Scare tactics and garden parties

Rioting. Immigration sweeps. Detainment of US citizens. Pick pocketing. Illegal ATM machines…and the list goes on. Today we visited the US Embassy (back on American soil for a few hours! And oh how nice the toilets were), and during our visit they piled on all the possible catastrophes that could occur during our stay, frightening us as thoroughly as possible. According to the Regional Security Officer (a questionably racist man who made a comment that Greeks took the summer off from demonstrating because “Greeks don’t like to sweat…in many ways”, as well as another derisive comment about “Greek people”), this is “expected to be a big demonstration season” and we are likely to see a great deal of unrest during this period of transitory government. In fact, only a few hours later we got to observe our first demonstration, which was happening right down an alley from my apartment and right in front of the CYA building (this area being the marble Olympic stadium). This is not the normal place for demonstrations (Syndagma square, where Parliament is located, was used significantly in the past, and Ommonia square is apparently becoming another protesting spot.

Perhaps in a passive-aggressive attempt to prevent us from joining this conveniently-located demonstration, the president of CYA had arranged for us to attend a garden party at his house in one of the wealthier suburbs of Athens. So we loaded up on buses, and were driven far from any danger to Alexis Phylactopoulos (I do love Greek last names) beautiful house and expansive garden area.

I got my first real souvlaki (which I have finally learned differs from gyro in that it is kabob meat--or at least, what we Americans call kabob--as opposed to shaved meat, but is still served in pita with lettuce, tomato, onion and tzatziki and is delicious).

I got a hearty helping of mingling along with the food, and the evening blurred into a night (returned home safely well after the demonstration was over) of drinking and talking at a beautiful little taverna in our neighborhood with other kids from the program. Sitting in the taverna, chatting and sipping on wine until the wee hours of the morning, I realized that the Greeks may not “like to sweat” like the guy at the Embassy said, but they sure do know how to enjoy life.