It's Still Greek to Me!
August 2021
It’s that time again: high summer in Greece, and the period when most Greeks have their holidays and so get on the move. Although some restrictions are still in place, lockdown is largely a thing of the past, and so the tourist season is looking healthier. However, in common with many other parts of the world, Greece is seeing the very contagious Delta variant taking its toll. Nevertheless, the country is still doing well with its vaccination programme: the other day I read that 5 million Greeks had received both doses of whichever vaccine. That is nearly half the population of this small country, and I’m told that the government hopes to have 60% of the population vaccinated by the end of this month. Fingers crossed that this happens.
July 2021
A most unusual start to a summer month. Here I am in Athens for the first time in a year. Greece seems to emerging slowly but fairly safely from Covid restrictions, and the government is doing its best to counter a certain amount of vaccine hesitancy: the latest measure is a payment of 150 euros to people under the age of thirty the moment they can prove they have had the first jab. Predictably, many people think this is a mistake, and that the money should be paid after the second jab, and not before.
June 2021
I am writing on May the 30th. Yesterday remains a day of ill omen in the Greek world, for it was on May the 29th, 1453, that Constantinople, still known to Greeks as The City, fell to the Ottoman Turks. The Emperor flung himself into the fray beside his fighting men, and was never seen again. The enemy poured into the Cathedral of the Holy Wisdom even as Mass was being celebrated: legend has it that the priests seized the sacred elements and melted into the mighty walls, there to wait until The City should be Greek again. That day has yet to come. And Greece and Turkey continue to have their wrangles.
May 2021
The world weeps on Good Friday, the Greeks say, and today (April the 30th) is Good Friday in the Orthodox world. Great Friday, the Greeks call it. Today is the day when a flower- bedecked bier is carried through the streets. Each church prepares its own, and parades it through its own neighbourhood. This may happen in remote villages this year, but is unlikely to happen in big cities. Families may gather outdoors on Easter Day, however, although in restricted numbers. Coffee shops and restaurants can open to outdoor customers on May the 3rd, and freedom of movement within the country is permissible as from the 15th. All these measures are based on the proviso that Covid infections do not get dramatically worse. The vaccination programme is going well, but the results are not yet what the authorities are hoping for.
Many things have changed, of course, with the pandemic. There is a very impressive military cemetery in Athens, usually the scene of an Anzac service with hundreds in attendance. But not this year. I wonder about the future of Anzac Day, although a badge-selling friend in Melbourne tells me that people this year were generally glad to see the vendors, who had been forbidden the streets last year.
I think of my father and grandfather on such occasions. Here is what I wrote recently:
April 2021
Another month has gone by. Greece seldom rates a mention on the international scene, so that not too many people know that this week the nation will complete five months of its second lockdown. Restrictions vary in severity, but even here in the Deep Agricultural South we are forbidden to leave our particular dimos, or local area, while Athenians are not allowed to venture more than 2km from home. In the meantime the Covid situation shows no sign of improvement and the hospitals, especially in Athens, are under a great deal of pressure. Most of us are suffering from Covid fatigue and what I call Lockdown Lethargy, marked, at least in my case, by a sense of futility. Still, most of us muddle on somehow. But I still haven’t been able to see granddaughter Aphrodite.
March 2021
Well, I was wrong about February. It has not been nearly as bad as I feared, although there was a very sharp cold snap in the middle of the month. The Peloponnese escaped fairly lightly then, although one day was very miserable; points further north, however, endured 36 hours of a snow storm christened Medea. Reports from Athens indicated a huge amount of snow dumped quite suddenly: no. 3 son lives in the northern suburbs, and photos of gardens in his area resembled German Christmas cards. His household coped well, as there were no power cuts, and grandchildren Orestes and Natalia were able to make a snowman.
February 2021
Here we are grinding through the winter, but a general lightening of atmosphere took place with the arrival of Aphrodite, my fifth grandchild and second granddaughter. She was born on the 13th of January, and in my head I call her The Whopper: she had a birth weight of 4kg 360 gm, or 9lbs 10oz approx in the old money (!) An early photo of her showed a red face and battered, puffy eyes, but she was holding her head up very steadily for someone who was not even 48 hours old when the photo was taken. Mother Nina can be considered Wonder Woman, as she took only 6 hours to produce this miracle. Now they are both home, and things are going well, with brother Orestes and sister Natalia squabbling over whose turn it is to hold the baby. Par for the course, I suppose, and I also suppose that the novelty will wear off soon.
January 2021
I am writing on December the 30th. Greece is in lockdown for another week, although an extension of restrictions is quite possible. So I’m not seeing many people, but everybody I have seen expresses the hope that the New Year will be an improvement on the exceedingly trying year that is about to end. It’s almost an order to the Fates: 2021 has GOT to be better! Apart from that fervent wish/order, there is a modest hope that the lockdown is working, as the all-important numbers (infections, intubations, deaths) are dropping, although not as quickly as the public health authorities would like.
December 2020
Here we are at the end of this very odd and troubling year. It is November 30 as I write. St Andrew’s Day, with Greek authorities worrying about the Peloponnesian city of Patras: St Andrew is the city’s patron saint, and huge celebrations are usually held there, centring on the eponymous church, which is simply enormous, and contains the saint’s mortal remains, as well as the saltire cross on which he was crucified. If masses gather in the usual way, then a spread of the virus will almost inevitably follow. But the Bishop has asked people to stay away, and people do generally listen to church dignitaries, so here’s hoping all will be well.
November 2020
Another month, and I find myself irresistibly reminded of the opening sentence of Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…Life being the mixture that it is, Melburnians probably felt they were experiencing the best of times with the good news about the control of the virus, and that they were over the worst of times endured during the long months of restrictions. But everything is relative, and everybody doubtless has his/her idea about the nature of the times. Consider Afghanistan and France. Not to mention the Turkish/Greek earthquake.
October 2020
The pandemic seems to have skewed time somehow: I’ve probably said this before, but Before Covid 19 seems a very hazy, free and easy period, and the last six months have disappeared into a long blur. The human race lurches on somehow, however, despite dismaying statistics and huge burdens of grief. Here in Greece, things have worsened to some degree, but we are still better off than the rest of Europe. Schools started the new year on time, with all rules being obeyed and masks being worn by all pupils. My granddaughter Natalia is 4, and has just started kindergarten in Athens. It seems a pity that she should have to cope with masks and health rules, but so far she has taken everything in her stride. So her mother reports, and adds that she is enjoying herself. Time for Yiayia ( me ) to stop worrying.
September 2020
Another month is upon us already, and I, for one, have not got much to show for August, apart from the fact of having a birthday. At this stage I’ve decided to take a leaf out of my maternal grandmother’s book. If, as children, we asked how old she was, she would invariably reply, ‘I’m as old as my tongue, and a little older than my teeth,’ an announcement that left us suitably mystified. Our mother eventually explained that Nana did not want to be categorized or labelled: she had the feeling that people were expected to act their age, according to society’s expectations, and she wasn’t necessarily prepared to do that.
Gillian occasionally writes for
(Type 'Bouras' into their search bar to find all her articles.)