Dirty Monday: Celebrating Lent

The residents of Tyrnavos, in central Greece, mark the beginning of Lent with a no-holds-barred celebration of the phallus. Theodora Tongas comes to grips with the "Bourani," a firmly-held local tradition.

One by one, they line up for photos. First a little boy, then another, grinning from ear to ear as they sit on the penis-topped throne in the center of town. Across the road, a two-meter phallus is flanked by other townspeople posing for pictures. Anatomically correct ceramic penises dangle from trees and storefront windows. A street vendor sells cherry-flavored penis-pops; a bakery, penis-shaped bread.

Dionysus would be proud. In the shadow of the mythological home of Greece's ancient gods, the residents of Tyrnavos mark the beginning of Lent by reverting to the most primitive roots of ancient festivals-drinking, dancing and celebrating the phallus. "It is a celebration of fertility and prosperity," explains Elisavet Kehagia, the deputy mayor of Tyrnavos, a market town northwest of Larisa in central Greece.

Many Greeks mark the beginning of Lent on "Clean Monday" by observing a day of modesty, flying kites and beginning a 40-day fast in the run-up to Easter with such foods as octopus, olives and unleavened bread. But in Tyrnavos, this particular Monday is downright dirty.

"The first day of the Great Lent has come to be a small extension of carnival," says Giorgos Aikaterinidis, a folklore researcher. "But when the evening bell for church rings, everything stops and fasting begins."

Clean Monday morning finds crowds gathering at a clearing near the Profiti Ilia church on the outskirts of town to watch members of the local cultural organization perform traditional dances in regional costumes. When they're done, another tradition takes over: the enthronement of the arhibouranioti, or festival leader, crowned with a ceramic penis on his forehead.

The arhibouranioti is joined by other men-some carrying the ceramic phalluses, others with dozens dangling from their waist-in dancing around a pot of bourani, a traditional oil-less, spinach-based soup that shares its name with the day's festivities. All the while they sing choruses of ribald carnival songs, known as "gamotragouda." Around town, people spill onto the sidewalks and streets from their homes, coffee shops and tavernas, eating, drinking and singing their own dirty ditties as each waits for their pot of bourani to boil.

Unsuspecting passers-by trying to squeeze through the crowd are grabbed, lifted and rocked over a pot of the boiling soup, while a ceramic penis is placed between their legs. They must kiss the phallus, drink tsipouro-a strong local spirit-from its tip, and give the soup a stir before they're let go. "Did you kiss it?" ask the men, ceramic penises in hand. Anyone who does, gets branded with the tell-tale sign of ash streaks on their face. Obscene gestures, lewd songs, poems and jokes are the order of the day. "Modest is the only thing this day is not," Kehagia says.

Clean Monday is the only time such behavior is permitted. In fact, during the rest of the year there is no hint of such inclinations in the town, known for its ouzo, wine and dairy products. "The custom has strict rules and no one can violate them," Aikaterinidis says. "There are very raunchy songs that are never sung on other days. Only Clean Monday permits it. It's the custom."

According to Aikaterinidis, the Bourani in particular has its roots "in archaic periods of history. For most of these festivities, you cannot find the beginning. They all pre-exist in tradition."

Carnival Desires

Phallic worship is believed to have been prominent in ancient Rome and practiced in Egypt, India and Japan. In ancient Greece, it took place during the Dionysian festivals, held in honor of the god of wine and revelry who, according to mythology, frequented Mt. Olympus. Ritual ribaldry is also thought to have been common during the Thesmophoria, a fertility festival in ancient Greece held to honor Demeter, the goddess of agriculture. "Today's folk rituals enlisted the various rituals of ancient Greece," says Panaghiotis Marinis, head of the Greek Society of the Friends of the Ancients, a group of devotees to the 12 Olympian gods. "But we don't expect that we could re-establish ancient holidays from these festivals. They are simply revivals that are part of the folk culture."

Today's celebration has lost its original sacred meaning and has been modified and embellished over the centuries, experts say. "It cannot be exactly the same thing as what the ancients did," argues Mina Mahairopoulou, director of the Center of Folk Activities in the town of Komotini. "It is a remnant from an ancient ritual that naturally was modified through conditions and time."

Carnival and Clean Monday celebrations around Greece have merged with pagan traditions, reenactments of local history, and superstitious beliefs surrounding the harvest and fertility.

Carnival participants in agriculture-dependent Sohos near Thessaloniki, for example, see their festival's success as a good omen for crops, and locals take it very seriously. Popular belief holds that no carnival means no crops. They sport multicolored masks with horse hair mustaches, goatskin pants and jackets, a belt of bells and tall, showy headgear topped with a fox tail that some deem a phallic symbol. The celebrations in Sohos are linked to Saint Theodore who, in one legend, had his soldiers help free the town from a siege dressed in goat skins.

A Blow for Equality

Back at the Bourani, the most recent and obvious change came when women stopped hiding and started partying. Until World War II, men in this town of 15,000 people were the principle characters in the festivities, even taking up the ancient practice of masquerading as women.

"Women weren't allowed because of the risque behavior," says Giorgos Platis, president of the Bourani association. "It would be daring for them to come knowing they would be exposed to the language and gestures," Aikaterinidis adds.

Some older women who recall peeping at the celebration through curtains at home, still shy away from the penile procession. "A woman, when she sees the phallus or is asked to drink out of a phallic-shaped container, at first might be shocked," Kehagia says. "But coming to Tyrnavos on that day she knows she will have to face such things."

Even children take part in the festivities. "They are all accustomed to it," Kehagia says. "No one is offended." Maria Giatsa, who sells penis-shaped straws with her eight-year-old son, concurs: "It's nothing. They are used to it. They don't even mention it the rest of the year."

But not everyone is as tolerant. Posters scattered around town call the event an insult to religion and morality and ask residents to say "no to the atheistic carnival." Local priest Father Apostolos warns: "This is the devil's thing."

But the practice managed to survive the 400-year Ottoman occupation of Greece as well as a military dictatorship that tried to abolish it. "It is unstoppable," says Aikaterinidis.

Tyrnavos is 17km northwest of Larisa (358km from Athens). The Great Parade takes place each year on the last Sunday before Lent.