It was 20 years ago today ......

When we moved from Athens in 1995, we went to live in Kato Toumba – a densely populated area of Thessaloniki, but, nevertheless, one that retained a sense of community. It was very noisy and at times there were parking problems so once again we rejected urban life for something quieter. We looked around at maisonettes which did not appeal. In general they were cramped, expensive, affording less privacy that our single-floor, corner flat in Toumba.

Z had come across a half-finished house in an agricultural area in the Vasilika area and arranged a visit. It was winter 1998/9 and the weather cold, wet, overcast. The ground was muddy with knee-high thistles and my immediate reaction was to smile at the vendor and mouth to Z, ‘No way!’

                         

Yet Z was enthralled: the building was sound, the price reasonable, the unfinished state allowing us some leeway in making personal choices. He suggested we make a second visit so I agreed - with my mind made up anyway! But to my surprise what I saw before me was quite another place. No longer shrouded in mist, the place lay in a sun-washed plain that was welcoming us. The villages of Peristera and Vavdos could be seen nestling on their mountain ridges, while we heard the church bells of the nearby Lakkia peel out. And it was then that Z played his strategic card: he said that there was lots of land, an independent water supply, and that if I agreed that we take the place on, he would build me a swimming pool – a long-term dream of mine. And there and then the decision was made.   It was negotiated that the owner undertook to complete certain aspects of the house within six months. We would make a deposit and undertook to do the rest – and, boy, was there a lot to do!                    

                            

Here you see our two doggies test-running the newly-laid path and searching out shade under our inherited olive trees. That’s Alex on the left, Leyla on the right.

The move was to happen on the Wednesday, lorry booked, house all clean. But we took the first batch of what we could ourselves on the Saturday beforehand. The weather was incredibly hot – topping 40oC- and the house seemed so cool that I made the decision to spend the night there- no beds or mattresses, just lying on a layer of towels.  I never went back to the city!!

 We decided too that the pool work had to start first and the garden project would follow. Z had asked several companies for a pool construction estimate that came to about two fifths of the total cost of house, land, taxation and lawyer fees – astronomical! But one local company suggested we get local contractors to undertake the different stages  and that they would do a final inspection that all was well, on condition that we used their pump  and lighting equipment – done! We also got the contractors to deepen the well and construct a sturdier pump house. All that work, including laying the tiles and stone slabs around the house nd pool all came in at half the estimated pool outlay. Great, but as project manager Z was run off his feet: ordering materials, staging contractors’ services relatively seamlessly, being foreman and checking at each stage - the dude served several apprenticeships simultaneously that summer.

                                            

This pool construction was all done in searing heat but the day came when the equipment was all in place and tiles were grouted. We just needed 48 hours for them to dry out before we began to fill the pool. It was then that our Swedish family friends arrived to spend a few days of their holidays with us. As a race, they place language learning as a high priority, so I was impressed when I heard the Mum tell her two sons – about 5 and 7 years old - that in this house they were allowed to speak only Greek or English. (Can you imagine such a scene happening in Britain?!) Angelos, the elder, was beside himself when he saw the pool but his excitement quickly ebbed when he saw it was empty.

He stared in dismay, thinking for a few moments, then turned to Z and asked in Greek, in glorious, final-syllable lilting Scandinavian tones, ‘But where is the water?’ We arranged they had a swim elsewhere to offset their initial dismay!

                                                  

Above we see the water pipes being laid for the sprinkler system, once that was done we could seed the lawn and plant trees. In the second picture, the grass has begun to grow and the tunnel-cum-garage has been put in place. The temperatures are now more comfortable and the Greek flag flies on the flagstaff for the first time as we celebrate National Day on October 28^th. In four months Z has overseen a complete transformation.

  And here we are now, twenty years on.  We have a second floor constructed, an outer insulation coat applied and a garden that has matured.       

                                             

Our home still requires a lot of work; it’s a high maintenance project but we have also created many happy memories during that span of years.

And the same goes for the garden. Through trial and error we manage to produce vegetables every summer from our patch.  This year we have done battle with magpies for whom our ripe, sweet tomatoes are so enticing we find them ‘beaked’ in several places ! 

                                                      

Z’s response has been very successful in deterring our marauders: his suspended cds reflect the sun rays and clink against the cane supports.    His very own son et lumiere show!                           

Application for Greek Nationality, Continued.

December 5^th, 2019, - day dawns and it’s time to present myself at the local administrative offices to demonstrate whether my knowledge of Greek language, history, geography, politics, culture, etc. is good enough for me to continue on the nationalization process.

Nice, sunny day but Z has to search for a parking space, so alone I negotiate my way through the human wall – mainly Asian applicants for rights of residence – which makes access to the entrance challenging. At our venue, a rather charmless corridor, I find other British nationality-seekers: 3 with appointments at 8.45; 3 at 9.00; 2, like me, at 9.15. looks like this is going to be one long day!

 About one hour in, and by way of distraction, I decide to record our group while we wait – smiles masking our anxiety. But these smiles suddenly changed to a range of quite different expressions, on seeing a grown woman exit the interview room in flood of tears. :o  I do wish I’d recorded those expressions too!!

                                             

We are taken into a room individually and asked to fill out an official request-form addressed to whichever Ministry we choose, making some form of request. I am assured I can complete the form in pencil and I request that the Ministry of the Interior look favourably upon my application for nationality. On leaving my room I realize I’ve made a spelling mistake – oh horrors! So when I’m recalled and requested to complete another form in pen this time, I’m delighted and do a bit of deft amendment to the offending word!

 At around 12 noon, when the Boss-Dude announced they were going to have a break -!?! – Z who was white-hot with real irritation on the delay, ironically asks if the break is for them or us L.  I have to restrain him from making further comments – that dude is going to be interviewing me soon  … -ish.

BD calls in the penultimate interviewee and advises me I’ll be asked to recite the National Anthem, I respond I’ll sing it if they’d like. At 1.30 it’s my turn to be called in. Previously I had decided not to do any rehearsal while waiting, in case I foul up and cause myself real anxiety, so I go in praying my retrieval skills will operate, but my recall is definitely misted by adrenalin flow.

There are two interviewers: BD and a lady of nil-expression - assumed, rather than botoxed -  and a third lady who is laboriously recording by hand my every response. We begin with BD asking me questions of personal information: my work, where, length of residence in Greece, marital status, home ownership, what difference will Brexit make to me. As I’m responding I catch a look made by Lady 1 to Lady 2. It’s a facial expression of pleasant surprise, so that calms me a little as clearly she thinks my Greek is okay- phew!

Then we move on to check out my geographical gen. I’m asked to list neighbouring countries, the geographic departments of the country, the seas that wash it, the island groups as well as the names of some of the islands.

They are very good at their job: If you make a mistake – I had the gall to assign the island of Ikaria to a completely different island group, even going so far as to move it into a different sea! – they gently question your response, giving you time to self-correct if you can, and they also have prompts at the ready.

I’m asked about the two major airports in Greece and when I respond ‘Spata’ for the Athenian one, L1 responds ‘Sparta?’. I say, ‘No, Spata, the area  it’s in.’ Then I realize that they wanted the real name ‘Eleftherios Venezelos’ as they want to me to give further information on its namesake, the politician during WW1. He’s a favourite of mine so I’m happy to identify him in a picture and discuss the high and low points in his career. While in full-Venezelos-flow, I catch L1 gesturing to L2 to stop writing down what I say. I take that as probably meaning they have enough data on me now to come to a decision on my performance. Is that positive or negative - who knows? But what it means for me is that L2, now freed of her recording duties, starts pitching questions at me too. And they are fairly relentless and hurl questions at a fair pace – gulp!

I’m asked about the mode of government - that’s easy: Greece has a Presidential Parliamentary Democracy, but, as you can imagine, in Greek it’s even more of a mouthful. I’m two-thirds through the phrase when I stop and realize I have to start again. I had been listing these long adjectives with masculine endings, but the Greek word for democracy is feminine so they all had to agree! I’m asked about how the parliament operates and to name the political parties represented in it. I am a bit thrown, however, when I’m asked to name the Prime Ministers since WW2. This is neither in our information booklet, nor have I studied it, but I praise Zeus for nepotistic political tendencies and from each of the families Papandreou, Mitsotakis and Karamanlis, I manage to harvest two or three names which cover a fair span of time.

Being their ‘last victim’ as I announced myself initially, I naively thought I might get a short interview, but no, these questions just keep on coming. BD asks me if Greece has had any Nobel Prize winners. The nice thing about that mode of questioning is you say ‘Yes’ and it feels more positive and less confrontational  than saying ‘Name …’ I answer that both Seferis and Elytis were awarded Nobel Prizes for Literature. My continued response ,’… and George Seferis won the award …’ is interrupted by L2, saying ‘”You think I’m interested in when he won it?’. I’m so shocked by this I ask her to repeat her question, which she does. To which I reply, ‘Okay then, I won’t tell you.’

And that was the end of my interview, just as the clock struck 2.00!!

Below we have a wee post-exam wind-down!

                                                 

To be continued ……

 …….19^th June and ….the results are out and I’m in.        

          My knowledge was deemed satisfactory enough for the naturalization process to continue.    Yay!!!