Return to Athens

I have been in Athens for almost a week; this visit is different. I will be living here for three months with an apartment, a neighborhood, and a job- teaching film studies. Presently, I am living in a posh neighborhood and seem to be partially “protected” from the desperation that lives in other parts of the city. There is graffiti on a few walls, and occasionally, a homeless person emerges, posting herself next to a kiosk; however, unless I move out of this enclave, I see little of the suffering that Greeks are experiencing.

Last week, as I walked to the National Library for an exhibit, a seemingly professional man seemed to be lost. He followed people, mostly women, looking for direction, not directions, but direction. Naturally, those he approached were uneasy. People moved away from him and police scowled. He drifted away.

Two days ago, as I sat in a cafe reading The International Herald Tribune, a middle aged man who also had the air of the middle class about him, paraded in front of the cafe speaking aloud to the coffee drinkers. He wasn’t particularly aggressive nor did he seem unhinged. Yet, there was something he needed to share. No one responded.

As I was walking home that same day, I crossed behind the National Gardens. At the corner, a soldier stood at attention with a machine gun held to his chest. Who is he protecting?

Another sight that seems more prevalent on the weekends are individuals laying prone on the sidewalk arm extended for an offering. One such women lay in front of an expensive boutique. She moaned as two young women discussed the price of the handbags displayed in the window. Now, I find myself crossing the street to avoid beggars. How much would it cost if I gave to each of the beggars I encounter? Then, there is my New York scepticism. Are they for real?

Yesterday, I decided to go to a high end shopping center which turned out to be a block long department store. As soon as I entered, I wanted to leave. There were many clerks but no customers. The store, Attica, could have been anyplace where wealth is possible. In Greece, where universal health care has been eliminated and people are cutting down wood in the national gardens to heat their homes, this store wreaks of moral decay. Berlin in the thiries?

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A TURKISH RESPITE

After a week of considering politics and its consequences on Greece, I am having a reprieve in Istanbul for almost a week. I have not read a paper or watched the news except to see the new Greek Prime Minister, Antonis Samaras, sworn in. Last week, when I asked the Greeks I met on Spetses what they thought would happen in the Sunday elections, they answered, “We’ll see what happens on Monday.” I imagine they meant the day after would tell them more about the future then who won. The same wait-and-see approach seems to hold true as Samaras maneuvers to form a new government. When I left Greece for Turkey, the media was still predicting disaster for Greece’s future even though the less radical candidate was elected. I, too, will hold off jumping to conclusions until I return to Greece.

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SPETSES, PARADISE FOR SOME

A very privileged few days. My friends and I got the last ticket on the Flying Dolphin from Athens to Spetses: since most voyagers disembarked on the other islands along the way, we were finally able to sit together.  When we landed, we were rejected by one taxi which, according to my friend, was the result of our age.  She said we were too old for him.  However, a younger driver, Andros, was game, and he and his partner now taxi us around. Both are friendly and easygoing. My friend, an honorary Greek, speaks the language and knows a number of people who have houses on the island. She believes these two drivers are thrilled to have work.

The island does seem deserted, but, it isn’t quite the season. However, two tavernas favored by my friend are no longer in business: one, perhaps, due to the economy, the other is a different story. This particular one was on a beach. The mayor allowed the restaurant to build its base by having concrete cover the sand. However, the government got wind of this construction and discovered that the owner didn’t have a permit. Does this mean the government does work, but slowly?

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AN EVENING IN ATHENS

I spent my first night in Athens on the rooftop garden of the Hotel St. George Lycabettus, a posh hotel. The person who had initiated this trip to Greece with me and four other women, was an honorary “Greek” as she had spent many years visiting every summer and working in Athens. She invited to this gathering two people who made their home in Greece were knowledgable of the crisis the country was facing as well as being part of a large education circle. Both were charming, graceful, and well-informed.

The woman of the duo did comment on the graffiti that seemed to be everywhere in Kolonaki, the wealthy area of Athens, the location of the missing swimming pools, that is, those not claimed for tax purposes.  I had been faithfully watching CNN to get news of Greece. I mentioned the statistics given by newscasters: seventy percent of small businessmen were leaving Athens to return to their villages to work the land as the only way thier families could survive. She corrected me, “That would be seventy Greek men.” I threw her another statistic from CNN: thirty percent of Greeks were below the poverty belt.  She asked me where that belt began. What followed was a discussion of how most media mislead us in an effort to get viewers or readers. So, I still don’t know how life is faring for the vast majority of Greeks.

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