Below I have jotted down, in no particular order, some passing thoughts. This entry is long, the accumulation of two weeks of observing Greek culture.
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First, le crise: one sees its effects everywhere, from diminished attendance at famous ruins to empty tour buses. The ill-fated CHAT tour we took to Mycenae and Epidaurus had a total of 16 people for a bus that normally seats 60. Restauranteurs hustle passerbys, trying vainly to fill tables. Rod noticed several large oil tankers mothballed outside of Piraeus, casualties of lessened demand for energy.
My brother-in-law, like most Greeks, is frantic about his savings. A retired doctor, he is seeing his pensions cut, which is bad enough. If Greece is ejected from the EU for insolvency, then the country will return to the drachma, a move that could potentially reduce life savings by 70-80% as the currency is radically devalued. For the young, this is bad enough; for the old, it is devastating.
The economic meltdown has, not surprisingly, soured some civil servants. Several times I’ve had government employees pretend not to hear me; I’ve also been bullied. I’ve learned—largely by watching Karin and Vassos—to push back, raising my voice if necessary. It isn’t pleasant. Business people, however, cannot afford to indulge whatever resentments they might harbor. Consistently we have found waiters, shopkeepers, and hotel employees to be unfailing courteous and eager to please; indeed, their anxiety is almost palpable. “Is everything alright,” they ask constantly. “Do you want anything else?”
Back in the States, we read articles about profligate, irresponsible Greeks. And, indeed, the professional and moneyed classes appear to have been particular egregious in ripping off the government (although it was reported here recently that nearly 300 tax inspectors, the equivalent of our IRS employees, didn’t pay taxes for thirty years). However, hearing Vassos and Karin talk about the Kafkaesque bureaucracy and the inequities of the taxation system has made me far more sympathetic. If I were living here, I too would probably engage in “fiddling” (to use Vassos’ word) to survive. At the moment, they are expected to supply receipts for 25% of their annual expenditures: can you imagine saving every grocery store or café receipt? Even worse, this law, just passed in April, is retroactive for the entire year. Predictably, an underground industry in fake receipts is emerging.
Property rights in Greece also strain human endurance. An apartment cannot be sold until it conforms to specific government guidelines, such as replacing old, drafty windows with double-glazing, a practical means of energy conservation. The difficulty is that every apartment in the building must do the same. In other words, not only the seller but also every inhabitant in the apartment complex must install double-glazed windows before the government will permit the transaction to go forward. Try talking your neighbors into that one!
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I know my distaste for cruise ships borders on the obsessive, but their environmental impact is frightening. For several years, Rod has complained bitterly about cruise ships illegally dumping sewage in the Caribbean or Alaska or the Mediterranean. Before we sailed on Cunard, he researched their environmental practices, satisfying himself that everything is recycled, filtered, treated, and disposed of properly. Cunard goes so far as to prohibit passengers from tossing cigarette butts overboard. Many companies, though, do not comply with international standards.
Prior to this trip, I had not fully appreciated the negative economic impact of cruise ships. For instance, when we toured the Panathenaic Stadium in Athens, I noticed tour buses from the cruise liners disgorging people in front of the stadium. They jumped out, snapped photos, and took off. Not one person paid the entrance fee—a paltry 3 euros—to enter the stadium. Had they done so, it would have generated much-needed revenue. In this enormous stadium, which seats upwards of 60,000 people, we were the only tourists present until another couple entered towards the end of our visit. This pattern does not bode well for countries dependent on tourism. People on cruise ships spend very little, if anything, on the local economy. They don’t pay entrance fees; they don’t stay in hotels; they don’t buy local goods (other than the odd t-shirt manufactured in China); they don’t spend money in restaurants; they don’t tip for services. They do, however, add considerably to the carbon footprint.
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Greek food is delicious but repetitive, especially in the south. Cuisine in Macedonia uses seasoning and herbs generously, resulting in more varied flavors, perhaps due to Slavic and Turkish influence. In Attica, though, the choices are pretty narrow at restaurants. I’m typically American insofar as I want every cuisine imaginable at my disposal. Greeks, though, have a very conservative culinary palate: they want Greek food.
Consistently we have been impressed by the quality of fresh produce. Tomatoes actually taste like tomatoes. Olives and olive oil, of course, are simply divine. In the south, one sees mainly olive trees and orange groves (and the fresh orange juice is extraordinary here). We were, however, completely unprepared for the variety of crops in Macedonia, which include corn, rice, almonds, hazelnuts, potatoes, peaches, eggplant, and tomatoes. Beautifully maintained farms are everywhere in the plains of Macedonia, and most people here try to buy locally.
Without a doubt, Greeks make the best ice coffees in the world—and they consume prodigious quantities of it. By far, the favorite version is the frappe: one takes Greek coffee, a bit of water, some sugar, and, if desired, a splash of milk. This is whipped until frothy and then served over ice. A fancy variation entails whipping the coffee and milk separately, and then spooning the foamy milk over the coffee. Frappes are delicious, and a great pick-me-up after several hours of braving Athenian heat and smog. Half of Athens seems to sit in cafes knocking back frappes, from early morning to late at night. I think the economy would collapse entirely without them.
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The police presence in Athens is striking, especially by comparison to Macedonia and the islands. We didn’t see a single cop on the island of Santorini in four days. I’m sure they exist, but we never saw them. Only twice did I see police in Thessaloniki. In Athens, the police are everywhere, riding doubled on small motorcycles and patrolling the streets.
A demonstration took place last week while we were at Karin and Vassos’ apartment. We heard gunfire and angry chanting, which seemed mainly directed against the Israelis for their bombing of the aid ship but also included swipes at the government. We stayed in the apartment until the demonstrators had moved well beyond the neighborhood. The firebombing of the bank in Athens has made us uncharacteristically cautious.
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Graffiti is the bane of Greece. Never, ever in my life have I seen so much graffiti. Virtually every building in Thessaloniki is covered in slogans and crude drawings. Athens isn’t quite as bad, but it’s bad enough: the Plaka is utterly defaced. In Paris, graffiti appears on apartments in the projects, as well as some buildings in more transitional neighborhoods such as the Bastille. Here, though, graffiti isn’t confined to poorer areas. Elegant, historical buildings; modern edifices; snazzy new apartments—nothing is spared. One even finds slogans spray-painted on ruins. I suppose Greece simply doesn’t have the resources to cope with it. A few years ago it was fashionable to defend graffiti as a form of serious artistic expression. To anyone still sufficiently benighted to maintain that view, I would suggest spending some time in Athens and Thessaloniki. You will come away never feeling the same way about graffiti again.
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The foolhardiness of my sex sometimes defies credulity: rarely do I see female tourists in sensible shoes, no matter the nationality or age. I watched a well-dressed, middle-aged woman hobble through the Acropolis Museum like a Chinese maiden with bound feet. Eventually she removed her high-heeled sandals and walked barefoot, wincing with every step. Of more concern are the women climbing treacherous precipices in flip-flops or platform sandals. The slippery stones of the Acropolis, worn slick by thousands of years of use, pose an equal threat. Over the past two weeks, I’ve seen women limp, stumble, and fall; fortunately, none were seriously hurt. By far the most idiotic spectacle concerned the teenage girls who made the grueling trek to the acropolis on Thassos. Several were crying as they rubbed blistered and bloodied feet, and none were wearing appropriate shoes for such an arduous climb. Do I like my Ecco walking shoes? As a fashion item, hell no. They have, however, saved my feet and my neck. Come on, ladies: show a little common sense.
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Jackie O sunglasses are everywhere in evidence at the moment. They’re very popular with young Greek women, who sport enormous frames that make them look like starlets from the seventies trying to dodge paparazzi. Gladiator sandals are also a big fashion item in Athens, especially in gold-colored leather, as well as oversized handbags. I haven’t noticed any particular trends for men, most of whom wear the global uniform of jeans and t-shirts.
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Rod drools at the motorcycles that fill the streets of Athens. From hot pink Vespas to Moto Guzzis and BMWs, motorcycles rival the number of cars. They’re a convenient, fuel-efficient way to get around, especially given that Greece now has the most expensive petrol in the EU. Helmets are required by law, but it’s clearly not enforced: I’d guess that no more than half of all motorcyclists wear them. Guys often drive around with helmets dangling from their elbow, a strange phenomenon we can’t quite figure out. Rod thinks it might be a way to comply with the letter of the law; technically, one is wearing a helmet even though it’s covering the wrong appendage.
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We have been largely spared the dreaded Athens smog, although as temperatures rise, both Rod and I have found ourselves rubbing our irritated eyes and coughing a bit. I feel it at night when I breathe. Rod claims the smog is vastly improved over what he remembers from twenty-five years ago. The government is clearly trying to discourage driving by offering various modes of public transport, including buses, trams, suburban trains, and the new underground. We should be half so fortunate in the U.S. Another recent measure entails odd/even driving, which essentially halves the number of days folks can drive in a major city. If your license plate ends in an odd number, then you can drive only on “odd number days”; the same principle, of course, applies to even numbers. In Athens and Thessaloniki this law is strictly enforced, which accounts I think for the heavy use of public transportation.
Speaking of which, public transportation—despite the strikes—works very well indeed. We’ve used buses, trams, and the subway in Athens and liked all of them. I was impressed by the clever way that ruins have been incorporated into some of the subway stations. The trains were a bit surprising: I expected something sleeker. Basically the cars look like an updated version of the London underground, whereas I thought, given the newness of the system, they would resemble the ultra-modern trains we’ve seen in Norway and Sweden.
Public transportation is astonishingly cheap: one euro is good for 90 minutes of unlimited travel on any combination of services. For three euros, you get unlimited travel for 24 hours. Poor African immigrants beg for discarded three-euro passes from tourists such as us, hoping to use whatever time remains on the card.
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Like many European countries, Greece takes alternative medicine seriously. A pharmacist in Santorini told me their use of homeopathic drugs is just second to Germany. Natural and organic goods are everywhere, from cosmetics to wines. That same pharmacist was appalled when I asked for insect repellant with DEET. He steered me toward a natural herbal spray. I was dubious, but it works very well, even staving off the aggressive Macedonian mosquitoes. I’m buying another bottle to take home with me.
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Restoration is not merely an academic question in Greece: as new sites yield unexpected riches, such as the ongoing dig at Akrotira, archaeologists have to decide just how extensively to restore ruins. The archaeologist I spoke with at the Acropolis Museum said that with digital imaging, they now have the means to reconstruct the Parthenon in its entirety. One risks, however, ending up with a Disney-like fantasia, and one period’s imagined reconstruction of the past does not necessarily accord with that of future generations. Evans’ controversial reconstruction of Knossos on Crete is a case in point. The archaeologist said they’re trying to steer a middle course; at the Acropolis, for instance, sites will be restored to the extent that they have extant pieces: they will not manufacture new stones or bits of marble. He guesses it will be another decade or so before the Parthenon, the Theatre of Dionysus, and the Odeum are finished.
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Greek toilets are a puzzle. Signs warn against disposing paper in toilets, but I was never able to get anyone to explain the engineering problem. My sister-in-law Karin reiterated the warning, simply saying, “the pipes can’t handle toilet paper.” Well, why not? Modern toilet paper is designed to dissolve quickly, and human waste certainly poses a great risk of blockage. Irritably, I contemplated violating this edict, but terrifying cartoons of unhappy toilets spewing forth their contents—these are invariably posted on the wall just above the cistern—disabused me of the thought. It remains a mystery.
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One still sees middle-aged and old men clutching worry beads. I have yet to see any men under the age of 30 holding them, but perhaps they have not yet accumulated sufficient woes. I’ve also been struck by people of all ages crossing themselves—usually three times—when passing a church. Most impressive are the motorcyclists who manage to observe this custom while navigating through crazy Greek traffic. Even my brother-in-law, who is not especially religious and openly critical of the Greek Orthodox Church, crosses himself when passing churches, albeit only once. I’ve wondered if he eliminated the other two gestures as a mild protest against their perceived avarice.
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I have loved every minute of this trip, but I haven’t had the same reaction to Greece that I’ve had to other countries, such as France and South Africa. I could imagine teaching here for a semester; I could also imagine sailing around the islands for a couple of months. I couldn’t live here, though, nor am I inspired to fantasize about purchasing property. There is something about Greece, perhaps the weight of history, that makes me melancholy: all those civilizations; all that destruction. It’s too burdensome. Even the sun wears one down after a while. And while Greeks are delightfully hospitable, their intensity can be exhausting. Perhaps it’s the entire package—history, climate, landscape, national character—but this is not a country in which I could dwell for long. At some future date, though, I would like to visit again.
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