Unforgettable Journeys to Greece - Part 1 (1973)

 

                                Part I: Nostos in 1973

 

Growing up in a Greek family, and majoring in Classics, I always dreamed of going to Greece, the homeland of my imagination, but until I graduated from college, I lacked the means and the time. My father made his nostos, his homecoming to Greece, in 1970 and saw his mother for the first time since leaving Greece as a teenager in 1923. This was, I’m sure, an incredibly moving experience for both of them. My mother and sister went to Greece after my father died in 1971. They were all warmly welcomed with heart-felt Greek philoxenia, hospitality.

Two years after my father died, and after I graduated from Boston University, it was my turn. I was determined go to the place where my father was born and “pay homage to my ancestors,” as my  Greek cousin  Phaedon put it recently. I brushed up my modern Greek at NYU and worked painting houses to raise money for this trip since I hadn’t yet found my vocation as a teacher.

I flew to Athens on an historic date, November 17, 1973, just as martial law was imposed following a student uprising at the Athens Polytechnic University.  Soldiers with automatic weapons patrolled the airport and prevented visitors from entering Athens. The chairs and benches had been removed for some reason so there was nowhere to rest but the baggage conveyor belt. After a sleepless night, I was picked up the next day by my Uncle Johnny and Aunt Angie who drove me to their apartment. We saw tanks and soldiers on rooftops when we passed through Syntagma (Constitution) Square.

We all gathered on the street the next day—my Uncle and Aunt along with thousands of others. The military imposed a 4 pm curfew and meant it. Precisely at 4 pm, they started firing tear gas to disperse the crowds. I was standing next to my aunt and looked for my uncle but he was long gone. I walked back to my apartment arm-in-arm with my sweet brave angelic Aunt.

The next day I had to go to the nearest police station to be registered as a foreigner. The 4 o’clock curfew prevailed. We were told it was illegal to gather in groups of three or more or talk politics. The newspapers were censored so we didn’t know what was happening. This was my first taste of a dictatorship, and I didn’t like the flavor.  I decided to take the ferry to Andros, the island on the Cyclades where my Dad was born. This proved a smart move. There were no politics and no curfew on Andros, just a loving family, and lots of splendiferous food!

I was warmly welcomed by my Greek relatives in Andros and stayed with my Aunts. I can’t remember whether I stayed with my Aunt Maria or Evangelia or both,  but I do recall that they both spoiled me with their kindness.

The weeks that I spent on Andros were golden. Life on the island was much simpler back then. Hardly any cars or TV. People traveling mostly by bus or donkey. Few phones and of course no cell phones. Life was very basic.  Eat, drink (wine or coffee), talk, sleep. Just what I needed. One highpoint was taking part in the slaughter of a pig, a ritual that brought everyone together. We rose before dawn, drank raki (Greek moonshine) and went to work. It was a party that went on for two days that I’ll never forget!

When I returned Athens, things had settled down more or less to normal. The dreadful dictatorship was still firmly in place, but there were no curfews.

During this time of relative calm I had the pleasure of meeting some of other Greek relatives, such as Melina, Rena, Ismini, and others pictured below. (I’m looking forward to seeing Ismini, Melina and others when we return to Greece in August of this year.)

In addition to visiting relatives, I went to the Acropolis and museums in Athens, took a bus trip to Delphi, and  sailed to Crete. I can’t begin to describe what a feast for the mind and spirit these excursions were for me--the culmination of years of studying Greek antiquity and immersing myself in Greek literature! To see with my own eyes what I had studied and dreamed about since I was a child was an unbelievably powerful experience.

Seeing Greek statues (instead of Roman copies) filled me with awe at the ilife-affirming power of Greek sculpture. Seeing the amphitheater at Delphi made me realize how amazing it was that the dramas of Euripides, Sophocles, Aristophanes, and others were staged in this awe-inspiring outdoor setting. And visiting Crete, I fell in love with the Minoan civilization—a matriarchal culture of beauty and art that was celebrated in Judith Hand’s brilliant (but little known) novel The Voice of the Goddess. And don’t get me started on Nikos Kazantzakis, one of my all-time favorite novelists!

Memories keep flooding my mind as I write this but I want to keep it short. I also don’t want to paint too rosy a picture since I did have some painful misunderstandings with some of my relatives. I didn’t feel led to return to Greece for 30 years. But during this time I had a wonderful experience attending the wedding of my cousin Alexandra and her husband people, two of the most delightful people I’ve ever met. When I did return, with my wife of blessed memory Kathleen Ross, a Methodist pastor, it was also an unforgettable experience. We traveled in the footsteps of St. Paul with a boat load of Methodists and other Christians just as the United States was about to bomb and invade Iraq. I was the lone Quaker and the only Greek in this group of religious pilgrims. In the midst of yet another futile war, I had the joy of connecting with my Greek relatives. Thereby hangs a tale I’ll save for my next trip down memory lane.