All the Little Things

"Men go abroad and wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, and at the circular motion of the stars; yet they then pass by themselves without wondering at all"

       The past two weekends have been filled with exotic experiences and amusingly unforgettable moments. Last Saturday my roommates and I woke up bright and early at 7am to get ready for an exploration of Athens. Determined to walk till we could no longer, we set off for the infamous Syntagma Square. This is the square that the media portrays in the news, the square where the ‘demonstrations’ occur, and the square where you venture to see and be seen. Of course we had to discover its secrets. After getting intentionally lost while wandering through a labyrinth, known more fondly as the National Gardens, we wound up outside the Greek Parliament, overlooking the Square.

       At this point, it is crucial to mention the abundance of police vans all around the city. Not just regular vans – but big chunks of steel with barred windows and 20 policemen to each one. Handsome policemen at that. They are actually a combination of policemen and civil servants; all Greek men have to commit to a year of such civil service at some point. They (don’t) get paid to sit and watch the world go by, ready to end any nuisance that may develop. It is quite intimidating to walk by all of them as they are fully armed and find no awkwardness in staring at you as you stroll (or hurriedly pace) by.

      After passing many more police entourages and watching the changing of the guards at the Parliament building, we walked on. To our delight and amazement, the street leading straight up beyond the square opens up a world of McDonalds, H&M stores, Starbucks, Marks and Spencer, Pandora, and Swarovski. We might as well have been walking down Newbury Street in Boston or the Magnificent Mile in Chicago (or a high-end street in Paris, Milan, or Berlin for that matter). It shouldn’t have surprised us as much as it did, but it was nevertheless a pleasant reminder that we lived in a non-commercial part of town – thus granting us permission to look down upon all the regular tourists.

Balloons anyone? Amidst high-end retailers

       As we settled down at a little Taverna for a light lunch, we were approached by a middle-aged Bengali man selling walking sticks. As I am informed by many professors, there is a significant immigrant population from Bengal who recently arrived in Greece within the past seven years or so. He talked to me in Hindi about “these white foreigners who don’t understand what it is like to be stared at continuously as you walk down the street” and remarked that “it is nice to see such a beautiful Indian face after so long”. I’d be lying if I wasn’t flattered.

       It was not just him either. This past Sunday, a friend and I ventured back to the same area to visit the Athens Flea Market (located in Monastraki, beyond the Square) which is an enormous array of people selling antiques, pocket watches, pirated media, sparkling China, old gramophones, and anything else you can imagine. They are objects that inspires one with visions of 19^th century European estates. It was reminiscent of walking through the set of Pride and Prejudice, only, it was artistically Greek inspired. At one point I was behind an elderly Greek lady who inquired about the price of an intricately decorated blue floral plate. I had been eyeing it earlier, and the shopkeeper came out to attend to her. He quoted 40 euro. That was my signal to leave and keep walking. Just as I was about to turn away, I noticed he was Bengali also. He looked at me, and said, “Do you like this?” I redundantly asked him how much it cost, just to be polite. 

       “For you, because you are Indian looking, it is only 10 euro”. Needless to say my friend stuck by me the rest of the day and made us visit nearly every store owned by a South Asian, to see if the same thing would happen again. I ended up not acquiring the plate, out of mere bemusement and confusion.

Greece's largest flea market; one lazy Sunday morning

       Food has been a big source of entertainment for all of us. I get my spices from the Bengali couple who own the store below us (good thing I know the Hindi name for mustard, cumin, and turmeric – instant 10% discount), we shop for groceries at the Alpha Beta supermarket, bread is fresh every morning from the bakery up the street, and chicken is skillfully prepped for us by the butcher: skinned and chopped. Fruits, being the bane of my existence, are full of such sweetness. Along with olives, they remain my favourite food group. Wine has replaced water for many students here, and vinegar is the dressing of choice. I enjoy cooking a late dinner on most evenings for the apartment after my last class at 7pm, and sneaking in a kraitsinyi (whole wheat bread stick rolled in sesame seeds and sunflower seeds) with breakfast. It is mostly the feeling of responsibility and being held accountable for everything I consume that make it seem more important that it really is. Being so far away from the comfort of my school’s delicious dining hall  and home cooked Indian food has definitely taken its emotional toll on me. I am gradually getting used to feeling my way around all the Greek labels though, hoping that the box of couscous is actually couscous and not bird feed.

       With eating taking up so much of my time and interest, exercise has also been relatively easy to commit to. We walk around quite a bit as it is, but impromptu 5K runs around the National Gardens at 9pm are exciting. Athens I think has many faces, each exposed at a different hour of the day. Similar to make-up I suppose: easily altered and removed, but underneath it's heart remains as one spirit, true to itself. Running, of course, up to a limit, is fun. As is being forced to move all my furniture around so two of us can attempt to follow a Pilates video online. Walking up to the Acropolis is quite a hike as well, which we eagerly did last Sunday night to experience the most famous European Ballet dancers in the Herodeion Theatre under the Acropolis.

       Watching the performers spin and arch so gracefully evoked such inspiration, which was especially magical because it was without any story line or narration. It was an effortless story they told, and a beautiful story that we followed with bated breath the whole way though. They still managed to connect to the audience; under the stars and the ruins, we witnessed stunningly elegant displays of agility and poise. With great seats to expand the experience, it was one of the most memorable nights to remember.

Onset of the pre-show excitement and jitters

       Another casual phenomenon for the Greeks, yet an astonishing event for us, is stumbling upon ancient archaeological sites at the most unexpected moments. In the National Gardens is a seemingly random set of ancient blocks with Latin and ancient Greek words that my roommates were actually able to half-translate, being they are Classics majors at school. Similarly, while wandering out of the Syntagma and Monastraki areas, we found the Kerameikos cemetery, which is the oldest one in Greece. Just sitting there, waiting for us to find it and wonder at how well preserved it is. After gazing to our hearts’ content, we decided to find the metro station nearby so we could get the hang of navigating the public transport system. Easier said than done. Armed with what we were told was an updated map of the metro system in Athens, we walked up and down the same street nearly four times, searching in vain for the station. It was supposed to be bustling and fully functioning, but was nowhere to be seen. Add to that the fact that it was the local immigrant neighborhood with questionable stores selling Gucci handbags and Prada sunglasses for less than 30 Euros. We were being watched, which was slightly nerve-wrecking.

       We finally made it to the correct street after being directed by several people, all of whom pointed us in different directions, mind you. We ended up in the middle of lots of bars and nightclubs that are very popular with you Athenians; the entrance to the metro was in the middle of a giant park. It would have been hard to miss even with our eyes’ closed. The neighborhood, called Gazi, is supposedly the hippest place to be every Friday and Saturday night (note: at night, not during the day). Just another day in the life of a local (or so I like to tell myself).

The metro station itself is spectacular: stainless steel walls, long walkways, spotlessly clean amenities. The government spent a large amount of money during the last Olympic Games held in Athens 2004, to update the city. Most public facilities were renovated and completely redone.  This is in stark contrast to other inner parts of the city. Everywhere actually, there is a noticeable gap between societal classes. There are urban sprawling areas filled with too much wealth, families living in two bedroom units in the basement floors of apartment buildings, couples in modestly furnished locations surrounded by similar age groups… and then there are students from the United States crawling through the very family-oriented neighborhood of Pangrati.

Rows upon rows of ancient graves

       We try very hard to speak what little of the language we can, but the result is us being bombarded with flurries of rapid Greek responses and gestures by locals who are so excited that we can communicate with them. This rapidly turns to disappointment for everyone involved, we regularly dole out grimaced apologies of “Signomi, den katalaveno. Xerees Anglika?” (Sorry, I don’t understand, do you know English?). At the very least, we get them to smile sympathetically at us, or in some cases roll their eyes and shoo us away impatiently.

       I wish I could document every moment of every day, remember every conversation about life, love, and food, and also manage to be on top of things academically with ease. It is all slowly coming together though, expertly aided by gigantic bowls of Greek yogurt with honey and Nutella that I learned to love during our week field trip in Crete. My shenanigans so far have been good ones to share. There are lots more reflections to come, and many more waiting to happen.

       All the little things that make up life here are worth noting. The smiles we get from elderly men drinking their early morning coffee (at 11am) in cafés nearby, the little kittens and puppies who follow us around in the park and on the street, my new best friend Chloe who owns the bakery and always gives me the warmest loaf of honey oats whole grain bread (and a lecture about why I never ask for the sinful looking four layered chocolate brownie sitting right next to the bread), George the winemaker who has fallen in love with my roommate and always gives us free fruits and wine, the lovely staff at our institution (CYA) who tell us stories, ask us about our day, and give us secrets about the mystery that is Athens. The list literally could, and does, go on forever.

The Earth, Water, Fire, and Air of Greece

"Like all great travelers, I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen"

        Question: What is the best way to escape a police demonstration taking place in the middle of our neighborhood (even though it just looked like they were standing around, eating, and playing rock music)? Answer: Escape to the house of our program’s president for an elaborate, formal reception dinner.

       Think posh Garden Party, with olive trees lit by lanterns, a fluffy pet Golden Retriever, and the host and his wife dressed in crisp white chic ensembles.  As a beautiful end to a busy and whirlwind of an orientation, the president graciously invited everyone to his home for the gala. The house was set in an affluent Athenian neighborhood in the hills, with a view of the majestic sunset while we drank white wine (always the preferred choice in summer), ate souvlaki (roasted meat on a skewer), and delighted in a rich chocolate ice-cream treat at the end. It was a relaxed evening full of laughter and excitement for those of us departing early the next morning on our first field trip to the serene island of Andros.

       How early? 6:45am early. With barely a minute to spare, we hopped on the bus, only to board a ferry to the island. Thus we sat on the deck and watched the Mediterranean Sea go by – just another day in Greece. Andros is a small island off the coast of the southern Greek region of Attica, with a population of only 10,000. We were a group of 28, and we had opted to leave the city of Athens for the first weekend. It was definitely worth it, every single moment of it.

       After stopping at a delicious bakery where I finally learned and committed to memory the words for ‘whole wheat’ and ‘whole grain bread’ in Greek, we visited the ancient archaeological site of Hypsili atop a deserted hill. The winds are so strong on this island that I was blown away more times than the professor mentioned the word ‘ruins’, which was more times than I would have liked. It was breathtaking to stand in the houses of people who had lived centuries ago, and to stare at water that is an unbelievable shade of electric blue, all the while bracing against winds that whip hair around your face to make you look like a mad person. According to history, the ancient civilizations in the region practiced extensive terrace agriculture, and the center of the community was the household. The center of the household was the living room, of which the center was the hearth. Fire, wind, water, and earth – the elements came together in an awe-inspiring blend of life in its purest form.

Lots of wandering through the country-side and against the wind

       The Mediterranean Sea deserves its own mention. Imagine the brightest blue you can, then create two different shades of it, and then seamlessly blend them together. Then take a bite out of your favorite chocolate. That is how it should and will make you feel the first time you encounter it, and every time thereafter. Each day of our three day trip, we hiked, literally, to a secluded beach below a cliff to spend some time sun-bathing, swimming, and doing things the Greek way. This included changing on the beach as if nobody was watching, discovering a cove and a throne that we decided to christen Nikita’s cove and Nikita’s throne, and washing cuts off my knees with salt water. The cove and the throne are courtesy of my desire to always – and I mean always – remain in the safety of the shade. At one point I had on long sleeves, a hat, sunglasses, a jacket, and carried an umbrella. It was quite a sight.

       Another aspect of the Greek beach culture is the habit of never going into the water after a meal. Of course, this meant that we had a nice hearty breakfast every morning before heading off, and then staved off all food till the next meal – at 4pm every day. Some called it lunch, some called it dinner, and some even used the term Linner. No. It was The Meal. The meal most waited for, the meal most enjoyed, and the meal most remembered. Salads and falafel and meat balls, french fries and sausage quiches, ginger dessert, and of course, wine; it never ended. It was not a bad thing either. We were lucky to stay in a luxurious hotel that featured apartments for rooms, and had a beautiful view of the sun rising and setting among the hills. It was a five minute walk from the coastline and the main town center. This was when everyone pledged to start retirement accounts in order to settle down there permanently someday.

Picturesque: the face of Andros. Tradition: the heart of Andros.

        Every night we wandered the streets of Andros, befriended the owners of the local tavernas and bakeries (and the fruit sellers for me), and witnessed the typical scene of a small, sea-side Greek town.

The view that greeted us each morning as we walked into town

Our bus driver for the weekend was a hero beyond heroes. He maneuvered the twists and turns of the island’s mountains magnificently. Not unlike in the streets of India, an arm outside the window means an arm inside the adjacent vehicle or, in our case, against the mountain itself. On one of these outings, we drove and then climbed up to a monastery that housed an old Orthodox Greek Church. Ornate gold workmanship lined the interiors of both buildings, and the monastery in particular was surrounded by an intricately carved courtyard with fountains, marble art and stone rooms. And wind, lots of wind. We were given firsthand accounts of religious life and the historical significance of being a priest in the Greek Church. The past two years at a Catholic university definitely helped set the stage for a deeper appreciation of the spiritual realm of Greek life in small communities like Andros. It is incorporated in the daily practices of all things, both mundane and essential.

       One afternoon we met the mayor of the island (the professor in charge actually knew everyone on the island) and learned about the European Union’s conservation efforts towards a rare species of falcon, called the Eleanora falcon, that is unique because of its peculiar eating and mating habits. They eat about 300 birds a day, and are monogamous only during the birth of and early stages of development of their offspring. We even managed to spot one while we walked along one of the beaches; they have an enormous wing-span and majestically eyed us from up above.

       Everything kept getting better, even after it seemed like it no longer could. We spent time with a local fisherman who was probably one of the best speakers I have ever come across. So effective, that although it was right after lunch, I didn’t need to exert any effort to stay awake. Proof that miracles can happen. He captivated us all by sharing his personal story of fishing and making his own supplies, being a family-man and negotiating funding from the United Nations. Many international budgeting institutions allocate more money to large-scale industrial fishing companies in Europe, while they attempt to pay these local fishermen to destroy their small, wooden boats and abandon their livelihoods. The emotion and purpose behind his voice was tangible, as he left us with words I know I’ve heard before, but will only remember the way he presented them: “You all have no idea about poverty… there are some people who are so poor – so poor, that all they have in this world is money.”

       The best way to end the trip was at an olive oil museum. Originally an old stone oil mill, the museum lay in the region of Cyclades.  A native of the town used what money he had saved to create a regional heritage museum so people can visit and learn more about the extremely valuable history that the olive tree has had in Greek everyday life. It was and is arguably a vital part of life; from food to energy to cosmetics, the olive tree has been integral to the development of modern Greece as we know it. Besides, olives are my favorite food group, so please pardon my obvious partiality. We played with the mill equipment, which had been used in the olden days in that same mill, and we laughed at his jokes about his family’s efforts to help him make his first batch of oil during the inauguration. The more and more we interacted with locals, the more we found ourselves wishing that we too were locals.

Illustration of how it was done, oh-so-long-ago

       Part of this experience has been absorbing as much of the Greek life as possible. Though we are still far from achieving this goal, our time so far has been nothing but rewarding. The smiles we get from shop and restaurant owners as we naively struggle with the language, the local Bengali market that sells me my Indian comfort spices, the cleaning lady, Marina, in our apartments who make our beds, and the fact that no matter how big a note of money you submit, change is always returned in coins with a sly smile – it was hard to come to terms with the fact that we are here to study and gain knowledge.

       Hard indeed, but it happened with full force nevertheless. Reading and more reading, piles and piles of articles. Classes have started this week, with no respite.  Just to add to the romanticism of it all, I have recently taken to strolling up my street to the nearby café, making my friend order an orange juice (portokolada) and keeping awake enough to read about the ancient Minoan and Mycenaean civilizations. Classes have been extremely difficult, but inspiring. In one particular class titled Immigrants, Citizenship, and Nationalism, my professor is actually the editor-in-chief of the largest English newspaper in Greece. We get the inside scoop on world affairs and current events. It is a whole new learning experience, enhanced by visits to the Acropolis, the Parthenon and the neighboring Islands of Greece. I am very much enchanted with the concept of learning in the classroom what we later witness the next day outside.

       While my mind wins the war by forcing me to finish reading about the comparative practices of Jews, Christians and Muslims, I cannot wait for the upcoming weekend. On the agenda is a visit to the Temple of Poseidon and a ballet performance by the largest European Ballet Company in an outdoor theater beneath the Acropolis. All I need are some olives and a plush Pashmina scarf. Things are in full swing by now, and the adventures better be ready for us.

It had to be done: "Drink Ouzo. Forget crisis"

Love At First Sight

"If you don't get lost, you run the risk of never being found"

“We’ll have the roasted aubergines in garlic sauce, parakalo (please)? Oh, and the kebabs as well, with Mythos beers all around. Efharisto (thank you)”

“Sure, sure, yes, thank you very much. I be right back. Namaste.”

       We were proud of ourselves for ordering so expertly, for our first time, in our first tavern, after our first walk through the National Gardens, on our first night. The waiter who so knowledgeably spoke one word of Hindi, as well as the very gorgeous policemen added a nice touch to the evening setting. Attempting to sit nonchalantly, very Greek style, under the dark green sun-umbrellas with a pleasant mist being sprayed into our faces, we started planning possible trips to Istanbul, Rome, Venice, Vienna, Prague, and the islands of Santorini and Mykonos. Basically, I need to go everywhere. Thirty minutes later, we were presented with one remotely edible looking dish, most definitely the kebabs. And the other one, the one I was most excited about – the eggplant? What eggplant? The waiter informs us, quite cheerfully, that we will surely enjoy the one he brought us as a replacement….Greek meatloaf and white rice.

       Wonderful. That was day two that I haven’t eaten any vegetables. Well, not more than only one serving. Not too brilliant of a start, food-wise. Where was this famed Mediterranean diet? The tzatziki did brighten things up considerably though. As did the 10% discount he used to lure us to his taverna.

Terrace Taverna, before the 10pm dinner rush

       Three of my worlds mixed together all at once. It rarely happens, but I am literally at a loss for words to describe the past few days. An Indian heritage with some American experience, and now this Greek immersion, have seamlessly (more or less) blended together for what looks like will be an unforgettable time.

       The adventure began at the boarding gate in Philadelphia. For the first time in my life, they called my name on the intercom at the terminal. In retrospect, it was a little amusing, especially how they pronounced. At that moment, however, fear and irritation reigned, while I was politely asked to prove my legal alien-student status in the United States. That made me feels special, really, because those were the exact words the attendant used. I was anxious to leave even more.

       One 7 hour flight ride, a 2 hour layover in London, and another 3 hour flight and we finally landed in Athens, with many other students who joined us along the way, who are studying with us here.

       First impressions: It is almost exactly like India – the small winding streets which have no sense of uniformity, the people milling around yet not quite rushing to get anywhere, the complete disregard for any traffic laws (Greeks consider them mere suggestions) by all motorists, and the stunning architecture with balconies on every floor for every building. The tall apartment buildings with lines of bright coloured clothes hanging to dry and the two-wheelers that whizzed past at lightning speed were what sealed the deal. I fell in love instantly. 

       

       My apartment is very traditional, with a balcony that runs all around and connects every room. The kitchen and the bathroom, small though they are, are fully furnished with everything four average college girls could ask for, including strongly-scented cinnamon and ginger spice, and mini towel hangers. My roommates have already agreed to regular cooking sessions, courtesy of the lovely farmer’s market that is a huge spectacle to witness every Friday morning.

       Unpacking was slightly terrifying, I still have no idea how I managed to bring so many things. Last night, for a decent half hour I believed I lost my passport. I overturned everything in my half-unpacked room, only to have my roommate find it in the folder it was supposed to be in. That was the turning point; the wave of responsibility finally hit me. I am completely accountable for every action here on out – in a foreign country all by myself. Where the women are tall, exotic and so full of life and the streets are littered with stray animals who have as much right to the sidewalk as you do. This is what we are supposed to have practiced for our entire lives? It’s overwhelmingly confusing. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

       All the apartments for the students are located in the Pangrati area of central Athens, and the Academic Center is right behind mine. For this week of orientation, we are all required to take survival Greek lessons, after which I am so incredibly tempted to take the Modern Greek class this semester. It is relatively easy to learn, especially after having learned French, fun to read, and absolutely exhilarating to speak with the locals. Twice now I was mistaken for a local; a mistake I did not feel the need to correct. My vocabulary has grown immensely, and my pronunciation is…all right? You can never learn too many languages.

       There is no space to fit the class into my schedule, but to work around it, I am planning to look after local Greek high-school children for families who want their children to improve their English and cultural skills. It is a wonderful opportunity to learn authentic Greek (without the burden of homework), meet new people, and get invited to their summer homes in the Islands for a lazy Sunday on the beach. Get paid to be treated as part family? Yes, please. Greek people love to drink, love to laugh, and love to love. They start their days late, and end their nights even later. It is a lifestyle not fit for all, but a lifestyle I can easily see myself growing into.

In front of Kalimarmaro Stadium, built in the 6th century, adjacent to our Academic Center

              It really has been a culture shock all over again. Everywhere I look there is something new and interesting to see. Last night, after the famous passport disappearance, we went out for drinks at midnight. We were given special treatment at an Absinthe bar by Harris, the owner, who promised us that we would keep coming back for more. A few bottles later, we profusely thanked him and headed back home, only to decide to keep the party going. The night (or morning) ended at a Pirate bar where we tasted sweet red wine with either honey or maple syrup (we think). The result was an aggravating and incomprehensible morning trying to get ready for 9.30am survival Greek.

       Alcohol aside, and maybe the meatloaf aside too, Greece so far has been a whirlwind. The sights, smells, and tastes have definitely made their mark. If I never read the news, I wouldn’t believe that there were any protests or any sort of political unrest. It is a country devoted to living life to the fullest – no wonder it was the birthplace of philosophy. They clearly have it all figured out. Now I just have to become one of them. Today at the group taverna dinner, I learned even more about the history of their school system, the social class barriers, and felt the rush of pride from the Greeks who fondly recounted their own experiences in demonstrations and protests. Plus I sampled a strange but delightful cinnamon and chocolate swirl bread fudge.

       There are too many things to do, too many people to meet, and everything to fall in love with. The sweet and delicious fruits, the ‘noble beggars’ who roam the streets playing music and singing, the warmth of the sun that somehow manages to reach my skin even under the umbrella, and the curious stares we receive in response to our still-tourist-like attitude. So far so good. My to-do list has no end, I cannot foresee any future where I will sleep more than 5 hours a night, and my roommate just broke her door handle. C’est la vie (note to self: must learn how to say that in Greek tomorrow). This weekend is our trip to the Island of Andros, with private beaches, an olive museum, and monasteries atop a hill. Let the shenanigans continue.

The great tenors wander the streets singing ancient Greek love songs