Even though many Greek-Americans like myself come to Greece more frequently than the average tourist, our memories become clouded in between trips, making the comforts of daily life in the U.S. something we rarely think about.
Contrasts and curiosities are everywhere as my husband and I arrive after a long series of flights from California. The German-designed Athens airport, completed a few years before the country proudly hosted the 2004 Olympic Games, boasts expanses of marble and gleaming metal — a testament to how the Greeks so magnificently demonstrated their worthiness in handling such a huge event while steeped in the pride of their Olympic origins. In years past, our plane would come to a halt on the tarmac amid a sea of other parked planes at an old, but humble airport. There, we would board buses that took us to the terminal in the distance. To the average American, chaos ruled as we stepped off the vehicles. Self-important men herded us into de facto lines only to wave us through seemingly “official” procedures to the excited faces of our relatives waiting outside customs.
Fast forwarding in time, we are amazed at the cosmopolitan nature of the new facility, complete with fancy bars, high-end designer shops and indoor cafes. My cousin, waiting on the other side of security, whisks us off to his new apartment in an Athens suburb. A huge departure from the types of (Spartan) accommodations I have seen in years past, his kitchen boasts a gleaming stainless steel array of miniature appliances, while the rest of the modern abode regales us with a generous outdoor balcony topped by a motor-controlled awning that lazily shades a generously sized patio. I begin to contrast it to my cousin’s grandfather’s house of the ’60s, where the kitchen contained nothing but a sink, an ancient refrigerator and a small table, forcing my aunt to take her pans of food to a local store where she paid to use an oven. Then I remembered how my father took note of this and promptly located the Greek version of Sears and Roebuck. To great fanfare, a new range was delivered and placed in a corner of the kitchen as my brothers and I watched, thinking how our father was no doubt now referred to as a “rich” American.
My cousin’s comfortable modern sofas face a flat screen TV above the fireplace, so different from the hard-backed formal settees and straight-backed chairs of his parent’s generation. Back then, few residents stayed in during good weather evenings. Instead, they took long walks with their families, greeted neighbors, friends and relatives and chatted about the news of the day, dressed in their downtown best for their nightly stroll.
Outward appearances do not hide the fact that some things about everyday Greek life have not changed much, however. Electrical sockets are still in sparse supply, with one of the most important ones (the bathroom outlet) still located outside the bathroom door, forcing one to use every inch of hairdryer cord. The plumbing system, as new as our cousin’s facilities are, still can not handle the usual handful of toilet paper as it sends its debris through an infrastructure no doubt originally designed in ancient times and never improved upon. Instead, a tiny, foot-controlled waste can sit next to each toilet in every W.C. in the land, ready to receive its unsavory gifts.
Driving in Greece has always been a crap shoot, even though many similar rules of the road exist in other countries. An abundance of tiny cars dart in and out of lanes, cutting one another off at every turn as horns blare and curse words fly. Stop signs seem to be for looks only, as a free-for-all mentality dominates any Greek intersection. When asking my cousin about such things, he explains how, although everyone is aware of the driving laws, nothing is enforced anyway.
Leaving the comfort of my cousin’s apartment, we begin to travel, now staying in small Greek hotels where some of the world’s most affable hosts run charming establishments, some equipped with more luxuries than others, including built-in hairdryers, flat screen TVs and wifi. Despite these niceties, however, door thresholds still do not meet floor levels, electrical conduit is displayed like wall art, and showers still consist of tiny, handheld sprayers while no shower curtain or door keeps the spray from soaking towels hung on wall hooks. Maintenance questions are viewed with a shrug in a “this-too-shall-pass” manner, making you feel as if you take life too seriously to begin with.
It takes at least a week for me to stop noticing these somewhat nagging contrasts with life at home in America; about as long as it takes for jet lag to stop messing with my sleep patterns. And once we’ve seen the sights and done the shopping we’ve dreamed of doing for so long, our afternoons begin to take on a new purpose. The Italians call it “the art of doing nothing.” This is when Greek life is at its finest, especially in the countrysides or on the islands. Shops close down for several hours, restaurants begin to fill for a time, serving tasty Greek salads and savory meat and pasta dishes. Then things turn quiet, as if everyone has conspired to take note of the beauty that surrounds them. Residents and tourists alike soak in the warm Mediterranean sun, gaze at the boundless blue Aegean, are dazzled by the brightness of the white stucco dwellings as the afternoon sun bathes the juxtaposition of dramatic colors everywhere they look. One hears the distant braying of donkeys as the creatures force residents to recall life not long past, the bells around their necks tinkling as they are ushered along by a leathery faced character who nags them to move a bit faster and stay in line. Tourists are reminded why Greece continues to be a travel destination despite its troubles and lack of state-of- the-art conveniences. And a collective sigh can be heard from those facing the idea they must return to their jobs and routines before long.
I remember to let go and permit myself to love this place where my roots run deep and I once again take pride in the sense of identity it offers me. Nodding off for a mid-afternoon nap, considered unproductive at home, seems downright appropriate at this point, as Greek life takes on a sweetness not easily translated.
It is at this point I realize why I am drawn back here each and every time I can scrape together the airfare. And I also know now that Greece offers more than the sum of its beautiful, but flawed and troubled parts I see on international news feeds.
Instead, it is a state of mind, reminding me that life is short, that naps are good, and that beauty is here for the taking no matter how the small inconveniences of daily life never seem to change. In so many ways, it is home.
Web site: Communic8or.com, Dena Kouremetis' freelance writing service located in northern California.
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