In other lives, worlds away, in previous years I have been involved in business; running my own business, living with a serial entrepreneur, studying business, lecturing in entrepreneurship, mentoring existing and potential entrepreneurs. In the latter years in the concrete jungle of a post 1992 Polytechnic conversion to a University, I guess I was mildly arrogant in my belief that I had a head start over the theorists; not only did I have a mother who had run her own business, a partner who was into his third business since I had known him, and I had gone through the apprenticeship myself in setting up my own business, started two further businesses with other people, served on the board of a number of private companies, a charitable organisation that had grown some 100 fold during my time on the board, had three public appointments with large organisations, one during the time of its privatisation, I had the practical experience in bucket loads. But in reality it is I who never stops learning. I learnt more from my students than I could ever teach them.
Even though I have travelled extensively and am quite observant as a traveller, I realise now how my business knowledge is culturally limited. The Greek economy is dominated by thousands of small and medium sized businesses, mainly family businesses. Businesses are often organised with an employment structure which suits the family and this does not always mean ‘the best person for the job’ is appointed to any position. For the most part Greek people work to live; this is an overriding aspect of their character. Family, friendships, relationships, food and conversation list as top priorities. Yes of course there are stresses, but few are borne of the workaholic neurosis of other nations. On a small island with a winter population of around 3000 and summer one rising to a shifting 10,000 in any one week, the need for the community to survive has all sorts of implications for businesses.
The first thing that we noticed was the supposed lack of competition. Our capitalist text books are full of business concepts of competition and advise various actions relating to range of products, pricing, customer service, delivery, opening times and a host of ways in which one business can catch an advantage over another. Not so here. Firstly each shop or business is a member of its organisational, trade or professional body. These bodies then determine what hours shops within their membership will open; so nobody can gain a competitive advantage by opening at a different time from anyone else. Small, family businesses cannot open all hours; the family must live together, eat together, talk together, share joy and sorrow together and this cannot happen if different members are always in the shop. Closing times are important family times and everyone respects that. Closures of all businesses and public offices are also due to seasonal fluctuations. It is expected that many places dependent upon tourism are closed for the winter months: hotels, apartments, gift shops, tavernas, coffee shops, ice-cream parlours and the like. Olive picking season results in closure for all or part of the day for most shops and many public services. For the most part, summer or winter shops are open from 9.00 to 13.00 and again from 18.00 – 20.00. But there are exceptions as some trade businesses open at 7.00 or 8.00, in the summer some shops stay open throughout the afternoon and in the winter some places do not open in the evening. Then there are funerals. Living in a small community where most people know everyone else, and where respect is still a praiseworthy characteristic of a person, people either close their shops so that they can attend a funeral or to show respect for the dead. Then there are the usual run of family crises, illnesses, broken down cars and catastrophes which can delay opening, bring forward closing or mean the shop does not open at all.
We have never really come to fully understand the whims and needs of local shop keepers and so for us, shopping is an experience. We have a mental list of those business that we use and know to have regular hours; George who runs our local supermarket in Aghia Pelagia, Vassili where we buy our paint, wood and various bits and pieces of equipment in Karvounades, Kyria Anna in Potamos where we buy all manner of nails, screws, rope, tools and get our pictures framed, Iannis the Baker in Karavas famed for his Paximadia (a type of rusk which is a form of bread baked, cut into slices and then quickly cooked in oil, and tastes magnificent). But for the most part many other shops that we frequent we rate on the basis of how many times we go to them in contrast to the number of times we find them open. About 1 in 3 is the average. Now, instead of getting frustrated we have devised a cunning plan. Instead of going out with a shopping list, we now have a shopping list book. This keeps a running list of what we want to buy; some items can be carried forward page after page, week after week. Dates have been on my list for two months now, walnuts for almost the same time, but last week I grabbed two of just four firm toothbrushes from a supermarket shelf as I had been searching for almost a year for one. What joy we get out of little things. I had such a sense of success over that.
The haberdashery store in Potamos is my favourite place to shop. He represents our highest rating, 1 in 7, although he insists that he is always there around 9am, which is rarely a time we are up and about. The store sells so many things; blankets, pillows, material, plastic table covering, cushions, thread, crochet cotton, pots and pans, plastic bowls, rugs and carpets, axe handles, rolling pins and huge rolling boards for making filo pastry, cutlery and crockery and a pile of old junk which is probably now into the antique range. Panayiotis has the most amazing rule of mathematics when it comes to adding up the bill; even I as an ex-maths teacher cannot keep up with him. The other day I went in to buy some cotton material. I asked for 2 metres but just before it was cut, caution took the better of me and I asked for 2.5 metres; it was 6 Euros a metre. I then asked for 2 metres of wide elastic which was just 30 cents per metre. A quick calculation told me that would be 15.60 Euros. I heard Panayiotis mumble something about the extra ½ metre was nothing, and then there was a discount, and the elastic was nothing, well 11 Euros should cover it. Before I could protest or comment he had moved on.
‘Do you like cherries?’ I looked around as he had moved further along the counter of the shop. An old traditional deep fruit pickers basket, the type people used to strap to their backs, was full to the brim which gorgeous yellow-red cherries. He threw me one to taste; it was magnificent. He had just picked them fresh from his trees.
‘You like? You want?’ Panayiotis asked.
I merely nodded my head as I was still savouring the taste of the cherry, and wondering where to put the stone. The next thing I knew I had a wonderful gift, a plastic bag with about a kilo of cherries placed in my hand.
‘Eat. Enjoy. They are no chemicals. All natural. Eat. You will not go to toilet.’
I knew that he was a great environmentalist and that he would not use any chemicals on his trees. A few years previously when I had gone to the shop with my cousin, we had stayed there for about an hour whilst he took us through hundreds of photographs he had taken over the years. They showed the erosion of some of Kythera’s beaches, how some sandy bays had been stripped of sand as the currents swirled it further round the coast. This was no natural occurrence but as a consequence of building various ports, harbours and breakwaters. Whilst they might serve a purpose or solve a problem in one place, they create a new problem somewhere else.
The small windows into Panayiotis’’ shop are piled with all manner of brick-a-brack; brass candle holders, brass coffee grinders, brass brikis (the tiny saucepans for boiling thick grounds of Greek coffee with a few drops of water), old metal pitchers for holding wine, and lots, lots more. I was sorting out material that I wanted to buy and could not help but hear a Dutch tourist come into the shop and ask for something out of the window. I could well understand the decorative value of some of these old items, but Panayiotis is far too pragmatic. He reached for the old brass ‘briki’ and at the same time lifted off the shelf a gleaming new shiny silver coloured metal one.
‘What you want this?’ He held up the brass item. ‘I sell you new one. Much better.’
The new one was wrapped up and placed before the confused Dutchman who paid the few Euros and left, too embarrassed to say he really wanted the old one. But Panayiotis is like this. If he doesn’t want to sell anything, he just won’t sell it. He has a beautiful hand painted wooden tray, high up on his shelves. No way will he sell it to me, or presumably anyone. But why is there to tempt people? Numerous times I have chosen something and he has insisted that it is ‘No good.’, ‘Not good quality this one.’ ‘No, you buy this one, much better.’ ‘No, this not nice, this one for you.’ I have often wondered, but been afraid to ask why he stocks goods which he doesn’t think are good enough to sell. But perhaps he rates his customers as we rate our shops.
We bought two carpet runners for our bedsides. It took ages to find something that would go with the colour of our decor, but eventually found a compromise. When we came home and placed them around the bed we decided that we should get a third to run in from of the double glass doors that lead to the patio outside our bedroom. One in seven trips later we found the store open and searched through all the carpets. I was sure there had been another one. We were out of luck, but Panayiotis, helpful as ever said he would order one for us. We explained that we were going the following week and would he keep it for two months when we returned. As usual any offer of a deposit or full payment was refused. We returned as promised some nine weeks later. Panayiotis hit his head with the palm of his hand ‘I forget. It came in, but I sold it.’ He then explained that his last consignment had been the last of that design and he could get no more. As I had been listening and translating this, Waldo had been looking through the carpet pile. He found one, exactly the size we wanted, in the same design as our existing pair, in the same colours; the only difference was that the colour ways were reversed. So we now have three very artistically arranged carpets two with an orange-red deign on beige background and a third with a beige design on an orange-red background.
I have long since learnt that if I want anything like curtain material, table cover material, any material, thread, knitting wool, ribbon, indeed anything that I might need more of, I should buy it all at once. I believe that Panayiotis’ shop is the end-of-run depository for the world. He does stock a wide range of things, but once it is sold out, it can never be matched again!
Last week I went to buy some pink thread. The system is that he reaches under the counter and brings out two large wicker baskets and you put your hand in, like some lucky dip, until you come out with the colour you want. I came away with two reels of the thread and about 2 kilos of fresh greengages, again from Panayiotis’ orchard. Our haphazard shopping does have its wonderful benefits.
We buy our paint from the paint shop in Karvounades. Even though we have become islanders in the sense that this 20 miles journey is now seen as a special occasion, we have developed a relationship which means we would now not buy from anywhere else. So a trip to ‘get paint’ means getting up early in the morning and setting off by 10am! It’s quite an excitement because it usually means that we have stored up other things that we need to do, see or buy ‘down south’, and it means that we get to have lunch in Pierro’s tavern in Livadi. We must have bought at least 20 ten-litre pots of paint to cover the house. The seven roofs take 7 pots as we need to keep them pristine because we collect our water from them, thus we use this acrylic paint which does not flake and lift. Vassili has given us advice on the type of paint and on paint for various projects like repainting the swimming pool, various varnishes for jobs and the equipment needed. When his English fails, his wife comes to the rescue as she has an amazing vocabulary of painting and decorating terms. In true Greek form, the discussions that take place are usually supported with little glasses of ‘tsiporou’ (a fiery Greek drink much much stronger than ouzo and to be taken lightly) and some ‘glyko’ (sweet preserved fruit of a slightly more sticky and runny consistency than glace fruits). It is quite an amazing combination of the strong liqueur and very sweet dish, without any carbohydrates to soak up either. This is particularly noticeable if we have had a rush in the morning and just come out with a drink of milk and no breakfast. Vassili insists that it is not from him, but from his mother. And so that is OK then. We cannot refuse the lady. We buy our goods and totter off to our car, pleased with whatever our purchases. Occasionally we may be just passing and Waldo remembers that he needs some paint. A few occasions we have gone in to ‘buy’ paint and then, to my utter embarrassment, realised that I do not actually have enough money with me. But ‘no problem’, as Vassili says ‘you have a good face’ and he waves us away with our goods. We pay when we are next ‘going south’, despite the fact that it may be a month away.
Buying wood is another ‘down south’ occurrence. The carpenter speaks no English and so we get along with my Greek, supported by drawings with measurements. We did have a problem when Waldo had called out figures to me in millimetres and I had assumed they were centimetres. The carpenter thought we were setting up a cafe with lots of weird chunky tables rather than just making some draughts pieces for our new patio set out as a chess board! Because the carpenter is often away from his shop fitting whatever he has made, he has the system that whenever he has made something which is to be collected, he leaves it outside his shop. So buying something involves a minimum of three trips. One to place the order. The carpenter has about a 1 in 4 rating, and so it takes anything up to 4 trips before our goods are outside his shop. We then keep the note he cellotapes to the goods, add to it the correct and appropriate money, and pack it all into an envelope. We then keep this in the car for we are usually bound to see the man in his new blue lorry, somewhere on the road when we can pay him. If not, it is left until our next trip ‘down south’.
It never fails to amaze us how trusting people are on the island. They trust that we will come back and pay. Taking a deposit or heaven forbid the whole amount of money beforehand, is seen as a personal offence and rude. Goods are left out for collection with no fear that they will be stolen or damaged by unruly youngsters. Most people who make something to order on the island are fairly inaccurate when estimating the time something will be ready. Then consideration of time is not a Greek strength. The focus is to please. They want the customer to be happy. Getting paid is secondary. But then we live on an island where people are known and where personal reputation still counts for something. People are respected for what is referred to as a ‘good face’ or ‘good character’, not for how much money they have or how many material goods they surround themselves with.
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