We dared! No no. I don’t mean the number with the yes word, 19 years ago on that wonderful, sunny, clear autumn day in front of the Hamburg-Altona registry office. No, we’re talking about April 7, 2012, when we set off on the journey to Greece in the old Opel Astra. Greece !! In spring 2012!! Into the supposed center of Europe’s equally supposed crisis.
I admit it: yes, we felt pretty uneasy. Not because of the TV images of burning German flags on Syntagma Square or because of the Federal Merkel in Nazi uniform. You’re not stupid and you know what the news business is about: interests, propaganda, entertainment and maybe – if it’s appropriate – information. We were worried about the stories about the anti-German sentiment that was allegedly spreading in everyday Greek life, or rather the anti-German sentiment in the country.
After all, the long-planned, multi-month break on Ikaria was to be one of the highlights of our very personal 50s. And then this: German bashing in Greece!? And maybe with us, since we hardly exceed 1.70 m in height and are always so quiet-friendly?
As soon as we had agreed to the nice house with a sea view in Gialiskari, the horror stories started flying at us. A new one every day. It’s almost as if they, the storytellers, had arranged to meet behind the dike in order to finally banish the lowland Tyroleans’ obsession with Ikaria. First came the story of the German with a house on Skiros and the wild insults that he had to endure every day because of the federal government’s Greece policy (well…).
Then the one about the German living in Attica, who is now returning because he can no longer bear it in everyday life (like now?). Then our neighbor reported about her German friend, who has been living in Crete for ten years, with an olive press, which is now literally being cut and no one is buying her products anymore (aha).
The next day the story with the swastika graffiti on the houses where Germans live (oh ha!).
Finally, as a dramaturgical climax: With an expression of deep regret, an office colleague says that her neighbors were traveling in Greece by car and, despite a firm booking, were only allowed to board the ferry from Piraeus after a three-day delay…obviously because of the wrong license plate (no!!).
I then called Yannis from the ticket office in Piraeus and mentioned the recent story. A little hidden behind the question about the timetable. In a sonorous voice he initially replied in English that someone was probably making bad jokes, after all they were all waiting for us. It remained a little unclear whether by “all” he meant the Greeks in their entirety or perhaps just the combined employees of private travel agencies… it doesn’t matter. Yannis then switched to almost accent-free German and was outraged: “We are not in war!”
That also sounded convincing, somehow. In short: we ordered the tickets, traveled through Greece without any problems and have been feeling good on Ikaria for weeks now.
Of course, people have more worries today than usual and the trained eye can observe some changes caused by the crisis.
But the Ikariotes are always friendly and warm towards their guests. Even to the Germans. Take Petros, for example, the retired captain from Manganitis, who of course asks you the obligatory question at the beginning of every chat about where you come from. In response to Yermania’s answer, you receive a strong “Bravo” accompanied by a pat on the shoulder. I kept the thought that my personal influence on the choice of my country of birth was actually rather insignificant.
Now you’re a little ashamed that you allowed yourself to be unsettled and my wife and I decide not to tell anyone else…
Ikaria, May 2012
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Written by: Holger D. and Jutta W.
We have been going on vacation to Greece for 20 years, and to Ikaria for the last 12 years. Since April 2012 we have been spending several months off work in Gialiskari, Ikaria.