50 Years

The Short Version 

  1976 to 2026

 50 years in a foreign country

June 1976, with a friend from South Africa, I  hitched hiked from London to Dover and then across Europe from Calais to Brindisi, me

carrying that heavy pack.  I remember we slept at camping grounds but don't  remember much else. It must have gone smoothly. A big ferry from Brindisi to Patra in Greece and train to Athens. We got on a train going in the wrong direction, towards Kalamata. The guard let us off at a tiny station just down the line and we spent the night on a concrete floor till a train to Athens came in next day

The Greek family

K there in the middle with his aunt, me standing at back left, his cousin, sister, nephews, and m-in-law over there on the left. The baby in the red baby-gro is daughter Elli

My M-in-law - it took a few years but I came to realise that I had literally turned her known world upside down and felt sorry she had to deal with this woman whose life and culture was completely alien to her.  We learnt to live with each other. 

On our terrace in Piraeus 

The 2 little Greek girls

At our very rustic village house down in Crete.  The water supply was a bit iffy and we often hauled water from a pipe across the road.  When it rained you needed an umbrella to sit on the loo. The roof leaked badly.  

The narrative

I was born in New Zealand and grew up in a rural town called Te Puke.

A few years after leaving school I set out to see  the world and all the relatives in the northern hemisphere.  Nowadays this is called the OE (overseas experience) Many young people downunder have that same urge.  I joined the tide north with 2 friends. 

  I had a strong feeIing I wouldn't go back to live in NZ.  Sometimes you just know, deep down inside. It was 11 years before I went back, introducing my Greek husband and 2 small children to my parents. 

  After 3 years working in London and 2 holidays on the Continent (Europe) I travelled down to Greece in June 1976 with a friend from South Africa. We found a job for the summer in a hotel on Poros.  One of the greek girls working with me at the hotel was my husband's cousin Mathitsa. She invited us to visit her home on her name day in August .  As soon as we arrived word shot round the neighbourhood that there were some foreign girls (think 'aliens') at her house and in another instant that little cave-like house was filled with eager 'sightseers' peering in at us, including all the male cousins.  And that's how I met K.

 He was on leave from  the Navy where he served on a destroyer and had a tiny roof top 'apartment' (think store cupboard with a bathroom) in Piraeus.  I moved in with him after the summer and worked teaching young Greek kids English conversation.  We lived happily with not much money.   Days when he wasn't away on the ship we drank coffee with a crowd of his friends, ate snails, squid and fried potatoes at tiny tavernas.  There were usually not more than half a dozen tables, filled  with men from the neighbourhood. Women stayed at home and looked after the children.  We drank wine flavoured with retsina and served in metal jugs .

My Greek was just a few words, their English not much better.  It didn't matter. I used sign language and quickly picked up new words and phrases. 

Ks parents found out and and were not amused. They pressured to make me go home. He didn't listen and I didn't understand. 

We married without his parent's blessing but for me it didn't matter, we lived in the city, a long way from the island.  With the first child came acceptance, even though it was a girl, not a boy.  My mother-in-law told me she would not have objected if I had a dowry, a house, which my brothers should have provided, unbeknown to them or me, when we married.    A dowry?  What the hell was that. A totally foreign and archaic concept. 

I didn't understand Greek culture that well and just rode roughshod over it all and looked down on their 'ignorance' . 

  We married, had two girls and now we have five grandchildren.  Doesn't matter how long I'm here I'll always be a foreigner.  It's not just my accent, it is my whole way of thinking. But I do understand and respect the culture now. 

Back then every good greek wife was supposed to provide half a dozen sons and a couple of girls to look after their parents in old age.  In some places when asked how many children they had, a mother or father would answer 'two children and a daughter' instead of 'three children'.  We were happy with our 'little Greek girls' as they came to be known in my family. 

  I always prided myself on my wonderful grasp of the Greek language and the masterly way I spoke. Until  I heard myself on tape one day and couldn't believe the way I spoke, with harsh New Zealand vowel sounds and the way I tortured the pronunciation was excruciating.   No wonder my grandchildren laugh at my mistakes and my neighbour screws up her brows trying to understand. 

It was, and I believe still is, difficult for a kiwi to stay here for any length of time.  I had to apply for a visa or leave the country every 3 months and re-enter to get permission to stay for another 3 months.  Twice I left the country taking the overnight ferry from Patras to Brindisi, getting an exit stamp and coming back on the next boat to receive another 3 month stamp in my passport.

 1978

We got married in 1979 and I got dual citizenship.  Citizenship and the marriage meant a lot of work.  So much red tape, so many papers to gather, from the embassy, the police, the department of immigration and references from the community.  A paper to say I had not been married before, translated offically by a women in  a grotty office up 5 flights of stairs in the middle of Athens.  Another paper from the church in NZ to say I had been baptised Church of England and could thus be married in an Orthdox Church without being re-baptised. The 2 religions have similar beliefs.  My mother happened to be working as a secretary for a Church of England Bishop and arranged it quite easily.  I had a paper from our local Orthodox Priest to say..what?  I was a nice Christian girl?  I can't remember. That had to be translated as well of course.  And finally I had to swear before a Notary and sign in triplicate that I would let my children be brought up as Greek Orthodox.

Meanwhile my mother in law, through some more educated neighbour, had written a letter to my parents telling them to come and take their daughter back home.  They would find a nice Greek girl for their son.  On the wedding day the Priest almost backed out because someone had phoned and threatened him a with a lawsuit if he carried out the ceremony.  Back then Naval officers were not supposed to marry without the permission of a senior officer.  The Byzantine church of St Catherine in the old area of Athens had a Priest who had married some of his friends and would conduct our wedding.  Once the marriage was official the Navy accepted it without consequences. 

  Now that civil marriages are legal and marriages between Greeks and foreigners are quite normal it is all so much easier and acceptable.  

  We lived in the city of Piraeus, Port of Athens, for 10 years. Then K was transferred to the Naval Station on Crete.  We had 3 wonderful years there.  The girls, who had spoken mainly English, went to small local schools. We all learnt Greek together. I helped them with their homework and we all learnt to read and write.

Then another transfer back up to the island of Salamina where the main Naval Base is located. K was assigned to a destroyer and then a mine sweeper. We lived there for 3 years, K came and went between duty at sea.

Finally in 1991 he was assigned to the Naval School on Poros.  The girls had changed schools half a dozen times and I was relieved to have a permanent base even if it meant living cheek to jowl with my in laws.  There were quite a few disagreements and it wasn't all plain sailing for the girls either.  Somehow we survived, Greek dramas, neighbours whispering behind my back, school bullies, interfering old aunts asking very personal questions, and giving much unwanted advice. We couldn't move a finger without the whole island knowing.  Closed society can be a mean society.  People said hurtful things without realising, repeating harsh gossip. But eventually I fitted in, became part of the community.  I found my place, and stopped giving a damn. 

There was a large and active expat community back then. I made a few friends and became part of the foreign crowd too, found a sister to laugh with and share the strangeness . 

These days I have a pleasant feeling of fitting in as I  make my way along the harbour calling a cheery 'good morning' to a dozen people before reaching the cafe. Through K I'm related to a lot of them.  I know to ask after their children, grandchildren and have the correct greek pleasantries to utter.   I'll always be a foreigner, but now I'm a familiar one, a local alien. 

My family in NZ, Australia and England have always been there, supporting, without question. We are one big, caring, extended international family.  They love Poros more than I do.  Their frequent visits bring great joy. I slip back into 'foreign' mode and am overwhelmed by our memories, the delight of easy family familiarity.