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[This is the same caption as that of the last photo. No need to
read it again, unless you found it particularly enjoyable.]
We were going to head out on a Saturday afternoon to explore one of the small villages around, completely forgetting that we live at the outskirts of one. As we were waiting for the bus, we saw a bunch of folks in traditional garb mulling around outside the neighborhood pub, and many other folks with cameras and
kids also mulling about, waiting for something to happen. Within a few
minutes, the traditionally-clad people started dancing and singing, and
a little marching band assembled and started playing. They paraded
through the streets of the village, singing and playing and marching,
occasionally (and we still do not know why) holding up sprigs of
rosemary tied with red ribbons and letting out a long high-pitched,
sort-of-hog-calling howl. Soon also appeared some fellas pulling a
wagon that held a big decanter whose contents were concealed by more
rosemary branches. They began filling long thin decanters with bulbs at
the ends with a yellowy-white liquid, filling shot-sized glasses and
offering them to the folks with strollers who were walking along with
the parade or watching from the windows. This dashed my hopes that the
parade was to celebrate the rosemary harvest, or the original taming of
the region's wild rosemary plants back in 876 A.D. It turns out
probably to have been a wine festival. We did not get a chance to try
the wine. But we did notice that we were probably the only foreigners
there, in fact, probably the only people not from the village of
Holasky, thus making the event authentic and not just put on
for tourists. We like that.