1985-2008
Margaret E. Holt
Aegean View from Our Greek Home
Wednesday August 13, 1985
Sitting at a café restaurant in Meteora, Greece. After driving the winding, steep road to the cliffs of Meteora, the car ran out of gas. Three darling French boys (aged 19), pushed Stell’s Citroen, and we coasted most of the way to the bottom of the incline, while Stell teased them (typical) about looking for chicks. Since the car needed gas, Stell hailed a taxi to go for fuel, while I browsed a small outside café. He returned but the gas was not enough to do the trick – the pump was dry, so after several attempts and various procedures, he determined we should have lunch (standard lunchtime 2-3 p.m.).
The food is grand – salads in olive oil with tomatoes, cucumbers, feta, onions, bread (always),pieces of lamb, potatoes somewhat like French fries, and good European beer (lager bier).
All of this wonderful adventure began August 10th. Actually it started as a true adventure, since Heather Kleiner was going to pick me up at my home in Athens, Georgia, and take me to the Howard Johnson’s to catch the limousine to Atlanta. She forgot. I tried to call her, but her phone was busy. When time ran out, I went to the neighbor’s house – Carolyn Holiday, and she got me to the limousine on time. The driver chatted too much, but since I was slightly anxious about what had happened to Heather and also my trip, his chatting was a good deviation from concerns.
We arrived at the airport by 3:30 p.m. I wondered if I would have any problem going through customs, since I was carrying a hard computer disk (wrapped in two towels) and a power pack for Stell. He had attempted to get some computer equipment by mail earlier, and it did not make it through customs. When I picked up some equipment in Atlanta for him that he wanted me to bring to Greece, I was certain I would never make it – the disk looked like a bomb. More of this later.
It is almost 8 p.m. in Greece now. I am at a hotel restaurant called the Platamon in Platamus on the Aegean Sea. Stell has left me here, since he has gone to be with his mother and son. Tomorrow is a holiday in Greece recognizing the Virgin Mary. All women named Maria receive special attention.
Paris with his YaYa Maria
The Greeks do not celebrate birthdays but instead have names’ days. The Platamon is owned and managed by Stell’s friend, Asterios. I met him while he was in the States only briefly, and he had dinner at my home once. Now I am his guest at this beautiful resort. It does not seem a fair exchange. Since tomorrow is a holiday, Asterios has a lot of work. I have assured him I can manage. This is a good test for me.
So far it appears that no one else speaks English. I’m learning very quickly that this does not matter. People adjust and compensate. Stell continues to tell me I am very flexible and adaptable. I’ve been here since August 11th eating the food, drinking the water, breathing the air – and I feel great. We went swimming in Athens and yesterday at Delphi – so I’m getting a nice tan. Stell says, I was wise to start on my tan in Georgia. For a change I was thinking ahead. The sun is much more intense here, but it is not humid. The air is very dry. I know I’m rambling but I have not met so many people, been so many places, and had such extraordinary experiences in just four short days that I really cannot think where to begin.
Maybe I should return to August 10th at the Atlanta Airport having made it safely through customs with “the bomb.” I was in the Delta section of the International Terminal sitting across from a middle-aged German lady with short, straight red hair. She kept smiling at all the mothers who were attempting to contain their children while waiting to board. More and more people filled the area, lots of young children and people with babies. Curiously, once we boarded the plane, I ended up seated next to “Brita,” the German lady who was enroute to Frankfurt to visit her mother who was suffering with leukemia and her sisters, Hildegarde and Ingrid. Brita had flown to Atlanta from Louisville, where she and her Greek lover, Nicolas, operate a restaurant called The Swiss. They served a different cuisine each evening. He had wanted to give the restaurant a Greek name – she wanted a German name. The compromise was the neutral “Swiss.”
Brita talked a lot, very pleasantly, so I learned that she had been married twice, once divorced, once widowed. She met Nick on a Caribbean cruise. They both confessed a wish to operate a restaurant. After the cruise they went their separate ways, but he had a pen that was inscribed with her name and phone number in Louisville. He called and said he was serious about the restaurant. She said she was also. She sent him the money to travel from Boston and that was that. The business venture has been successful and after six years her children have decided he is not after her money.
When Brita discovered that I was going to Greece to meet a man friend, she proceeded to offer her assessment of their strengths and weaknesses. Mainly she felt they were very possessive of women, but they wanted their freedom, no questions asked. Stell seemed semi-amused with my accounting of her assessment.
The Delta flight was for the most part on time. We got off a half hour late, but considering the plane was full, this wasn’t bad. All information was presented both in English and German by pilots and flight attendants. Orders were taken for drinks and followed soon by dinner – chicken or steak. Acceptable but in keeping with Delta’s meals on domestic flights.
At nine p.m. we could watch a movie called “Lady Hawke.” It was a movie I can recommend only if you are trapped. At 11 p.m. folks attempted to get comfortable in uncomfortable airplane seats and by 1 a.m. (Georgia time), we were being roused for breakfast to begin to adjust our internal clocks to Frankfurt time.
The plane was one hour late arriving in Frankfurt which meant I had less than an hour to make my connection to my flight into Athens on Lufthansa. I asked the Delta agent who was assisting with the connecting flights, and she pointed me in the direction of the gate and said “no problem.” The airport was a maze, and I began to feel after fifteen minutes of moving sidewalks and up and down stairs that I would never get to Greece. Somehow I found the gate, whipped out my passport, and boarded the last leg to paradise.
This airplane was posh compared to the Delta jet. The flight attendants were charming. This time the passenger in the seat next to me was male, Jim Irwin, a British representative for Squibb Pharmaceutical Company, returning from a trip to Pakistan where his company has established a new office. Their regional headquarters are in Athens, and their national headquarters are in Princeton, New Jersey.
He wanted to talk about Harry Truman, the Kennedys, Reagan, Margaret Thatcher, U.S. involvement in Central America, Afghanistan, AIDS, nuclear holocaust, and prohibition in Pakistan, which is largely ignored because the British, et.al. tend to cart in bottles of liquor as they please. He had the charming British accent, gave me his card, and invited me to be he and his wife’s guest anytime I’m in Pakistan – which indeed I will do when I’m in the neighborhood.
Jim Irvin had the window seat, so I had to stretch some to see the glorious hills of Athens as we approached landing. Somehow I was reminded of movies which I have seen shot in Jerusalem.
We landed – remember I haven’t slept – oh yes, and I should say that Jim and I imbibed in three nice bottles of white wine – so I was ready to meet Stell and have a chance to rest. This is indeed a joke, because I was hyper about seeing Stell, excited beyond belief about being in Greece, and my head was crammed with at least a thousand pieces of information to give Stell. Then I remembered where I was - the Athens’ Airport, and that I was carrying “the bomb.” In my best moments I had anticipated jumping off the plane and there would be Professor Kefalas, prominent and in control, with fullest explanations about the computer. Not what happened.
First, from the plane, passengers are transported to a bus for taxi to the airport. The airport looks small to me. It’s hard to believe the American press only a few months earlier focused so much attention on this tiny airport! Once inside it did not feel tiny. People immediately formed into approximately eight long lines to have passports checked. The Greeks clearly do not have a sense of lines, so what really happens is mobs of people jam their way toward these gates. Fortunately Stell had long ago taught me proper shoving – so along with the Greeks and lots of German enroute to the Greek Islands, I inched my way through.
No sign of Stell. Up the stairs is baggage claim. I waited about fifteen minutes for my bags. I’m carrying a travel bag and “the bomb.” No sign of Stell. I remember that Aggelos had warned me in Atlanta that life was “random” in Greece – so no need to panic. I just continued to look for a tall Greek, who would probably be shouting something like, “Hey, you little brat.” No sign of Stell.
One more hurdle – customs. In addition to “the bomb” and no Stell, one of the baggage claim tickets had been torn from one suitcase. I wormed my way to inspection explaining to the man that this tag is missing. He asks my nationality (“oh swell,” I say to myself – the Greeks are not currently fond of Americans due to Reagan’s travel warnings about the Athens’ Airport). I tell him, “American” and that my tag is missing. He asks me if I have anything to claim. I have nothing to claim, God knows. No sign of Stell. The inspector nonchalantly waves me on – caring less about the fact that I may be carrying a bomb. The airport lobby is jammed, but there is not one tall Greek who I recognize. They are random. (Later Stell tells me an expression he picks up from Suzanne, a beautiful young Nigerian we meet – story to follow: “The country is a joke!” – an oft repeated expression the remainder of my stay, especially observing the driving behavior).
I scoot my suitcases through the airport one end to another, trying to convince myself I’m not hot, recalling Stell telling me several times there is no humidity. Nevertheless there is “sweat” and no Stell. At last I spot him. He is still tall! He spots me. Voila! Bravo! Happiness is spotting a tall Greek in the Athens’ Airport who you recognize and who recognizes you. He looked wonderful. He was somewhat concerned that I was not on the flight, but calm.
We walked to his car, the famous car that opened this rambling – a robin’s egg blue 1977 Citroen with incredible personality despite only two cylinders.
A car that was to carry us around Athens to Delphi, to Lamia, to Meterora, to Larissa, to Platamus, and innumerable other beautiful towns and villages – to say nothing of the drive through the rural countryside of northern Greece, about which I will try to write later but for which words will never do justice – as “clear blue, sparkling” water can never begin to relate the water that I have seen here.
It was about a twenty minute drive from the airport to our apartment, what we would call a fifth floor efficiency with a wonderful balcony. The entire time I was in Athens, it was windy. The “natives” said this was unusual, due to early winter storms in northern Europe. For me it was perfect – the apartment stayed cool. After we hauled suitcases up to the tiny elevator, Stell explained I could take a short nap, but I was going to have to stay awake into the evening because I needed to make the time switch. It was no problem.
After the nap we had coffee and a very sweet crumbly pastry that reminded me of Russian teacakes – and always with Stell, water – in this case bottled water. I must say I rather surprised myself in becoming acquainted with how the toilets and showers work with little problem. Joan Curtis had loaned me the current adapter kit she had used in Greece, so I was even set to operate my hair dryer, which on first use overheated, so I borrowed Stell’s.
We set off to do some walking through the main park in downtown Athens before we were to take a taxi to meet Stell’s friends, Takis and Keti. I love the walk – I love getting some sense of the apartments, the shops, and restaurants. The park contains some sculpture, old men arguing about football (soccer), kids on bicycles, families strolling. All of Greece feels very safe. I realize I am with Stell, but I sense that I would feel very safe even it he weren’t present. I think I am gawking at the people, but they don’t appear curious about me. Stell had warned me that people would be loud, but I don’t find them so. However, most of the population of Athens is on holiday - on the Greek Islands. Traffic seems manageable. Stell says it’s unbelievable to be able to drive in so little congestion. He gets aggravated with himself for not getting around perfectly in Athens, but actually he does all the driving superbly. He can’t tolerate much error in himself.
While we are still strolling, he shows me the area called Constitution Square (like our Congress), and several of the larger hotels. One is the Hotel Britagne, where I’ve promised Joan Curtis we will check with Helena to see what has happened to the porcelain she and John purchased there last December.
After this glorious walk (and I still keep pinching myself) we take a taxi toTakis and Keti’s. Takis is Stell’s friend who works for Nielson, and I believe Keti works for a bank. They both speak English. I’ve found that when the men wish to speak business with Stell, they begin by asking if I will object to them conversing in Greek. Of course, I do not. I’m trying to learn words and feel great about this splendid opportunity to hear the sounds. Stell is a great teacher. He helps me practice words during the entire trip and gradually I begin to feel more comfortable, and I don’t worry about the mistakes. The language is fun and beautiful, and I must learn to speak it. Stell says it will be easy. Then he says languages are hard.
I meet Takis and Ketie. They are pleasant, although Ketie seems preoccupied. Her mother is with them, since Ketie has just given birth to their second son two months ago.
Ketie Pipas & Carol Downs Meet in Athens, GA
Someone suggests we go to the Plaka and to dinner. Takis’ landlord, Savis, a Greek sailor and his Nigerian girlfriend, Suzanne, have been invited as well. Keti has to be coaxed to go along. She agrees. The six of us are stuffed into Takis’ new Mazda 626. Savis, Ketie, Suzanne, and I especially are crammed into the back seat. It’s wonderful. With Stell there is always laughter. People love him – he’s open and curious and free. Suzanne has studied in the United States. Her English is perfect. She is a law student in Nigeria. Savis is very quiet. Takis tries me out on some Greek tongue twisters. They aren’t bad at first but become progressively more difficult.
We take a long walk through the Plaka. It reminds me somewhat of Bourbon Street. The Greeks more than anyone, however, must be attentive to the stomach. There are always cafes, taverns, restaurants – no matter how small the place. At the time of our walk, I have no sense of how close we are to the Acropolis, which Stell had casually pointed out as we drove into Athens from the airport. On Monday he will explain to me the preservation of the Plaka by Melina Mecouri.
August 15, 1985
Assumption of the Virgin
Public Holiday
2:15 p.m.
I’m waiting for Stell’s friends to pick me up to go to the festival. The waiters, who are cousins of Asterios Chrondroulos, will not take money from me. Last night I had the moussaka and Greek salad. The moussaka was the best I’ve ever had. Asterios came by and talked briefly. He’s very busy, but he told me he would meet me at the café at 2 a.m. I’m really being treated like the Greek princess. I met a couple at the café. She was Greek, he German. He spoke a little English. She spoke no English. It continues to amaze me - the conversations that are possible with so few words. If Stell’s friends don’t come to get me, Asterios will take me to Kalamaki, his beautiful hotel on the beach.
This morning I spent some time reading Joan Curtis’ American Express Pocket Guide to Greece. It’s quite accurate, especially about the driving and the food. Children – there are German children, French children, and Greek children here. Stell tells me that Greek children are rude, not disciplined. It aggravates him when their mothers prance around chasing them trying to get them to eat. I cannot tell that the children are rude, because I don’t understand what they say, but they are very, very, very active.
It’s almost 3 p.m. – time for siesta. The Greeks take naps in the hot afternoons – then dinner after 9 p.m. – then out until 3 or 4 a.m. It takes some adjusting, but it’s possible and becomes fun. (Do you love the way this rambles?)
5:40 p.m.
July 16, 1985
I’m at the café where I have ordered my ritual afternoon Nescafe “no sugar, no milk.” As I look over what I have written so far I realize that I haven’t said ten times as much as I want. Last night Peter and Demetra invited me to their table with their cousin, Maria. Maria is a young woman from Athens, and it was her names’ day – so after a dinner of lamb chops, potatoes, and feta mixed with hot pepper which you eat on bread we had torte with sparklers for Maria. She spoke very good English, so she did a lot of the translating. After much talking, Peter and Demetra’s son, Yiannis, joined us. He might like to come to Georgia to study, so I’ve promised to send him information and help in any way. Maria asked me to join them at the bouzouki for a drink after dinner. She wanted me to dance. I tried, but once again I was aware of my two left feet. This morning before Maria left for Athens (400 kilometers), she tried to show me the steps again. I know I frustrated her. I am going to mail her a George Winston tape, and she is going to mail me Greek music. I am still so stunned with all the wonderful people I’ve met. The Greeks are not as animated as I imagined they would be, but they are warm and kind.
Before Maria left for Athens, she drove me to Kalamaki so I could swim for the first time in the Aegean. Before I write of this, I must say that Maria was rather surprised that Stell would leave me alone for four days. This has been wonderful. I’ve learned so many things because I must communicate. I found a good spot on the beach, positioned my towel and as I have continued to do, I studied the people and attempted to figure out their nationalities by listening to their conversations. I don’t consider this eavesdropping, because I don’t understand the vast majority of what I hear. Germans, Bulgarians, Yugoslavians, Italians, and French. Mostly families. Occasionally I see a topless bather, but proportionately (numbers, that is) not like the beach at Delphi.
Stell has warned me not to stay on the beach too long, because of the intensity of the sun – so after a couple of hours of dipping in and out of this absolutely crystal clear ocean, reading, and pinching myself because I still cannot believe I’m here, I start to walk back.When I get to the hotel, I see Yiannis, and he checks to see if Asterios is around, but he’s not. At the gate to the Kalamaki Camping Park, I see Yiannis’ father, Peter. He offers to drive me back to the hotel, but I’d rather walk. I don’t get very far down the road until Asterios stops in his new Audi, and he insists. I ride back to the hotel with him. He has the most charming personality, and he always smiles. The people who work for him have treated me royally. He explains that when I want to return to Kalamaki, Dinos will drive me. I’ve forgotten to mention that much of the music I hear at the café is American.
After a nice shower, I dress and go for 2 p.m. lunch. The waiter guesses that I want Greek salad again, but I explain that I want something different. First, I examine the menu, then he takes me to the cook. I decide on pastitsio and stuffed peppers. It’s wonderful but far too much food. A busload of Bulgarians come into the restaurant and five of them sit at the table with me. I try not to stare, but I’m so curious. I can’t help it. A young girl is wearing a tee-shirt that says Break Dance. They occasionally look at me, and we smile but exchange no words. Finally one of the men asks me if I’m British. I tell him “ime Amerikano.” Thank goodness for Joan’s Guide to Greece. Asterios stops by the table briefly. My waiter returns. I pay him, and I obviously overtip because he seems quite pleased. Stell has attempted to teach me the drachma, but I’m about as good with money as I am with the dancing. Before he left Wednesday night, he left me with 5,000 drachma, which is approximately forty dollars, so I doubt I can get into serious trouble.
While I was writing about the rugged conversation with the Bulgarian, I was reminded of my first conversation with a Greek man who spoke no English. It was Tuesday night in Lamia. We were quite tired having spent the day driving from Athens to Delphi, then through marvelous countryside to Lamia. Stell knew the Delta Hotel, so after checking to make certain there was a room, he left me outside the hotel with the luggage while he went to part the car. An older Greek man asked me if I was French. Stell later explained that was because I was traveling in his Citroen. I told him “no”, American. He asked, “Virginia?” I said no, “Georgia.” Later Stell said he was asking me if I was a virgin. Very funny. He asked me if Stell was “Greco.” I was surprised to discover that Greeks in Athens think Stell is American – which obviously he is, but it amazed me to learn they do not think he is Greek.
Another sight that caught my attention along the highways was icons along the road often at perilous locations. Stell explained that when there is an accident or death along the highway, the family will place an icon at the site. They are like window boxes on poles with religious articles inside. I thought this was a good idea not because of the remembrance as much as serving as a warning to motorists to drive more carefully. By the way the people drive, I can tell you they do not have this effect. Europeans use their horns most frequently, and yell obscenities when displeased with other drivers. Stell is perfect at this. I’d observed him in Georgia, but this is much more appropriate here. Americans lack the norms for such self-expression while driving. I asked Stell what happens if there is an accident (rarely, very rarely did I see police cars). He said in about four hours they come to investigate. Then little happens.
Aside. I forgot to mention in Lamia that Stell was disappointed that I came with only two suitcases, because he said he had looked forward to bitching about all my luggage. I really felt very clever.
This is an account of my trip to Athens Greece, and London, England, during the summer of 1987.
4 p.m.
Twenty miles from Conyers with Stell and Christos on our way to the Atlanta Airport. We said goodbye to Nic and Boyd and all of Athens – me for three weeks and Stell until early September. I have no work with me except my paper to present in Athens, Greece, next Thursday. I have really tried so far to leave things behind and make this the first vacation in the truest sense of the holiday of my life. Life begins at 40, right?
It’s 10:20 p.m. now. Our plane did not leave Atlanta until 8:10 p.m. We were supposed to leave at 6:30 p.m., so who knows if we will make our flight from Brussels to Athens. Stell and I have front row seats in our section of the plane, which is nice because he can stretch his long legs, but bad because the stewards and stewardesses are juggling carts and opening and closing at least a thousand little cabinets. The young woman next to us works for the Department of Defense. She and her husband, both avid skiers live in Germany (for the moment). He tests nuclear weapons and she heads centers for disabled children. She had not been in the States for two years, but needed to come here to get a car from her father’s condominium in Florida. She told me her father had just been wiped out by the IRS. John English and several UGA Cortona people are on this flight. We only said hello.
I’ve been reading the latest Esquire, which has always been one of my favorite magazines and am having to refrain from sending notes to Heather Kleiner and Curtis Ulmer about two articles, and I’m barely into the magazine. The one I want to tell Heather about is actually for Cathy on the trans-Siberian railway, since Cathy was there and the characters in the article must be the same people Cathy met. I actually think the same people ride the trans-Siberian railway everyday – they are actors and actresses. People like Cathy Kleiner come home and tell stories about them and Esquire writes about them. The other article is about mountain climbing (sort of –because it’s also about middle-aged men who suddenly recognized corporate success isn’t fulfilling). Joseph Dinnan and Curtis would really take pleasure in this writing.
People are rather mellow now on this British-Caledonia Sabena flight to London-Brussels. I’ve already had one interesting encounter. After dinner I “wedged” my way around a cart to the bathroom and was greeted by a young man as I came out who inquired as to whether I’d seen a black wallet in the bathroom. I said, “no”, but we both peered inside to see if he could spot it, and behold there it was on the floor. Being the entrepreneur that I’m not, I said, “well, it looks like you owe me a reward.” He said, I do indeed, there is five hundred dollars in the wallet, could I buy you a drink? What a hoot. Drinks are free on Sabena-British Caledonia.
We are all in a state of semi-scotch-wine self-consciousness waiting for the duty-free gifts to appear to get started and finished so we can see a sexy movie, Bedroom Window.
11 a.m. Saturday, almost.
Delays and more delays. It appears we will miss our flight to Athens. Needless to say, Stell is extremely frustrated because Paris has been waiting to meet us in Brussels since 8 a.m. I slept somewhat better on the flight to London than when I flew to Frankfurt two years ago. Stell did not sleep at all. He has already had an extended conversation with the steward who has assured him Brussels will be wired so Paris can be told not to board the plane to Athens without us.
June 14, 10 a.m. Greek Time
Aboard Olympic Airlines to Athens. Now I will try and recount the incredible SABENA (Such a Bloody Experience Never Again). Recall we left Atlanta delayed two hours. We had a stop in London-Gatwick Airport that we didn’t realize was scheduled. This stop was to take 50 minutes. It instead took two hours. Not only were we concerned that we were going to miss the connection to Athens, we were most concerned about Paris being alone in the Brussels’ Airport. When we at last arrived in Brussels, he greeted us at the gate, a beautiful grin. He was understandably “bored” by the wait but nonetheless pleasant and very excited to be with his father again. He is a precious child. I liked him immediately.
After I’m dried and in my underwear only, there is a knock at the door and sweet voice saying, “room service.” I shout, “I’m not dressed.” The sweet voice says just reach out the door for something. I have no robe, of course, so I wrap in a big towel, open the door, and there is Paris with a glass of scotch. Darling. When I’m dressed, the Kefalas’ men phone and we head for dinner. After a short conversation a Greek woman from Atlanta joins our table, but just before she actually does, Paris bursts into tears. I was extremely worried that something I had said hurt his feelings, but I can’t think of what it might be. I had asked if he played in the band. Stell thinks he is just totally fatigued from the trip, so he takes him back to the room. The Greek woman and I chat. She and her husband had operated a Greek restaurant in Columbia, S.C. He is deceased and she now lives in Atlanta closer to her daughters and grandchildren. She had warmed to Stell in the Brussels Airport, but she never really warmed to me. I’m not sure why. Perhaps she sensed my relationship to Stell and found it uncomfortable. I don’t know. Horia, the Romanian, was sitting at a table by himself. Stell does not like this, so as always he invites him to join us. This is one of the typical ways Stell has enriched my life since I met him three years ago. I have met people from all over the world, because Stell continues to turn strangers into friends with conversations, dinners, and wine. Horia, Stell and I continued to enjoy the wine and conversation, but Mrs. Greek-Atlanta engaged in conversation only for a while and then retired. Horia, Stell and I retired, too, but only to a wonderful intimate little bar for brandy. Stell checked on Paris, and he was sound asleep. Eventually after listening to beautiful Gilberto music, which was surprising to hear in Brussels, we all called it a very long day.
Monday, actually Tuesday, 1 a.m.
June 16, 1987
Takis and their four year old son Vassillis was with her. It was wonderful to see them again. They looked great. Ketie and Takis had lost a little weight. Takis seemed tired, but they looked quite happy. I had to slip down to register for the conference which was scheduled to begin at 4 p.m. with a bus tour of Athens to the Acropolis, then to the Plaka for dinner. We only had time for seven-ups but did arrange to meet them Monday night. I showered quickly, dressed and raced to the lobby. I was introduced to Stell’s colleague from Gettysburg College, Bill Rosenbach and his two sons, Eric and Stephan. We got on one of two huge tour buses and headed for historic sites to include the glamorous changing of the guard at the palace. All the while from this time on, keep in mind I’m meeting people from all over the world who have come to the conference. The Acropolis is one of the most overwhelming places. The words are not with me to describe it physically or the feelings I have when I see it. You simply know instantly that you are in a miraculous and glorious place.
After the tour we hiked a short distance to the Plaka. Eric and Stephan call it a Greek flea market. It is somewhat like Bourbon Street, but Mediterranean in spirit. Shops with clothing, leather, jewelry, pottery, purses, candy, everything, everything – but on this particular evening many of the shopkeepers are glued to their radios and televisions. The Greeks and Russians are in a basketball playoff. This is for the sure to be the most important event of the evening.
I must pause here and talk a bit more personally. As I’ve noted, Stell’s son, Paris, is with us and I am sensitive to how he might be feeling about the relationship his father and I share. Stell is extremely conscientious, too, but he has now told me that he does not want to injure my relationship to him, and I know in my heart that he has decided Paris will come to know more. It is very difficult for Stell and me not to be openly intimate. We both want to be close a lot, to hug, to kiss – it is very natural to embrace. At one moment on the bus ride to the Acropolis, Stell has leaned toward me and told me how much he desires to kiss me. But we refrain, and although I feel the tugs, I am so afraid Paris will be hurt. He remains sweet, polite, talkative. Things liven up as the group is headed to the taverna where we will have dinner. Wine and appetizers appear (following bottled mineral water) and Stell quickly gets things moving with toasts. After the bouzouki band begins to play, and he dances. Everyone enjoys this the most, but the only one who loved it best was Paris. His expresses this mixture of happiness and pride.
Stell is an extremely good dancer and the nonGreeks were awed with his talents.
After much wine and laughter, we headed back to the buses through the Plaka – a tension was in the air. The Greeks and Russians were tied 89-89 in basketball. In the overtime, the Greeks win the game by one point, and the city of Athens moved into joyous hysteria. It made a Dawgs’ victory look tame. Every other Greek was waving a blue and white flag whether they lined the streets and drove and honked in their cars, trucks and taxis. When we came back to Hotel Amonia, everyone was celebrating. Stell started dancing with the man who managed the gift shop, and more and more joined in the frivolity. We met Nick who managed the hotel and the man who owned the hotel, and there were drinks all the way round. I guess all the excitement meant that I did not sleep too well, but nonetheless I made it to the opening sessions – not Stell, he wandered in much later. The room was set up theatre style, with fresh flowers on every table and . . . .
June 19, 1987
Approximately 8 a.m.
Itea, Greece
We are in a seedy, marvelous hotel near Delfi. Yesterday Stell rented a van in Athens, so I am traveling with David Holt, his son Bryan (12 or 13), Bill Rosenbach (Stell’s former colleague from Gettysburg) and his two sons Eric (16) and Stephan (14), Stell and his son, Paris (11 almost 12). You have the picture. I am the only female. The view from the third floor of this hotel is the Grecian blue sea below Delfi, the rolling mountains, barren, quiet little boats adrift, a car and bicyclist here and there, the town just beginning to awake.
I will try and return in time to the conference of the past few days. The earliest presentations were a bit stale, because the presenter chose to read. We all had written proceedings, so that aggravated me, and I decided that no matter what the protocol, I would not read my paper on Thursday. Monday after the conference, we were supposed to meet Takis and go to his home to see the boys, then go to dinner. Stell came to my room after a wonderful swim in the Hotel Amonia for our nap, which includes sometime before and after lovemaking. The Greeks are so smart about this time; it is so perfect. Somehow time got away, and when Stell left, I was slowly preparing myself for the evening when he phoned to tell me Takis was here, so please hurry. Otherwise, the boys would be sound asleep. We (Takis, Stell, and I) sat in on part of a session, then left with Takis in a nice, modest little car that Stell explained cost $40,000. Cars are incredibly expensive in Greece as is gasoline – but people seem to have them and they go, go, go. Paris was tired but as always pleasant. Takis gave us a scenic ride near the University and through some lovely sections of Athens. When we arrived Ketie was in her duster and the curly-haired boys, Vassilly and Nicholas were zooming around the place.
Nicholas is a monkey. Ketie’s mother was there, too. She is very quiet and sweet. Ketie told me that she has leukemia, but she doesn’t know this, is in no pain, and the doctor’s say it will progress very slowly. We have brought some little gifts and also a shirt from Carol Downs to Ketie and some notecards from Lamar Dodd. Ketie wants to know immediately, how is Carol, how is Lamar. Takis takes over the shirt from Carol, says he wants it, it suits him. I suggest he keep it and I will ask Carol to find another for Ketie.
Ketie brings huge large plates of fruit, nectarines, melon and Greek cherries. Later we have ice-cream.
Ketie tells me about the art show with young modern Greek artists. She wants me to take the book about the show back to Lamar. I know he will be very pleased to have this. Takis alerts us after much conversation that it is time to go to dinner, so Paris, Stell and I load into their car. By the time we reach the taverna, Paris is sound asleep, but with a little jostling from Stell is able to join us for dinner. We start as always with bottled water (nero) and bread. Takis has ordered meze (I will get the spelling from Stell later) – this means many appetizers that soon become a meal. Lightly fried sardines, often octopus (kalamari), squid, Greek salad (tomatoes, feta, cucumber, olives, and onions) in olive oil with oregano, French fries, a cucumber cream sauce. At the end of this meal Takis orders yogurt with honey. The yogurt is very tart. Paris tries everything, says it was very good and later he tells his father privately he didn’t actually like everything but he wished to be polite.
A man who is Takis’ friend of 30 years and lives nearby comes to the table and his mistress who is divorced from one of Greece’s largest shipping companies. Her name is Anita. They are both extremely friendly and say that later we should meet for a drink.
The five of us leave with Takis, and he drives us to a taxi stand, so he can return home with Ketie and we can return to the hotel with Paris. Hotel Armonia is located on the opposite side of Athens from Takis’ home. Everyone is exhausted so we go straight to bed. Except as sometimes happens, I cannot sleep, so I shower, wash my hair and write until 1 a.m. Eventually after the momentous events of the past few days stop reeling around in my head, I drift away. I . . . .
June 20, 1987
Ierissos, Greece
Stell’s home
Last night we stayed in Larissa at the Hotel Astoria. It hadn’t changed at all from two years ago. Maria and her husband joined the eight of us for dinner and Satoris’ father. Later Julie and her son, Christos, join us. What a reunion.
Since today is Saturday it is increasingly difficult for me to remember back to Tuesday, but I will try. After the opening session we were scheduled to tour a chocolate factory that received an award from Prime Minister Papendreou for its success. However, it was not possible. I can no longer remember the dilemma. I think most of the problem would be trying to get across Athens in the traffic and back and stay close to the schedule. Anyhow the owner, Mr. Douvas, came to speak to us. He was fascinating. He apologized for his English, and he did have a translator, but he hardly needed him. The entire audience was charmed by his story. He grew up in a village, one of nine children, eight sons and one daughter. As a young boy he worked at a kiosk, earning very little but carefully studying how business is handled. Later he, his sister, and one brother started their own business. He carefully invested any profits until he could start his own business and determined that he must be independent of his brother and sister. At first he and his wife did everything – it was a sugar wafer business. He learned about his competition and outsmarted them until he was positioned to buy other companies. Now he owns and manages Bingo Corporation, mostly dealing in snacks and chocolates. He exports over 50% of his products. His children, three or four (I can’t remember) work in his factories. They start as janitors and must earn their way to higher positions. He said he does not work to give things to his children. They must earn their own way. He had.
June 21, 1987
On the beach
Ierissos, Greece
All is perfect. Stell brought coffee to my room this morning. I was so tired from last night and a little PMS. We drove first to the house he is building.
It is extremely bigger than I imagined it and the fields surrounding are covered with wild flowers, lots of yellow spartina, peonies, poppies, huge purple thistles with giant bees—little yellow, purple and while flowers in between the golden wheat fields. I’ll describe the house in more detail later. Idyllic – a grand view of the Aegean from the hillside.
Wheat field in front of Stavraqu
Back to Tuesday evening – the company Stell has organized with Demetrius, Georgios and John – Simpraxis is the issue of the evening. We have a drink with them at the Amonia Hotel, actually a couple of beers. John’s lover, Marie, a Londoner – bleached blonde, very friendly joins us. Her British accent is such a contrast from the Greek. We are waiting for Hanneke, Georgios’ wife to join us. Finally she does. She hesitates when she meets me and cautiously inquires if I am Margaret – apparently Stell has introduced her to several lovers in the past five to seven years. She’s very pretty, petite, a Dutch woman. She has two young sons. She dances ballet. She has a ribbon headband and looks like a little flapper. We are led on foot across the street and along the water to another restaurant. More retsina and meze. Delicious. John, who studied in England is the main joke teller. I feel compelled to tell a few. It is a merry time again. As usual the four young boys, Eric, Stephan, Bryan and Paris, sit at their own table, rapidly consume their meals and take off.
June 22, 1987
Thessaloniki, Greece
Stell’s Flat
After 6 p.m.
We arrived here around 10 a.m. after checking out of the Hotel Marcos in Ierrisos. We came in the Mitsubishi van with everyone but Paris who stayed behind for his summer with his grandmother. I am sitting on the balcony of Stell’s flat in busy, busy downtown Thessaloniki. I’m on the third floor. On the balcony across the noisy street in different flats are two women doing needlework – a very common sight. Stell has gone to visit his sister and then to get a haircut. Before he left he phoned Marianna. I stayed at her summer place two years ago with her and her daughters, Joanna and Corina. When Stell announced that I was here, they started screaming. We are going to their home tonight.
Stell is stressed about his weight which he insists is going to come off before he returns to Athens, Georgia in September. He thinks the combination of bad food in England and working at his home in Greece will help him lose some pounds. He wants to lose thirty pounds.
I’m PMS, which caused me to be a bit emotional yesterday but nothing too awful. I try to talk to myself because I know all the high speed traveling and new experiences have contributed to a bit of emotional overload even though this has been such a wonderful time.
Back to “the boys sit together and then go off” . . . We enjoy good conversation with the Simpraxis employees then return to the Hotel Armonia. We join George Westacott from SUNY – Binghamton for a final beer in the hotel lounge, then once again retire quite exhausted. We have to get up for breakfast early on Wednesday because we are going to take a cruise on a large Greek liner to the islands Poros and Hydra. Breakfasts are served in a separate area of the restaurant for conferees and definitely Americanized – eggs, ham, etc. We load on buses for Piraeus where we will board the liner, guests of the owner. These ships carry 800, but we are told that today there will only be 600! Lots of Japanese and Brazilians. It is a glorious warm day. The ship is as impressive as one might guess a Greek liner to be. Once we are on Stell buys me a cup of coffee. He is constantly thoughtful and tending to my needs in this way. I am spoiled by his attention and I know it. After about 30 minutes of boarding passengers, the diesels crank up and we set off for Poros. The water and horizons are glamorous and erotic. There are steady announcements over a loudspeaker at first, so we know such things as our group is to meet in Dining Room B where the financial director of this ship will tell us about the company and answer any questions. While we are boarding photographers snap pictures of all passengers constantly. Toward the end of the cruise they are posted on bulletin boards for purchase. This happens also when we are unloading at Poros. Such a lucrative business. In Dining Room B we are served coffee or orange juice while the financial director tells us about business. A few of the passengers have to go upstairs for air because we are in rather close quarters and the ship is rocking about a bit. I was a little surprised that I was not seasick, too.
Soon we are at Poros but unable to dock where planned, so we are unloaded on smaller boats and gradually we are on the island. It has little souvenir shops everywhere, which attracts a lot of folks, but we head down the beach with a lovely couple from Holland, Andrea and Bill. She is a lawyer and apparently an authority in her country on privatizing. We have a nice conversation. She compliments my pronunciation of English, because she finds it easy to understand me. We talk about education in our respective countries and other aspects of life. Her husband wants me to come to Holland lecture sometime. I’d love to.
On the beach many women and girls are topless. Bryan, Eric, Stephan and Paris must be stunned. At first Stell sets things down by an older obese woman with large, very uncomfortable breasts. When he realizes what he’s done, he insists we move. He says this causes him to lose his appetite for women. We move a little further down the beach. To my surprise the water was cold.
Stop. I hear a voice calling “Margaret’. Where is it? Across the street. It is Stell. He wants me to come out of the apartment and cross the street to miss his sister Ireni and his brother-in-law Costas. They are the parents of Stell’s nephews (twins, Georgios and Aggelos). I know Aggelos. He was a student in engineering at Georgia Tech. He is married to Sally. Stell hollers, “come over” meet my sister. “Do you want to have coffee?” His sister and his brother-in-law wave to me above the noise of cars, motorcycles, lots of motorcycles always and Greek conversations. Do you want to buy tomatoes? I cross the street and sister Ireni meets me on the stairs. They are warm and wonderful, and I will tell you the details later. I am always wondering what they think. Now I have met Stell’s brother, Yannis, his mother, Maria and his sister, Ireni. Tomorrow I meet Anna and we visit the American Farm School.
Where am I? back to “the water was cold, . . . but rejuvenating. We don’t have long. We keep walking in the water, but it is quite a ways before it is deep enough to swim. We swim only a little, then Stell holds me close in the water. Memories of being in Greece two years ago. We are in love. I know it now for sure. I mean I’ve know it before, but sometimes we are stunned that we are even more in love than before. We swim back to the shore to soak in a few minutes of sun. Stell goes off to find the boys, he says, but I’ll suspect he’s gone off to enjoy the bare-breasted beauties on the beach (alliteration). He returns and we are advised that we should head back to the dock to catch one of the two little boats back to the liner. We have time to have an orange juice. Freshly squeezed oranges, nutritious but warm. Then, we switch to bier (beer). The beer is heavier and more tasty here. Most of it German bier in larger bottles. We have it often.
June 23, 1987
10:15 a.m.
The balcony of Stell’s flat in Thessaloniki
Stell has gone to his sister’s (Anna), and I am here with Georgia, his niece (Yannis’ eldest daughter) and Maria, another young student. They are studying for exams. Maria has just left (Yannis’ wife). She was most curious about me. I’ll explain later, but when she left, she kissed me and held me. Yannis’ shouted at her yesterday for being so curious about me.
Despina, Stell, Yiannis, Maria, Georgia, Gregory
Once again I will try to flash back to my attempt to tell a chronological story. This is quite impossible; too much has happened. I need to find a more thorough way – perhaps. I should list scenes and go back for the development later, e.g. the nap at Anna’s; the barbershop with Stell, the visit to the American Farm School yesterday. I feel that if I get these words down my memory can be sparked. We have enjoyed meals in so many tavernas that I will never remember them all, but I can at least describe the general way this works.
Again, I’ll return to the cruise. The horn sounds on the ship to tell us that the last smaller boat is coming to carry us to the liner, so we best not miss it. When we board, Stell does not see Paris or the other boys. Bill Rosenbach has not seen them either as we pull away. There is concern that they are still on Poros. To prevent more confusion, I go into the dining hall and get into line for lunch – chicken, rice, dolmades, bread, salada, and lots of wine. At last I see Eric – the boys are not stranded on Poros. They were found in the game room.
Stell comes into the dining room and joins our table for lunch. We sail to another island before Hydra. This one is strictly for shopping. I buy some Coppertone because I am worried that I will get too burned. The sun is intense. After a splendid cruise to Hydra, we leave the ship and walk along the shops, stop and buy some beer and join a larger group for swimming and diving into a small cove. The water and sun are glorious. Everyone is laughing. We meet a young couple, newlyweds. She is eighteen and he (Adonis) is twenty-one. They are moving from Australia (which I learn has a very large Greek population) to Canada. They are beautiful, but too young to be married. He is studying to be a dentist. After a perfect swim, we amble back to the ship. I find a good spot on the top deck. Someone tells me that Stell wants me to come downstairs, because there is a band. The financial director and Stell are talking. The room is full of Japanese. The band plays disco sounds, and a few of us start to dance. This is not easy because the water is a little rocky. Eventually Stell decides it’s time for the Japanese to dance, so he finds a man to be my partner, and he finds a girl. She was rather erotic. The people at the tables like this. The band is good. As we approach Piraeus we return to the table with the financial director – the cruise ends and we board the buses for Hotel Armonia. My thoughts are on a nice shower, but I no sooner get to our room but the phone rings. It is Stell. He says “get your butt down here. Takis is here.” I wash my face, hurriedly attempt to freshen up and brush my hair. Takis, Stell and two of Takis’ colleagues from Nielsen in Switzerland – one is Lawrence; the other’s Robert. Robert is an American and Lawrence is from South Africa. Takis asks me to tell him about impact evaluations. They want to go to dinner but Stell and I are worn out from the cruise and tomorrow we present our papers. We have dinner later in the hotel. The room rate of $65 per day includes breakfast everyday and lunch or dinner. Such a deal. We dine with Jim, a delightful older Greek man from California. He orders a fine Greek wine, boutari. Bill Rosenbach and David Holt also have dinner with us.
Stell, Bill, and David have determined that tomorrow we will rent a van and travel north through Greece, seven males and me.
Time to check out. My bill is $4 – the room fee was paid to Manos Travel Agency. We also were instructed to leave $2 a day for waiters, maids and bus drivers. A European practice. Stell, Bill and David go to get the van, and I stay with the boys and have conversations with departing conferees. One American woman engages me in a long conversation about Greek men. It’s hilarious – she simply cannot accept the cultural differences. She wants me to join her for lunch, but I think the men will be back soon, and I’m watching the boys. Two hours pass. I wonder where they are. Eric falls asleep. Paris, Bryan and Stefan go to the game machines. Finally, the men appear. The woman who took them to the rental place had serious car problems. They got delayed giving her assistance.
Nonetheless, we are ready to pack luggage and eight people in our bus later to be christened our Mighty Mitzy in a naming contest proposed by Stell. Eric won. We are all hungry, but Stell wants to get us outside the city before we stop to pee and eat.
Eventually we find a gas station cafeteria. The boys have spaghetti and we have salada, potatoes and meat. We get gasoline and Stell takes the wheel again. We are headed for Delphi.
June 26, 1987
Takis’ flat
Athens, Greece
Stell has gone to the computer office and will meet Georgios, John, and Demetrios to sign the papers to form Sympraxis Last night we had dinner with Stell’s most beautiful niece, Demetra, and her husband Nikos.
Niece Demetra and Uncle Stell
They are both physicians here in Athens. He is from a remote Northern village above Trikala, and Demetra explains to me that she likes to go there because of some of the more primitive ways still practiced. These two are actually both surgeons, but Stell explains to me that they don’t make much money.
Earlier, yesterday we walked around Athens, had beer at Kolonaki, took the funicular to Des Capitas for the best panorama of the city, home for a nap, then a cab outside the city to meet a former young student of Stell’s, Thomas, who drove us to Sounios to see the Temple of Poseidon, then to swim off the rocks below. At first he struck me very much as a Yuppy, but later I warmed to him. He will visit in Athens, Georgia, in August and come by for dinner. He has an uncle with a restaurant in Spartanburg.
Christos called this morning from London to say they are being mildewed to death. This is our last full day in Greece, and I am not looking forward to rain and bad food. Also I am very moody again. This is the second time. Last night after dinner with Demetra and Nikos, when we returned to the flat, I was extremely upset. My guess is that this is a combination of many things. My period should begin at any moment. I was extraordinarily fatigued – traveling overload, we are in rather close quarters, and although I feel very loved by Stell – I find myself again attempting to assess our relationship to one another. He became so irritated with me last night that he yelled violently like never before. I am confused - more with myself than him. Although I know I will miss him exceedingly in July and August, I need some time for reflection about the way I want to direct my life. Yet, it must be said that no one could do more for me as he has done. He's introduced me to another world, the most beautiful people, encouraged my work, and loved me.
Back to Delphi. We drive through Delphi to the little town on the water below. We get out of the bus and Stell inquires in the seedy little hotel if there are four rooms. There are. It is a little chilly but we walk along the water and get a glimpse of the town. Stell selects a spot along the water under a large awning for dinner. This is after we check into our rooms. The linens are clean and the beds comfortable, but the toilets are the worst I've seen. You have the impression that you are in a Greek flop house. Stell thinks it's important for the boys to experience all levels of Greek life. I am comfortable. I have a place to sleep and a nice balcony overlooking the water to write. Before dinner the adults toast a scotch, then we head for the spot I mentioned earlier. The adults sit together. I rather like David Holt (Virginian), but this is when I begin to not appreciate Stell's former boss from Gettysburg College, Bill Rosenbach. He's retired Air Force, not a good listener, rather trivial in intelligence, and a father who would drive a son up the wall. He has to point out sights of interest to his sons, and he's constantly directing their picture taking. It's as if they are not capable of speaking and deciding anything for themselves. Also, the man is a sexist but wishes to leave the impression that he is a high level affirmative action kind of guy. He doth protest too much. My relationship with him is downhill from this dinner on. We avoid situations where it's just the two of us, and I find him incapable of conducting any conversation about his work. I conclude that he is somewhat jealous of my time with Stell.
David Holt is more interesting and generally pleasant. He's into his third marriage. He dropped out of high school because all of his teeth were knocked out in a fight and he had no money to buy false teeth, joined the Navy, was a diver in Vietnam and quite unable to talk about it, since most of his comrades were killed, had an intimate encounter with Suzanne Plesset (sp), and now seems to be quite successful with a doctorate in management and a business called Serendipity. He was bankrupt twice and involved with a multitude of questionable characters in his life. He gave his wife, who apparently was totally flatchested, breasts for a Christmas present a few years ago. He rather enjoyed discussing his feelings about this, which I found quite unnecessary, but he was so much better read and an incredible conversationalist that I could withstand the other. He and Bill both helped Stell with the driving, but he was by far the better of the two. It is not easy to drive in this country. Like most European countries, people go very fast and pay limited attention to signs and signals. I have to roll with this and relax, or I would be a nervous wreck.
The next day we drive up to the conference center. Cultural European Center near Delphi, which is empty, but open - it was under repair. A gardener is spraying the roses - another common sight people tending gardens.
Gardens Are Very Important in Greece
Next we head to the museum at Delphi. I truly love this - especially the room with the winged charioteer. The guard can tell I am impressed, so in very broken English he tells me about the materials used to make the eyes. The eyes are intense. Next we go to the ruins, walk through the Roman agora (market place) and then to the various treasures, and finally the theatre. It's warm but as is generally the case there is a nice breeze. It is obvious why people thought the gods lived here and how the use of the Oracle developed. This as a place to get religious answers that could not be obtained in the Athens' schools.
Stell has purchased feta cheese, wonderful sesame crusted bread, tiropitas (cheese pies) and juices, apricot and orange. Also, we have bottled water. We stop along the way and enjoy our roadside breakfast high above the water. We are now on our way to Meterora, the extremely steep rock mountain structures where the monks live in houses built onto the brinks of these cliffs. It is stark, and although I was there two years ago, I am again awed by this strange and mysterious place.
I should pause and say that along the rural roads as we travel north, there are fields of goats, shepherds tending their flocks, husbands and wives atop tractors, workers in the fields mainly tending the irrigation equipment, and occasionally a donkey bearing backpacks of firewood. This is not the hub of Athens or Thessaloniki. The wheat fields look golden and ready for harvest but the olive trees appear to be dying. No one is sure if this is lack of rain or some disease.
After the wonders of Meterora, we head toward Larissa and stay in the hotel where I stayed one night two years ago. It is exactly the same. Once again, my mind is on a nice hot bath. Once I am in the tub, a tall, handsome Greek comes in bearing a scotch on the rocks. How good it is to be with him if only for a few minutes. We are going to dinner and Maria, her husband, her daughter, Julie and her son, Christos will join us. Also Sartoris' father, who ends up buying our meal. He is a very loving man. We dance - Maria and Julie think it's hilarious that I dance imitating the bent over finger-clicking posture Thanos taught me in Raleigh. The band is very good. David and Bill can endure no more wine, so they take a cab back to the hotel. Sartiris' father takes Stell and me to his warehouse which is stacked full of shoes from China. He insists I try on a pair, which Paris later tells me are Don Johnson's. They are so ugly they are cute. Stell gets a pair for himself and one for Paris. We go back to the hotel, and the next day after a continental breakfast set out for the birthplace of my lover. He has phoned ahead to his brother, Yannis to make hotel reservations for Margaret Holt, David Holt and Bill Rosenbach. I do not know what has been said about the group. Stell has told me to leave the situation to him, so I do.
Once we get through the horrid traffic of Thessaloniki, we are on our way to one of the three peninsulas of Halkidiki, near Mount Athos. Mount Athos can only be visited by adult men. It is the location of approximately twenty monasteries.
Full moon over Mountain Athos
For the next few days Stell expresses his frustration that he cannot take Bill and David. The next time he says. Ierissos is different from anything before. There are many hardwoods and pines, and single dwellings tht look like Swiss chalets. Everyone is getting hungry so we stop in a village for souvlaki. Tiny shiskabobs- perfect. Back into our Mighty Mitzi on a very windy road that follows the sea. We stop at Stavros to view the statue of Aristotle.
Statue of Aristotle in Stagira
It is white marble, very large and its background is a huge mountain. Stell has told us that bauxite is mined in this area. There is a small abandoned library adjacent to the statue that Stell would love to see reopened. He had earlier proposed a scholarship fund to his niece, Mary, who is a high school principal - but she explained that the Communists would want equal time - the PASOK. The other major party is called the New Democracy. Stell has family in both parties and especially around elections, there is turbulence. He wanted the essays to focus on the theme "Aristotle, Then and Now." Maybe someday he can do this.
Stell with Niece Mary
Everyone is anxious to press on to Ierissos. The only paved road is the one that runs through the center of town. All other roads are hard-packed dirt. We go by a gas station which Stell tells me is Nick and Vassilly's. Vassilly is the mayor and Stell's good friend.
We stop in front of Stell's house, and he advises Paris to show us his mother's garden. She sticks her head out the door, waves and smiles. She looks like Stell.
Stell’s Mother, Maria Kefalas
We go around the house back to the front, reload in the van and Stell's brother, Yannis, comes out the front door in his pajamas. Needless to say, he is overjoyed to see Paris. We go to a lovely little hotel near the sea a few blocks from Stell's, Hotel Markos. My room is adjacent to David and Bryan Holt's. Stell has arranged this on purpose. Later when I am writing on this balcony, David explains that Bill has told him in broken German that it is to appear that we Holts are a family. It is really not an issue for me and David, a man of three marriages does not mind. I have only one objective - to not hurt Paris or any of Stell's family, especially his mother. I have never met David Holt before. This is a sheer coincidence that immediately turned into a convenience. Nonetheless, Stell is honest when he introduces us to people who inquire where we all live in the United States.
After a chance to nap and freshen up, Stell comes by to take us on a little walk to one of the cafeterias. This cafeteria is a spot where the young hang out. His niece, Mary, lives upstairs above the disco-cafeteria. We have beer and Stell's brother joins us. He's wearing a suit and tie, quite uncommon, and he carries worry beads, which he fidgets with endlessly. He looks nothing like Stell. He is smaller in stature and his features are sharper. Like Stell he smiles a great deal. I am only slightly uncomfortable because I cannot sense if he knows I am Stell's lover. He is friendly to us all and genuinely pleased to see his younger brother. Again we go to a taverna for dinner. We now always have wonderful fish, sardine-size, lightly sauteed in olive oil. Mezes - David Holt enjoys most the cucumber-yogurt spread. We eat from the same plates. I readjust for my visit two years ago, but once in awhile get slightly irritated with Stell when he attempts to correct my eating style. Nonetheless, he generally is positively sensitive and makes sure new foods are on my plate. Greeks do not gulp their meals in the hurried-American way. The largest meal of the day is taken around
2:30-3:30 p.m. It is generally heavy with bread, salada, etc. and beer or retsina and followed by a nap. Shops close until 5:30 or 6 p.m. Dishes are generally not passed around the table. Instead you reach for what you want. At first there is somewhat steady eating, but gradually it is disrupted with large pauses for joke-telling and conversation. Bill Rosenbach never got the hang of the pace of the meal and would rudely chomp through his favorite dishes. The later meals are eaten around 10 or 11 p.m. It is somewhat lighter and both are followed by a pastry or fruita - watermelon, cherries, etc
Fine Dining in Greece
Despina, Yanni's younger daughter (15) joins us. What does she order? beefsteak (a hamburger sans bun) and fries. Her father scolds her for drinking too much coke, but she is soon served one.
Some things are the same the world round. She and I carry on a nice conversation in English and Yannis tells me that he is going to send her to me. Back to Hotel Marcos and a good night's sleep. The next morning we are picked up by Stell (he brought coffee to my room first), and load up for a drive to the house he is building on a hill overlooking the village. It has rained a lot, so we cannot take the shorter route. I don't care. I want a glimpse of the entire area. Stell is disappointed that the grass, etc., is not cleaned up around his house. I am amazed with the size of the place, the view to the sea through tall glass sliding doors, and the gorgeous wild flowers. It's muddy on our short hike to the house. We we go inside for the grand tour, we discover little dead birds everywhere. Stell says he must ask Yannis to screen the chimney opening. I hope he will. Apparently, Yannis does not like to go up to the house. He cannot understand why Stell did not take a place in the village. I can understand. Although I am very impressed with this place and its setting, the thought of finishing it, overwhelms me. Floors, walls, furnishings. It is not very easy to find good labor and the fact that the house is mile up the hill from the village, compounds the work I assume. Stell plans marble floors in the living room, a marble patio, clay tennis court and other nice decor. He has his work cut out to be sure. He tells me that some of his associates in the village are jealous of him, like Vassilly, the mayor. Stell explains to Vassilly that you experience the good life either in your younger years or your older years. Vassilly had an easy youth; Stell is enjoying an easier maturity.
Vassilly
3:20 p.m. same day. We've just come back from lunch. Stell is not real happy because his computer is kaput. He had planned to take it to London, but now he probably will need to leave it here for repair. We are both somewhat subdued today. Probably because of last night. We are going to dinner with the Synpraxis trio: Georgios, Demetrius and John.
We were in Stell's village Saturday night through Sunday (actually morning). On Sunday we stopped for gasoline at Vassilly's. Nula came down and David, Bill, Stell, I and David’sons were invited up to their place. Nula fixed ice cream for the boys and coffee and water for the adults. She also cracked open some pine nuts.
Nula
2 p.m.
Athens Airport
Saturday, July 27, 1987
Said goodbye to Athens. We are on our way to London. Last night we had dinner with Georgios and John. Yesterday they signed with Stell the papers for the new company, SymPraxis. After dinner we went to a piano bar at the Holiday Inn in Athens. I ordered a bourbon neat. Later we discovered it cost $6+. Ridiculous. I like the people in SymPraxis, and I'm looking forward to working with them. Today has been a little uneventful after a wonderful evening. We slept in until about 9 a.m., had our standard breakfast prepared by Stell, nescafe, butter and apriocot jam on toast and apricot juice on Taxis' balcony. Then I washed my hair and showered while Stell swept and straightened the apartment. We packed, moved suitcases to the sidewalk, and he went off for a taxi. This took only minutes. As always he and the driver enjoyed a lively conversation and Stell teased me. At the airport lots of lines, later Stell realized he was business class, so we went to the lounge for the "elite" and had a scotch. Our plane is now almost an hour late. What's new? Thomas brought his father by the airport. He's simply an ambitious young man. I like him.
Should I make a list of the people I've met and the places I've been? Last night before dinner, while the men of SymPraxis were doing business, John gave me a September 1985 Athenian to read. I was quite surprised about how well I understood the issues. The pollution of Thessaloniki, the two major political parties, the challenges facing the shipping industry, the culture of taxi drivers, the music, etc. Stell has introduced me to so much.
Greece is a giant playground. In London we are to be met by Christos and his wife Niki. Christos feels that Stell has helped him a lot with his career. Niki is supposedly not happy with London and wants to return to Greece.
We are getting ready for take off. Time: 3 hours and 25 minutes. It is 2:15 p.m.
Monday, June 29, 1987
Westminster City, London
11 a.m., A Pub
Stell has gone to teach his class. We had breakfast together at Hotel Trivia (Tria). We arrived Saturday. Niki and Christos met us at Heathrow. After Stell left, I washed my hair and showered and decided I could no longer stand my hair, so I would take it upon myself to find a bank and a hairdresser. I've succeeded, I think. I found the bank - the National Bank of Westminster at 9:10. It didn't open until 9:30 a.m., so I found a clothing shop and bought a couple of funky shirts for Nic. Then the bank opened and I exchanged $60 for 35 pounds. The hairdresser I found didn't want to perm my hair - too much perm already, so I go this funky-punky cut - I have enough hair spray for all the punkers this side of London. When I was walking back to the hotel, a man passed by and said to me,"Ah, fresh and lovely." They have a strange sense of lovely here. Also, I went into the local library and purchased a book titled El Greco, with plates of his paintings for 50 pence. Another heavy object to carry home, but I couldn't resist.
We have been eating so much that I am about to burst. Yesterday Christos picked us up at 12:30 to go to Niki's parents for dinner. Actually, they all live together in rather close quarters, Niki, Christos, Leo, Penny, and Niki's younger sister, Gina. They are Greek Cypriots. Leo and Penny's marriage was arranged thirty years ago. As always there is an enormous amount of food -meze, that includes a radish I've never had before and a cheese rather unique to Cyprus. Although Niki's father is five years older than Stell he looks twenty years older. Amazing. He has been smoking since he was seven, drinks lots of scotch and ruins his food with huge quantities of salt. Nonetheless, he seems in generally good health. I ask after dinner to see the videotape of Niki and Christos' wedding, which occurred two years ago in Stell's village. Now I can say I have a fairly good idea of what the wedding is like. After the early pictures of the preparation of the bridegroom and bride (mostly endless attention to her hair), both are accompanied through the town with the wedding party. She walks ahead of him on the arm of her father, Leo, and Christos has a young man and woman attendant. The two are not supposed to look at one another until they are joined in the church. The service appears rather elaborate and beautiful. Stell says it lasts about two hours. Then from about 5:30 p.m. until 4:30 a.m. there are festivities - a dinner and ritualistic dances.
Here Comes the Bridegroom
Stell decides we need to go back to the hotel. Later he explains to me that there is a lot of tension in the household. It can't be easy for these five adults to live on top of one another. Niki is determined to live in Greece and nags Christos about it constantly. Stell is very disappointed that Christos has not learned better English in two years. He works in a Greek bank in London and lives with Cypriots - so it seems obvious to me that he wouldn't improve unless he felt inclined to become more fluent.
My impression of London - the people are generally ugly and look economically depressed. We've ridden the Tube several times and no one laughs or smiles. Such a contrast from Greece. It's not that they look so serious. They look depressed. The only exception so far the people in our hotel, who are extremely gracious and friendly.
Last night Stell and I had dinner in the restaurant downstairs, O Campinos. Stell thought it was Spanish, and I guessed Italian. We were both wrong - Portugese. We had crab and prawns - delicious and generous proportions. It was another very romantic Hemingwayish dinner. Europe has not disappointed me. So many candlelight meals. I'm spoiled and I know it.
Stell wants to take two tours - a general one of London - maybe tomorrow and Saturday to Oxford. Tomorrow when we move to the flat, I will call Peter Jarvis, Geoffrey Thomas, and Bill Forrester - also Nic in the USA.
Although London is green and the little parks are quite lovely - it is mostly very dirty. Saturday night after we arrived we took the tube to Oxford Circus. It's a ritzy area - the sidewalks were full of trash. Greece is not the most clean place, but it is far ahead of London.
Lots of foreigners and punks - Orientals, Arabs, Indians, everywhere. Yesterday we talked with a group of Indians who were practicing cricket and watched a few minutes of a soccer game.
At the moment I'm sitting in a pub finishing a cup of coffee and getting ready to sit in the little St. Stephan's park and read The Times. The hottest news seems to be the discovery that Di has been having an affair. Actually the other hot news must be the weather, since it rained for a full month before we arrived. Today is the least overcast since Saturday.
Now I'm sitting in the small St. Stephan's Garden Park. I've read the paper. It's quite sunny. Stell should be finished with his first class. I asked him to ask Ron Jenkins, a drama professor from Milledgeville, if I could sit in on some lectures this week. I hope this will be possible. We are going to try to see a play before I leave.
I suppose I should go back to the room in case Stell tries to call.
Impressions: traffic, dress, food, children, garbage, flowers, shops, bathrooms, families, receptions - Receptions in Greece. I met both Stell's sisters, his sister-in-law (Maria), Nula and it is always the same and charming. Would you like coffee? Yes. The women go into the kitchen and reappear with trays bearing coffee in china cups with saucers and often cookies or a sweet fig and nero (water). There is very little ice, almost never. This matters not to me, but for Stell it is rather critical.
Dust in Greece. Humidity in London. People aren't supposed to have much money, but they seem to have nice cars.
I went to the barber shop with Stell in Thessaloniki. The barber is married but according to Stell is involved with prostitutes. He tells Stell about the best bikini contest and a joke. A man is asked - "Is your wife warm in bed?" He replies: "Some say yes; some say no." They think this is hilarious. The joke of jokes was told by Takis to Stell. It's considered a management joke. There is an international study to determine who are the best managers - the Germans, the Russians, the French or the Greeks. A simulation is organized in which each one is to be given a shirt to be washed, a loaf of brad to eat, and a woman for sex. They are to accomplish all three tasks in a set time period. The German goes first - he washes the shirt, eats the bread, then a bell rings. He is asked to explain his approach to these tasks. He explains that Germans focus on work, first, then their stomachs. Next the Russian. He eats the bread, takes the woman. The bell rings. He explains they focus first on their stomachs, then sex. The Frenchman goes first for the woman, then the bread, explaining the French are noted for their lovemaking. The Greek is next. He tells the woman to wash the shirt and while she bends over he takes her, meantime eating the bread. When asked to explain, he says that in order to succeed as a Greek manager you have to screw the employees.
The maid is cleaning our room. I'm sitting in the hotel lobby. The story on the radio is about the rape-murder of a young girl. The papers seem full of such stories and lots about child abuse. The hairdresser told me to hang onto my purse. Makes me think of Oliver Twist and Jack the Ripper. I never feel afraid in Greece. I never feel I need to lock my door. Just the opposite in London.
I keep forgetting to write about when I met Stell's oldest sister, Anna. He finds her very intelligent. She had gone to the American Farm School when she was young. She is a feminist and a member of PASOK, a communist. We went to her apartment in Thessaloniki after our huge meal - stuffed peppers with Marianna, Corina, Nana, and George in Thessaloniki. Anna had just had dental work, but Stell said she was doing very well. He wanted to take a nap; she seemed quite comfortable putting us in the same room. It was a wonderful nap - much cooler than Stell's flat. After the nap, coffee. Anna's friend, Polly (part German, part Russian) was there. She was quite funny. She tried to speak to me in German. She was going to Canada. She kept calling me something, which Stell said was "you're a real doll." What a sweetie. We said goodbye to Anna. I didn't see her again before we left Thessaloniki, but Stell went once again because he was legally arranging for her to take care of their mother. By doing this, Anna will be able to collect some benefits from the government.
Anna
It's 1:30 p.m. London. The maid should be finished with the room now. I'm somewhat trying to pack again, since we will probably move to the flat this afternoon.
Beds I've slept in since leaving Athens, Georgia:
1) Holiday Inn, Brussels
2) Hotel Armonia, Greece
3) Below Delphi, Greece
4) Larissa, Greece
5) Hotel Markos, Ierissos, Greece
6) Flat in Thessaloniki
7) Anna's in Thessaloniki (nap)
8) Taki's apartment, Athens, Greece
9) Hotel Tria, London
10) Probably a flat
Actually I've gotten quite good at adjusting to new beds. Stell does not sleep so easily. So far, I've avoided English food - except some dull fish and chips. The breakfasts are not exceptional in the hotel, but adequate. Good coffee.
July 2, 1987
Apartment 27B
Nevern Square 5 S.W.
Kensington, London
1:40 p.m.
Stell has not come back from class. I did the dishes, made the bed and went shopping for a few groceries - reconfirming I am not suited to the housewife role. Tomorrow we are going to Oxford and Saturday will be my last day here. To my surprise I am ready to get back to Athens, Georgia, and my work. Stell has been absolutely marvelous to me the entire trip - but is now time for me to take charge of my life more fully. Our lives are so very different - he really cares about and belongs to so many people. His work is much larger than mine and at times exhausting.
Last night we had a very delicious Italian dinner with Stell's cousin, Christos and his wife, Niki. She arrived with a headache and said she had had a bad day. Apparently someone stole her billfold. Rather than have Christos drive us back to the flat, we took the tube, which was shutting down (the pubs everything - folds up early). At the end of the tube were four California girls who looked exhausted and didn't know where they could locate a youth hostel. You guessed it - Stell invited them to stay with us at the flat. He's so generous. They were up and off early this morning.
I wanted to read in Nevern Square Park this morning, but it was locked with signs that said it was for residents with permits only - so I walked a bit and bought some fresh fruit.
Stell has given his students tomorrow off - Fourth of July weekend. They've rented a couple of vans and are going to Scotland. I suggested he go with them, but he wouldn't hear of leaving me to get to the airport on Sunday by myself.
The flat we are staying in is owned by a woman named Diana Esquire. Apparently she is in Africa for the month. She may have a husband or lover named Keith because occasionally we get a call for him.
It's a downstairs flat with two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and large living room. The bathroom is fairly large also. There's a tv, videodisc player, radio/record player, washer and dryer, etc. I think Stell can be quite comfortable here for a month. I shouldn't forget to mention that she has many wonderful paintings and art pieces.
I did reach Geoffrey Thomas and we will meet him at Oxford tomorrow at 3 p.m. Perhaps Oxford will give me a new impression of England.
I'm starting a little to think of my work back in Georgia.
Sunday
July 5, 1987
British Caledonia on the way to Atlanta
This is not a good day. I am very emotionally exhausted but perhaps writing will help me. Christos and Stell rushed me in heavy traffic to Gatwick Airport. I really didn't think we would make it. Parting with Stell was especially difficult. We had a wonderful Friday at Oxford and a great Saturday at Cambridge - but last night was problematic, provoked by me. I guess I have decided that Stell is "too much" for me. He has been nothing but kind on the entire trip, but I cannot maintain his pace and his high spirits. I need a lot of time to reflect on all of this. I suspect our relationship is over and although I really cannot deal with the thought of shifting from lover to just friend, I think this is what must be done.
Oxford and Cambridge were exactly the way I anticipated. On Friday we took the train to Oxford from Paddington Station. In the compartment was a student from Oxford and two young Dutch girls - all very nice. The young man explained to us that people in northern England were actually friendlier than those in the south. We thought this was confirmed by two bricklayers and a couple of girls we met while having a beer at Paddington. They were full of life and asked if we'd seen any "shoes". I just couldn't make out what they were saying, so they started dancing in a chorus-line way to demonstrate "shows". Stell said he wished he could have videotaped my face trying to understand them. When we arrived at Oxford we went to a student restaurant called Browns. We had huge fillet and vegetable salads that somewhat disgruntled Stell because they were hot and expensive. After lunch we walked to Rewley House, Wellington Square, and after about a 30 minute wait, we met Geoffrey Thomas, the director of the Kellogg Center. He gave us a grand tour, continuously apologizing about how small in scale his place is compared to the Georgia Center. I thought it was absolutely lovely. Flowers everywhere, too. I should mention that I thoroughly enjoyed getting out of London on the trains to Cambridge and Oxford because of the chance to see the English countryside.
Several hours later
I'm guessing we are about three hours from Atlanta. My watch is still on Greek time. I've been talking some with the man seated next to me. He's an anthropologist returning to the University of Missouri-Columbia. He's been in West Africa and is quite anxious to get home. People on the plane are getting fidgety as we go into the last stretch.
I'm trying not to think too much about the work awaiting me. I sent no cards, except three to Nic and only phoned him once. I actually need to bury myself in my work because of the void I will feel away from Stell and also my sense for the first time that things will be different from now on. These are the times I understand why it is so important to have so much work. It should have ended this way but it has. Stell is an extraordinary person in my life and no matter what becomes of our personal relationship, I hope I can somehow let him know how much all he has done has meant to me. I do know that we have really cared for one another deeply, but there is something that makes it impossible for it to work completely.
July something, 30th maybe [I never bring a calendar or watch to Greece - it's important to forget time and not let it always get in one's way.] 1 p.m. I guess.
Promptly, as always, Curtis Ulmer picked me up in Athens, Georgia at 6:30 a.m. on July 18th to take me to the Atlanta Airport. I was disappointed that Irene was not with him. She has been having some digestive troubles, which I hope are completely over as I write this. Curtis was going to deliver me and then he would head on to Mississippi to pick up some of his several grandchildren to return to Athens, Georgia. We have this arrangement related to our journeys. They take me to and from the airport, and it's supposed to be reciprocated, but in the last few years when they have often been heading to Spain, their minister has taxied them. Anyhow, I always love to have this wonderful service, because it gives me almost two hours of uninterrupted conversation with these beloved friends. They share my excitement for travel, so they know very well what is going on in my head and heart at any trip's commencement.
I'm deposited at TWA without a hitch and soon on my way to Washington National, then to New York's Kennedy Airport on a puddle jumper to encounter the horrors of this impossible hydra of terminals. Wrestling suitcases and other traveling paraphernalia I eventually find my way to exit 20 and Tower Airlines. This is my first assurance that I am about to engage in a Greek experience, since there are hundreds of New York Greeks not lining up very politely for boarding passes. The older people take it in stride, and I find myself in conversation about the purpose of this trip with an older Greek man and a woman. The man [who has four sons, and he is sure to tell me that one is not married] now lives in Florida, and his four sons all reside successfully in Connecticut. The woman, a Greek New Yorker immediately brings out photos of her granddaughter. They are good company in the so-so line, and we eventually [after an hour] have boarding passes, so we go into a lobby and have some cokes.
The old man convinces us to stay put at the table rather than stand in the never-ending line for boarding later. Wise decision. The plane is packed, and there are lots of children. Of course, another person claims he has the seat I have, but the stewardess works out the confusion and I begin to think of ways to adjust for nine hours that can never be comfortable. Despite the dramatic recommendations of my niece, Kate, I'm determined to finish The Prince of Tides. She argues that you need to read the first 100 pages only, and that Conroy definitely needed an editor. My distaste for the writing is not so severe, but I could see her point about the editing. It's always been difficult for me not to finish something I start.
The trip was fairly uneventful. The only intervention by the pilot was about the smoking/nonsmoking areas of the planes. I have learned that it is necessary for the Greek people to have this argument. They are compelled to smoke and are exalted when they can carry this off in the non-smoking section. Six years ago I would have expected fist-to-cuffs. I now know better. Instead we have ceaseless war of tongues, which would drive me to smoke. A group of about seven or eight Greeks circle and speak simultaneously on what I imagine to be their world views on smoking in general, and smoking and non-smoking areas in particular. It goes on for ages, and soon most of us manage to tune out the debate.
I have a fairly boring conversation with an older Greek man to my left, who is traveling with two older women. He owns a Mediterranean fruit store in NYC, and only wants to explain to me that the people who own Tower Airlines (with 148 flights to Greece this summer) are an Israeli and Iraqi. International business - what a peacemaker. Stell would be proud, I think. The man tells me that we are not to talk openly about this. Who does he think I will tell?
We arrive in Athens pretty much on schedule. Everything now is very familiar for me as far as the airport scramble. It takes a century to get my bags, since 400 Greek New Yorkers with carts are surrounding the baggage return. A nice American woman, who is totally flabbergasted with this scene volunteers to watch my cart while I gingerly nudge my way closer to the baggage conveyor. Four years later, I have my direction, and my training-by-Stell automatically tells me to move right along and not beg to have my suitcases inspected, which could not possibly be reclosed if opened, inspected.
I'm looking for Yorgos Mandes. He's nowhere in sight. He has very nice curly hair, but I'm not spotting him or his Dutch wife, Hanneke. This is not such a problem, since I've been careful to have phone numbers ready. Someone speaks to me. The guy looks familiar. It is Lorenzo, who has stayed with us in the States. Yorgos and Hanneke are delivering their sons to their grandparents in Kardistsa, so Lorenzo has agreed to meet me and take me to his home.
Lorenzo far right
I've been there once before. Lorenzo is a wonderful man. Very hardworking, sincere. He and his wife Alecka, have one daughter, Katerina. Lorenzo explains to me that she has completed her examinations from high school, and has scored very highly. This means she can have a choice of good schools. All of this school business is very critical for Greek people. Their children are tutored for years, throughout the summers, and more during the school months, in hopes that they will perform well on these tests. If they do not excel their educational options are severely limited. Katerina is a polite, but confident young girl, whose hours with the tutors and the books have paid off. Everyone is pleased.
We arrive at their beautiful villa. They are wealthy and so their place is large, unlike most Greek dwellings. Alecka's family as been in the "honey" business for a very long time. I believe since the 20s or 30s. They even sold honey to the U.S.A. in the early days. Alecka and Katerina come out to meet me, and almost immediately [in the Greek way] I'm offered coffee. My internal clock tells me I should sleep, and I know that if Stell were here, he would tell me that I cannot. But he's not here, so I can compromise. Alecka shows me the bath and shower and a kravati [my bed]. We agree that I will sleep only an hour or two. Besides, Lorenzo is working on his taxes [makes me think of Heather and Terry]. It seems that as soon as I close my eyes, Alecka is knocking on the door telling me to get up. The three of them are roving around in a big country kitchen, heating up Greek dishes.
Saturday, August 2, 1992
7 a.m.
Drama, Greece
Yesterday following a 10 plate “light” lunch with Regis (president of the International College of Business Studies), Stell and I departed Thessaloniki on the way to Kavala. We stopped for a swim in Asprovalta. This is not an uncommon occurrence when you are in Greece. I learned several years ago to have a bathing suit and towel handy on every excursion. The swim was invigorating, but we were running a little late for Stell’s appointment wit D. Vrondos at the Galaxy Hotel in Kavala. Fortunately when we arrived slightly late, Vrondos had also not arrived. We checked in quickly and Stell started to shaven when the phone rang. It was Vrondos and he was waiting downstairs. Stell wiped the shaving cream off his chin, dressed quickly and left me with the shower to myself. After swimming your hair and body are always loaded with salt, so there is nothing more desirable than a shampoo and shower. With this finished I plopped into bed (approx. 7 p.m.); we had missed the ordinary afternoon nap and the synergy of the Regis lunch, swim, ride and shower had exhausted me. Stell returned in an hour and after his shower determined we should “volta” – walk. We did sit on our 6th floor balcony for a little time. It was beautiful to see this charming city of Kavala from this perspective.
There is a castle on one hill, and church on another lit by soft lights amidst the crowded red-tile roofs clinging on the hillsides. A large ferry boat, Nel Lines, seems to take an hour to exit cars, trucks, buses, and people from the Island of Thassos. The walk through the port is covered with piles of fishing nets. We wish to walk up a very steep incline to the castle. I’m able to manage this despite the fact that I strained my left foot by stepping into a depressed inset in the floor of a Roma Pizza my last night with Thodoros and Christina. They were preparing to take 100 tourists to Lausanne, Paris, and Vienna. We missed the narrow passageway to the castle and actually climbed the hill higher than necessary.
We found the small sign on the way down and began winding up the narrow stairways. Small, old houses lined the stairways. Innumerable cats and kittens were traipsing the walkways hoping to come upon a plastic bag feat of local garbage. It’s very hot. Stell removes his shirt. I’d like to, but decide against it. Gradually we make it to the top. A young couple is engaged in intimate conversation. We turn around and start a new route down. At one home, four beautiful old women have collected to try and find some cool air. Impossible. Assured the new path leads back to the center of town, we wind our way to the bottom and stop to study the mammoth Roman aqueduct. We continue walking. There’s a lot of traffic and activity. We are on the national road to Constantinople, after all. Stell is actually looking for an ouzeri, which means we can have ouzo or retsina and mezze. He spots such a place amidst a bar and cafeteria. Actually there are four types of shops, each with a television. From our seats we can see that the same show is tuned on all four tvs. Our waiter is very pleasant, and we order retinas, salada, gavros, media, and nero. We both are not too hungry due to the last effects of the Regis ten plate light lunch in Oreocastro. Knowing that Stell’s seminar begins early the next morning, we lumber along to the Galaxy. As always I collapse immediately into a sound sleep while Stell tosses and turns wishing every motorcycle he hears will crash into a wall. The wakeup call is harsh and jolts me out of my dream. Stell transforms into his usual cheery self, and I resent his willingness to chat. I need time to wake. We have a full fifteen minutes to brush teeth, dress and repack. We descend six floors, check out and head for Drama. Along the way are several signs in Greek and English announcing our proximity to the archaeological sites of Philip and the theatres. In Krinides we actually pass by a huge field of ruins, partial columns, ancient stone walls and other evidence of the age of Philip. Hopefully, we will visit the museum before we drive home to Ieriossos this afternoon. We have good directions to the sewing factory, Modell, where Stell is expected to deliver a seminar to approximately 13 people. I expect they will be the managers. The factory is new, and when we are greeted we are led to a long room filled with approximately 40 women. Not at all what Stell expected. Since I do not speak Greek, I am not sure about adjustments he must be making. One wall is lined with lockers. There is a chalkboard and small cafeteria at the front of the room. One of the women places a tablet and pencil in front of each participant. The women appear to be in their twenties. There is one male at first and then another arrives.
July 22, 1993
11:20 a.m.
I’ll begin here. Move a little backward, then forward. It is just before noon, and I have left the Hera Hotel and walked to the Team Office [much to Stell’s amazement, I found it with no problem]. He has been here working with Yiorgos Mandes for almost 2 hours. Litsa, the secretary, is the only other person here. She’s 24, very petite, soft-small voice and always extremely friendly and polite. After Stell recovered from his slight shock that I found the office, he put me at a desk in Litsa’s office and she made me a frappe [“sketo” = no milk, no sugar]. I brought my computer disk with hopes there would be a spare computer available, since I’m almost illiterate long-hand, but there’s not, so I’m penning this. Stell’s new Power Book will be ready at noon –only suffered from a Virus, so perhaps I can use it some. [I must remember to tell him that the disk he left with Paul Hayes had the Yankee Doodle Virus and almost destroyed Paul’s hard drive – in the other Athens.]
The leg to New York was uneventful, and once at Kennedy Airport, everything clicked. I got another cup of coffee and quickly boarded for Athens. I should add that the airport people were especially friendly, and the duty-free shops offered a new great service. I bought a bottle of scotch, whiskey and vodka. Instead of having to haul this back to my departure gate, the duty-free shops have a cadre of employees who transport your purchases to the gates, hand you your packages and you’re ready to go.
July 24th [I think]
Moudavia
Cassandra, Greece
I am alone on the seat at a seaside café called Tiffany’s. I have just ordered a water and coffee, “sketo-I hope”. Stell is with Mr. Makis Mammas on business. We will probably leave here in an hour to be with Paris in Ierissos. I will go back to the Delta flight and then try to return here. In addition to the 2 hour geographic representation of our flight path, Delta posts how many miles per hour you are traveling, how cold it is at 37,000 feet in the air, what time it is at your current point and what time it is at your anticipated destination, and most aggravating, how long it will be until you land.
We did eventually land following a marvelous view of Italy and the circumference of Athens. Once inside the airport, life was a snap [most uncommon for this place]. There were no other planes landing, so no lines at control stations. My passport is so full of Greek stamps, that it is barely considered. I got a cart for a few drachma, the luggage came quickly – But poi ini Stellio? However, a very handsome slightly familiar young Greek man is waving at me???? Then I spot Stell – I have not cleared customs yet, and as always I’ve been set up by Stell and the customs’ guys are teasing me – so I call Stell a few good names, and then realize the young man is Peter, who I had met only once two years ago in San Diego for a drink at my hotel. He lives in the U.S. now, and he and Stell have some seminar business together. He’s charming – and he had been on my flight from New York, but we had not recognized one another. He thought Stell had come to meet him at the airport. We took him to the Olympic Airlines Airport and headed for the lovely little Hera Hotel where we now stay in Athens. It’s small, near the Plaka and Team’s office. I get a chance to take a shower and a very short rest, then we head for the office. Only Litsa is there and a young man who I don’t know. Costis, Lorenzo’s brother comes by. He’s working on Stell’s Powerbook, which turns out only to have a virus. Stell confirms that we are going to have lunch with a man named Vassilly, who is part owner of a hotel on Crete where we are scheduled to stay at the end of my visit.
Near Drama, Greece
July 31 1993
Lorenzo’s brother comes by with his Powerbook, and relates to Stell that the only problem was a virus. Good –easily corrected. One of Stell’s former students, Giorgos is supposed to come by to meet us for lunch. Yiorgos Mandes is cranky with Stell, because we are dressed in shorts as usual, and he doesn’t feel this is appropriate. I’m used to this conversation. Yiorgos is much more conservative and traditional about this sort of thing, although he is ten years younger than Stell. Giorgos arrives and he is dressed in a coat and tie. The tie is highly unusual here – especially in the summer. We set off for a small restaurant in the Plaka. Mandes doesn’t go with us because his car has been repaired, and he needs to pick it up. We do intend to go to the restaurant he prefers, but this turns out to be impossible, since it has closed, so we go to the one next door. Stell orders ouzo and mezzes. Giorgos works for Citibank, and he is doing very well. He is married to an Italian woman [who is currently visiting with her family in Italy]. They have a new baby three months old. His parents are a bit unhappy about the marriage to a Catholic, and also with the fact that they did not carry out the practice of naming the little girl after one of her grandmothers. Also, Giorgos is feeling a bit of tension with his wife, since she doesn’t like all the time he needs to spend with his job. He says that he tells her that if she want to settle for less, he could work as a clerk. He is a possibility for one of the interviews I must do while I’m in Greece. So far I’ve done none of these, and I must do five for my presentation in Portugal in December. I may do Thanassis or Demetri this weekend.
At last we are off for Thessaloniki. The trip is about six hours. Despite the traffic, we don’t have much trouble getting out of the city, and after we are not far outside the city limits, we locate the new factory of Apostolis. I have been in the old factory in Larissa. We are offered coffee, and then given a tour. It is quite luxurious. Basically the business is shoes that are imported from China and Indonesia. Boxes and boxes and boxes of shoes. The inventory is managed completely on computer. Workers are completing the new offices. Stell is especially infatua
ted with a canopy covering of part of the roof on the way to the roof garden, since he thinks something like it will work at our house. We have one big problem with construction over the arboretum, which is that because it is flat means that it leaks. He is going to investigate having a canopy like the one here made for the house. The man giving us the tour is very excited about the next factory, and very polite.
Stell and Paris
Stell and Nanna
Sunset at Stavraqu
Natasa
Gregory and Georgia
My only problem now is that I am going to have my period – which is always unpleasant – but this condition is exacerbated in Greece by the inaccessibility of bathrooms near the beach. I’ve pretty much got my own little system for taking care of things, so as not to embarrass myself, but I am sure I will never make Stell understand that this is not a good time for me to stay for long stretches of time on the beach or with company. He keeps telling me to walk down the beach and be with his sister, niece, etc. I’m not a happy camper.
Mr. Christos Sikiotis
Ierissos
Halkidikis 63075
GREECE
Nelly and Mike
Meteora
Watching the meteor shower at Annie and Thanassis
Call from Lorenzo on my last day. He, Aleka, and Katerina had been on Thassos. They had a good vacation, but there was a fire on the island.
Fire also at Sunion – Poseidon
Swimming nude at Kahlohori with Pam, Doug, and Stell
The case of the missing suitcase
Thanassis and my Christmas card
The trouble leaving the country with one stamp in my passport from Egypt
with Rebecca Well’s Little Altars Everywhere and My Family and Other Animals by Gerald Durrell, and then write an essay on Mothers, Families and Class. Durrell’s book is a sheer delight and a perfect read for anyone with the good fortune to spend a little time in Greece. Pam Kleiber loaned me Conway’s book and Addie was the link to the other two. [Now that I’m back in the States, I’m reading Sally Morgan’s My Place. It belongs to Priscilla, but she wants Addie and me to read it. It would be another good one for a study of mothers.]
Connecting Malcom Sumner and Nicos Papaconstandino
Greece to Georgia, August 22-23, 1994
(I have only sketchy notes on this trip home from Greece.)
Horrible period
Plane delayed two hours (Athens' terminal wait)
Stell missed terminal entrance - a traditional parting gesture
Couldn't buy stamps in the airport, because the seller didn't have enough change. (Typical situation in Greece.)
Plane was held on the ground l hour and 30 minutes due to orders from the Athens' Airport Authorities.
People and children were hot and herded like cattle.
Special attention was paid to first class and ambassador club - the rest of us were regarded as peasants.
Rude, disgusting man and wife shoving at check-in counter
Pilot tell us we will now need to stopover in Shannon, Ireland, for more fuel. We are on the plane for forty minutes. It's very green in Ireland. I can see sheep and goats grazing from the plane window.
Plane restrooms are disgusting. Stewardess suggests they will be cleaned in Shannon but there is little evidence of this.
Babies on the plane rotate their crying fits.
Movement. Customs in New York. Movement through customs is easy but my bags seem to be the last to arrive. My quarter is eaten in the tampax machine in the airport restroom. I stand in line forever to see what can be done with my connecting flight. A slow but pleasant young black woman eventually directs me to get my bags upstairs and I'm given a voucher for a night's stay at the Midtown Hotel - the bus is packed. It's raining. Some people have stacks of boxes and luggage and the airline has very little provision to help them. One is a young woman with two little children. She's extremely depressed and disgusted and arguing with the agents. One old Greek woman in black is sitting in her wheelchair while her extended family waits for the bus to the hotel. I'm sure she will get pneumonia. Finally we get to the Midway Hotel, Queens, New York. Sleazy. Carpet looks like it hasn't been swept in at least two years. I negotiate my luggage to the fifth floor via elevator. Decide to go to the cafeteria where I have a cheeseburger and fries. Talk to two guys, Americans, returning from a wrestling meet in Hungary. They point out the cockroaches in this Che Querro Restaurant.
When I get to my room a panel of the window shade falls off when I try and open the curtain.
Next morning back at the Airport with the women at check-in with light brown plaited hair and sinus problems gives me a first class ticket from New York to Atlanta. She was deeply apologetic that they had the night before sent me way out to the Midway Hotel. My luck is turning. I'm going HOME. I ordered a Bloody Mary. The "ugly people" from the Athens' Airport were also at the Midway Hotel. The Bloody Mary reminds me of Mr. Mahler. He always had a couple in Delta's Crown Room before taking off.
So here is how I sum it up:
TWA =Terminal Wait Airlines.TWA August 22-23, 1994
I had a great time in Paradise, nonetheless. The only difficult time was the trip home, which I must describe to you in some detail, because there is no one around to vent, so you might as well be the guinea pig. First, to put the whole story in context, I must note that I was having my period. I don’t mean to embarrass readers of this letter, but perhaps it will help others understand the undue stress and strain. My “sisters” I know will have empathy for me.
[Insert cartoon “Between Friends here: Two women having conversation over a glass of wine. First woman says: “Mood swings, cramps, water retention . . . . sheesh! Women got stuck with EVERYTHING! I mean throughout our lives we have to contend with about a zillion hormones . .. – and what do men have to cope with?” Other woman: “Us.” ]
Atlanta-Athens. Another summer, another adventure.
Pilot, 8/22/94 - NY, JFK
I know you are wondering why we are still here? So am I. They tell me they have a lot of mail to put on. Should only be 5 more minutes. Supervisor said we should be only three minutes. We have a fairly fast flight schedule. We should be in Atlanta before too long.
Finale: How will the Atlanta shuttle go???? TBD - to be discovered. Where is Nic? Is Vanessa gone?
For some reason it is more exciting for me to think I know Pericles than being acquainted with Dimitri.
Pericles
No Smart Guys in the Group
I like the rhyme of other nicknames: Takis, Lakis, Makis, Sakis. The system of naming children in Greece is rather easy to follow. Children are named for their grandparents, so if you learn the name of the grandparents, you can often figure out the name of the children - also this means that first cousins often have the same first name.
Thodoris and Namesake Grandfather
I'm never sure than anyone is listening. This reminds me of writing articles in academe.
Lots of folks appear to be publishing their ideas, but I'm not convinced that many are reading them.
Grandparents play a major role in raising children in Greece. It is very common to see grandparents strolling the babies during the evening village volta [walk]. Parents often leave their children with grandparents when they work. Many young babies and children seem to spend more of their early years with grandparents than their own parents. The babystrollers are often very elaborate - sort of the Cadillac or Mercedes version of these modes of transport. Much of an evening volta can be consumed admiring babies, even if you are not running for a political office.
Clinking Ouzo
Tsunami the Electrician
Gypsy Musicians
Pre-wedding dancing in the street
Kourtsula Dancing at Ierissos Festival
Then, of course, there is the famous butcher's dance Anthony Quinn perfected in Zorba. Dancers in the circle will often go into the audience and pull others into the circle. Sometimes two and three circles must form because the entire village is on their feet going round and round and round. Young, old, men and women. A few dances draw just men or just women. Villages, regions, and islands all have unique dances, yet to me they appear to be variations on a similar theme. When people are dancing alone often other individuals will stoop below the dancer and clap, and if the dancer is agile he or she will move a leg over the head of the clappers. If you learn the basic steps you will be able to join in these dances at any Greek Restaurant in the world once the music starts. And you will be welcome into the circle even if you aren't quite in step. Since my dancing matches my singing, I know this to be true.
Pandelis is a successful Greek businessman in Athens, Greece, with much experience in the United States. He asked me what I taught at the University. Adult education is difficult to describe to Greek people, because it isn't formally taught or practiced. Marcie Boucouvalas wrote a book in l988, Adult Education in Greece, and reported Greek Universities to be devoid of such programs, however some of the professional adult educators have degrees in sociology. I don't think this has changed although because of the development of the European Community, more people are moving into training and human resource development. Pandelis, was a real exception in his understanding of my field - when I said "adult education", he responded, "oh lifelong learning." This was the first time anyone had so immediately understood since my first trip in 1986. Now, when Doug Kleiber told the Greek people his field was leisure recreation, they broke into gales of laughter. "You mean the American people have to be taught how to engage in leisure!"
Come Join the Circling Dancers
By Professor Louis A. Gaitanis
Hold the hands that held the hands
Of heroes of the second battle of Marathon
When Axis Powers were stopped by ragged Greek bands
A stand that changed the course of World War II
And history came full circle, like the dance.
Hold the hands that held the hands
Of Soulian women who one by one left the circle
Dancing off the mountain to deny the enemies' demands
Preferring death to surrender to the Turks and making true
Than forty years of slavery and jail."
Hold the hands that held the hands
Of martyrs who held aloft the light
From Byzantium to the western lands
The light first saved at ancient Marathon by the few
Who stood against the Asiatic hordes and
And a new world as well.
And hold the hands
That held the hands
That held the hands
Of Homer
Aggelos, Ierissos “Falstaff”
He has a perpetual smile that is emphasized by two deeply indented dimples. He stutters a little, I think because he tells stories and jokes in such a flurry. For example, he likes to frighten the locals by telling them that he swims in the water depository and that he's actually peed in there. If you see him at the tavernas and kiosks or riding about on his motorcycle, you might have a first impression that he is a round, intoxicated, grimy kind of guy. That should be your first impression, because for me he is an incredible example of a self-directed learner.
He sings with the local choir and chants at the church each Sunday; he probably knows more about the monastic life on Mount Athos than any of the priests in the village; he paints icons [self-taught with a few lessons from Mount Athos]; he built a small church which annually is visited by as many as 400 people at a single festival; he carves; he gardens [his flowers are spectacular]; he cooks; and he raises turkeys.
Aggelos at his Easel
At our home we have a den of allepou [fox]. Angelos said that once a fox ate six of his turkeys and then sent him a "Thank You Angelos" postcard. For me he is a good reason to support the expression, "don't judge a book by its cover." He's incredibly generous, and visitors to the town absolutely fall in love with him - Germans, Yugoslavs, Albanians, Americans, etc. He is deeply religious. This year he gave me an icon he painted of St. George.
Aggelos with Painting of St. George
He spends much time on the end of the peninsula, Mountain Athos. There are 20 monasteries on the mountain. Only men are permitted access to this bordered and protected place. However, I have been told that the area is completely visible to everyone now on the Internet! Rumor has it that even female animals are denied admission to this orthodox version of the Vatican, and some say there are not even female mosquitoes in the area!
Our meze with Aggelos included salt fish, greens a bit like spinach, tomatoes, cucumbers, a warm dish mixture of eggplant, potatoes, and colokithia [much like zucchini], and fresh baked bread. Of course we washed this down with tsipouro, which is a strong locally-produced anise-flavored white lightening - stronger than ouzo. These occasions are meant for fellowship and to open your appetite for lunch.
If you meet Angelos, he will want to pronounce a range of English words: "This is a book, this is a pencil, this is a classroom." He is a founding member of the Zakamaka Society [to be explained later in the series.
Demos kai Stellios
The shorter man in these two photos standing next to the UGA football advertisement is Demos. He approached me on several occasions requesting his picture be taken with Stell, but he seemed to find me when I was sans camera or on low or no battery. Finally just two days before I left Greece everything came together.
His life is woven intricately with Stell's. Stell's late Mother, Maria, was widowed during the guerilla wars in Greece following WWII. Her husband, Georgios, was a victim of the Communist aggression. She was left with four children - Yannis, Anna, Ireni.
Stell, Anna, Yiannis, Ireni
This man is one of innumerable people who have stories to tell about Maria, and how she not only saved her own family but put food in the mouth of so many others like him. Another man, Nikos, told me this summer that Maria was a Bear, and he meant this as a grand "megalo" compliment. Demos worked as a field hand for Stell's mom. Over the years I have met as many as ten people who worked the fields not for her but along side her. She always paid what she could, and more importantly she didn't let her family and community starve. They should erect a huge memorial in tribute to Maria Kefalas, imho.
Nicos Worked for Maria Kefalas
Georgios’ Mom Worked for Maria Kefalas
So it was very important to Demos to have a photograph with Stell. I could tell by his eyes and his gestures, that he was disappointed the several times I wasn't prepared to capture the moment. Now I have a little entree to tell you why I am taking so many photos. My husband has only one picture of his father. It was probably taken around 1940. It's quite faded although a wonderful photo. But this all that exists outside his memory to remind him of the way his father looked. Many times I go to homes and older people will bring one or maybe two old photographs. Another man, Christos Robotas really wanted me to take a picture of him with his wife, Effie. He told me the only other photo of the two of them together was their wedding picture taken approximately twenty years ago. So I've designated myself the village photographer, and many days and nights I travel with my equipment so I can take pictures.
Effie kai Christos Robotas
My hope is that people will have photos to pass along to their children and grandchildren, so for many years there can be a photographic memory of family members. My experience has been that Greek people love to have their pictures taken, and there is nothing as exhilarating as the joy you see come across their faces when I take them the photos. Last year I took a photo of a young man who is mildly retarded. He must have stared and smiled at his picture for an hour when I gave it to him one morning in a cafeteria. He was passing it around to everyone. I was tremendously moved by his elation!
Older people enjoy being photographed
Two Couples Out on the Town
Many Greek people are physically very beautiful to behold like these two couples who are neighborhood and work friends. The man in the white shirt, Nikos Karavasilis and the his wife, Maria, in the dark dress in the foreground are the parents of two sons, and one daughter, and the other couple Takis and his wife [I have to get her name from Stell] are the parents of two daughters, Maria and Penelope.
Penelope, Keti, Maria
Many men choose to grow moustaches, a common practice in the Mediterranean region.
I decided I needed a moustache too
Nikos is a farmer and the owner of a butcher shop. Takis is a construction worker, and he is one of the men who are helping to build a new butcher shop for the Karavasilis' family. Maria is one of the best cooks I've ever encountered in my life. Although she has only the tiniest kitchen in which to work, she prepares meals that look as good or better than ones I've seen in Bon Appetite Magazine.
Butcher Shop Foundation
Nicos Bringing Water
Filling the depository
I've never seen sliced sandwich white bread in the grocery stores. Part of daily life is a trip to the bakery. These are completely separate establishments from the sweet shops, which for those with sweet-tooth tendencies is another delicious enterprise.
Stellios kai Georgios
The American Farm School of Thessaloniki, Greece, is an independent, nonprofit educational institution founded in1904 to serve the rural population of Greece and the Balkans. Major divisions include the Secondary School, the Dimitris Perrotis College of Agricultural Studies, the department of Lifelong Learning and a cultural exchange program for U.S. and international high school students known as Greek Summer.
Thomas & Pepi at St. Pandelimon
Aggelos with his sheep at Stravraqu
Personally, I think their wives are thankful for the kapi. If you read Captain Corelli's Mandolin, you will get a better sense of the mature marital relationship when you read about the old man with a pea in his ear. While we were in Greece Nicholas Cage was starring in the filming of this story, which should be released in the spring.
Vegalis and Dinos with their Grandmother
posted by Margaret Holt | 9:03 AM
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