Yasou!
I had yearned to visit Ellada, what Greeks call their own county.
Last week I told you about my grandparents, who played an important role in my trip that summer. This week, I finally get on the plane! After months of planning and waiting, I was on my way to Greece for an entire summer, four whole months!
When I landed in Athens, I took a taxi to the port of Piraeus. Of course, the taxi driver ripped me off. He could tell from my accent that I wasn’t a local. By that point, I was too tired to put up a fight. As we drove from the airport through Athens, my eyes welled with tears. Even Athens looked beautiful to my tired eyes. I really had made it happen. My Greek adventure had begun.
Aboard the Greek ferry boat named Poseidon Hellas, all I could see was bright blue sky above and clear blue water all around. I had ola – the Greek word for everything. In that moment, that statement felt true. I opened my journal and wrote:
I am now happy as a pig in mud. I am on the top deck of a ferry boat headed for Poros. There is no one else on this deck. The sun is bright and warm. I am off that cramped airplane. I am putting suntan oil on… I have already been able to try out my Greek. It’s getting there! I can now lay flat and give my poor back some relief. My skin can begin to bronze. And my wonderful Odyssey has begun. Yasou Ellada! (hello Greece).
- Katina Balacos, personal journal, May 10, 1997
With the familiar aroma of souvlaki grilling in the food stand, I studied my Greek. I could now sound out the words on signs. I just didn’t know what they meant. Still, it felt wonderful to finally be learning the language I had wanted to speak for years. The smell of the ocean and the knowledge that I was on my journey made me feel calm and content.
I was headed to Poros, a quaint little island in the Saronic Gulf, just off the Peloponnese Peninsula. From there, I would take a small caique (traditional Greek wooden boat) across a narrow channel to the village of Galata, where my Thia (aunt) Mary, my father’s sister, and Theo (uncle) Angelo lived.
I loved this country down to my bones. This was that feeling of belonging I hadn’t found anywhere else. I wanted someone to share my life with, build a family with, and come home to. But for now I was single, unattached, and free. This was my moment.
To apply for Greek citizenship, I needed to track down my Papou Dimitri’s birth certificate, a record that existed only in Plomari, the village where he was born. I had come prepared with everything else: mine and my father's birth and baptismal certificates and my parents' marriage license, all needed to trace my family line down to me. Eligibility only ran through the paternal grandfather, not through mothers or grandmothers. How sexist.
When the caique reached Galata, I stepped off the little boat. My Thia Mary and Theo Angelo greeted me with hugs and kisses.
“You look so skinny! I don’t know how you do it. You look skinnier than last year.”
“Thank you, Thia. How are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m good. So, you’re going to where my father was born? I can’t believe it. Then to Mykonos? Are you sure you want to go there? You know the Greeks say that is the island of sex!” She laughed as she gave me a big squeeze.
Welcome to Greece and the summer of 1997!
Thank you for following my journey,
Katina