Mandolins and the Good Samaritan
By luigi_pagano
Fri, 04 Aug 2017
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4 comments
The first time I visited Greece, the monarchy had been overthrown; King Constantine was in exile and the country was being run by a military junta, commonly known as ‘the Colonels’.
To an ordinary tourist like me the situation seemed pretty normal and I didn’t realise the significance until one evening while eating on the rooftop of a tabérna facing the Acropolis in which a group of musicians were playing traditional Greek music.
My wife, innocently but to the horror of the band, asked if they could play for us the theme tune from Zorba the Greek.
“Shh!”, they quickly whispered, “we can’t. It has been banned.”
Then they swiftly embarked on less controversial refrains. We feigned nonchalance but got
the message. It even deterred me from any thought of taking photos of the Palace guards
in their distinct uniform in case I’d be arrested for spying.
We had decided that in addition to enjoy Athens’ cultural attractions we would also do some exploring of the city on our own unhindered by official cicerones to see how the locals lived.
Most of the time we didn’t know where we were with the street sign written in Greek.
One day, as lunchtime approached, our body-clock told us that we were in need of sustenance.
We came across a small restaurant that looked like a workmen café. Perhaps it was too early for lunch as it was deserted but the door was open and we went in. At the sound of
the door’s tinkle, a portly figure – smiling and full of bonhomie – emerged from the kitchen.
“Kalimera”, he said, which was one word that I recognised from my meagre vocabulary
and knew that it meant ‘good morning’.
It was soon evident that he didn’t understand English and that conversation would be superfluous.
He motioned to follow him to the kitchen where on a spotless range stood an array of
copper pans bubbling away. We pointed to what proved to be the most delicious lamb
I had ever had. The meat was literally falling off the bone.
When I paid the bill it was my turn to show off my mastery of the language.
“Efharisto”, I said and was congratulating myself but could not carry on bluffing my way
when he replied, “Parakalo”. So I promptly shut up.
After a week, having ‘done’ Athens, it was time to move to pastures new.
We hadn’t made any plans nor had we booked anywhere else so why not let a boat
We hadn’t made any plans nor had we booked anywhere else so why not let a boat
from the port of Piraeus choose our next destination?
As it happened the first available ferry was going to Sami in Kefallinia. Low cost, long
journey but we were not in a hurry and we were not disappointed when we got there.
No need to look for a tourist information office as there were plenty of people on the quayside offering accommodation with private families.
Just the ticket for those like us with a tight budget.
Just the ticket for those like us with a tight budget.
We were soon ensconced in a nice white-washed house owned by a kind old lady.
Her cuisine was excellent and one day she promised to give us a traditional Greek
dessert. To our surprise it was something with which we were already familiar: rice
pudding. We didn’t give the game away though and complimented her on her choice.
As we were out every day, walking on nearby hills, we had lunch in a small restaurant
by the sea and it was there that once we felt a earth tremor. All of a sudden the birds
stopped singing and a weird silence descended on the place. The table shook from side
to side for what seemed an eternity but it only lasted a few seconds.
We got used to it and when it happened on one of our walk we weren’t unduly concerned.
Neither occurrences were fully fledged earthquakes.
From our base in the coastal town of Sami we were able to enjoy sights like the underground Mellisani lake and the Drogarati cave near Agia Effimia and once a local taxi driver took us to see a Venetian castle.
Everything was going very smoothly when on a Sunday we realised we had forgotten to
change some travellers cheques and had only small change, just enough to buy a couple
of shish kebabs from a market stall. The evening dinner was assured and the next day we would go to a bank.
The only snag was that the following day was a bank holiday and every bank we tried was shut. As we wondered what to do next a man pushing a bicycle came by and hearing of our plight told us not to worry. Although it was a bank holiday the employees were still working
behind closed doors. He would arrange for a director, who was his friend, to allow us to
cash some travellers cheques. True enough we were allowed in but there was no one allowed to sanction the transaction, as the director, we assumed, was away playing golf.
But not everything was lost and our good Samaritan asked about the rate of exchange and paid us the equivalent amount saying that he would redeem our cheques on his friend’s return. We wanted to thank him for the magnanimous gesture and invited him to have a drink at the nearest bar but he insisted that it should be us to join him at his house.
He was a wine merchant and we sampled the best wine that the island could offer.
When he learnt my nationality, he declared that while he hated the Germans he thought
that the Italians were ‘brothers’; that during the occupation of the island in World War II
my compatriots, mostly of peasant stock, had joined the locals in cultivating the land but then the Teutonic army had come and a massacre ensued after the German High Command issued an order stating that "because of the perfidious and treacherous behaviour [of the Italians] on Cephalonia, no prisoners are to be taken."
I regret now that I didn’t whip out a notebook and record all that he told me. I could have been, in the words of Marlon Brando in the ‘On the Waterfront’, a contender.
It was many years later that Louis de Berniers was to recount the events I was hearing then, in his book ‘Captain Corelli’s Mandolin’.
Perhaps just as well: my version might have been a flop.
Something else proved to be a failure : I bought a few bottles of his white wine that had tasted like nectar when drank at his house but on my return home it turned out to be
acidic because, I’m told, – unlike me – ‘wine doesn’t travel’.
© Luigi Pagano 2017
Image - No attribution required - Pixabay license
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Comments
Really interesting, Luigi -
Really interesting, Luigi - ah, the literary fortune that might have been! Somehow I doubt that everyone would be so obliging and easy going now. Just reading this brought back memories of my own trips to Greece - I first went a couple of years after the end of the junta - and the pleasures of catching a ferry and just seeking out a little taberna to stay in. A lovely read.
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Enjoyed the armchair relaxing
Enjoyed the armchair relaxing holiday tour. Rhiannon
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