Goathead Soup

Skyros is mentioned in Homer’s Odyssey. Our ferry voyage to the island was two days ago. We missed the annual Goat Festival but on befriending a local taverna owner called Adonis, we were invited to a family celebration. Hefting boxes of food, from a dusty road we hiked a track that led us to a remote mountainside. Tiny white chapels marked the surrounding steep grassy hills, each one dedicated to a descendant family and linked to a pagan god. Ours was Dionysus and we reached his abode as the Aegean sun lowered. People have tended goats here since before Odysseus sailed by, and the buildings are used by today’s shepherds. Goats were tethered nearby. A cauldron was brought to a fire and women dressed in widowed black gathered to start the feast. Being a curious cook I wanted to help and was sent to forage for wild thyme and rosemary. My friend played hop-scotch with the children while the men organised drinks of sweet aniseed ouzo. With no evidence of the modern world, time decided to leave. The aroma of charcoal and seared meats would have awoken any sleeping God or Goddess. Returning with my herbs I looked into the cooking pot. Among the tomatoes, zucchini (courgette) and eggplant (aubergine), goatheads were rolling at a slow simmer. The goat is sacred here. Nothing is wasted. The stew was delicious, washed down with sappy retsina, which is a sweet wine. People were still making the pilgrimage after dark; candles showed their movement up the hill. As the lute-like sound of the bouzouki called out, the dancing was on. Dionysus could not have partied in a better manner. Goat bells rang out and goatskin drums provided percussion. We ate, danced, made merry then danced some more. We were high up, laps of the gods territory, with five generations of the same family and their friends. The world revolved at our feet. As the sky became lighter, we floated back down towards our car, goats bleating across the valley. Thank you Adonis.