Ilias the Greek

On our second night in Athens we were fortunate enough to meet Ilias, the owner of a small bar and our living introduction to everything Greek. We had spent that day wandering around the city on a Rick Steves tour, only to find that the Acropolis had closed at 3 PM. To compensate, we decided that we would hunt down some traditional Greek music that night. We took a cab to a place we'd read about only to find that it was closed as well. A bit dispirited, we started wandering back to our hotel. Medora had to use the bathroom so we ducked into a small bar, the owner barely nodding his head as we entered.

As I waited for Medora I watched the owner wander around performing his opening duties, scarcely acknowledging my presence. Some sixties rock played on his radio, and he was a man of middle height with a goatee and looked to be in his fifties. There was something reassuring about the place, the man and the music, so we decided to have a drink. In fits and starts, we slowly made friends with Ilias. First with questions about where to hear good music, the state of the Greek economy, etc. Finally Ilias came over with a picture of himself in his twenties. He was seated at a conga drum, long black hair and an outlandish hat bearing a close resemblance to a young Santana. So began our conversation that stretched across six hours, covering politics, Poseidon, the culture of the sixties and seventies, music, family, and Greek food.

We learned about the current economic situation in Greece, and about the way things used to be in Athens in the golden days of the sixties. Despite the oppressive rule of the Colonels, Athens was a thriving counter-cultural city in those days. We've heard about this from Medora's parents as well, who traveled a lot in Greece then. With Ilias we lamented the way consumerism has turned traditional culture into a cheap, artificial commodity, and how that cultural efflorescence of the sixties appears to be a singular event never again repeated. But Ilias loved the blues and rock music, and waxed poetic about his desire to go to the only place in America that had any appeal for him, the place where the music he loves started: our hometown.

In the course of our conversation a few friends and regulars of Ilias came into the bar, which sparked a discussion of Greek food. All of them were very interested in our farming work here, and were polite but vivacious conversationalists.

As the night grew later we felt that perhaps it was time to head back to hostel, but then Ilias would walk to his cooler saying "now I do something special" and bring a beer for us to share. I had started with Tsipouro, a Greek version of Grappa. I soon realized though that he would go on filling my glass with the firewater unless I said something, to which he responded, "yes, I understand you...after awhile it is not so good."

Ilias is about the same age as both of our parents, but never had any children. Medora speculated later that perhaps that is why we all developed such a close bond in so short a time. We really developed an intimacy with Ilias that I would not have believed possible had I not actually experienced it. As we parted that night Ilias said, "I love you, I really love you" to us, and we responded as naturally as if we were talking to an old, old friend. Ilias promised to come to New Orleans, and we hope that he will take us up on our offer of showing him around.

In retrospect it is difficult to convey just what an impression Ilias made on us. For me he seemed to embody everything wonderful about the modern as well as the ancient Greek world. He was brilliant and intelligent, yet very passionate and would grow heated about politics and culture. He had utter disdain for religion and churches, but spoke in obscure, mystical ways about the power of the sea god Poseidon, in such a way that there was nothing ridiculous or incredible about it. He was a great listener and would respond to you in a way that fully involved what you had just said, and not just some thought he had been holding on to and waiting to say. It was as if he knew you very well, and could speak to you at your deepest, most personal level.

For us he was nothing less than our living Zorba, and I cannot imagine a better person to have met in Athens. I am in awe of the fact that it all happened, how sheer coincidence appeared to have led us to this crucial, fateful encounter.