Changing Cultures

Where else in the world would we be taken from the airport in a taxi, when half way the taxi driver shouts 'look' as he points to something in the sky. He then stops, much to the consternation of the driver in the car behind who was no more than half a metre away from the taxi's back bumper. Taki gets out of the car and encourages us to do the same and we all spend a pleasant five minutes or so watching a huge eagle and child soaring in the sky, playing in the air currents as the parent gives encouraging caws to the young one. They are sea-eagles and the parent has a wing span of about 4 foot. No attention is given to open doors, or the fact that we are standing in the middle of the road. By the time the birds fly out of sight there are three cars behind us, also stopped with their drivers and passengers out on the road in awe of the majestic birds.
'They are not from Kythera' Taki tells us, 'they are visitors'.
'Tourists' I comment but he is not amused, his concentration is fixed on the birds. Then we get back in the taxi where I have a tiny space in the back as most of the space is taken up with our 'package' of foam rubber aka 'Orthopaedic Bed' when described to the check in clerks who believed Waldo and thus did not charge us for having three sets of luggage instead of two and a total weight of 62Kgs (16Kg over) for the hold and 30Kg of 'hand luggage'! And despite all that when we unpacked Waldo discovered that when packing the chrome pipe for my shower unit he had packed the smaller length instead of the larger one! So that will be a job for me when I come back in October! But new computer modem, stronger internet receiver, sewing machine transformer, 2Kg wool, glass jug, 6 drill pieces, purple mouse mat (can't do without that!), 10 books, 12 DVDs, maps for our northern Greece trip, tablecloth and napkins, table runner, 1 Kg tea-bags, 500gm coffee, 3 bottles of Certo for setting my marmalade, and Waldo's jar of mint sauce all arrived safely!
Our road is now fine as the sun has dried it to a hard surface. Taki is pleased but his car still rubs one back wheel as it makes every left hand turn. But he is concerned for as we approach the house, what should come to greet us but the birds again and Taki just stands and watches them, seemingly oblivious of any future passengers who may be waiting for him. We need no time to come to terms with being back, already our priorities have changed and our attitude to life more relaxed.
At first, when I was working full-time, coming to Kythera was more like a holiday. Thus we had the travellers’ view of the island. Gradually as I was able to spend more time on the island, I still had half my head at least in the UK as I read and commented upon students work sent to me electronically, attended board meetings via conference calls and mentored students via Skype. But as I have reduced my work commitments in the UK and we have developed friends and interests on the island so our balance of time has changed, and now we live here part of the time, rather than holiday. This has meant going out far less; now we live a fairly normal life eating in most nights, visiting friends, meeting for meals out or just a drink. The only difference is of course the climate. But there are other things which make us sit up and think.
Shopping is so different. In the summer, particularly food, fresh fruit and vegetables have a relatively short shelf-life and so shopping is done at least every second day. That basic necessary shopping requires a minimum of two shops; both are in our local village. But it is an event as I chat to the shopkeepers George in the supermarket and Dimitra in the vegetable shop. George is a fount of information and has amazing skills with languages, shown as he greets people in their own language. So far I have heard him speak Greek, English, French, German, Dutch, Albanian and I know that he can add Spanish and Japanese to that and maybe more. George has an unshakeable belief that his role is to provide a service to the community. As such he is open every day of the year including Christmas morning and Easter time. When there are local festivals he remains open but refuses to sell drinks so as not to be in competition with the tavernas and bars which provide the seats and space for the festivities. Not only is George an informal information centre for tourists he takes special care of young children who are sent to his shop on errands for their parents or shop come in to spend their pocket money. Like most Greek shops there is little space to walk around in and the counter is a chaotic mix of people just wanting cigarettes or beer and expecting to pay immediately without any consideration of a queue. Well queue is not really a concept that Greeks understand in the way that the British stiff upper lip conformity decries. A woman shopping is as likely to use a basket or just wander up and down the aisles returning to the counter as her arms are full and just piling up her goods there, with no consideration to the fact that she has now rendered the counter unusable. A waiter from a local tavern may rush in for something and shout to George as he goes out the door to add the price of whatever it is to the tavernas running ticket. Dutch tourists are politely waiting their turn to ask what cheap white wine George can recommend to go with their cheese, crackers and tomato lunch they will have on their apartment balcony. These tall people mostly stand by the wine shelves and can call to George over the heads of everyone else. I have been stood, resting my heavy basket on top of the piles of bottled water in front of the counter whilst all this goes on. And, in the middle of the hurrying and scurrying a little child will be stood nervously in front of George.
‘Now you have two items, one is 1 Euro 40 cents and the other is 50 cents. How much is that?’ George asks patiently.
The child usually goes red, aware of being watched. They may screw up their face as children do when thinking. As quietly as possible they might say ‘One Euro, 90 cents’, afraid to be heard to be wrong in front of the whole audience of shoppers.
‘Bravo, that’s correct’ says George, adding ‘Now you have given me 2 Euros, how much should I give you?’
By this time everyone around is dying to shout ’10 cents’, particularly if it has taken a few extra questions to get the answers so far correct. Cheers and shouts of ‘Bravo’ come from all corners of the shop when the child gets it right. The poor little mite will grab their melting ice lolly or whatever they have and run out of the shop. Occasionally one, emboldened by success will turn and almost bow to the audience with a big grin on their face, but this is a dangerous thing to do for a quick exit is far safer given the surge forward that occurs as people scramble to be served next.
Dimitra’s vegetable shop is no less crowded but she has the politeness to spend the time of day with everyone and the patience to teach me the names of the various fruit and vegetables. Bit by bit my Greek vocabulary has improved, I have learnt and now tasted some new varieties, and Dimitra has given me excellent tips for cooking.
Just in the space of 100 metres where I park the car and visit the two shops I can rarely move unless I meet at least two people I know well enough to spend time with. Thus the sociability of shopping means I shop, collect recipes, improve my language skills, get up to date on local gossip, news and ferry or aeroplane timetable changes (in Britain we talk about the weather, in Greece it is transport that is so variable). I come back feeling happy and it is the same for Waldo when he goes shopping. Whether we have been out together or separately we always make a point of sitting down and having a drink and time together when we return. We share the news and enjoy a companionable break. How different this is to a quick dash to large UK supermarket or DIY superstore, self selection on the shelves, payment to a cashier who rarely smiles or is too busy talking to the person on the next counter to even acknowledge that you exist. Returning home is about feeling stressed, worn out and grumpy. Then Waldo and I think of George, we think of him standing there at his counter, having a few words to say to everyone and making their day better.
As we travel around by car we are constantly waving or parping the horn to people we know. Frequently we need to speak with this person. It may be paying their bill, which we have in the car for just such an eventuality. It may be to ask them to call at the house to sort out something with our computer, plumbing, electricity, or building. And sometimes it is to decide when they are coming to visit or us to them. Or it is just to have a chat. We have now fallen into the local habit, when this occurs, just to stop, sometimes back up slightly, and then lean out of the car windows and chat. Kytherians are extremely tolerant and will not mind if we block both sides of the road in this way. Only rarely, if it is a cement mixer lorry behind us, will they parp their horn to make us aware of their slowly setting load. Similarly if the other person is walking, we will stop the car, and often the passenger will get out and we will talk whilst cars move around us, usually waving to one or other of us or stopping to join the conversation.
It must be said that we are hardly driving along motorways or through the streets of large cities where such activity would be impossible. Kythera has no traffic lights, no roundabouts and few pavements. Armco is a recent addition to road safety but for the most part it is hammered in by hand; thus its ability to stop or even slow down a speeding car is questionable. We did have a man who walked the length of the island putting a white line on one side of the asphalted road, when he got to the top he turned round and repeated the activity on the other side of the road. But most of the line has now either faded, been covered with roadside plants or has been dug up as super broadband cable has been laid.
Perhaps our biggest cultural divide and need for active changing of habits comes in the form of safety and security. Here is Kythera we rarely lock our car; we can leave things visibly in the car and know that they will be there where we return; we can even leave the keys in the car. Two years ago the first ‘car theft’ on the island occurred – a young man felt too tired to walk up the hill home after a night out and so ‘borrowed’ a tourist hire car. Such was the public outrage at him, his family and all who knew him and a strict ‘discussion’ with the police means that he will never even think of the possibility again. There has been one robbery on the island; this happened some nine years ago. Strangers from the mainland came over with a view to stealing money from a local business safe. Apparently they discovered that they could not open the safe and hence devised a means whereby they came to our house, as it happens. This was before we owned it and it was empty with a 4x4 in the garage. Thus this vehicle was ‘borrowed’ in order to collect the safe. The thieves laid low in our isolated spot, broke open the safe and then drove to the nearby small boatyard where they ‘borrowed’ a boat to take them to the mainland. Suffice to say that these thieves were caught; the police on the mainland had been informed and simply watched the boat until it landed! In fact their court case was heard just last year; the time spent in jail awaiting their case will surely act as a deterrent for further crime?
In an environment where it is so hot, where open windows can mean the difference between sleeping or not sleeping, where people regularly sleep on their balconies to catch the merest of night breezes; a culture of stealing would be totally intolerable. Sadly I do not feel this free when in the UK and do not leave a window open when I go out and only have tiny windows open if I am in the house.
We have noticed a great difference in behaviour of people when they are out for a meal. Firstly it is rare for locals to go out just to drink. Going out is all about conversation, eating and enjoying oneself; hence they are more likely to do that. Greeks are gregarious people and Kytherians particularly so and they tend to go out in large, multigenerational groups. I can honestly say in all our years of travelling Greece and now spending a lot of time here, neither Waldo nor I have ever seen any local person drunk – tourists yes, visitors even! Now the Greeks will give the Italians a run for their money when it comes to noise; but the noise that echoes through tavernas is that of conversation, laughter, warmth and shared joy, as well as that of political discussion which is a main topic of all Greek conversation! And they do have a lot to talk about! Whatever time of day or night people are out and about we can feel free to walk without fear; even when on my own I do not feel uncomfortable. How different it is in Cardiff, particularly on a Friday or Saturday night, walking from St Mary Street to the car park or railway station and having to put up with abuse, threats, and drunks weeing, being sick or just lying on the pavement, running almost afraid to make eye contact with anyone. Ugh!
I find it fascinating, living amongst such gregarious people. So many times we have been in a taverna on our own (Northern Europeans tend to eat much earlier than our Mediterranean cousins) and if some Dutch tourists enter they will look around, maybe nod to us and then choose a seat as far away as possible. Greeks will come in and automatically sit at the next table. It is the same on the beach; wherever we, or our friends might set up with towels, umbrellas and such, we can be the only people on a long stretch of sand and as Dutch tourists dot themselves, well spaced along the beach, Greeks will come and almost sit on our towels. I’ve often thought this amazing and that it would be more likely that some sort of race memory would ensure Northern Europeans huddled together for warmth. But the Greek concept of ‘alone’ has only negative connotations as we would use the words ‘lonely’ or ‘without company’. To the Greek, life is lived in company; family, friends, neighbours, community are what is important and nobody should be left out whatever their abilities or disabilities. We have a lot to learn here and I spend hours of ‘people watching’ trying to flesh out the attitudes and actions that confirm this attitude.
It is perhaps interesting to realise that there is no real translation in the Greek language of ‘privacy’; it is an unknown concept. Waldo and I have become used to meeting people in business or public office and finding that we might be honoured with our meeting at, or around, our agreed time. But it has taken considerable reflection and discussion for us to come to terms with the fact that there might be anything up to ten people (or even 20 in a public office) in the same room, often vying for the same person’s attention or casually visiting them and chatting in between their meetings. What is even more disconcerting is the fact that these people will openly listen to our discussion and take part in the conversation, often offering advice or even criticism of what one party is saying. Sometimes this can be helpful, particularly where language skills on either side are failing, but for the most part it is confusing. It is reminiscent of the days when rulers or anyone in authority gave viewings to underlings who might wait days for an audience. But it is also a cultural notion that whilst many people are in a room there can be little chance of a ‘private deal’ being struck, and the ‘envelope under the table’ activity is lessoned.
But for all this seeming crowdedness and chaos we have learnt that things do happen eventually; last minute maybe, but they do unravel and happen. On the whole Greek people want to please, they want to be helpful and they want you to enjoy the shopping or business experience you have with them. It brings me to mind an experience some 25 years ago when I was travelling alone on business in northern Greece. This was in the days when Greece still had its own currency; the drachma. Credit cards are still rarely used outside of some big cities and cash is king. I walked into a bank in a medium sized town, as ever the marble floors and walls a welcome relief from the heat outside. There was just one person in the bank, standing behind the counter. As soon as he saw me he smiled and assuming he was the cashier I handed him £100 sterling and asked for him to change it into drachmas for me. I had my passport ready but the man ignored that and came round to the front of the counter. As is customary still in some rural areas where the pace of life is somewhat slower, such a business transaction needs to be taken in a civilised manner, over coffee. Hence the man asked if I would like a coffee. I drank the gritty Greek coffee in those days and so answered that I would and asked for it ‘metrio’; the middle range between ‘sketo’ without sugar and ‘glyko’ which is so sweet it would give you a sugar hyper for hours! With that the man walked out of the door of the bank and I heard him shouting to the cafe bar across the street. I thought nothing of this as I have experienced such activity before. I sat down at one of three chairs located around a small coffee table. I put my passport down and got out my cigarettes (those were the days when you could smoke inside buildings and I smoked!).
After a few puffs at my cigarette it dawned on me that the man had not returned. I realised that he still had my £100 in his hand. Doubts started to creep in. 'He was the cashier, wasn’t he?' 'He was the other side of the counter, wasn’t he?' I stood up and looked around; there was nobody else in the bank. I started to get an uncomfortable feeling. Then the coffee arrived; in the round brass tray linked by struts to a handle above the centre of the tray. I noted that there were two tiny cups of steaming coffee. Mine, with just a little sugar, placed with the handle parallel with the side of the tray and the other one placed with the handle sticking straight out from the tray indicating it was sticky sweet. If it had been without sugar the handle would have been pointing inwards. This crafty simplicity had evolved over years by Greek waiters ensuring that everyone had their correct strength of sugar. I took some comfort from the fact that there were two cups that had been ordered, but then what was a few coins for coffee against one hundred pounds? I sipped my coffee and waited. I was half-way down my second cigarette before the door to the bank opened and I heard the man’s voice as he apologised profusely for taking so long. He sat beside me and reached for his coffee, taking quite a gulp. Then he put down a pile of drachmas in front of me.
‘This is all correct. I’m sorry but I didn’t have enough money to give you this many drachmas. I didn’t want to disappoint you and so I have been to the other bank and changed it for you.’ He smiled in triumph.
What could I say in the face of such service ‘Why thank you so much and the coffee is great’?