I remember summers in the late 80′s & 90′s where my parents would always try to spend as much time away from New York as possible. Their belief was that summer was not summer unless it was spent by the beach, with 24/7 accessibility to fresh fish for lunch…and dinner. So, our go to places were Greece and Cyprus, which is where my grandparents used to live. For now, I choose to remember only Greece….
Sitting on the 900 hour plane ride from NY to Athens was unbearable for a kid. I remember always wanting to sit by the window so I could be the first one on the plane to catch a glimpse of Athens from above ( or so I thought…). With my face stuck to the window, I replayed the all too familiar future events that would take place once we landed:
First, we would enter the baggage claim area…a new world that spoke more Greek than any other language. Old men would be shouting random things to each other while waving their hands in the air and every so often ashing their burning cigarettes on the floor. And then there were the smells….or THE smell, which I can only describe as OLD….and it was GREAT. At some point a friendly argument would break out in the distance, and after all the swearing and shouting they would give hands and realize they were somehow related. Sometimes I imagined that this was done on purpose, sort of like a circus act for the foreigners…the “xenous”.
As soon as we would find our bags and my dad stacked them on the half broken trolley, I would climb on top of the luggage and sit on my throne waiting to be wheeled out of the arrival doors. There, the best part of the process awaited. My grandfather would stand tall and proud, patient like a hunting dog, waiting to wave and motion us to come towards him. My grandmother was always waiting in the background, sitting on a chair somewhere, fanning herself in an effort not to pass out from the blistering heat. My grandfather, dressed sharply like he was attending an important meeting, would run up to us first, look me straight in the eyes and say “Well, well, who do we have here? I think you’ve grown since last year, no…?” and open up his arms for me to jump in for the hug. Then my grandmother would join, and attention would be steered to the rest of the group (mom, dad, brother)…but I would still be holding my grandfathers hand.
After all the greetings, hugs and kisses (and some tears), we would head to the car. The walk though the airport and to the parking lot was enough to make anyone certain they were in Greece. Coffee and cigarettes everywhere, women chatting away, men hugging and kissing as they greeted one another, and the smell of baked cheese pies and bread lingering in the air. I couldn’t wait!
My grandfathers car smelled like fish, as usual…but even though we were cramped like sardines and his fishing gear was falling all over us, everyone had a smile on their face. As a true non-believer of air conditioning, my granddad had the windows down, and the hot air hit our face as he sped down the freeway. Honking cars, sun-burnt hands out of the windows and tiny little streets screamed “Athens!” making everyone forget about New York . When we finally arrived at the house, I would run ahead and look around to see what had changed. People stopped in the streets to say hello to my grandparents, and conversations broke out as to how excited they were to have their grand-kids visiting. My mom was put on display (it was her parents), and we got praise as “the most gorgeous children anyone has ever seen”. Also, we were a novelty since we came from “the big city”, so there was double excitement for that too.
The elevator smelled the same. I rode it sitting on the bags because it was so small it wouldn’t fit any people. My job was to open the door and wait for the adults to come get the luggage. Upon arrival my grandfather smiled and ruffled my hair, letting me know that I had done a good job. The neighbours came out to greet us too. Everyone was happy. Greece was happy.
For the next month and a half we went to the beach almost every day. I was no longer “olive-skinned” but now more of a “gypsy brown” instead. My grandfather would take me fishing…and to the local coffee shop were all his old friends would buy me sweets. They would talk about the good old days over coffee, backgammon and cigarettes. I would play with the other kids in the square. On our way home, we would stop to buy bread…then vegetables…then meat…then coffee and finally cigarettes (of course) and an ice cream for me. I remember spending more time chatting and laughing than doing anything else. The whole city was smiling and the sun rewarded us with sunshine which made the city glow. It was the best place to be…the best.
Eventually, when I was older I got to live in Greece for 5 years as a student. This was around 2003. At the time it was different from what I knew as a child, but… not in a bad way. Fast forwarding to today, there is significant change. Yes, there is corruption, always has been. Yes, the economy is shattered. Yes, there are fewer jobs. Yes, there is no more money. But I feel that if everyone stepped back for a moment and tried to remember the “better days”, maybe from a child’s perspective, Greece wouldn’t look so grey anymore, and the sun would come out to play again…even if it is only for a little while.
Theophanis Hephaestos 1920-1993
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Tags: athens, childhood, grandfather, greece, life, memories, New York, summer
