Let's Get Greasy...My Top Fives

The friendliest people in Greece are the Austrians.

Earlier this month we spent nearly two weeks in Greece. It was a great trip but it had some frustrations. Greece is a place I liked but the next time I plan to spend two days getting to my destination, I’ll keep moving down my list of places I’d like to visit. Below is a list of the top five downers of my trip.

1. The feeling of rejection
2. Body odor that can remove paint- yes it goes just that deep.
3. Second hand smoke
4. Gummy sweatiness –it was so hot there even Gandhi would have taken a sabbatical just to sniff some conditioned air
5. False starts through doorways

Don’t worry, I’ll get to the good stuff but first let me explain the above list. Some of you who have done some traveling in Europe already are harkening back to your adventures in smoke filled French cafes, Italian restaurants or train stations where the environment was a permutation of the above list. For those of you who have blocked those memories out, or have not yet had the privilege of world travel, let me enlighten you so that you might better determine whether Greece is for you.

First- The feeling of rejection. “Oh, you’re going to Greece? Ah, the people are great there. I’ve heard great stories.” This is what we heard from our friends when they learned we were going to Greece. We expected the kind of friendliness a traveler needs just to feel like they’re not going to get run out of town. Our expectations were quickly corrected. Aside from a handful of good hosts, most of our interactions with the Greek people ended in either a dead sense of ambivalence or a twisted version of sniffing-onions-face combined with “don’t even try to thank me in my own language” with a hint of “get the fuck out of my store” whether we bought a pack of gum, a ticket on a ferry or a hundred-Euro dinner. Considering how hot the weather was, the Greeks were a little cold.

I don’t think it was specific to our group because each of us got the same kind of careless treatment no matter where we went and with whom we were shopping. We didn’t feel offended, just curious about what we did to deserve such lackadaisical customer service countrywide. Maybe you’re thinking “Because your American, Ding-Dong.” Not true. Most of the time they thought we were French or Norwegian or English. We often had to confess to being American to which we either got the “Schwarzeneger” cheer or a sly “Koby” with a thumbs up. No Iraq comment, no Bush opinion, only recognition of a body- building Government Celebrity and an acquitted rapist. And, both references with barely a smile.

We didn’t want a cheer-leading squad to punctuate our exits, or a series of double-cheek kisses, or photos with the shop owner. Just a simple “your welcome” that was actually directed at us with some evidence of intention. Instead we felt rejected and unimportant, two major symptoms of poor customer service. If Greece was a Hilton, it would be sold to the Super 8.

Second- Body odor. In Greece there’s a lot of it and it releases itself from lots of different body types that practice many different diets and hygiene habits. The result is a defining stench that I’m sure could be transformed into some sort of power source. By 2012, if they tried hard enough, Athens could be totally off the grid. They could unleash themselves from the tethers of foreign oil and function only on domestic body vapor; which as a bonus, is renewable, sustainable and readily available.

Third- Second hand smoke. Like in Italy, France and China, smoking is a national sport in Greece. They love to smoke. Case in point: We ate Gyros morning, noon and night. At George’s Corner, our favorite walk up Gyro spot, instead of Greek fortune cookies or breath mints, they gave away “George’s Corner” lighters with any purchase of 3 Euro or more. We’re not smokers, or pyros so we collected them in a bowel and then left them in the rental.

Fourth-Gummy Sweatiness. I think I covered this pretty thoroughly in section two. I could just add that the heat was the kind that, in our Corfu non-air conditioned fourth floor stone apartment, would make you wake up at two in the morning and whisper yell “I HATE THIS PLACE!!!!”

Fifth-False starts through doorways. Let’s just say “please, after you” is not a concept that many Greeks or Italians (lots of Italian in Greece) have incorporated into their daily habits. Consequently, getting in and out of say, a ferry boat or a crowded corner grocery store looked like a Chaplain skit. Stop. Go. Stop. Go. Push. Stop. Go.

Okay. On to the good stuff:

1. Gyros
2. Driving a little boat around the island
3. Dinner time
4. Nobody asked for payment up front
5. The Austrians

First- Gyros. Gyros rock. I’m sure you’re all thinking “yeah, they do rock!” but oh no my friends. In Paxos and Corfu they did something special that I’ve not seen here in the good old US of A. Their Gyro ingredient choice it is very much in the spirit of our cuisine interests. They put fries in their Gyros. Yes people, deep fried chunks of tasty poison. What? Chicken? Pork? Whatever Greek Gyro man…just don’t forget the fries. We double-fisted them daily.

Second- Driving a little boat around the island. Most of our time was spent in Paxos, a small island south of Corfu in the Ionian Sea. The island is probably ten kilometers long and six or eight wide. It was Petite and conquerable by a twenty-five horse engine attached to a shallow piece of fiberglass. And that’s just what we did.

We rented a little boat and, along with our friends, we headed out for a day of aqua-adventure. I’m not going to describe it. I’ll just say that as we pulled out of the harbor, I sat at the bow of the boat and couldn’t help but scream in joy. For minutes I yelped and hollered and screeched over the sound of the motor. It wasn’t worth resisting and it felt great. It’s rare that anything gets me so excited that I have to explode into piercing joy-song. As adults we’re jaded and that moment cut right to my core. It’s nice to know I’m alive. If you go to Greece, rent a boat.

Third-Dinner time. Dinner started around nine-thirty and came to a close around midnight. For two weeks it was our routine to eat dinner way too late, talk for way too long and drink way too much.

These hours spent at various tables around the island were sacred hours where fart jokes and life-talk dominated our intellect. Where sloppy drunk was our goal and eating too much was only a matter of time. We deepened our friendship with the people we traveled with through discussions about which Greek foods bound us up and which ones aided the ever important daily poop we all used to gauge our health. You know, the stuff of life, literally. Because dead people don’t poop.

Fourth-Nobody asks for payment up front. In the US renting a car or a boat requires documentation, credit, skill tests, retinal scans, and a the donation of a few stem cells. In Greece, renting a piece of equipment simply requires finding the shop keeper. They’re illusive. The store hours posted on their office doors mean nothing. Their price lists are nonexistent. And, they won’t take any money up front. “Pay me later. It’s the blue one on the end.”

Keys in hand our husbands would wander over to the boat they assumed was the one assigned to us and then insert the key to start the motor. If the engine turned over, they knew they had the right vessel.

“Pay me later.” Was the phrase we had to get used to. In the beginning we would insist on leaving a deposit, our credit card and presented a series of laminated cards qualifying us as responsible and skilled boaters. The owners didn’t care. In fact they were annoyed. They’re dead faces said “Take the damn keys. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Over and over we failed to notice that we were doing business at a café table in the middle of the morning while the boat-rental proprietor was enjoying his morning cappuccino. No where was there a credit card swipper or imprint machine, a rental agreement or even a pen or pencil to at least jot down our names. So, although it made us squirm “Pay me later. It’s the blue one on the end” became our rental contract. At first it was weird but later it just felt like they trusted us, and that started to feel pretty good. Also, we assumed that they had some sort of collection method that involved cement shoes. We just went with it and made sure we paid them later.

Fifth-The Austrians. For weeks we had been ignored by the Greeks. Straight-faced and to the point the Greeks were formal in their dealings with us. Even the trusting boat rental guy was limited in his discourse seeming totally uninterested in where we were from or whether we were having a good time on his island. No Greeks volunteered insider information on the best restaurant, private beach or tasty local wine. When we asked for such info they just looked at us sternly and waited for us to stop talking so they could ring us up. “Stick to the plan” was their motto.

One night, toward the end of our trip we were having dinner at Bougainvillea, a ten-table restaurant in old Corfu Town. Half way through dinner a man at a six-top next to us put his finger in the air and shouted “American?” We turned to see six heads smiling and peering in our direction. “Yes.” I shouted back, “American.” To which I received a spunky one word response of “Schwartzeneger!” Apparently, this reference was not limited to the Greeks.

After a lul in the conversation at our table the guy shouted again. This time he made a declaration about himself and his table “Austrian!” he said making a swirling motion with his pointer finger, indicating that they were all Austrian.

“Yes. Austrian!” I hollered giving him the thumbs up. I could see him scanning his database for other words I might recognize.

At any other time his volunteering would have been annoying. But we were desperate for some good old surface chit-chat. The kind the Greeks hate but American thrive on. Americans are the friendliest people on earth. Chit-chat with strangers is our specialty. And we were in withdrawal. So, on our way out we stopped at the Austrian table and exchanged a lengthy stilted conversation consisting of unrelated one word sentences and lots of nodding and smiling.

We spanned topics ranging from a tall mountain to a bridge, Schwartzeneger, fast car and a nice place. None of it made a lick of sense and we didn’t care. We just felt relieved to luxuriate in some pointing and smiling, some light weight chit-chat and some small sense that we were important or interesting enough to talk to. As we walked back to the apartment and after a few moments of silent reflection on what had just happened, we all said the same thing: “Wow, they were sweet. I think the friendliest people in Greece are the Austrians.”