Getting alive

May 2002

It is only 7 o’clock when I order my coffee outside at the hotel in the main street. The restaurant has just opened. I think it’s a wonderful place to sit. I see the village come alive. The greengrocer removes the burlap sacks from her vegetable crates, which are kept outside all night. The men drink their minuscule cups of Greek coffee before they get started. At this time of the day, the frapé* cup with inside a bag of Nescafé instant coffee and straw is the best-selling item in the supermarket together with the bottles of water and croissants. The baker sells his tiropitas* and spanakopitas* and bread that will have lost all appearance of freshness after a day.

Shopkeepers and restaurant owners do the last of their shopping. The periptero* opposite the hotel that sells candy, ice cream and cigarettes has also opened. It’s a kind of drive-in. The customers stop, let the engine run, jump out of the car, settle their bill. The man in the kiosk knows which brand is being smoked. When they drive on, the cleaner air returns. The village is awakening.

What a memory

On the day of my arrival, Teodor, the owner of the hotel, greeted me by name. “Gia sou Lilith! Kalos tin! Ti kaneis?”*
Last October I ate several times on my own at their taverna, but that he still remembers my name?

He brings me my coffee and shows me his new camera that he purchased yesterday. It is a digital one. He does not yet understand exactly how it works. Well, men and manuals, I think, but say “You will manage”.

Fruit juices and croissants

Meanwhile, parents from nearby villages arrive in their pick-ups to bring their children to school before they start working in the nearby greenhouses and fields. The surrounding mountain villages are so sparsely populated that there are no schools anymore. Fortunately, this village is full of children and there is a kindergarten and primary school. They briefly stop at the supermarket where packages of fruit juice and croissants for the children are purchased.

The main street

The village consists of a one-way main street with some side streets that lead to the sea or to higher streets. It has approximately 400 inhabitants. Some of the villagers are only here during the holidays and vacations. The rest of the year they live in Heraklion or Athens. You hardly see most of the inhabitants but just a small group of familiar faces who hang around every day in the kafenions* and taverns.

The first tourists also find their way to the bakery. Obtaining the bread is apparently a job for the men. Some greet me when they pass by. “Kalimera“*. The Greeks always greet.

A freak

A little man arrives, his head hunched between his shoulders as if someone were about to hit him. He walks in a peculiar way as if his short-curled head wants to go faster than his slender body. His hair and moustache are black as well as his thick eyebrows but his short beard is grey. The grooves in his face delineate him. He is wearing a green sweater that seems too warm for the time of year, baggy trousers and slippers. A leather cord with glasses is hanging around his neck. His skin is as dark as someone who spends all his time outside. He reminds me of an Aboriginal. He looks at me and walks past without saying anything.

After a few steps, he suddenly stops, turns to me and asks:
“Can I join you for a coffee?”
For a moment I think, “What does that freak want from me?”, but his piercing amused eyes are decisive;

” Yes, please sit down.”

At that moment I could never have imagined that this decision would have such an impact on my life. Not only the village, but I also came to life.

continue: The Freak

Music: Nena Venetsanou – Lilith

φραπέ – cold instant coffee
τυρόπιτα – cheesepie
σπανακόπιτα – spinachpie
καφενείο – traditional cafe
περίπτερο – kiosk
για σου – hello
καλός τιν – short for  καλως ηρθες/ηρθατε – welcome
τι κάνεις – how are you
καλημέρα – good morning