Street Fighting Man

Part of the excitement of coming to Greece revolves around our attempts to interface with a new, distinct culture. In London, there wasn't really a single culture in general that we had to adjust to because the city houses numerous, diverse populations. The English-ness in London is sharply declining, thanks to EU immigration policies and the relative success of the city. For that reason, it was easier for us as Americans to in a sense maintain our own cultural identity while in the UK (though you may catch me saying "topped-up" instead of "filled up" or "cheers" instead of "thanks"). Here in Athens, all of that is different. There is a distinct Greek culture here and all of us in the Pepperdine program are along for the ride.
One of the ways we thought we could plunge into the Greek culture was participating in the Greek Carnival, a pre-Lenten celebration of the Greek Orthodox churchgoers (that number around 95% here) that is akin to our Mardi Gras, though spread our across several weeks. We experienced it in Nice, France last month and attended their parade and partying. There were common themes that resurfaced like children in costumes and general merriment. But what took us by surprise involved the substitute of silly string, which was employed by many an annoying youth, with bats. Actually, more like clubs.
In a tradition that harkens back to the military nature of the ancient Greek city states, namely Sparta, people beat each other... for fun... during the nights of Carnival. And I don't mean light tapping with these blunt objects, I mean physical brawls that break out in the middle of the street. And all in the name of fun. Or at least its supposed to be that way. Lucky for us, we decided to see what was going on during Carnival in a group, so by the time we started getting bludgeoned (despite being unarmed), we were able to seize a local armory and acquire weapons for us to defend ourselves. Then we tapped into our inner Spartan warrior and fully participated in the street fights that ensued. Sure there were little children who would playfully smack us and we would pleasantly ignore, but oftentimes the 8-15 year old boys, hopped up on what must be the Greek equivalent of Pixie Stix, were the most vicious. They wouldn't prey on the good looking American girls like the other noticeable demographic of Carnival soldiers (25-35 year old bachelors), but often times the middle schoolers would wield uncontrollable force behind their bats and definitely fight dirty. Since they were young, we couldn't in good conscience fight back at them. Unfortunately, they knew this.
By the second night of it, we were good and ready for the confrontations that would take place. We developed our own attack tactics and battle cries. We even had photographers at the ready, documenting our struggle through the Plaka. Testosterone pumping, we tore through the streets, signaling and being challenged through war-like ground-pounding with our clubs and charges reminiscent of Celtic warriors. I gave out and took my beatings like the rest of the War Council (the name given for the warrior men in our group), once suffering punishing blows by no less than seven Greek high schoolers at once. I'm pretty sure my medulla oblongata is bruised. Oh well. It's all in good fun, right?
I guess these are the barriers needed to overcome in our effort to integrate in Greek culture. Our baptism-by-beating notwithstanding, I think we are all doing surprisingly well trying to get a grasp on what is kosher here in Athens and what is not. And there is still plenty more to conquer. But at this point I'm confident we'll be able to thoroughly participate in this foreign culture by the end of our stay here in the Near-East. Otherwise, we may be in for some cultural beatings that make our physical ones look tame. And believe me, they weren't.