The staircase leading to the periferia office at 8 am - before the Barbarians get there...August 24th, 2007
Hello, people.
Yesterday I went up to Athens. That’s what the people from the pleasant Southern areas of the city, (where I am, by the sea), call it: they go up to the center of town. This implies a long, painful climb, and it’s exactly what it feels like.
Imagine Athens as a much more congested L.A., with meaner drivers and no alternate routes to reach the center. The underground was much improved thanks to the Olympics, but it still doesn’t reach the entire city – my area is not included yet. Maybe in 2010. If the government doesn’t change in the meantime, which is a serious risk as they have decided to have elections early, namely in less than a month. Don’t ask me why. Please don’t. I am already striving to understand the basics of surviving here, don’t make me go into Greek politics.
So instead of driving all the way into the center, I drive ½ hour to the closest underground station, then take the underground for about 10-15 minutes, (that tends to reduce the risk of fatal car crashes by about 50%), then walk the rest of the way. All this in about 100 degrees heat. (40 degrees C for the Europeans.) My grandma’s old Nissan has no A/C, neither is there any A/C in the underground.
This, according to the maniac who suddenly started screaming next to me in the station, is apparently to be attributed to one of the 2 main political parties: “Why don’t you vote for that asshole again”, he ranted to no one that I could see, “maybe he’ll put in some A/C in the underground this time!” People just ignored him as he continued to yell about where exactly people could put their hope of seeing such a thing happen. It made me wonder: what if I suddenly started yelling at random people here to express my frustrations? It suddenly seemed like an attractive possibility. Maybe that’s why the Greeks don’t have guns after all.
I had to go to the center of Athens to try for the umpteenth time to get my Greek nationality. One has to be an optimist in this country. So I got out of the underground and walked down the few blocks to the address I had been given when I called Information. I did this while dodging rabid motorcycles and trucks, who find it a nice shortcut to use the pedestrian streets, as well as the dripping air conditioners that people here position above the sidewalks apparently for the sole purpose of drenching the people walking by. Or maybe it is done in order to force them to walk into the path of oncoming vehicles.
When I got to said address, it was the wrong one. I proceeded to call Information once again, and was promptly directed to another wrong address. Let me explain. I was told I needed to go to the “Surround” in Athens. Can’t really think of a better translation. Calling Information, I had no idea that there are about 200 “Surrounds” in Athens, including the “Surround” for the Greek DWP, the “Surround” for various banks, etc., etc. One might hope that the Information employee might ask the caller which “Surround” exactly they require, but this is Greece after all, let’s not hope for too much. Apparently, the employees just select a random “Surround” and let you tackle the rest.
Calling for the 3rd time, I was finally given the correct address. Thankfully, everything was within 5 or 6 blocks of each other. One has to be thankful for small mercies, in this country.
Once I got to my “Surround”, I was told it was still the summer holiday, and even though everyone was sitting in their offices, I could not be helped. I must come back on September 1st, when they officially reopened. Discovering unknown depths of treachery in me, I said I was only in the country for another week, could they not help me? Apparently they could, albeit reluctantly.
When I showed a woman all my paperwork, painstakingly gathered during 10 years of dealing with Greek bureaucracy, she disdainfully threw it back at me. “This is useless”, she said. Useless? I asked. Really? The consulate in L.A. said… “We don’t care about what they said. Here, only what WE say matters”, she informed me, regally. Could nothing be salvaged from the lot? Were all the previous employees who advised collecting said papers sadists? Well, she relented, maybe not all of them. In fact, we could probably use most of them. But, she said, a glint in her eye, I still needed 2 more, including a proof of residence in Greece from my grandfather, which must include my mother before she was married.
My grandfather being originally from Smyrna in Asia Minor, from where he had to flee from the Turks (no time to explain the history, go to Wikipedia to check it out), it would be difficult to find any paperwork relating to him, much less to him AND my mother, who was not even born until he went to live in Brussels. When I say this to the woman, she sits back, a satisfied smile on her face: “Then there’s nothing we can do”, she says. She has cleverly found a way not to help me EVER. You’ve got to admire such ingeniousness.
Suddenly, her eye falls on one of my documents. “What’s this?” she asks, her eyebrows working furiously. “HOW DID YOU GET THIS? This is WRONG! They should NEVER have given it to you!” She is referring to a doc made by the Greek government that states, based on my Belgian birth certificate, that I was INDEED born. Now, why would anyone require such a proof when I’m standing in front of them, I have no idea. But there it is, I have fought hard and long for that document, and it is MINE. “We’ll have to keep this”, she says, baring her teeth. That’s when some primal instinct in me took over. Springing from my chair, I literally dove onto her desk and snatched the document from her.
She turned to her colleague, obviously distraught. “Maria”, she squealed, “Maria, she took it from me!” Maria didn’t appear very moved: she barely shrugged. Turning back to me, the woman viciously said: “They’ll take it from you, you know”. Having no idea who that mysterious “they” was, I calmly replied that we would see about that, and taking my documents with me, I marched out of the office. It’s one thing to refuse to help me. But actually trying to set me back was taking it a bit too far, I thought.
I won’t give you the details of my subsequent trip to the Ministry of the Interior. Let me just say that it took the entire day, but I finally managed to get someone to forward my case to someone who might know what I should do next.
I first had to go through yet one more surreal conversation, though. This time, the question was: “But how did your mother get the Greek nationality?” “Well, both her parents were Greek.” “But she was born in Belgium!” “But both her parents were Greek.” “But WHO gave her her Greek nationality?” “Her parents.” “But how?” “They went to the Greek consulate and declared her as their daughter.” “But HOW…?”
This went on for quite some time, to the point where I actually called my mother to see whether some mysterious document had maybe been given to prove that she was the Greek daughter of Greek immigrants born in Belgian Belgium. The result was that after a few minutes of this relayed phone conversation, my mother started screaming in my ear that this was OUTRAGEOUS, and WHO THE FUCK was this PERSON who was CLEARLY an IDIOT?!?! “AND LET ME SPEAK TO HER RIGHT NOW!!” I thought rather wisely that it was probably best not to let her speak to anyone in that state, and said I’d call her back.
Thankfully, it turns out one of the secretaries working in the Ministry is a childhood friend of mine. Although there was nothing she could do to help my case, she did cook me a nice meal after the ordeal, reminding me that some Greeks are worth the trouble.
SOME FEEDBACK ABOUT THIS NEWSLETTER:
Kim R:
Well, Laura, it seems from your last two updates that Greece is EXACTLY like Hollywood. It's who you know. ; )
Amy T:
Hilarious. I think you have your next movie.
Jim P G:
OK, so is it that Greeks hate people? Or is it they hate their own people? WAIT - you're trying to prove that you ARE their own people... Do they hate people TRYING to be THEIR people? Once you're "in the club," will you be treated better? Is there in fact a government, or just a lot of people protecting their jobs in the desperate hope that nobody finds out that there is NOT, after all, a government? Or did Lewis Carroll design the government? OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!!
Pete S:
I must tell you, your emails are absolutely astounding. If even 1/4 of what you say is true, it is mind-blowing. And I must say, utterly entertaining for someone not having to go through the pain and misery you describe.
Ari S:
I fucking love these emails. I have been forwarding them to my mom who loves them too. They are hilarious. Why don't you make a movie about a girl returning home from the US to Greece to do what she thinks is a big deal directing gig as everything gone wrong and she has to deal with a country she has somewhat grown apart from. I would see it. Very funny.
John T:
In my best Al Pacino... "If I was the man I was ten years ago I would take A FLAMERTHROWER TO THIS PLACE!"
Marc G:
I am proud of the jumping across the table part. Reminds me of when Amy snapped and kicked an old lady on the Eurostar, a breakthrough moment.
Jennifer A-S:
OMG too funny! Sorry it's been such a battle!
John H:
Thanks very much for these emails. I am torn between enjoying your writing, and feeling sorry for you for enduring all of these hassles. Your writing is great - very funny... I admire your fortitude in trying so hard to become a citizen of a country that is driving you nuts.
Hello, people.
Yesterday I went up to Athens. That’s what the people from the pleasant Southern areas of the city, (where I am, by the sea), call it: they go up to the center of town. This implies a long, painful climb, and it’s exactly what it feels like.
Imagine Athens as a much more congested L.A., with meaner drivers and no alternate routes to reach the center. The underground was much improved thanks to the Olympics, but it still doesn’t reach the entire city – my area is not included yet. Maybe in 2010. If the government doesn’t change in the meantime, which is a serious risk as they have decided to have elections early, namely in less than a month. Don’t ask me why. Please don’t. I am already striving to understand the basics of surviving here, don’t make me go into Greek politics.
So instead of driving all the way into the center, I drive ½ hour to the closest underground station, then take the underground for about 10-15 minutes, (that tends to reduce the risk of fatal car crashes by about 50%), then walk the rest of the way. All this in about 100 degrees heat. (40 degrees C for the Europeans.) My grandma’s old Nissan has no A/C, neither is there any A/C in the underground.
This, according to the maniac who suddenly started screaming next to me in the station, is apparently to be attributed to one of the 2 main political parties: “Why don’t you vote for that asshole again”, he ranted to no one that I could see, “maybe he’ll put in some A/C in the underground this time!” People just ignored him as he continued to yell about where exactly people could put their hope of seeing such a thing happen. It made me wonder: what if I suddenly started yelling at random people here to express my frustrations? It suddenly seemed like an attractive possibility. Maybe that’s why the Greeks don’t have guns after all.
I had to go to the center of Athens to try for the umpteenth time to get my Greek nationality. One has to be an optimist in this country. So I got out of the underground and walked down the few blocks to the address I had been given when I called Information. I did this while dodging rabid motorcycles and trucks, who find it a nice shortcut to use the pedestrian streets, as well as the dripping air conditioners that people here position above the sidewalks apparently for the sole purpose of drenching the people walking by. Or maybe it is done in order to force them to walk into the path of oncoming vehicles.
When I got to said address, it was the wrong one. I proceeded to call Information once again, and was promptly directed to another wrong address. Let me explain. I was told I needed to go to the “Surround” in Athens. Can’t really think of a better translation. Calling Information, I had no idea that there are about 200 “Surrounds” in Athens, including the “Surround” for the Greek DWP, the “Surround” for various banks, etc., etc. One might hope that the Information employee might ask the caller which “Surround” exactly they require, but this is Greece after all, let’s not hope for too much. Apparently, the employees just select a random “Surround” and let you tackle the rest.
Calling for the 3rd time, I was finally given the correct address. Thankfully, everything was within 5 or 6 blocks of each other. One has to be thankful for small mercies, in this country.
Once I got to my “Surround”, I was told it was still the summer holiday, and even though everyone was sitting in their offices, I could not be helped. I must come back on September 1st, when they officially reopened. Discovering unknown depths of treachery in me, I said I was only in the country for another week, could they not help me? Apparently they could, albeit reluctantly.
When I showed a woman all my paperwork, painstakingly gathered during 10 years of dealing with Greek bureaucracy, she disdainfully threw it back at me. “This is useless”, she said. Useless? I asked. Really? The consulate in L.A. said… “We don’t care about what they said. Here, only what WE say matters”, she informed me, regally. Could nothing be salvaged from the lot? Were all the previous employees who advised collecting said papers sadists? Well, she relented, maybe not all of them. In fact, we could probably use most of them. But, she said, a glint in her eye, I still needed 2 more, including a proof of residence in Greece from my grandfather, which must include my mother before she was married.
My grandfather being originally from Smyrna in Asia Minor, from where he had to flee from the Turks (no time to explain the history, go to Wikipedia to check it out), it would be difficult to find any paperwork relating to him, much less to him AND my mother, who was not even born until he went to live in Brussels. When I say this to the woman, she sits back, a satisfied smile on her face: “Then there’s nothing we can do”, she says. She has cleverly found a way not to help me EVER. You’ve got to admire such ingeniousness.
Suddenly, her eye falls on one of my documents. “What’s this?” she asks, her eyebrows working furiously. “HOW DID YOU GET THIS? This is WRONG! They should NEVER have given it to you!” She is referring to a doc made by the Greek government that states, based on my Belgian birth certificate, that I was INDEED born. Now, why would anyone require such a proof when I’m standing in front of them, I have no idea. But there it is, I have fought hard and long for that document, and it is MINE. “We’ll have to keep this”, she says, baring her teeth. That’s when some primal instinct in me took over. Springing from my chair, I literally dove onto her desk and snatched the document from her.
She turned to her colleague, obviously distraught. “Maria”, she squealed, “Maria, she took it from me!” Maria didn’t appear very moved: she barely shrugged. Turning back to me, the woman viciously said: “They’ll take it from you, you know”. Having no idea who that mysterious “they” was, I calmly replied that we would see about that, and taking my documents with me, I marched out of the office. It’s one thing to refuse to help me. But actually trying to set me back was taking it a bit too far, I thought.
I won’t give you the details of my subsequent trip to the Ministry of the Interior. Let me just say that it took the entire day, but I finally managed to get someone to forward my case to someone who might know what I should do next.
I first had to go through yet one more surreal conversation, though. This time, the question was: “But how did your mother get the Greek nationality?” “Well, both her parents were Greek.” “But she was born in Belgium!” “But both her parents were Greek.” “But WHO gave her her Greek nationality?” “Her parents.” “But how?” “They went to the Greek consulate and declared her as their daughter.” “But HOW…?”
This went on for quite some time, to the point where I actually called my mother to see whether some mysterious document had maybe been given to prove that she was the Greek daughter of Greek immigrants born in Belgian Belgium. The result was that after a few minutes of this relayed phone conversation, my mother started screaming in my ear that this was OUTRAGEOUS, and WHO THE FUCK was this PERSON who was CLEARLY an IDIOT?!?! “AND LET ME SPEAK TO HER RIGHT NOW!!” I thought rather wisely that it was probably best not to let her speak to anyone in that state, and said I’d call her back.
Thankfully, it turns out one of the secretaries working in the Ministry is a childhood friend of mine. Although there was nothing she could do to help my case, she did cook me a nice meal after the ordeal, reminding me that some Greeks are worth the trouble.
SOME FEEDBACK ABOUT THIS NEWSLETTER:
Kim R:
Well, Laura, it seems from your last two updates that Greece is EXACTLY like Hollywood. It's who you know. ; )
Amy T:
Hilarious. I think you have your next movie.
Jim P G:
OK, so is it that Greeks hate people? Or is it they hate their own people? WAIT - you're trying to prove that you ARE their own people... Do they hate people TRYING to be THEIR people? Once you're "in the club," will you be treated better? Is there in fact a government, or just a lot of people protecting their jobs in the desperate hope that nobody finds out that there is NOT, after all, a government? Or did Lewis Carroll design the government? OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!!
Pete S:
I must tell you, your emails are absolutely astounding. If even 1/4 of what you say is true, it is mind-blowing. And I must say, utterly entertaining for someone not having to go through the pain and misery you describe.
Ari S:
I fucking love these emails. I have been forwarding them to my mom who loves them too. They are hilarious. Why don't you make a movie about a girl returning home from the US to Greece to do what she thinks is a big deal directing gig as everything gone wrong and she has to deal with a country she has somewhat grown apart from. I would see it. Very funny.
John T:
In my best Al Pacino... "If I was the man I was ten years ago I would take A FLAMERTHROWER TO THIS PLACE!"
Marc G:
I am proud of the jumping across the table part. Reminds me of when Amy snapped and kicked an old lady on the Eurostar, a breakthrough moment.
Jennifer A-S:
OMG too funny! Sorry it's been such a battle!
John H:
Thanks very much for these emails. I am torn between enjoying your writing, and feeling sorry for you for enduring all of these hassles. Your writing is great - very funny... I admire your fortitude in trying so hard to become a citizen of a country that is driving you nuts.
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