Greeks don't go camping. My mother came from a poor fishing village on the Adriatic and my father was born high in the mountains near the Albanian border. Shortly after they married, they sailed to America seeking a better life. Sleeping on the ground, cooking over a wood fire, using outdoor plumbing, and taking cold showers were not what they considered a better life.
Our family had lots of friends - Greeks, Italians, Albanians and Americans (We considered anyone who spoke only English "American"). None of our friends from the Old Country camped but at least they understood the basic concepts of picnicking. My parents attended English school but "Going on a Picnic" must not have been on the syllabus.
On a hot Sunday in July six cars met in front of our house in Boston. Chairs, blankets, coolers and kids slathered in Coppertone were loaded onto roomy backseats. We created a long chain of cars heading to the country. This was my first picnic. I was eight. We kids ran into the water while the adults carried the supplies to the picnic area. Back and forth the men went until the cars were as empty as our stomachs. Hunger struck as soon as we smelled the charcoal fire and as we headed to the picnic tables, I noticed that something was very wrong with my family.
My friends' parents wore shorts and sandals; my mother wore a dress, stockings and high heels. My father wore black slacks, a white shirt (but no tie) and a straw fedora. Other families had hot dogs or hamburgers sizzling on the grill. My mother smirked when she placed a huge pan of pre-cooked leg of lamb stuffed with garlic and lamb infused potatoes and onions on the grill. My father sliced the lamb thinly and insisted that our friends have a taste. Meanwhile, I loaded up on hotdogs, potato salad and a big sliced of shame.
When the cars were repacked with left over food, chairs coolers and sleepy kids, my mother said, "All the lamb, potatoes and onions are gone". Greeks know how to picnic. In fact, we invented picnics?" (According to my mother, everything good in the world was invented in Greece). They never understood my attraction to the American style picnic. But age and a subscription to Sunset Magazine have helped me appreciate that my parents knew something I didn't about picnics.
And this may be one of the many reasons I feel so at home in Mexico. Mexicans also know how to picnic. Six years ago, our friends, Irma and Ricardo invited us to drive into the mountains near San Antonio for a picnic. I baked a cake and bought four steaks to share with them but when they drove up to our house fate was ready to teach me a lesson. Instead of just Irma and Ricardo, six adults and two children greeted us with hugs. Irma wore slacks and her mother wore a dress. The daughters wore jeans. Alex and I were the only ones in shorts. My heart sank when I realized that the small honey cake and four filetes I'd brought weren't enough to share with everybody. We drove for three hours and I worried most of that time. But my stress was needless. They unpacked tables, chairs, and two huge coolers. Irma covered every inch of the table with carene asada, frijoles, aroz, ensalada, chilis to roast over the fire, tortillas, an entire watermelon and a big bottle of tequilla. No hot dogs - no potato salad but food enough to feed 25 people. They said that my cake was delicious and I felt like the American in the Movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding. We ate, laughed talked and snoozed.
On our drive back to La Paz we passed many families picnicking under shade trees. I was so happy that I suggested we go back to our beautiful area but instead of a picnic I said "Let's camp" just like my Greek family, Ricardo and Irma were too polite to say "Are you crazy? Why would we want to sleep on the ground and have no running water"? But I could read those words in Irma and, her mother Socorro's eyes. They were my family incarnate. And as I gave them a big hug, I felt like I was home.
