Greece: Then and Now, Part 1
by Marry Wakefield Buxton
Urbanna,Va.— How could I have known when I signed up for a November trip to Athens with the Virginia Bar last year that Greece would be on the verge of bankruptcy, the socialist government about to collapse, and the people in a rage over what their politicians had done to them? How could I have guessed our hotel in downtown Athens across the street from the Greek Parliament would have a plan to lock the hotel, put up barricades, and smuggle us out the back door to the airport should riots break out during our visit?
Americans have to be prepared for anything when they travel abroad these days. And, yes, as I arrived in Greece last week the EU warned Prime Minister Papandreou that if Greece didn’t make further cuts to its enormous debt, it would be tossed out of the Eurozone and without the next installment from the EU. Greece will go belly up on December 15. The Greeks aren’t happy.
Imagine such a day in America if our government ever spent itself dry and there was zilch money to pay pensions, social security, and public employees? Greece may well be the canary in the cae for the rest of the world’s democracies and I hope we heed what has happened here.
My modern day Greek Odyssey began with our signing up for a pleasant week in Athens. In need of a restful vacation, we needed to recharge batteries. And who knows? I thought something interesting would happen in Athens and I could get a story.
For those who read this column, you know I dislike travel and especially despise what is referred to as “flying.” But there was no way to Greece without boarding an early morning flight in Richmond for Kennedy, not my favorite destination, and making a connecting flight to Athens. Nothing happened on the first leg.
But when I made the connection, a couple of Greeks riled up over their collapsing economy sat directly behind me and engaged in a passionate argument, punctuated with fists banging on their trays that sent jolts through our seats. The rapid, loud Greek argument lasted, yes, over 9 hours—even when the lights were out and passengers were trying to sleep. Earplugs and a headset turned up high with soothing music could not deaden their shouts. By the time our flight landed I didn’t care what happened to Greece, just as long as I could make my escape from these men. Zealotry in politics, like religion, is hellish for those who are forced to listen.
But Greece was gorgeous and as our airplane landed on the Attica plain surrounded by four mountains and the beautiful blue Aegean Sea, I first saw the city before me laid out in neat white buildings with red tiled roofs. I was happy I had come. I gasped in joy when I first saw the Acropolis and Parthenon on top of a hill! My, God! What a sight! Here were the remains of the first republic on earth built in the Age of Pericles almost 2,500 years ago and not one marble stone was moved by slave labor, but all workers were paid in a time of great prosperity and full employment in the city of Athens. What a thrill to see where Western Civilization had flourished in such an exciting way and yet, such irony too, that the site of the birth of democracy also might end here in ignoble bankruptcy.
Our group was escorted to the elegant Grand Bretagne Hotel and when we got to our rooms, exhausted from the all-night flight, we sank into soft beds for a good nap. Famished upon awakening, we headed to the lobby for lunch at a restaurant that reminded me of the Palm Court at the Plaza. Big mistake. The cheapest thing on the menu was a club sandwich for 40 E (about $70 after the 23 VAT). We decided to split one. With iced tea for two and tip, our snack came to almost $100. I could see a week in Greece was going to be an expensive proposition. The olives were great.
That night we walked 15 minutes to an 1865 tavern and had grilled fresh grouper. The handsome Greek waiter took me back to the kitchen to select my fish that had just been caught. He cut off the head and tail and de-boned it before serving me. “Would Madame like the fish head?” asked the Greek. No, Madame would not like the fish head.
But the merry party of Italians sitting at the next table wanted their fish head. I watched as they all dove in with their forks as if they were being treated to the tastiest morsel on earth, but I turned away as one of them forked an eyeball. To each his own. (Continued next week.)
