horiátiki

Walking Downtown Davis (B-G/1-4)

2009-06-05T15:51:00.000-07:00

Hello friends and family fans of Horiátiki!

We’ve been silent for a while now – and no, unfortunately, we’re not back in Greece. I will remind you, however, that the exact translation of horiátiki is “a little something from the village” – it doesn’t necessarily mean a Greek village. And so, after a long hiatus, I’m resurrecting Horiátiki (the blog) to bring you some thoughts and images of our very own village of Davis, CA.

"What’s the occasion?" you might ask. “You’ve lived in Davis for almost 5 years now and haven’t felt compelled to take pictures or write about the place before, so why now?"

Good questions.

The short answer is that I was inspired by (and, yes, required to complete) a culminating project for one of the very last classes that I will ever take in all of graduate school - “image-based field research.” In this course, we talked about how social scientists (which apparently I am - at least for the time being) can and do use images like still photographs and video to collect information about the world, investigate research questions, and communicate and share ideas with others.

In the project that I'm sharing with you here, I explore two different ways of collecting photographic data about downtown Davis. I hope you enjoy the discussion and more importantly, I hope you enjoy getting a glimpse of the place where we’ve been living for the last few years. I certainly had fun getting to know the place in a different way through this project.

The art and science of image-making in social science research

In a 1976 interview printed in The CoEvolution Quarterly, renowned anthropologists Margaret Mead and Gregory Bateson argue (in the way that only amiable, formerly married people can) about whether image-based social research should be considered an “art” or a “science.” Bateson asserts that “the photographic record should be an art form” in that the researcher should be free to capture photographs and footage of whatever happens to be interesting or relevant in a particular social setting. He insists that the researcher should have "control of a camera” and rails about the practice of “putting a dead camera on top of a bloody tripod.”

Mead, on the other hand, dismisses Bateson’s method of “jumping around taking pictures.” “Why the hell should it be art?” she asks. She argues, instead, for a more systematic, scientific approach to using photography and film/video in social research and sees nothing wrong with using a camera on a tripod. “I think it’s very important, if you’re going to be scientific about behavior, to give other people access to the material as comparable as possible to the access you had. You don’t then, alter the material.” Bateson’s method of “leaping around,” she contends, alters the material in such a way that it doesn’t get at “what is happening” in a particular social setting; instead, it gets at what he thinks is happening.

Of course every social science researcher, using visual methods or not, needs to contend with the sticky proposition of claiming to represent social reality. Our interpretations of what is happening in the world around us, no matter how carefully and systematically we collect and analyze our data (either on our own or in collaboration with “subjects”), can never wholly represent the “truth” of any particular situation or bypass our own subjective experience. At the same time, those of us who believe that the endeavor of social research is a worthwhile pursuit, despite it's obvious limitations, know that it is only by being carefully systematic about our methods that we can hope to instill confidence in our representations and interpretations.

The challenge of negotiating the balance between "art" and "science" assumes a particularly blatant form for researchers who make and use images in their work, namely: While the power of imagery to communicate emotions, evoke senses of place, and tell stories depends critically on the myriad decisions that a photographer or videographer/filmmaker makes in capturing visually-arresting scenes, these very "artistic" decisions can compromise the scientific objectivity required of legitimate social researchers by their research communities.

So, how does one balance the "art" and "science" of image-collection in social science research? Is it possible to acquire visual data in a systematically non-biased way, true to Mead's ideal, while simultaneously accommodating Bateson's more artistic "leaping around" methodology as a means of capturing visually-arresting images of a place or situation?

In this little project, I explore two different methods for collecting photographic data about “what is happening” in Davis. Both methods are attempts to explore a certain aspect of the town, specifically the physical landscape of downtown Davis between B-G and 1-4 streets, in a systematic way.

As you take a look at the photographs, please be thinking about the following questions:

Which method do you think more accurately represents downtown Davis?
Which method produces the most informative images? (i.e. If someone were presented these images 100 years from now without knowing anything about the town or society, which would give them a better idea of what life is like in this place?)
Which method produces the more evocative or visually-interesting images?

Method 1: Making pictures with a "shooting script” and capturing visually-arresting images

Various image-based researchers employ “shooting scripts” as a way to systematize data collection and avoid bias and error when taking pictures of places and social phenomena (Wagner, 1979; Schwartz, 1989; Suchar, 1997). Shooting scripts are simply lists of research topics or questions that can be examined via photographic information (Suchar, 1997).

Suchar (1997) notes that the shooting scripts employed by the Farm Security Administration’s (FSA) photographic team in the 1930’s and 1940’s (including Dorothea Lange, Walker Evans and Arthur Rothstein) deserve at least part of the credit for making the FSA photographic study one of the most important visual studies ever undertaken.

(Arthur Rothstein picture of a farmer and his two sons during a dust storm in Cimarron County, 1936)

For my comparatively less-ambitious project, I created a fairly unrestrictive shooting script to guide my picture-taking in downtown Davis:

What are the representative businesses? The architectural styles? The landscaping? What transportation infrastructure is present? How are streets laid out and organized? How are open spaces defined? What sort of public art is there? Public gathering spots?

Following Jon Wagner’s 1979 photographic study of a suburban community in the U.S. (he also happens to be my professor for this class!), I also left open the possibility of capturing shots of whatever was visually-interesting to me. In this way, I allowed room for Bateson’s “artistically informed” strategy for data collection.

I began shooting at 7AM on a weekday morning and followed a serpentine but otherwise unstructured path through the grid of downtown Davis, crossing streets when I saw something interesting or wanted to frame a shot in a certain way. I limited myself to 2.5 hours, over which I took over 200 photos with a Nikon D90 (digital SLR).

Several themes emerged from this scripted photographic excursion. The photos included below are just a sample - they have not been cropped or altered in any way.

Businesses and business signs...

...both chains

and local spots.

Banks - lots of banks!

Emblematic town of Davis artifacts

and street signs,

many of which refer to bicycles

because there are a lot of bicycles in this town

I took lots of shots of bikes on porches as well as the ubiquitous Burley baby-carrying trailer
(the defining symbol of Davis, according to some).

Of course, I have some pictures of cars in Davis as well - there are plenty of them (and lots of Priuses),
but I didn't take nearly as many shots of cars as I did with the second method (you'll see).

Open spaces

Public places

Lots of public art

And some "unsanctioned" public art as well - all very small-scale and pretty tame, if you ask me.

And then there were some aspects of the town that may not have been representative but were
nonetheless interesting to me because I'd never really noticed them before.
For example, I found quite a few shut-down businesses

and old, abandoned telephones - artifacts of a different time, long ago

I also took seveal pictures of things inside store windows (again, you'll notice my tendency to photograph
food-related items - my personal bias of what is "interesting")

And here are a few other examples of images that, though aesthetically-pleasing, don’t necessarily
provide much information about Davis in and of themselves.

The photos taken with this method (shooting script + images of interest) might lead one to think that Davis is a super-colorful town full of restaurants and bicycles (and banks) and crazy, mosaic art and not much else. What happened to be visually interesting to me was very often something that I had never noticed before in all my years of bicycling quickly through town on my way to work or school or perhaps to grab a bite to eat. The things that I noticed, therefore, were not necessarily the same things that someone new to Davis might see or think of as representative.

Now let's see what Davis looks like when I tried to be a bit more scientific and objective about collecting photographic data.

Method 2: Walking with an algorithm and randomizing photographic decisions

You all know I’m no stranger to scientific research. I’ve struggled through statistics and understand the importance of randomized sampling procedures for reducing bias in all kinds of studies, from social surveys to water quality monitoring. However, I must admit that until this class I never dreamed anyone might actually apply randomized sampling protocols to visual research.

In “Avoiding Error” (1979), Jon Wagner (my professor again) describes the numerous ways he and his research team attempted to reduce bias and the influence of a particular photographer’s style while collecting photographic data about a suburban community in the U.S. I was particularly inspired by the detailed description of how they supplemented the more subjective images taken by photographers following “shooting scripts” with more randomized photographs. They randomized the picture-taking process through the use of a simple coordinate model and random number generators that dictated where each photo would be taken and its angle of orientation. While the random photos didn’t provide a significantly different view of the community from those taken in a more subjective way, they did direct the researchers’ attention to several features that they had previously neglected, recorded poorly, or completely overlooked.

This seemed like a fun thing to try; however, I did things a little differently.

A while back, I read about groups of people who call themselves psycho-geographers (as in psychological rather than insane although that can probably be debated, depending on the individual). These folks explore (mainly urban) places by walking around according to an algorithm (e.g. turn right, go two blocks, turn left, go one block, turn right). The practice is called dérive or “drift.” The idea is that most of us never deviate from the well-worn paths we travel in our home towns (or cities) on our way to work, our favorite restaurants, or the supermarket. As a result, we often miss many interesting, disturbing, or forgotten parts of the places we live.

While it’s doubtful that Davis has many deep, dark secrets, I thought that the idea of a walking algorithm would be a good way to randomize my path through the downtown grid. Here’s the algorithm I used:

Go straight. After two doors, cross the street, take a picture. Continue in the same direction as before, turn the first corner (or anywhere that leads through to another street). After two doors, cross the street, take a picture. Repeat.

If I came to the edge of the grid (B-G and 1-4 streets), I took the picture without crossing the street and then continued with the algorithm.

This algorithm allowed me to explore almost all parts of the grid between B-G and 1-4 and miraculously wound back on itself after about 2 hours of walking. I picked the starting point by placing a spinner on a map of downtown Davis - I started where the line of the pointer intersected the grid boundary on the map. A spinner, you ask?

Yes, instead of using a random number generator to randomize all of the other decisions involved in actually taking the picture, I made a spinner:

When I arrived at the spot designated by the algorithm to take a picture, I put the spinner in the middle of the sidewalk and spun it three times.

Spin 1: Determined the direction of the photo. I simply faced whichever direction the pointer did.
Spin 2: Determined the zoom between 18-105 mm.
Spin 3: Determined whether I pointed the camera angle up 20 degrees, kept it at eye level, or shot it while kneeling down.

I kept the camera on auto-focus and with automatic aperture and focal length settings.

Luckily Iago came with me and was my official “spinner.” This was a good thing because there was still a surprising amount of subjectivity involved in reading the spinner output and deciding what constituted a “door.” He also looked at the second-hand on his watch and told me when to take the picture (exactly on the next 15 second interval). When I complained that I was missing a really great shot because I had to point up or kneel down or turn in the opposite direction, he made sure that I stuck to the algorithm. (I admit I would have been tempted to "cheat" in some of these instances; having a witness kept me honest.) It was also a really fun time, even at 7AM in the morning!

I took 45 photos in about 2 hours. Here is a sampling of them (again, these haven’t been altered or cropped in any way).

Businesses again, although this time it's sometimes hard to tell exactly what they are...

Parking lots and street scenes were much more prominent in this group of pictures.

As were close-up pictures of walls...

...and shrubbery.

Cars also appeared more frequently, while bikes were almost completely absent.

One amazing thing happened on our random walk.
Remember this picture of the shoe repair shop and blue van from the first photo-shoot?

I kid you not, during the randomized walk, I took this almost identical picture:

It's a pretty small town afterall.

Perhaps the greatest difference in the two sets of photos was the number of tree shots. In the first set of photos, I took only one shot into a particularly beautiful canopy. During the randomized walk, half of my pictures were (almost) entirely trees.

If we lived in a city and the spinner had asked us to shoot upward at a 20 degree angle, we might have been likely to capture buildings or perhaps sky. Not in Davis. I realize the lack of trees in my first photo-shoot likely means that I take for granted the tall, shade-giving canopy that blankets the town.

A few final thoughts...

Let's revisit the questions I posed earlier.

Which method do you think more accurately represents downtown Davis?

Neither method on its own seems to provide a particularly accurate or complete picture of the town. Viewing both sets of photos together certainly does help, as would including more photographers in data collection. I also think a combination of the two methods could result in a fairly representative set of photographs. For example, I could use an algorithm to direct my walking and determine the locations of my picture-taking, coupled with a shooting script that would grant me freedom to take pictures of what is interesting at each stop.

Which method produces the most informative images? (i.e. If someone were presented these images 100 years from now without knowing anything about the town or society, which would give them a better idea of what life is like in this place?)

The first method (script + capturing visually interesting images) certainly produced photos with more information about the economic culture of downtown Davis - what people buy, eat, and sell. Those images also provide information about what people living in Davis in the early 2000's (such as myself) think is interesting to photograph. However, it really all depends upon the questions that you're hoping to answer with the images. The photographs from the first group left out the fact that while a lot of people bicycle in Davis, just as many (if not more) actually drive. I bicycle - bicycles are interesting to me, cars - not so much. The images in the second group remind us that there are still plenty of cars (and parking lots) in our bike-friendly town.

Which method produces the more evocative or visually-interesting images?

While I'd like to think that the images that I took with the first method were the most "visually arresting," I'm sure this is not always the case. After my presentation of this project to the class, Jon argued that the other images may be more "arresting" due to the fact that they are taken from unfamiliar perspectives. These images allow us to see Davis, quite literally, from a different angle.

What do you think?

References
Mead, Margret and Bateson, Gregory. (1977). On the use of the Camera in Anthropology. Studies in the Anthropology of Visual Communication. 4 (2): 78-80.

Schwartz, Dona. (1989). Visual Ethnography: Using Photography in Qualitative Research. Qualitative Sociology, 12 (2): 119-154.

Suchar, Charles S. (1997). Grounding Visual Sociology Research in Shooting Scripts. Qualitative Sociology, 20 (1): 33-55.

Wagner, Jon. (1979). Avoiding Error (pp.147-160). In Jon Wagner, Ed. Images of Information. Beverly Hills, CA: SAGE.

Great. They're home.

2007-01-04T21:33:00.000-08:00

Hi there, it's me: Moshes

I mean, crap, man, I was more excited than anyone for the guys to get home from Greece. It had been 3 months, you know. Excited, that is, until I saw what they brought with them.

Please! They say her name is Fyllo (like the dough, but also like "friend," as though anyone needs a friend like that). They found her in a trash heap on some God-forsaken road in Volos, along with a pile of brothers and sisters. Eight in all, to be exact.

Setting aside the obvious question as to why in the world they would want an inbred trash heap puppy to begin with, why this particular one? They say, "Look at her white nose spot!"

I say, "Look at how she resembles a possom!" They say she has a great disposition, that she is attentive and relatively mellow (for a puppy). I say, "Half possom, half skunk, and half raccoon!" They say that on the morning they went to make their final choice, she was the first to wake up and look at them.

And that's that. Weren't they tempted by her little black brother asleep on the ratty teddy bear?

Sure, kind of, but the decision had been made. And without a second thought as to how this might sit with yours truly, they tore her from her family

never to see her roly siblings or long-suffering, vigilant mama again. The loving mama who had raised and protected them all for nine long weeks on the wintry streets of Volos.

Eight hours later, they're on a four-hour bus ride with all their belongings to the Athens airport (I find some pleasure in the fact that the bus driver made her ride below with the suitcases).

Why in the world the airlines let her on board or customs let her in America-for-Americans, I'll never know. "Oh, she's so cute!" they all said. What about, "Oh, where's her papers?!" Anyway…After nearly 32 hours of being stuffed in her lunchbox kennel crate, behaving "like a perfect little angel," they got to US soil and rented a car

And then drove another 12 hours north to Idaho to get me, happy as a lark at Kamp Karlson but also so so so excited to see them, the Benedict Arnolds. Arriving at my doorstep with the smell of another puppy on their cuffs, can you imagine? Me, me, play with me! But no, it's always, "Oh, look, she's a roast chicken!"

or "Oh my gosh, she's sleeping with her tongue out!"

BIG FAT WHOOP. From what I can tell, all she does is sleep and chew on stuff. Wrong stuff. Bad stuff. Clearly she's a reprobate. She's nowhere near as beautiful as some other puppies in the family (ahem), and can she run like a lightening rocket?

I think not. And who do we have to thank for all this? Some friend of theirs named Dimitra they met at the university in Greece.

It was SHE who helped that trashy mother dog (where's the family planning?) raise her social parasite street pups by bringing them milk and food. It was SHE who lured the guys into going and looking at those little demon pups, only to fall under their smelly spell. Can you say conspiracy? They tell me it'll turn out all right in the end. Someone to play with wouldn't be bad, I guess. Like a sister, I mean. She is a good sleeper, I'll give her that.

If only she'd stop hoarding all my toys. Moshimatic, over and out.

WE HAVE A WINNER!!!

2006-12-21T00:26:00.000-08:00

JOHANNES!!

Remove to JO, subtract the NE, and find lurking in there a one Mr. HANS from Seattle, Washington. Proud owner of a jar of delectable spoon sweeties (please allow 6-8 weeks for delivery, offer not valid for graduates of some liberal arts colleges). In my infinity density, I failed to recognize the correct answers when he submitted them, a very long time ago. And those answers are:

Riddle 1:
It's quince! Rearrange for "cinque" and move SE from Italy to find the EU member Greece. Add seven to five and get twelve, or as Homer would say: "dodeka."

Riddle 2:
It's a walnut! Do the prescribed alphabetical dance to get "aeplsr." Rearrange for "pearls" and give props to our oystery friends of the deep.

Hansie, we love you.

We're still here and well!

2006-12-20T09:25:00.000-08:00

Dear Horiatikons, sorry for the silence but we were away from the computer for two wonderful weeks, traveling all over the island of Crete and the Pelion with my mom (all the way from Virginia!) and her friend Judith. Since our return to Volos, we've had another day of olive harvesting and a very enjoyable day with Eleni's family in their house near the sea in the small village of Xinovrisi. We've not had time to process the hundreds of pictures from said escapades yet. And with our departure from Greece looming roughly a week away, I'm not sure we'll get around to it. But stay tuned...who knows? We just might get inspired one night.

In the meantime, let me encourage any and all of you to take another stab at the spoon sweet riddles. These are real questions with real answers, parts of which have been touched on (yay Kate and Johannes) but not nailed down. And, my God, think of the prize!!! I received one anonymous email with BOTH correct answers...would only that these insightful nuggets were posted. As it is, it looks like Imzatoichi-1 may whisk away the winnings based on nothing more than the sheer genius of imagining a crown gall spoon sweet. More soon, in theory.

"Spoon Sweets" (Γλυκά του κουταλιού)

2006-11-27T01:09:00.000-08:00

Ah, spoon sweets. Not only are they fun to say, they're also numbing to eat. And they're everywhere:

A touch overwhelming? You should try eating them. Or rather, you should try eating one because that's approximately all your tooth enamel can withstand. OK, to be fair: The existential point of spoon sweets is that they are so sweet, you need but one to satiate that ever-gnawing need for something sugary that afflicts most, if not all, of the Greek populace. Remember, this is the same country where people can eat an entire piece of baklava, layer upon layer of syrupy sweetness, without a single wince. And let's not forget the cream-filled pies, the glistening halvahs, and the condensed milk drinks. In the land of insanely drippingly sugary creations, the spoon sweet is king. And to eat one is to experience a small ceremony of sorts. The shimmering thing is brought to you on a special spoon sweet dish, swimming in spoon sweet goo, to be eaten with a tiny spoon sweet spoon, the whole affair accompanied and followed by the obligatory glass of water:

Is it not perfection?

But all of this skirts the issue, I realize. The burning question being, "What the hell is it?" And that's where the true magic of the spoon sweet manifests itself. From what we can tell, just about any fruit or vegetable can be transformed into a spoon sweet. Figs? Check. Whole tiny lemons? Check. Zucchinis? Check. Watermelon rinds? Naturally.

And the recipe for metamorphosis is simple: Boil said object, cut or processed into bite-size pieces (the "spoon" part), in enough sugar (the "sweet" part) to render it preserved. There are, of course, variations on the theme: toss in some spice (clove, for instance, or nutmeg or cinnamon), stuff the sentenced plant ovary with an almond, etc. But you get the idea.

In the humble opinion of the Horiatiki editorial board, the best spoon sweets are those made of fruits and vegetables which naturally contain some tartness or sourness to offset the sugary onslaught. We enjoyed a very tasty sour cherry spoon sweet, for example, and offer rhubarb as a potential candidate. Another way to give the otherwise one-dimensional spoon sweet some depth of character is to spice it heavily, as Mama Pliakoni does with her absolutely edible almond-stuffed firiki (tiny apple) and peach creations.

But now for a prize-motivated Horiatiki Interactive CyberQuiz. Whosoever answers the following two questions correctly via our sophisticated Post a Message Option will win a jar of sickening spoon sweet gobs of his or her very own, to be hand-delivered by a member of our staff or a proud representative of the United States Postal Service upon our return. Sharpen your #2 pencils. [And take heart: In the absence of a correct answer, the most entertaining one will suffice.]

Question 1

Take the name of the fruit or vegetable shown here in spoon sweet form and rearrange the letters to spell a number in a Romance language. Add seven, and tell us how that country's southeastern EU neighbors would say the resultant sum in their national language.

Question 2

The fruit or vegetable shown here in "green" spoon sweet form is likely one you've never thought of ingesting before at this particular stage in its development. Imagining the alphabet as a circle, shift the letters of the first syllable forward 4 places and the letters of the second syllable backward 2 places. Rearrange the resulting letters to spell something precious – where are such things found?

Yum. Me.

Carpe Weekend; or, Posing with Columns

2006-11-21T02:36:00.000-08:00

This is the post you've all been waiting for. We know you've been wondering: "How can any self-respecting person be in Greece for more than six weeks and not have the gumption to visit even one lousy archaeological site? Heroes and classics and philosophy and wars and whatnot!" Well, wonder no more. Just sit back and enjoy the splendors of the past as they come alive on your screen via The Internet. Just imagine, in a mere two days, these two people (the protagonists):

crammed inside one rented Fiat Panda [incidentally, this spunky little 2004 Car of the Year also comes in diesel 4x4 models, is Nikos' dream car (eat your heart out), and indeed has all the power, speed, and fuel efficiency of a real live panda bear]:

covered 1,013 kilometers, surviving on little more than one half-eaten package of Tostada biscuits:

and took in all of this…

Vergina (Βεργίνα)

The small town of Vergina, overlooking the rolling agricultural plains of south central Macedonia, achieved international fame in 1977 as the site of the ancient city of Aegae, the most important archaeological site excavated in Greece in recent years. The capital of the Macedonians until the 5th century BC, Aegae was the place where Alexander the Great was proclaimed King of the Macedonians (336 BC) once his (also great) father Philip II was laid to rest after being assassinated there during the wedding of his daughter. While there are ruins of the expansive palace:

the real jewel of Vergina is the Royal Tombs. The ancient Macedonians had a penchant for creating elaborate underground tombs, solid stone buildings that they then buried. The resultant large man-made mounds are found scattered all over this region of Greece, but their function backfired somewhat. Rather than sealing the dead off from the world of the living forever, these mounds (with their small forests on top) became tell-tale signs to would-be tomb raiders that riches were there for the plucking. Consequently, archaeologists generally find to their chagrin that tombs were visited before them by people with very different intentions. Fortunately, the magnificent tomb of Philip II escaped such a fate because it was buried BELOW other smaller tombs (nice decoys), leaving modern ruin-hounds with much to gawk at.

The museum and excavation site are first-rate. Four adjacent tombs (including Philip's) were excavated, a museum was built connecting them, and the whole thing was then re-buried just as before:

You'll have to take my word for this since non-flashy photography was difficult in the dark subterrain, but the items on display were fantastic. Found in the tombs, incredibly well-preserved, were cryselephantine couches, suits of armor, glorious gold crowns of delicate oak leaves and acorns (a few very slightly melted-looking acorns attest to the fact that Philip's crown was on his head as his body was consumed in the grand funeral pyre), gold larnaxes, silver banquet sets, innumerable cups and pitchers and flasks ("the dead are always thirsty"), on and on. Very impressive.

Pella (Πελλά)

The next Panda stop was ancient Pella, the birthplace of Alexander the Great and the capital of the Macedonians during both his and Philip's rules as king (even by their time, Aegae had lost its capital significance, functioning mainly as the royal burial site and place for theater…and assassinations). Pella grew into a massive city, built on the Hippodamean system of urban design, a regular grid of perpendicular streets with sophisticated water and sewage systems; but today it's mainly known for its wonderfully preserved mosaic floors, some maintained in situ while others are displayed tastefully in the small museum. These mosaics are composed simply of variously colored stones (pebbles, in some cases); think of the possibilities with future bathroom projects [Roberto: take note]!

Who needs tiles, right?

Watch out, column pose!

Before we hop back in the Panda to the next site, please appreciate the art of the mass production of ceramics, 4th century BC Macedonian style [Roberto, this is for you auch]:

And a final image from the apex of the Hellenistic age (no Naj, we didn't ask):

Edessa (Έδεσσα)

Before the discovery of Vergina, this small mountain town was thought to be the ancient city of Aegae. Stripped of that honor, it is now known (and visited) for its many waterfalls. Edessa certainly has water.

Little concrete canals run all over town, fountains are everywhere, waterfalls, little bridges, even a water museum. If Yestermorrow (www.yestermorrow.org) were to build a town, something not unlike the old town of Edessa might be the result.

Also there to serve the needs of the (almost exclusively Greek) visitors to Edessa is the line of souvenir shops selling every kind of kitchy absurdity, from 2 foot tall clay busts of Sitting Bull to 24 square foot Kurt Cobain suicide tapestries to fur rugs like the one below, apparently made out of some sort of mutant hump-backed polyfox:

"No!" the dangling faux fox family cries, "Please don't go!"

I'm sorry, little ones, but we have more to see elsewhere. [On a side note, Edessa had some of the best crispy pork gyros we've had thus far.]

Delphi (Δελφοί)

If you're like us, when you think of Delphi, you think of pilgrims from all across the ancient world consulting the famous oracle in search of answers to life's questions, political, personal, economic, or otherwise. You think of great kings seeking permission for war, of women desperate for children, men looking for direction. You imagine virgin priestesses of Apollo (Pythia) being drugged and lowered into foul sulfurous chasms, their hysterical rantings being calmly interpreted by high priests, translated into fine and cryptic verses, sufficiently vague to maintain validity in the face of any outcome. Delphi was the omphalos (the naval) of the ancient world, the place where the two eagles that Zeus released from opposite ends of the earth finally met. For over one thousand years, it was the spiritual center of ancient Greece, finally falling into decline once the Romans invaded.

The museum there is a beautiful facility full of artifacts from the ancient site. As difficult as it is to do, the exhibits effectively give you a sense of the reality of this extinguished world, a sense that is deepened by a walk through the extensive ruins outside. Perched high in the foothills of sacred Mount Parnassos, overlooking an endless sea of olive trees, with the real sea beyond, Delphi retains a mystical feel. Seems like a fine candidate for the center of the world.

The Sacred Way (the entrance into the sacred city):

One of the things that struck us most was the idea of how utterly crazy this place must have been in its heyday. Crowded with pilgrims, merchants, priests. Buildings plastered in loud colors, statues and monuments scattered pell-mell everywhere you looked. Trinkets and offerings, animals being sacrificed, music and performances. It seems like the place, though sacred, was a free-for-all in many respects, no one really in charge, a fantastic show, sort of a spiritual Las Vegas or Disneyland. And in such a location. Looking down on the theater, the Temple of Apollo, and the valley beyond:

Heads up! Column pose by the famous Tholos in the sanctuary of Athena Pronaia:

And the same sanctuary from above:

Before moving on, we thought you might enjoy playing one of our favorite games: Spot the Woman with the Inappropriate Shoes for Walking on Uneven Stone Paths (SWISWUSP)!

This sighting was particularly enjoyable as, just moments before, the right heel snapped off and was hanging by a thread. Fashion is king here, and everyone has a ManCrutch just for times like these.

Monastery of Saint Luke (Μονή Οσίου Λουκά)

Don't worry, last stop. If you're this tired reading it, just think how we feel. As a transition from the ancient world to the modern, we ended our weekend with a visit to the Monastery of Saint Luke, a stunning Byzantine church with some of Greece's finest mosaic frescoes out in the middle of nowhere, overlooking a valley of its own.

We were drawn initially to the place because we read that the bones of Saint Luke were held there. Saint Luke! But it turns out that the Luke in question is not the one from the Gospels but rather a local hermit. This took a little active searching to clear up; for while the monastery makes no direct claim on the bones of the Gospel writer (which would boost business, no doubt), it must be said that it also makes no real effort to dispel that idea. In any case, the setting was lovely and we even acquired a few plastic bottles of the local monk-made wine to sip on the terrace beneath an amazing old tree:

Life is difficult.

Tsipouradika (ΤΣΙΠΟΥΡΑΔΙΚΑ)

2006-11-14T09:13:00.000-08:00

On Sunday afternoons between 1 and 4 and almost any other evening after 9:30, you are likely to find a good percentage of the Volos population at one of the nearly 150 tsipouradika that line the sea port or snuggle in narrow neighborhood streets all over the city. To be Volosian is to dine and drink at tsipouradika, restaurants that serve small bottles of distilled grape liquor known as tsipouro accompanied by little mezedes (appetizers) of seafood for about 3 euros a round (1 bottle + 1 mezedes).

The process is easy: sit down at a table, ideally one overlooking the sea (and preferably in the fresh air, far away from smokers – alas, a near impossibility), and a waiter will come, clip a paper cover on your table and ask, almost imperceptibly as the answer is already supposed: “Tsipouro?”

If your answer is an affirmative “Ne” (and it almost always is), he’ll return shortly with a bottle of water, a tiny steel bucket of ice and even tinier steel tongs, and small bottles of tsipouro (1 for each in your party) each accompanied by a different mezede. The optimal strategy is to go with a big group of people and drink as many rounds as you can without falling over so that you get to sample all of the mezedes the tsipouradiko has to offer: grilled octopus, baked anchovies, cheese stuffed squid, crab croquettes, sauteed mussels, fried calamari, broiled fish liver…and other surprising things that are very often delicious or at least interesting.

Tsipouro, like ouzo, is a strong, clear liquor that turns white when water or ice is added because the aniseed used for flavoring forms microscopic crystals when contacts water. However, if you order your tsipouro choris glycaniso (without anise) as Iago has learned to do, you can add as many ice cubes as you like and your drink, if not your head, will remain clear.

Not being a particularly large person or one who is fond of strong alcohol, I have a hard time pulling my weight at the tsipouradika and as a result we often end up with too much tsipouro and not quite enough mezedes. That being said, we've learned that pushing the limits of mezedes diversity and quantity should not be our object; for after copius research, we've found that there tends to be a non-linear relationship between mezede quality and the number of tsipouro rounds you order (see Lowe et. al, 2006).

In a group of 3 or 4 people, the first round is often tasty but basic and leaves you wanting more, your tastebuds primed. The second tends to be more adventurous, while quality peaks in the third. After the third round, the quality of the mezedes declines markedly, owing, we hypothesize, to the reduced capacity of the consumer to be discriminating.

Good food, good drink, great company, and lingering conversation. The tsipouradika exemplify the Volos life.

Ya mas!

An Overview of our Work (Part 3: Olives)

2006-11-08T14:20:00.000-08:00

Torturing Fruit for the Greater Good

OLIVES

SAT verbal analogy challenge (time limit: 50 minutes):

1. Corn : Americans :: ? : Greeks
A. Mythology
B. Nescafe and cigarettes
C. Olives
D. 1-MCP
E. All of the above, and then some

If you completely filled in the bubble beside "olives" with your #2 pencil, congratulations. If not, there there. Either way, take solace in the fact that your intellectual potential has been accurately measured by experts.
Anyway, given the importance of olives and olive oil to the Greek economy and diet, it's no surprise that many of the grad students in our lab work with this marvelous crop. For our part, we've been helping with a multi-national EU project designed to determine the effects of deficit irrigation on fruit quality and safety. Water resources available for agriculture are diminishing worldwide, so finding water-frugal methods for producing high quality fruits (and vegetables) of all kinds is critical. As it turns out, past research indicates that deficit irrigation may actually boost the quality of some horticultural crops in terms of taste and nutrition. As plants become stressed, they often increase the production of phenolic compounds (powerful antioxidants) and sugars, resulting in a more healthful and tastier product. We’re helping with this olive research by taking soil samples:

…harvesting:

…and conducting numerous quality and nutrition studies in the lab like the ones mentioned in previous posts. At this point in Greece, much of the farm labor, including olive harvesting, is performed by migrant farm workers from Albania (Mexico : USA :: ? : Greece). But even though the groves can be peaceful and beautiful places to work:

(that's Volos in the background), I don't know if I'd recommend it as an occupation, given the going rate of about $4/hour. Our work crew has been great, though:

Maybe 30 Euros a day isn't that bad after all.

Emergency TBSS Post

2006-11-08T14:17:00.000-08:00

Moshigirl, we found you a baby sister in the cobbledy-stone village of Makranitsa in the Pelion mountains:

We haven't been able to capture her yet, but we're trying. When we do, her name will be Milopita (apple pie), of course.

An Overview of our Work (Part 2: Kiwis)

2006-11-08T14:09:00.000-08:00

Torturing Fruit for the Greater Good

KIWIS

On a family kiwi farm near the small town of Naossa in Macedonia (about three hours north of Volos and a stunning mountainous area renowned for its high-quality fruit), a farmer in the 1980's planted kiwi seeds and selected plants he liked. Though not undertaken in any particularly scientific manner, and in spite of the fact that such an approach has very little probability of leading to significant improvements, the guy may have gotten extremely lucky. The result of his informal breeding effort is a new variety grown only in that area (and in quite small quantity thus far, though interest is growing) and known as Tsechelides, after the man who found it. By all appearances, the new variety is a miracle. The plants produce enormous quantities of fruit:

And the fruits are astonishingly uniform, well-shaped, and HUGE. Here is one next to the leading commercial variety, Hayward:

Even though Hayward is the current leader, it's a small fruit by comparison and lacks uniformity. So anyway, sure, Tsechelides looks good; but how does it compare in all the other quality characteristics? That's where we come in. Side by side with Hayward, we're running Tsechelides fruit through a battery of postharvest quality tests to see how it measures up. The tests are essentially the same as those mentioned before for apples:

but the motivation is different. Whereas for apples we're optimizing postharvest handling practices, here we're doing a simple variety evaluation. How acidic is it? How sweet? How firm? How does it hold up under storage? Interested as some of us are in plant breeding and the development of new commercially-acceptable cultivars (ahem!), this is an interesting venture. And the active cooperation between the grower, the university, and industry (read: large fruit handlers/exporters interested in growing the Tsechclides market share) has been inspiring.

Ghavros (ΓΑΥΡΟΣ)

2006-11-08T13:54:00.000-08:00

Although technically these fish are anchovies, I prefer to use the term “tiny fishes” because my unpleasant pre-Greece association with these creatures consists of pizza, Ceasar salad and tins of smoked, salty, smelly stuff. Here in Greece, however, I have found fresh tiny fishes to be a ubiquitous and inexpensive staple. They are prepared in any number of delicious ways: baked with lemon and olive oil, made into a pie, or (my personal favorite) fried. If prepared correctly, these tiny fried fishes make a tasty (and perhaps healthier) substitute for chicken strips.

Ingredients:
½ kilo very fresh very tiny fishes (their eyes should be clear - not cloudy - and gills red)
small pile of flour (with pepper and spices if you like)
olive oil
salt to taste

Cover bottom of large frying pan with ¼ inch of olive oil and heat until very hot. Contrary to popular notion in the U.S., Greeks contend that olive oil holds up extremely well under high temperatures (up to about 180ºC or 375ºF) and is, in fact, a great and healthy medium for frying. We’ll go with that.

One by one, coat each tiny fishy in flour and drop into the hot oil. Flip once so that both sides brown evenly. Remove to a paper towel-lined plate to absorb excess oil and repeat process until all tiny fish are fried. If oil turns very dark due to stray browned flour pieces, you might want to replace it. We were able to get through our ½ kilo with just one dose of oil, though the last couple of tiny fish batches came out pretty dark. Salt to taste.

As for eating, you can pop the whole crispy delicious tiny fish body into your mouth - most people here do. But the heads can be bitter, so you can pluck them off easily just above the gills if you like. The crunchy tails are especially scrumptious.

For a hearty meal, serve with boiled greens dressed in lemon and olive oil, fresh bread, olives, wine, and a pomegranate for dessert.

An Overview of our Work (Part 1: Apples)

2006-11-08T13:42:00.000-08:00

Torturing Fruit for the Greater Good

Lest you think otherwise, let us assure you that being in Greece is not all good food, beautiful places, and hanging out with new friends. No. We log many a hour working with Dr. George Nanos, either: A) Torturing fruit in his horticultural postharvest laboratory at the University of Thessaly, or B) Collecting fruit for laboratory or (when we can't wait) on-site torture from farms and packing houses around the region. No fruits escape our wrath save those not in season; though thanks to postharvest technologies like controlled atmosphere storage and ripening inhibitors, we can make fruit suffer many months after they are picked. A glimpse of what we do:

APPLES

Given the time of year, we've been working with apples quite a bit. In one experiment, we're helping masters degree student Alexandros investigate the effect of various treatments (hot water baths and exposure to the ripening inhibitor 1-MCP) on apple bruising. The procedure is simple enough: Alexandros mercilessly drops defenseless apples (some straight from the field, others dunked in hot water for a few minutes, others exposed to 1-MCP), one by one, from a given height (30 cm) onto a countertop (that's him in the background):

and then we measure all sorts of apple properties to see the effect. The thing I'm holding above is a colorimeter; with it, we zap apples before and after bruising to measure the extent of discoloration. We then butcher the poor things in various ways to get at other aspects:

As you can see, we stab them with a penetrometer to see how firm they are, we gouge out their bruises to measure their dimensions, we cut out slices for juicing (needed for acidity, soluble solids, and phenolics – a.k.a. antioxidants -- measurements), and even more slices for conductivity. All this takes 8-10 hours for one round, and we're becoming pros at it. Before moving on, here's a shot of how we expose apples to 1-MCP:

Just put them in a plastic bag, open up a bottle with the chemical, and then tape the thing shut for 3 hours. Simple.

In another experiment, we're investigating the efficacy of several different treatments for the prevention of superficial scald (essentially, undesirable discoloration) in apples held in storage for long periods of time. The treatments include the current standard drenching with DPH (diphenylamine), a hot water bath with 1/3 the standard concentration of DPH, and a simple hot water bath. As you might guess, this experiment is motivated by a quest for lower-dosage or chemical-free controls for scald and is, in fact, part of a larger study that is also monitoring DPH residue on apples and DPH presence in the packing-house environment. We're pretty much the grunt labor for this one, dunking hundreds of apples in hot water baths for later measurement (after two months in storage). Putting golden delicious in the murky hot DPH solution:

And pulling them out (ding! they're done!):

All this joy brought to you by your friendly neighborhood fruit mangler:

The Modern Olive Press (ΣΥΓΧΡΟΝΟ ΕΛΑΙΟΤΡΙΒΕΙΟ); or, Mashing it up with the Pliakoni Family

2006-11-05T06:49:00.000-08:00

If you're a Volosian, odds are that you have some olive trees in your family. Sure, you may live in a tiny apartment on the third floor of some reinforced concrete block flat in the city proper; but your family has likely held onto a nearby quarter of a hectare or so here or there. And on it: Olive trees that fed your great grandparents and continue to provide the roughly 60 kilograms (~ 130 pounds) of olive oil your family consumes, per capita, on an annual basis. The first week we arrived in Volos, actually, we were given the gift of family olive oil from George's generous mother [note: we're posting bigger pictures now, so click on any of them for larger versions]:

Don't let the recycled-water-bottle-packaging fool you. It was like tasting olive oil for the first time. But this post is not about the heavenly taste and aroma of local oil or olives (Eleni's mother gave us some jars of home-prepared eating olives…oh my God), nor is it about the renowned food generosity of Greek mothers; it's about how Greek families go about the task of turning their hand-picked olives into liquid gold. Simply put, they don't. Given the heavy labor or equipment requirement (pick one) for processing oil olives, families simply take their harvest to their neighborhood olive press. We were lucky enough to accompany Eleni's mom and dad (and ever-present, ever-patient translating brother Nikos) with their 400 kg of olives (the first of 3-4 harvests from their grove) to one such press the other night. From the outside, it doesn't look like much:

But ΣΥΓΧΡΟΝΟ ΕΛΑΙΟΤΡΙΒΕΙΟ ΖΑΦΡΑΚΟΠΟΥΛΟΣ (The Zafrakopoulos Modern Olive Press, owned and managed single-handedly by the young Yannis Zafrakopoulos) is a slick and efficient modern factory in its 4th generation of providing quality oil-pressing services to the people of Volos. Here's how it works. A family makes an appointment and shows up at the allotted time with their harvested olives (minimum of 200 kg, please) – see the arriving truck in the above picture. One of the family members then dumps their olives into the hopper:

while Yannis, from his control panel, turns on the conveyer belt that lifts the olives from the hopper into the cleaner:

It is in this machine that the olives are swished around with water, bounced and dried, and blown with air to remove any debris (leaves, dirt, twigs, perseverant bugs):

And then the fun really begins. The condemned olives then move by Archimedes screw into the rough macerator, essentially a long bin inside which dull blades slowly spin, scraping/grinding the olives against the sides and stirring the olives-cum-olivemash:

Now that we've come this far, let's zoom out and give you an idea of the layout of the factory:

Being a (very aromatic) self-lubricated pulp, the olive mash is conveyed from the macerator onward through the rest of the equipment by means of pumping through flexible plastic tubing. Once macerated, the mash moves into one of Yannis' five individual batch heaters:

Inside these heaters you find a similar spinning blade apparatus as we saw in the macerator. The big difference here is that the walls of these batch heaters contain continuously circulating hot water. In other words, these things are big heat exchangers, efficiently heating the olive mash to around 40 C without mixing water with the mash. If you've heard of "cold-pressed" olive oil, you may be wondering what this heating is all about. It turns out that slightly heating the olive mash enables a greater volume of oil to be extracted (about 1 kg of oil from 7 kg of olives, versus the 14 kg of olives needed under "cold" conditions). There is a price exacted for this increase in volume, however, and it is (predictably) a decrease in nutritional quality. Presumably some of the desirable constituents of olive oil break down at higher temperatures. After stirring and heating for 30-40 minutes (or until the mash looks to have the right consistency according to Yannis' experienced eye), the mash is pumped into the centrifuge:

The large German-made centrifuge is the heart of the whole operation, able to handle up to 3 metric tons an hour, spinning it at high speeds to separate the oil from the waste:

We'll follow the waste in a second (a very cool story). For now, a close-up of the separated oil as it leaves the centrifuge:

and as it drips through the stainless steel screen, to be collected and pumped to another station for final filtering:

Before filtering, permit me a quick digression on the waste stream. All the mash waste is collected from the centrifuge and moved quickly and cleanly under the floor, then up and out of the factory into a waiting truck. This truck takes it to a nearby dehydrating facility (a separate business) and then brings back the dry residue to Yannis:

Why? These cracked little fragments of olive pit still have oil in them and, in fact, contain more energy per weight than diesel fuel. So Yannis uses them to heat the water required by the individual batch heaters…brilliant! According to Yannis, his little facility produces more than 150 metric tons of this fuel per year. Since he only requires 40 tons for his operations, he can sell off the other 90 as a nice side business. Now back to the story. The separated oil is pumped over to the final filtration station, where it is injected with hot water into a small vertical centrifuge:

Mixing oil with water? Indeed. The water helps to remove any hydrophilic impurities, and the centrifuge does a perfect job of removing all traces of it from the final product.

As the Pliakoni olive oil jug fills up (they got 50 kg of oil from their 400 kg of olives), Yannis takes a 10 ml sample and titrates it for acidity. This acidity measurement is what puts the oil in the "Extra Virgin" (lowest acidity), "Virgin" (medium), or "Commercial Grade" (high) class, the latter being destined for further refinement. The Pliakoni oil was, of course, extra virgin. As payment, Yannis generally just takes 12% of the oil produced, which he then sells to a wholesaler. But the Pliakoni's are partial to their own oil, so they ended up buying back their 12% directly to take home with them.

Quick (the whole process takes a little over an hour), clean (immaculate), easy (families come with olives and leave with oil), chemical-free (only water), energy efficient (cogeneration with oil pit fuel), and quiet. It really is a model business and an inspiration to see.

Thanks Nikos and Mama Pliakoni! (Mr. Pliakoni hid when he saw how silly the picture was becoming)

And thanks Yannis for a great tour of your impressive facility.

We'll be back again with some bread to take you up on your offer to toast it for us in your furnace so that we can dip it immediately in the fresh warm oil as it comes out. Who could refuse that?

METEORA (ΜΕΤΕΩΡΑ)

2006-10-23T13:51:00.000-07:00

Say what you will about the UN, but UNESCO certainly knew what it was doing when it officially recognized Meteora as a World Heritage Site. In the 11th century, hermits began flocking (a paradox?) to this area in western Thessaly (central Greece), relatively confident they could find a small cave each to their own in the spectacular, towering, sedimentary rock formations which occupy an area of about 7 square kilometers just north of the modern towns of Kalambaka and Kastraki.

A particularly ambitious and gregarious hermit monk named Athanasios Meteoritis scrambled up the granddaddy of these sheer rock towers in the 14th century and organized the first formal monastic community there. On the top. No kidding.

It goes without saying that constructing churches on the tops of rocky missiles in pre-helicopter days is a testament to the faith of these ascetics. Few things say "Glory to God" more than impossible structures. But there was also a very practical reason for going to such lengths, for scaling rickety wooden ladders up hundreds of feet of sheer rock wall,

for hauling up EVERY SINGLE THING (rocks for building, dirt for gardens, even people) in nets that could break any time…

…a very practical reason indeed, namely escaping the invading Turks so that they might keep themselves and the Orthodox faith alive. Since that time, twenty-four such hermitages spread and flourished on many of the towers for over 600 years, and holy Meteora is one of the most important religious sites for Orthodox Christians in the world.

Today only eight monasteries remain, six of which are open to the public (and by "public," we mean busloads upon busloads of Yugoslavian high school kids…with rat tails).

Over two days (one rainy, one sunny), we walked all over the hills, climbed and descended hundreds upon hundreds of steps, crab-crawled down wet rock faces, visited each of the monasteries, and loved every minute of it. We wish we could show you pictures of the meticulously painted insides of all the churches (katholikons) in each of the monasteries, but picture-taking there was completely verboten.

A view from Moni Agiou Triados (Monastery of the Holy Trinity) of the stone footpath we walked up:
The way modern monks lift supplies (e.g. cement) to their sanctuaries in the sky:

The garden at Moni Agiou Varvaras (Holy Monastery of Santa Barbara), a convent:

E being christened (finally!) by the holy cat of Santa Barbara:

Since we're on the subject, we found this miracle of life on display at Athanasios' very own Moni Megalou Meteorou:

A monk in the mist:

Wet but happy:

After two days of gawking at phallic rock formations, we were very pleased to come across this:

VOLOS (BOΛOΣ)

2006-10-14T07:43:00.000-07:00

Renowned as the place where Jason set sail to find the Golden Fleece with the agile Argonauts, Volos today is the fifth(or sixth) largest municipality in Greece and an important industrial and port city. It is also a lively and lovely place with hundreds of seaside tavernas, tsipouratikos, and cafes where people sit and talk and drink and smoke and eat and smoke and talk (and smoke) at all hours of the day, except for the frequent and regimented times when the whole town shuts down for resting (more on this later).

Although it's a big city by Greek standards (Athens takes that prize with over 6 million of Greece's 11 million smoky souls), the architecture and layout is on a human scale. The roads are narrow, the cars are TINY, and practically everyone lives in apartment buildings no more than about 5 stories high, like ours here:

Our apartment is perhaps tinier than most, consisting of one all-purpose bed/dining/living room

one kitchenlet

one bathroom

and a balcony

which I'm told is a requirement for apartments in all of Greece. It's in a great location, just 4 blocks from the seafront, and for our purposes it will work out famously.

We've settled in very well over these last two weeks, thanks in large part to Dr. George Nanos, our fabulous host at the University of Thessaly, and his graduate student Eleni, who have taken it upon themselves to make sure that we spend plenty of time getting to know Volos and the surrounding areas.

Our personal beach one afternoon in Afisos

Eating sweets in the mountain village of Milies with our parea (Eleni, us, Eleni's brother Nikos; Anna Maria, Nikos' Romanian girlfriend, is taking the picture)

Walking near Milies, to the chagrin of our anti-perambulating Greek friends

Sampling Volos' seaside specialties, like ghavros (shown below), tsipouro (distilled liquour made from wine grape mash and usually flavored with aniseed), and grilled sardines

Be assured, though, that despite what it looks like from the above photos, we are also working at the university postharvest lab and visiting farms and other research sites in the area. I'll fill you in with details of our official VIP purpose here in future posts. Also stay tuned for explorations of exciting culinary and cultural topics such as: spoon sweets, “are people fighting or are they just speaking Greek?”, the origin and importance of Greek's national drink the Nescafé “frappé,” tiny fried fishes, tiny cars, daily farmer's markets, the city-village connection, and much more!

Also, in case any of you were wondering what we've done with our girl,

she's in Idaho at “Kamp Karlson” taking lots of hikes, eating lots of treats and getting plenty of love.