The Greek culture has a lot to recommend it. Families are still very close, communities are predominantly safe for children to go out and play in with confidence, at least in rural and island areas. Yeah, well, knowing everyone and being known by everyone in a village environment has both its upside and its downside, but it's miles better than not knowing one's next-door neighbour at all and living in a 'community' where one could be dead on one's kitchen floor for a week or two, or even worse, lying injured and helpless there, before anyone even knows.
Where I come from in the South West of England and, more latterly, South Wales, in the UK, things have changed immeasurably since I was a child growing up in the 1950's. Back then we had simple latches on our kitchen doors and I could walk to school across several fields and down a country lane or two alone at the age of 6 or maybe 7. Now it seems, people in villages all work in the city and hardly see their neighbours, leave alone have any meaningful interaction with them. I know, it doesn't do to generalise, but you know where I'm coming from, I'm sure. These days in the UK everyone takes their kids by car to the school gate and waits outside for them to emerge at the end of the day. Yes, OK, I'm generalising again.
I would walk home from the tiny village school in Priston, a distance of some three miles, all on my lonesome, and I'd love it. I well remember the time when I was skirting an electric fence, keeping some cattle to a particular section of a meadow, and I wondered what would happen if I touched the fence. I must have been seven. I picked a bunch of wild flowers (many of which you'd be hard pressed to find in a British meadow nowadays) and gingerly laid them upon the electrified wire.
Zap! I still remember the electrical 'fizz' that ran up my arm. Needless to say, I treated electric fences with respect from then on. When I finally got to our back door half an hour or so later, I was none the worse for the experience and my mum was there preparing the evening meal. Sounds idyllic. Frankly, it was.
Here in southern Rhodes there are villages where daily life remains just about something akin to that era in the UK. Things are, of course, changing here too. But, the way I look at it, this area is a few decades behind the UK - in a good way. The family culture here is still strong, which regularly produces situations that we both appreciate and - in order to be balanced - occasionally express gratitude for not having to endure.
What am I on about? I'm on about the propensity that the Greeks have to visit their relatives willy nilly, with no invitation, no reference to whether their hosts may have already received other visitors for a week or three, and often not much advance warning. Most of the Greeks we know don't have any concept of the package holiday. Instead, they simply choose which relatives they're going to visit and go and stay there.
I'll cite as an example our friend Voula. She has a husband and four children, ranging in ages from 6 to 20, and they all still live at home in a village not far from us. Voula's hubby had been married before (one evidence of how things are changing here) and has grown-up children from his previous marriage. They live in Thessalonika with their mother. Voula herself has aunts and uncles on the Greek mainland (on her mother's side) and a brother who lives with his wife on the island of Crete.
A few weeks ago, Voula's mum's sister and her hubby, together with two grown-up daughters, came to stay for two weeks. That's in a house with six permanent residents and three bedrooms. As is quite normal for Greeks, they ended up with bodies all over the lounge when it was time to bed down for the night. Privacy is a notion that doesn't compute in such circumstances. Even though Voula is quite a modern woman of around 40 years old, she cooks almost every single day and always from fresh ingredients. I don't know many Greek households where they stock up their freezers with ready meals or pre-packed and processed foods. Here in the south of Rhodes women start with fresh fruit and vegetables and prepare their meals from there, much as my mother used to do when I was a lad. The whole thing is, I believe, a throw-back to patriarchal days of bygone eras.
So, Voula was run ragged cooking for 10 for two weeks. OK, so the visitors helped out here and there, but they also bunged their dirty washing in her machine and she washed and ironed it, not to mention the sheets and bedding. Not two days after the visitors left, we were talking with Voula at her kitchen table when she told us she had to cut short our chat in order to set out for the airport. She had to go and meet her half-sister and hubby who were flying in from Thessalonika that very afternoon.
"How long are they staying for?" My wife asked Voula.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe a week. maybe two." replied Voula, resignation written all over her face.
So the half sibling and partner turned up and stayed about ten days, after which, apart from running them back to the airport, Voula had to again wash a load of extra bedding.
'Where is her husband in all of this?' You may ask. Well, as you may have guessed anyway, he has a business that's tourist-related and is thus out at work every waking hour, seven days a week for another few weeks yet. Her oldest daughter works in a nearby hotel and her younger three are still at school and thus were on summer break. They've just returned to school this past week.
Back at Voula's the other night, we were enjoying some 'parea' with a small group of friends when she once again got up and declared, "Anyway, everyone, must ask you to clear off now. I'm going out." I must add that Voula, who is usually immaculately turned out, had her hair tied up behind her head and was wearing not one scrap of makeup. She looked somewhat fraught. In fact we remarked that perhaps she needed a holiday.
Of course, we were curious as to where she had to go, since it was around 9.30pm. Guess what, she was off to the airport again to meet and greet yet more relatives, the other half-sibling, plus wife and two kids were arriving to stay a while.
Now, Voula isn't the type to complain, yet when my better half suggested that she must be just a tad weary of visitors after something like six weeks without much break, her response was a simple half smile, as if to say, "it's par for the course. Not much I can do, so what's the point in griping?"
Thus, my friends, whilst we can envy the Greeks their family and community closeness, there is perhaps a smidgin of relief that in other parts of the world we're not quite so close any more.
Where I come from in the South West of England and, more latterly, South Wales, in the UK, things have changed immeasurably since I was a child growing up in the 1950's. Back then we had simple latches on our kitchen doors and I could walk to school across several fields and down a country lane or two alone at the age of 6 or maybe 7. Now it seems, people in villages all work in the city and hardly see their neighbours, leave alone have any meaningful interaction with them. I know, it doesn't do to generalise, but you know where I'm coming from, I'm sure. These days in the UK everyone takes their kids by car to the school gate and waits outside for them to emerge at the end of the day. Yes, OK, I'm generalising again.
I would walk home from the tiny village school in Priston, a distance of some three miles, all on my lonesome, and I'd love it. I well remember the time when I was skirting an electric fence, keeping some cattle to a particular section of a meadow, and I wondered what would happen if I touched the fence. I must have been seven. I picked a bunch of wild flowers (many of which you'd be hard pressed to find in a British meadow nowadays) and gingerly laid them upon the electrified wire.
Zap! I still remember the electrical 'fizz' that ran up my arm. Needless to say, I treated electric fences with respect from then on. When I finally got to our back door half an hour or so later, I was none the worse for the experience and my mum was there preparing the evening meal. Sounds idyllic. Frankly, it was.
Here in southern Rhodes there are villages where daily life remains just about something akin to that era in the UK. Things are, of course, changing here too. But, the way I look at it, this area is a few decades behind the UK - in a good way. The family culture here is still strong, which regularly produces situations that we both appreciate and - in order to be balanced - occasionally express gratitude for not having to endure.
What am I on about? I'm on about the propensity that the Greeks have to visit their relatives willy nilly, with no invitation, no reference to whether their hosts may have already received other visitors for a week or three, and often not much advance warning. Most of the Greeks we know don't have any concept of the package holiday. Instead, they simply choose which relatives they're going to visit and go and stay there.
I'll cite as an example our friend Voula. She has a husband and four children, ranging in ages from 6 to 20, and they all still live at home in a village not far from us. Voula's hubby had been married before (one evidence of how things are changing here) and has grown-up children from his previous marriage. They live in Thessalonika with their mother. Voula herself has aunts and uncles on the Greek mainland (on her mother's side) and a brother who lives with his wife on the island of Crete.
A few weeks ago, Voula's mum's sister and her hubby, together with two grown-up daughters, came to stay for two weeks. That's in a house with six permanent residents and three bedrooms. As is quite normal for Greeks, they ended up with bodies all over the lounge when it was time to bed down for the night. Privacy is a notion that doesn't compute in such circumstances. Even though Voula is quite a modern woman of around 40 years old, she cooks almost every single day and always from fresh ingredients. I don't know many Greek households where they stock up their freezers with ready meals or pre-packed and processed foods. Here in the south of Rhodes women start with fresh fruit and vegetables and prepare their meals from there, much as my mother used to do when I was a lad. The whole thing is, I believe, a throw-back to patriarchal days of bygone eras.
So, Voula was run ragged cooking for 10 for two weeks. OK, so the visitors helped out here and there, but they also bunged their dirty washing in her machine and she washed and ironed it, not to mention the sheets and bedding. Not two days after the visitors left, we were talking with Voula at her kitchen table when she told us she had to cut short our chat in order to set out for the airport. She had to go and meet her half-sister and hubby who were flying in from Thessalonika that very afternoon.
"How long are they staying for?" My wife asked Voula.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe a week. maybe two." replied Voula, resignation written all over her face.
So the half sibling and partner turned up and stayed about ten days, after which, apart from running them back to the airport, Voula had to again wash a load of extra bedding.
'Where is her husband in all of this?' You may ask. Well, as you may have guessed anyway, he has a business that's tourist-related and is thus out at work every waking hour, seven days a week for another few weeks yet. Her oldest daughter works in a nearby hotel and her younger three are still at school and thus were on summer break. They've just returned to school this past week.
Back at Voula's the other night, we were enjoying some 'parea' with a small group of friends when she once again got up and declared, "Anyway, everyone, must ask you to clear off now. I'm going out." I must add that Voula, who is usually immaculately turned out, had her hair tied up behind her head and was wearing not one scrap of makeup. She looked somewhat fraught. In fact we remarked that perhaps she needed a holiday.
Of course, we were curious as to where she had to go, since it was around 9.30pm. Guess what, she was off to the airport again to meet and greet yet more relatives, the other half-sibling, plus wife and two kids were arriving to stay a while.
Now, Voula isn't the type to complain, yet when my better half suggested that she must be just a tad weary of visitors after something like six weeks without much break, her response was a simple half smile, as if to say, "it's par for the course. Not much I can do, so what's the point in griping?"
Thus, my friends, whilst we can envy the Greeks their family and community closeness, there is perhaps a smidgin of relief that in other parts of the world we're not quite so close any more.
Mmm I can relate to this! When we moved within a few miles of Bath it was quite a surprise how many 'friends' suddenly wanted to come and visit!
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