; that’s how much confectionary is bought in this town.

Then, there are the high-class chocolatiers who sell exquisite works of art. The cake shop opposite the working hub stays open till 11 pm to serve the late night sugar fiend; as Winnie-the-Pooh would say, “when you want a little smackerel of something”. There are beautifully crafted baklava from the hairy to the honeyed occupying the main floor with variations of a biscuit along one side. Biscuits come in all different shapes, some with jammy middles, dipped in chocolate, or decorated with apricots. On other shelves, there is everything you could imagine dipped in chocolate - cherries, oranges, peanuts. The glass cabinets hold every cake, pie, macaroon, or pastrie from tiny to large. A delight to look at are the strawberry-topped, cream-covered treasures that glisten with a clear sugar coating.

In another section are the variations on flaky pastry. The boys had a beautifully crafted filo pastry knot with clusters of honey and nuts. The majority of the native cakes have honey, nuts, and fruit in their mix, and the local traditional cake is a sponge cake flavoured with orange and honey. These cakes are brought in lovely cardboard boxes during lunch hour, and there is always a fresh one under a glass cake stand in the Boundless work space, next to a variety of exquisite biscuits.

Halva is another tradition. It was known as the dessert grandmothers would make when the cupboards were bare. It’s a semolina base fried in olive oil with brown sugar, nuts, and orange peel.

And at the end of a meal? You are served, on the house, the local sponge cake or a hand-made, sugary delight whipped up by the chef that morning. This is a given from the least to the most fancy Greek eatery in town.

So you see how hard this is? These warm, dreamy Halcyon Days bring a feeling of decadence, and I can’t miss out on the delights, for it would be sheer cultural neglect. I’ve held off for almost a month - thank you cultivated Capricorn season - I actually have it in me when I focus - however now isn’t the time for restraint because missing the experience of living local doesn’t tantamount to open-minded Aquarius season!