During our wanderings through Greece we drove into Náfplion, an international seaport where large freighters called to load oranges. I parked Gus, our motor caravan, near the harbour. Next to us stood a small motor car, from which alighted an elderly man. He was, what I call, an Onassis-type, the kind of man you meet quite often in Greece, not tall, thick-set body, heavy bushy eyebrows and large horn-rimmed glasses.
The man noticed Francis, my wife, and me sitting in the back of our ‘van. He smiled at us in a friendly, inviting way, slowly walked around Gus and strolled back to his car. He took a bar of chocolate from the top of his dashboard and approached our side-door. I opened the door, the man smiled at me and held out his hand. I thought he wanted to greet me and when I put out my hand he grabbed my arm, with a jolt pulled himself inside and walked right passed me to the back of our ‘van. Before I knew what happened, he had installed himself on the couch next to Francis and started to divide the chocolate into parts.
He introduced himself as Georgios Kanellopulos, manager of the local branch of the Bank of Greece, but now retired. He said he liked to practice his English now and then, although Francis and I found his heavy Greek accent utterly difficult to understand. Georgios had a permanent laugh, continually took off his glasses and put them on again, spoke with vehement gestures and always clutched our (well, especially Francis’) hands. He stated he knew everything there was to know about Greek mythology and he was, as far as I could tell, right about that, because during the past few months Francis and I had also learned a lot about the ancient history of Greece.
In a travel-guide I had read what kind of shameless questions Greek man are apt to ask to unsuspecting strangers and Georgios didn’t skip one of those. He wanted to know where we came from, where we were going, what we thought about Greece, if we were married, did we have any children, why not, were our parents still alive, what kind of work I did and especially how much I earned. In exchange Georgios, without flinching, supplied about himself information of the kind I would never dare to ask. He told us he had a monthly pension of thousand pounds and in addition he had several foreign bank-accounts and some real estate nearby. Definitely Georgios was not a poor man.
Like a true Greek, Georgios couldn’t understand why Francis and I had no children and especially not that we didn’t think of that as a problem. He strongly urged us to start a family as soon as possible.
“You must make sex!” he exclaimed, pointing emphatically to our bed above the cabin. Suddenly I realized our cultures are quite different.
After a while Georgios took from his wallet several snap-shots of his wife and two daughters.
“Don’t you think I have very pretty daughters?”, he said, waving the pictures right under my nose, “They make very good wives!”
Instantly Georgios changed his role from charming philanderer to doting father. He chattered endlessly about his family and extolled the virtues of his many grandchildren. An hour later Georgios rose to leave, but not after he had slipped us a sack full of oranges and had invited us to a restaurant the next evening.
The next day Georgios again came to visit us. Still standing in the doorway he looked at me with penetrating eyes, pointed to the bed and asked: “Did you?”
Georgios excused himself he was too late and therefore we didn’t have time enough to go somewhere to eat and drink. Instead he brought a nicely wrapped box with cookies and another bag of oranges.
Georgios found Francis very attractive and tried to show his affection in a Greek way. He became more free and easy, showered her with little kisses and she was never safe from his wandering hands. Francis finally understood why Jacqueline Kennedy ever decided to marry Aristoteles Onassis. No matter their age, those charming Greeks are irresistible!
The next morning Georgios took us sightseeing the surroundings of Náfplion. By way of precaution Francis went to sit in the back of the car but even there she wasn’t safe from the amorous hands of Georgios. Before we had barely driven a yard he had already grabbed her by the knees and had stalled his engine twice. When he repeated his searching on the public-road I intervened and asked him to mind the road from now on. Slightly hurt Georgios defended himself, saying:
“Why, surely there are no other cars on the road?”
And at that moment we were driving a mountain-road with many S-bends!
Going out with a gentleman “in love” was quite an experience. Of course it was only a game, yet Francis and I became worried Georgios’ weak heart would give out by all the emotions he so exuberantly displayed. His driving was frankly terrible. He drove fast where he had to drive slowly, and slow where he had to speed up. Most of the time he drove on the wrong side of the road and when Francis said something, he took both hands from the wheel and turned around completely.
Georgios took us to the ‘Palamedes’, the Venetian fortress atop the hill above Náfplion. It would have been possible to reach the fortifications from the town-centre by climbing a staircase with 999 steps, but we couldn’t inflict that to Georgios. Even now he had to stop every other step in order to catch his breath.
From the ramparts of the fortress we had a marvellous view of the surroundings. Inside the fort was a little orthodox chapel and there Georgios lighted three candles.
“For you, to have children,” he said.
Slowly we strolled back to his car and drove to Náfplion. I thought Georgios would bring us back to Gus, but he didn’t. Still Francis and I couldn’t understand half of what Georgios was saying or what he intended to do. Regularly he promised to take us to his home, to eat and drink, or to a restaurant where we could eat, drink and dance. Now he said, for the umpteenth time this week, it was too late in the day to eat. Instead he drove to the graveyard of Náfplion to show us the famous Lion of Bavaria and then brought us to the ruins of Tiryns. To be honest, at that time I had no idea what those ruins represented. Only later, back in Gus, I read in a travel-guide that Tiryns, as birth-place of the Greek hero Heracles, belonged to the most important excavations in Greece.
Somewhat to our amazement Georgios then brought us back to Gus and said again that tonight he would take us to a restaurant, to eat, to drink and to dance. Eating and drinking we liked, but dancing wasn’t to our taste. Therefore I expected Georgios not to show up, but at exactly seven o’clock he knocked on our door again, clutching in his arms three portions of souvlaki, several bottles of retsína and five kilo oranges.
Georgios made excuses that, because his wife was ill, he couldn’t invite us to his home to entertain us there,
“Maybe tomorrow?”
Francis had baked a cake for his wife and because of that Georgios seemed embarrassed he couldn’t take us to his home. He spoiled us terribly and we were not allowed to do anything in return. As guests in Greece, we automatically had become his guests.
During our many conversations we noticed that Georgios rather talked about history than about present-day Greece. He was an archconservative who would have nothing to do with the many strikes that were being held in the country. Any criticism of his beloved Greece was sacrilege; he thought little of other cultures. Nevertheless the bread and meat tasted wonderful and the bottles of wine seemed to disappear mystically. Anxious about his safety we saw Georgios get into his car to drive home.
For the next day Georgios had invited us to go to Mykéne, the famous ancient ruins of a Greek city Georgios knew much about. But long before the appointed hour he knocked on our door. He seemed thrown off balance by something, although we couldn’t tell what.
“I am hungry,” he said, “I am hungry!”
“Shall I make you something to eat?” Francis asked worriedly, but Georgios answered:
“No, no! I don’t want something to eat. I am hungry!”
It took a long time before we understood that Georgios meant to tell us he was “angry” and quite taken aback he told us he had lost his wallet. The money wasn’t important, but what really mattered were the snap-shots of his wife and daughters.
He was so upset that it didn’t look like we could go to Mykéne. Georgios wouldn’t be able to make the trip. As emotional as he played his role as “lover”, he now acted the “angry desperate man”. We really felt sorry for him an again feared for his weak heart.
When that night Georgios came to visit again, he was once more in high spirits. He had found his wallet in the bedroom of his house. Once more he had brought something to eat, several extremely sweet pieces of cake, covered with white powder, and ‘dolmades’, a Greek speciality consisting of little balls of rice with egg and citron sauce, wrapped in vine-leaves. And oh yes, two bags of oranges!
