By Martha Stamatopoulos
After 19 total hours in flight, and 22 hours in the humid Singaporean heat, I step out of the sliding doors of Athens airport to be greeted by a warm, dry, familiar breeze — and a whiff of smoke, naturally. There was so much instantly felt in just a moment.
The Greek air hit me with a familiar sensation, as if nature itself was saying, “You have arrived, welcome back,” and “Here, life is to be lived. Relax, you have returned to a place rich in history and culture that you are a part of… enjoy,” all at the same time.
To go from being in a perpetual rush in Melbourne, always having multiple things on my mind, to now having a completely wiped slate, with nothing but my carry-on suitcase and a handbag to travel with, was a welcome freedom. So off I set, with my own two feet and a city to venture.
I spent hours that day sitting at a café on a side street, with French-style woven chairs and tables lined along the footpath. I contently sipped away slowly at my iced cacao, read my book, and observed my surroundings.
With nothing to cool me but a mild breeze on a 35-degree day, I smiled at the sound of Greek conversation all around me: the tradesmen on the phone, the youth with their ‘parea,’ and the two men at the table beside me — one storytelling the day’s events to the other with gusto. Their tone, their mannerisms, their phrases were all so wonderfully… Greek.
Three days later, I was on the train to Thessaloniki. The tracks rolled on to a view of vast open fields of long yellowed grass, with the silhouettes of mountains complementing the horizon. About three hours in, the train slowed to a halt and we were stranded in the open landscape until engine issues were sorted.
The old lady next to me started a conversation. She had short grey hair, kept back with a purple hair clip, and reminded me of my yiayia, or one of my aunties. We compared life in Greece and Australia. She talked about her family, how difficult the economy is in Greece, and I learned all about her life and lifestyle. The conversation really highlighted how much more comfort and opportunity we get to experience growing up in Australia. There is a lot to be grateful for — gratitude I owe to all four of my grandparents for making the move back in the 1950s and 1960s.
In the evening, as I walked along the port of Thessaloniki, from the White Tower towards the famous art installation of the metal umbrellas, the atmosphere was happening, and I felt my mood lift. Buskers sang beautiful songs in Greek. Tents lined the path with bookstalls on one side and smaller stalls on the other, selling handmade trinkets and jewellery along the water’s edge. The wide walkway was bustling with people, old and young, strolling with their friends and family. Rarely do you see such an atmosphere without a special event in Australia, and yet this is every summer night in Thessaloniki.
I thought to myself: This. This is what life is about.
To be able to grab a beer from the ‘periptero’ and sit on a bench by the water chatting with your friends while the sun sets in indigos and burnt sienna around you. To be able to sit at a café for hours and talk about the meaning of life, or debate the existence of God with a friend from work or class. To watch the children kick a ball in the plateia, lined with cafés, packed with people late into the night. To see the elderly sitting on public benches while you stroll through the streets with good company after a long day.
We are social creatures, and it is precisely all that encapsulates the concept of “time well spent with good parea” that is so fundamental to the lifestyle of Greek culture. It is almost as if I must visit Greece to remind myself that this is what gives life meaning. We work and we study to be able to do this: slow down, take in every moment, and see each moment as one of value so that we do not want it to pass us by quickly.
I have travelled all over the mainland of Greece, and many islands in past trips, and everywhere I went — from the tourist hubs to the isolated villages — evidence of this lifestyle was everywhere. How I wish this café culture and the evening hangouts in public spaces were more prevalent in Australia.
On my last night in Greece, back in Athens, I walked along the wide cobblestone-paved path of Thiseio, along the borders of the Acropolis. On that warm evening, buskers lined the way home, playing beautiful melodic music with instruments ranging from keyboards to bouzoukia and guitars. It was like walking through a cut scene at the end of a film as the end credits rolled. It was as if Greece was saying “goodbye” to me — “till next time.”
