8
My head swam in the warm and scented damson velvet night of ultramodern Eleftherios Venizelos International Airport. I was in the land of Greece and soon I would be in the city of my dreams, ancient Athens. I was euphoric, ecstatic. I had travelled - actually flown all the way - and alone - into a balmy welcome I could never have imagined. The difference in temperature was at once soothing and exciting; so warm I thought I was standing in front of the engines. At four in the morning it was like waking into a dream and no sooner was I through customs and onto the concourse that I tried to let Auntie know I'd arrived safely but in between the crackles on the mobile I couldn't get a word in edgeways.
'Hello, Godfrey. Where are you, lad?'
'Hello Auntie, Athens Airport.'
'I can't hear you very well. Hope you had a good journey. Maria's son will collect you from the airport. His name is Michalis Korakis, OK? He'll take you to the flat that Pantelis used. Tell me how you got on tomorrow. OK? Nighty-night.'
I took a deep breath. Michalis Kourakis she’d said. How will I recognise him? How will he recognise me? Never mind, the air smelled sweet and strong; pine trees and thyme; diesel and tobacco. I never knew strangeness itself was so stimulating. Then all at once, before me stood Pandora, my in-flight one-way romance.
'Goodbye Mr. Godfrey Ash. It was good to meet you. Thank you for a pleasant flight. I hope you find what you are looking for in Sophia. They say that is a very special place.'
'And you, Pandora. Thank you. I'm sure I will. Thank you for your company.'
'You are welcome. See you.'
I was a new me. I felt fresh and romantic - in fact, ready for anything. There was no sign of Papa Nero and even though I couldn't see the good man anywhere, I spoke my first Greek out loud to his kindness, 'Kalo taxidi, Papa Nero sir. Have a good journey.'
But someone was calling my name. 'Mr. Godfrey, Mr. Godfrey! Over here!' A stocky man about my own age with a goatee beard was waving and laughing and obviously glad to see me. He was tanned and wore his shades on top of his head. He had a gold tooth.
'Mr. Godfrey? Hello. How are you? Good?' He said one or two words in Greek and I was pleased to recognise them. I knew right away I was in Pani's country for definite. Michalis Kourakis greeted me with a bear hug until I could hardly breathe; in fact, he almost broke my glasses. Any closer and we'd have had to get married.
'Er, hello. I hope you are Michalis Korakis,' I spoke slowly and said each word with emphasis.
'Yes, I am Michali. Welcome. Good flight?' He laughed.
'Actually, it was excellent. Not as terrifying as I expected.' I smiled to myself.
'Very sorry to hear about Mr. Lambrakis. Very sad.'
'Thanks for meeting me.'
Michalis had all the bubbling excitement of a teenager and was desperate to put me at my ease, 'It's the least we can do after you come all this way.’ Then, with a sweeping wave of his arms, Michalis showed me what was probably his pride and joy, a gleaming Diamond White Mercedes. ‘Mr. Godfrey, please, jump in,' and yes, I was suitably impressed.
'Nice car, Michalis. I'm honoured.'
'Eh? Nice taxi, you mean. Maybe one day it will be mine, we'll see.' He laughed and as we sped off toward the capital, a cold beer appeared out of thin air. 'And may I ask how Mrs. Lambrakis is? She gave instructions to make sure you have no problems. We are all thinking of her at this sad time.'
'I don't know. She's trying to be busy and organised as usual but deep inside she is devastated. I'll see her tomorrow in Sophia.'
'Mr. Lambrakis was a very brave man and very popular. Everyone liked him.'
'I believe my uncle's closest friends were your parents. My aunt is very grateful for their help.'
'My father was his theatre agent. They grew up together in Piraeus. In the early days they played music together, the Laika and Rembetika, in the…er…clubs until my father became interested in the politics. He said to make sure I give you his greetings and his sympathy. He is waiting to meet you in Sophia.'
'It's a pity you had to wait so long. My flight was delayed.'
'No problem. When they announced the delay, I had a choice. I could get mad or just stretch out on that cool, dewy grass and doze. One of the policemen woke me when your plane landed. It's a friendly airport for friendly people.'
Michalis played his radio and the familiar sound of stifled emotion wailed to the backing of the inevitable baglama and bouzouki. He sang along quietly as we drove through a harvest of fireflies and moths in what was left of the night until we came to a brow of a hill where the road crossed a bridge over a gully, then swung left to a saddle below an outcrop of rock that gave me such a view of the whole of Athens that I gasped.
Michalis cruised to the side of the road and stopped to give me time to look, 'She is beautiful, isn't she?'
Before us spread the city, criss-crossed by strands of lights, as far as the eye could see. On my left I could make out the lights from ships right out in the Saronic Gulf. The view was magnificent. Yes, Athina lay before me. I could hardly breathe. She shone like ice. Like fire.
'How long will you stay in Greece?'
'I suppose it depends how long it takes to sell my uncle's house.'
'Nice place. But Sophia too quiet for me although I know it is a beautiful village. I hope come to pay my respects and maybe see you there but first I have business here. You understand, OK?'
'Of course. No problem.'
'Maybe you'll sell the house quickly and come back here - then I will show you the real Athens. My Athens. OK?'
'I'll have to wait and see. I only have two weeks in your country.' He seemed to understand. Yes, Athens at night had a gentle buzz and for the first time I was in a city that actually aroused my curiosity. Maybe a couple of nights on the way back might indeed prove interesting.
Michalis opened the door to the flat then handed me the key. 'Mr. Godfrey, you must make yourself a home. What we have is yours.' We crossed the lounge and went out onto the balcony. The city glittered. The Parthenon was floodlit. The air was scented and soft. My grin was a mile wide and I felt too thrilled to ever relax again. I was abroad. And not just any abroad but that abroad - the abroad of my books and imagination. My time had come and I was actually there.
'Mr. Godfrey? I am sorry but I won't be able to take you to the airport in the morning because tonight I stay with my girlfriend, you understand? But please, make yourself comfortable in the rooms of your uncle and tomorrow - you fly to Sophia. So for now, please get some rest.' He showed me where everything was, and then disappeared in a flurry of smiles and handshakes.
But, I couldn't sleep and couldn't resist my new found confidence so I decided to go out and wander a little just before the dawn. The brighter stars still sparkled in the friendly sky. I tried to write down the name of the street where the flat was but my new pen had lost its point so I threw it away. I crossed the road to the Flea Market in Avissinias square and wandered around, snatching occasional glimpses of the awesome floodlit Acropolis at the end of narrow interlocking streets but it was too early to visit. Everywhere was closed except for the occasional all-night bar full of market traders. Hardly anyone walked about and only taxis had a voice. Then I had an unnerving experience.
I've noticed sometimes when I shop at a supermarket, that people who begin their shopping around the same time I do, are the same ones driving their trolleys down the same aisles and even queue at the check-out roughly when I do. That night I happened to notice a man strolling down the same street as me and pausing, co-incidentally or not, just when I paused. It began to get to me. It was time to go back to the flat and the most direct route I could see was down a long, narrow pedestrianised passageway through the Plaka. At an intersection about half way down, there was a feeble lamplight flickering off and on. Between me and the light, something moved in the shadows. The light came back on for a second and in that moment I clearly saw the silhouette of a young man, possibly the stroller, standing near the corner. Then the stillness and the lamp blinked off again. I retraced my steps to the square and wiped the paranoia from my face.
The earth turned and brought the dawn. The city yawned and groaned. Already, people milled and swarmed. Around the corner from a large plastic cash-register of a restaurant called 'Neon', I saw a little boy propped against the wall of a bank and sitting on an old sheet next to a tin box containing a few coins. His eyes were glued on his friend a few yards away who was buying a lottery ticket probably with the money they got from begging. The boy was almost bursting with glee. Then I notice that not only were both his legs horribly scarred with purple and red, burned tissue, but both his feet were missing, his shins just tapered into ragged, pointed stumps. That was when I turned away, trying to avoid myself in their pitiful eyes. And, still reeling from guilt, then I saw a couple of Gypsy women, suckling their babies as they themselves begged from a heap of rags with outstretched hands. It was hard to ignore my shame and my guilt.
I move on into the warm blue morning and the tingling tiredness after no sleep and I realise that travelling for over twenty-four hours makes you hallucinate so, disregarding my psychotic episode in the flea market, I interest myself in a cultural visit instead. Climbing the Acropolis and visiting The Parthenon has been an ambition ever since I was at school and now the irony; that with the opportunity so close, I'm too tired. In my wanderings I actually find a discarded fold-up bed and try to sleep on it under a ramshackle stone building on the edge of a public park but after only half an hour my own snoring wakes me and so with dry throat I wander back to the Flea Market area and even at this hour am greeted with early morning hellos from the traders and completely seduced by the mouth-watering aromas of hot sesame cakes and sugar-dusted doughnuts, of pastries and fresh coffee. The Fruit and Vegetable market is an orchestra of colours and smells of big, fat sacks showing shiny black and green olives. Paprika and oregano are the back-up singers. Pungent cheeses send me into sensory overload.
A small group of workers are sipping coffee and arguing at a table outside a street cafe in a pocket-sized shady square and so I plop into a seat at a table in the corner and order some breakfast. Looking round I realise that I might have taken a wrong turning because I'm surrounded by small groups of impoverished and suspicious stragglers who guardedly, seem to be offering each other objects for sale. When my food arrives, it's the best looking breakfast I have ever seen. Noisily, I devour the bacon, egg and tomatoey potatoes and wash it all down with two cups of tepid coffee. The pet Pekinese that sits at my feet is sick twice on the floor just in front of my table and I feel queasy. I try not to look. It takes me about two seconds to swallow my food. Then I pay and take a slow, weary walk to find my way back to the apartment in the smooth and pleasing early, early morning. The heavy scent of jasmine makes me smile.
I realise Athens too has its unfair share of insidious tourist traps just like Cornwall and no doubt the traffic is nightmare and yes, it's a sprawling jumble of concrete and marble, of ancient and modern, of the implausible and the miraculous, but then they say Athens teems with spectacular sights, superb cafes, and much more that you just won't find in any modern city. Athens is a giant contradiction: town and country, east and west, hectic and homely. And as I exchange nods and stroll through the old historic neighbourhoods of Athens, I sense a warm affection for this Greece and a feeling that she likes me too.
Uncle Pani's apartment was all white, very clean and probably prepared especially for the family. I got the impression that he didn't really live there. It was far too tidy for him. He probably just slept there and then was off again, unless Auntie joined him and then it would be their special place. The apartment had that woman's touch, the flowers on the dining table, the washing drying on the balcony. She was here only a few days ago. I took the washing in and freshened up the water in the vase. There were framed family photographs on top of the TV. I saw one of Auntie making faces at the camera and laughing with Uncle Pani, arms round shoulders, happy. There was a bookcase and all the books were arranged according to size. The biggest was an atlas. On the wall was a huge map of the Modern Greek State showing all the major points of interest.
Nevertheless, I couldn't help feeling something was amiss. It was more like an hotel than a crash pad. Except for the photograph, there was not one other sign that made it his home. But it was very modern and Michalis had encouraged me to make myself comfortable. I wrote him a note thanking him for his hospitality and left him my home number should he ever visit Cornwall. I added my flight time in case he made it to the check-in.
A delicious cold shower woke me up and brought back some life into my whingeing body before I changed into the new clothes that I'd squashed into my overnight bag for the final leg of my journey. Then I realised what was missing from the flat. It needed the lingering smell of cooking that you always find around the home. And tell-tale stains around the cooker. Maybe he always ate out. Before I left, I glanced in the cupboards and found no tinned food and in the fridge just half a dozen bottles of Mythos beer, typical Auntie, typical Pani really.
Right outside the apartment, I squinted at a mirage in the form of a taxi waiting at the kerb and resignedly climbed aboard and sat next to the driver, 'Hi, and I'm Godfrey Ash. Pleased to meet you. Venizelos airport, please.'
'Good morning. My name is Yiorgos Terezakis. Please, no problem,' and without any further faffing about, we were off. During the journey he grew more and more frustrated with the road repairs until finally he exploded, 'Mother of Zeus! How to drive through this chaos? In two weeks my daughter is seventeen years old. Soon she will want to marry but how to give her all she needs if it takes me forever to drive to the airport and forever to drive back to the city? I don't make so many passengers as I used to. Who said the roadworks must be done in the tourist season? The government is crazy!'
'But this is the land of democracy. So why did you vote for them?'
'Because I am Greek and for me, first there is the family and then there comes the government.' He shot me a glance. I caught his eye and suddenly, without really knowing why, we burst into helpless laughter together. We were still laughing at politics when I was standing on the pavement exactly where I met Michalis the night before, 'Here is my card. Next time - you telephone me, I am your taxi. OK?'
I paid my fare, we shook hands and with a toot of his horn, he pulled away and melted into the traffic heading for Athens. Yiorgos was a hero and I hoped he gave his daughter the wedding he hoped she wanted.
I turned to face the entrance and smiled like an idiot at anyone I met. There was a strange spring in my stride. Could this be the beginning of a stumbling optimism? Was I light-hearted? I was buzzing with expectations and questions. A new confidence gave me a tune to whistle. People stared. Don't they whistle in cities?
It was whilst wandering around ARRIVALS and DEPARTURES in the hope of bumping into Michalis at the check-in that something heavy landed on my foot. It was another foot, but tiny, belonging to a little old lady entirely over-dressed in black headscarf, ankle-length skirts, embroidered waistcoat and leather boots. She was juggling in vain with a pile of parcels and bags that seemed have a life of its own. In a stratospheric pitch, she screamed at the bags as though they were naughty children and complained to anyone who would listen but no one took any notice. My old self would have pretended to be busy but the newer me smiled and tried to help. After some serious puffing and panting, we eventually arranged them around a bench in the departure lounge where she settled like an old mother hen on her eggs.
I smiled, 'Kalo Taxidi'. She narrowed her eyes until they lit with recognition and she actually seemed to understand. She returned my good wishes with a toothless grin from her soft brown face and blessed me with a stroke on my arm. I didn't understand her reply but I saw her eyes twinkle.
The departure TV displayed Stephanos - Gate 5 - Area A, and since my luggage was hopefully in transit since Bristol, I thought I might as well check in right away and relax. Then my flight was called and I was like a schoolboy on an outing and couldn't wait to join the shuffling queue and be herded onto the compact turbo-prop of nineteen seats. Minutes later we were soaring above Athens then circling towards the south like a migrating bird. On my lap was the map Auntie had given me and although I remember passing over the island of Egina then Ios I remember nothing else. I fell into a dream.
When I woke I could see we were coming in to land on the soil of Stephanos - Pani's island. By then the aeroplane smelled like the back of a safe old musty and mothballed wardrobe. I'd dreamed of Auntie Agnes and someone that may have been my mother, dancing together in what looked like the parlour of their house and being very serious.
We blustered across the tarmac to the arrivals hall which was more like someone's lounge and after about ten minutes, to my immense relief, I recognised my luggage on the carousel looking forlorn and winding its way towards me like a prisoner finally released. Outside a stiff wind blew the spume about the waves where windsurfers danced and bobbed on the water while grit and dust blew everywhere on the land. Orange lights flickered across the surface in the late afternoon sun. And thus it was that with my head facing the wrong way and my eyes fixed full of sand that I stumbled and almost fell over something. It was the same old lady but this time she was almost bent double, right in front of me like a bundle of washing, and still struggling with those boxes and bags. I gave her a wide smile and touched my forehead hoping she would recognise this as an apology and said sorry, in the hope she might speak a little English. As soon as she recognised me as someone she could talk to, she let loose in Greek with a tirade of complaints and hand signals, touching my forearm, threatening her cargo and even taking strides away only to return with cries of admonishment. I waited till she calmed down then gave her a hand to stack them into the old pick-up that was collecting the group she was with. When we'd finished the loading she stood still, looked at me with a soft, motherly smile, then softly touched my arm saying quietly, 'Kalo Taxidi'. And with that I knew I was in full credit with the gods.