by You Jin
Loukianos ate with relish, his face shining with satisfaction.
“You’ve been away from Greece for so long. You must miss the food from your hometown?” I asked as I ate.
Unexpectedly, he shook his head. “Though I’ve lived in Australia for many years, I live a purely Greek life. At home, we speak Greek, and for our meals, my wife cooks Greek food. To relax, we listen to Greek music or watch Greek videos. So although I left Greece many years ago, every day when I get off work, I retreat into a solely Greek enclave. To tell the truth, what I miss most are my friends and family here, and this sort of atmosphere that can only be found in Greece.”
Loukianos had lived a life of poverty. When he reached school age, he became a child labourer, doing all sorts of demanding manual work. At age sixteen, he became a sailor, making his home on the seas. After two years, he was tired of the dull life at sea and dissatisfied with just going through life aimlessly. But at the time, unemployment was surging in Greece. He knew he could not go home and just wait for death, so when he next docked on Australia’s west coast, he decided to stay. When he spoke of this difficult time of struggle, his tone betrayed the heartache he felt.
“Back then, I was completely illiterate, and penniless. All I had was a healthy, strong body and a fighting spirit.”
During the day he worked on a construction crew, exchanging his physical strength for three meals a day. At night, he put all of his effort into attending night school, learning the English language.
“Sometimes my work during the day was so tiring that I fell asleep in the classroom. I don’t know how many times I bit my lower lip against my teeth, until it bled, in an effort to focus.”
Isn’t expending this sort of energy on studies like the old Chinese stories of hardworking kids who “read by the light of fireflies”, or “hung their books on the horns of their cattle whilst they grazed them”?
After he had learnt English, he went back to night school to learn building design, and in this way gradually made his way up the ladder and became an architect, finally opening his own design firm. At present, he was the boss of a large architecture firm in Darwin. This was a real rags to riches story, fraught with sweat and tears.
“I moved from Sydney to Darwin, mainly because there were many Greeks there, and my children have lots of opportunities to mix with other Greek people,” he said, his expression reverential. “I always feel that it is important for a person to acknowledge his roots. A person without roots loses value in his life.”
“Your children were born in Australia and have grown up there. To them, Greece is foreign land. To make someone feel a sense of belonging with a completely foreign place can’t be easy,” I said bluntly.
“That’s very true. It’s a very difficult task.” He nodded. “If you just use empty words, every day emphasising, ‘You are Greek; your roots are in Greece’, it really has little effect. I know that, so I’ve recreated a Greek life in Australia, plunging my children into it. If you were to go to my home, you would not hear a single word of English. I also bring them back to Greece for a month every year, letting them get a taste of the lifestyle here. My oldest is sixteen now. When he turns twenty, I plan to send him back to Greece for national service. When he’s completed that, he is free to choose to live wherever he wants.”
When I told Loukianos that his values were very close to those of many Asians, he nodded and said, “Greek people do value ethics and family moral relations. Living in Australia for so many years, what I find impossible to adapt to is the way they raise their children.”
He drank a bit of wine, then continued, “Like my neighbour. For no reason, his daughter ran off with her boyfriend. When I asked her father where she’d gone, he said nonchalantly, ‘I don’t know’. Two weeks later, she came back without a word of explanation. Her parents did not ask, nor did they punish her. It was crazy! I told my daughter, ‘If you ever dare to do that, I will disown you on the spot.’”
I approved heartily. Children are like clay. If you don’t mould them when they are still soft, thinking they can simply be reshaped later is just a pipe dream.
When we had said this, I suddenly became conscious of the fact that his wife had not come to dinner with us. When I asked him about this, he said, “I didn’t come here on holiday this time, but to discuss a construction project.”
When he talked business, this serious middle-aged gentleman became even more sombre. He sighed and said, “The glorious history of Greece demonstrates our ancestors’ precise thinking and hardworking persistence. So now, many people live comfortably, but they corrupt the good traditional values. Take what happened recently with Olympic Airlines. I think it is really sad how a group of people, for the sake of their own private interests, can do so much damage to the nation’s economy and its reputation.”
At the time we were touring Greece (June 1986), Olympic Airlines had just gone on strike, with all of the pilots striking because of remuneration disputes. The government took a hard stance, firing fifty-six of them at one swoop. However, the pilots who had not been discharged would not give in, leaving the whole thing deadlocked. After several weeks, it still could not be settled, causing delays for many travellers.
“Most people have a different kind of attitude these days,” Louskianos said sadly. “Taking Crete as an example, the soil is fertile, with large expanses of cultivated land. About two-thirds of Greece’s produce comes from there, and the people used to lead a simple, quiet life. But with the development of the tourist industry, many people abandoned agricultural life, thinking they’d found an easier way to earn money. When these simple, honest people started gravitating to a more extravagant lifestyle, prices skyrocketed. Now the past quiet, contented lifestyle is nowhere to be seen.”
Loukianos shook his head as he spoke. It really was a case of “the deeper the love, the harsher the criticism”.
“The worst of it is that many young girls hanker after the good life, and when they pursue fashion, they have no idea what shame is.”
Saying this, he paused, then asked us, “Have you been to Kirolatia Beach?”
We nodded. That was Greece’s most famous topless beach. Many girls and young women, accompanied by boyfriends or families, went there for topless sunbathing. They disrobed in front of everyone, not the least bit ashamed, or even a little shy. It was as if baring their breasts in public was the most natural thing in the world. Many young boys like to sit idly on the beach, feasting their eyes on the scene.
“Many social and public safety issues have arisen from this,” Loukianos said.
When the bill came, Loukianos insisted on paying. His reason was, “You are guests in my country, you cannot fight with the host.”
Before saying goodbye, he said, “I have business to do here, and can’t accompany you to enjoy the scenery, but I believe the landscape here will prove unforgettable for you. I hope that ten years from now when I return home, I’ll see you revisiting Greece.”
If it was meant to be, we would surely meet again.
“Thank you, Loukianos. We’ll see you again!”
In the Cabin
On the previous day when we booked our tickets for the cruise, there was only one bed left in a double cabin and all the rest were in a quad-sharing. We settled on the most congenial arrangement—I was in the double room and Risheng stayed in a four-person room.
When I made my way to the cabin, it was already midnight. The light in the cabin was still on. A young woman lay on the narrow bed. She was engrossed in a book. Her hair was like a golden waterfall, splashing all over the snowy white pillow.
The sound of the door opening startled her. She put down her book, turned a warm friendly smile my way, and said, “Hi!”
“Hi.” I rubbed my eyes, which were blown a little dry by the sea breeze. I asked, “Where are you from?”
She pointed up, then down, and with a big smile said, “A local product.”
I also couldn’t keep from laughing. This laughte
r swept away any feeling of being strangers between us.
She told me that she was going to Crete to see her boyfriend. I asked her all about the tourist scene in Crete, and she patiently answered each of my questions. Then she said, “Too bad I’m only staying one day, or I could be your guide.”
Taking a twelve-hour voyage to stay for one day? Hardly able to believe that, I asked her about it.
“Yes, I have to take the Sunday night ferry back to Athens. As soon as we reach shore, I will rush to work. I won’t even have time to go home and rest.”
What in the world would she make such a difficult journey for?
“For love,” she said brightly. “My boyfriend is doing his national service in Crete, so I visit him once a week. My company is very busy right now, so it is hard to get time off. I can only make these rush visits.”
Love is like sunlight, and she was rushing toward it.
I noticed that her English was outstanding, so I asked if she had majored in language. Her answer was completely unexpected. “I was born in the US. After I finished high school in Chicago, I came back to Greece.”
Her parents had immigrated from Greece, opening a restaurant in Chicago. She was born and raised in the US, but her family spoke Greek at home, ate Greek food, and their daily conversation centred around everything Greek.
“My grandmother was especially going on all the time about ‘Greece this, Greece that’”, Kristina said, laughing. “She made Greece into a mark, branding it on my body and heart every day.”
When Kristina was eighteen, her grandmother had packed her bags and returned home to live. Having just graduated from high school, she followed her grandmother.
“At first, I thought I would just travel a bit then return to the US. Then, even though it sounds strange, once I got into the country, I felt like a bird coming home to roost. Everything I saw was as familiar as if it were part of my body. The mountains and rivers were even more beautiful than I had dreamed, and the culture more splendid than I had imagined. Almost immediately, I decided to stay with my grandmother and not return to the US…”
“Your parents must feel your decision rash and impulsive?”
“Rash? Impulsive?” She laughed softly. “They are thrilled!”
Living in Athens, Kristina went to university and studied business management. After graduating, she found a job in a trading company. Her monthly salary was thirty-five thousand drachmas (about five hundred and eighty Singapore dollars).
“My older sister is in the US doing the same job as me. Her monthly salary is two thousand eight hundred US dollars. The difference between her situation and mine, in terms of enjoying material comforts, is as far apart as heaven and earth,” she said evenly. “Still, I feel I am luckier than her. In her life, she only has work and play, but in her inner world, there is always a kind of unexplained fear and emptiness. For me, staying in my own motherland, immersed in its culture and in love with a Greek guy, that sort of feeling is dependable, happy and satisfying.”
“Living so far from your parents for so long, don’t you miss them?” I asked casually.
“Of course.” She sat up on the bed, an excited expression on her face. “Oh, there’s no harm telling you, they are looking for a buyer now. As soon as they sell the restaurant in Chicago, they will return to Greece too.”
Before we turned off the light to go to bed, Kristina said proudly and with determination, “Greek people will never forget their native land, or abandon their home country.”
In Loukianos and Kristina, I caught a glimpse of the Greek people’s passion for their homeland and their sentiments of home.
Later on our journey, I met many more Greek people living overseas who had come back for holiday. I found that all of them had strong feelings for their home soil. Of course, those who had not enjoyed great success wanted to return to their country to live, but the majority of those with great achievements, despite enjoying a comfortable life overseas, mostly planned to return home as soon as possible, when they had finished their work and could retire to enjoy their old age at home.
Their roots and their hearts were in Greece—completely in Greece. With this sort of deep sense of belonging, no matter where they might go to live, they would never be a plant drifting on the water without any roots.
Shut Out in Hamburg
AS SOON AS we arrived in the ancient city of Hamburg, my mind involuntarily grew quiet. Scattered along the canals crisscrossing the city were numerous bridges. This was West Germany’s gateway to the world, but there was no hint here of the level of noise normally encountered in a big city.
It was the tail end of spring and beginning of summer when we arrived, and it was surprisingly cool. When we asked the clerk at the Tourist Promotion Board to find a room for us, after making several calls, she said everything was full. When we didn’t know what to do, she asked, “Would you like to try a privately owned guesthouse?”
Privately owned guesthouses were my favourite. I nodded my agreement.
As soon as she asked, she found one. She wrote down the address and we set out to make our way there.
It was not easy to find. We took the metro, then the bus, and walked a considerable distance. At the end of the long road, we turned into a narrow alley and found the little guesthouse there.
Answering the door was a half bald, middle-aged man. He wore a black knit short-sleeved T-shirt over a typical German beer belly, shockingly big. And equally large was his laughter.
He was a friendly fellow.
There were three rooms in the guesthouse. One was left for the landlord, and the other two were rented out.
Seeing that our booking was only for two days, he shook his head and said, “You must be dreaming!”
“What do you mean?”
“How can you possibly see all of Hamburg, touring the whole place, in just two days?”
Saying this, he opened a cupboard and passed me a huge pile of reading material. I flipped through it and found it full of information on Hamburg’s cultural activities.
“Hamburg has a history of more than a thousand years!” he said enthusiastically. “You can while away a whole day just in the history museum.”
I had no interest in archaeology, and when I travelled I visited museums simply as a way to “kill extra time”. But I didn’t dare say this to this man, Herr Sanger, whom we had just met. I didn’t want him to think I lacked culture.
Herr Sanger continued: “Some people call Hamburg the Venice of the north. But actually, how can you compare Venice to Hamburg? In Venice, there are only about four hundred bridges crossing the canals. Do you know how many we have in Hamburg?”
“A thousand?” I guessed.
“Way off!” he said, delighted. “We have two thousand, four hundred and twenty-eight bridges in Hamburg. And each has a unique design. Some travellers take a boat and spend a whole day travelling about on the canals just to see the unique designs of our bridges.”
Spending a whole day to see more than two thousand bridges? Aiyoh, don’t mention seeing, just the thought of it made me dizzy.
Herr Sanger handed me a stack of beautifully printed name cards, introducing me to places such as the municipal art gallery, St. Markus Cathedral, City Hall, the Parliament Building, and the TV Tower. What surprised me was not so much the amount of statistical information he had at his fingertips, but the way he talked about the country’s places of interest as if they were a “family heirloom”.
I praised him. “Oh, you really are a living encyclopaedia of Hamburg.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘encyclopaedia’. But if you said I was an old tree with my roots in Hamburg, that would be closer. My family has lived here for two hundred years.”
His roots in this place really were deep. Were his branches and leaves also flourishing here?
“I have six children, all grown. They are working and have families of their own. And as for my wife…” He pointed upward. “She is one step ahead of me.”
&
nbsp; So, he was a lonely middle-aged widower.
Looking at my watch, I saw that it was after seven. I asked him what Hamburg’s nightlife had to offer.
He said earnestly, “You could go to Planten un Blumen Park. There’s a colourful fountain there at night…” Frankly speaking, the beauty of a fountain does not lie in the fountain, but in the sculptures that go with it. Fountains without great sculptures to complement them are just like a tap. I didn’t want to see it. I preferred something more unique to Hamburg.
I interrupted him, cutting through the flow of his words like a knife. “I’ve heard that there’s a big red-light district in Hamburg, and it is really lively at night. Do you know if we can get there by Metro?”
“Oh, um…I don’t really know,” he prevaricated, acting innocent. He hesitated, then said seriously, “That sort of place really isn’t safe. It’s better for you not to go.”
As soon as I heard his answer, I cursed my own stupidity. To ask such an upright fellow for directions to the red-light district was no different from asking a monk to lend me a comb!
Herr Sanger stood up and said, “Come, let me show you to your room.”
There were two nails on the wall with two keys hanging from them. He took one down and, as he walked down the hallway, said, “I have another room that is rented out to an Indian man. He came to Hamburg for a six-month course. He’s already been with me for four months.”
The room was spacious, the pillows and blankets clean and fragrant.
After we had bathed, we went out. When we walked past the living room, Herr Sanger was enthusiastically watching a sports programme on TV. When we had given him the key, he said happily, “Enjoy your evening!”
It was breezy outside. The wind was not strong, but was still very cold. It was summer, but the weather did not seem at all like summer.
We took a bus to the banks of the Elbe River. Beneath the bridge there was a long row of seafood restaurants. The water in the river was blue, and flocks of seagulls flew over it. As we ate our crispy fried trout in one of the restaurants, our eyes greedily devoured the beautiful scenery outside the window.