Out with Thanasis

Our children used to roar with laughter when we told them what Thanasis was wearing that evening, but believe me, although it might sound a bit odd now, he looked gorgeous. He had on a powder blue linen suit. We never got much further than that with the kids as they were already on the floor, helpless with mirth. Anyway, he was wearing this lovely jacket and trousers and a white t-shirt, he was tanned and strong, his fair curls were quite long and he had very persuasive green eyes. 

The kids didn’t object so much to what I was wearing; a khaki green mini skirt and cropped jacket from Tottenham Court Road Top Shop. To be honest, I might never have mentioned to them that under the jacket I had on a frilly, daffodil yellow shirt, but I can assure them now that it was the height of fashion at the time and looked very nice. Thanasis locked his green eyes on me, didn’t take them off and, all these years later, he still hasn’t. 

I was introduced to him as Tom. Greeks do everything they possibly can to make guests to their country feel at home and that includes happily anglicizing their own names. Anna, whose friend he was, told me he was called Tom. It didn’t seem to suit him so I quickly persuaded him to tell me his real name, but nevertheless, on our first date he was Tom to me and, of course, that was another thing that could send our children flying off the sofas with laughter. 

Thanasis wasn’t the kind of man who would hang around hoping his luck might be in. He whisked me away from the café and the square that night in his cool, souped-up sports car and off to the small coastal town of Kamena Vourla (which translates, in case you’re interested, as Burnt Rushes) for charcoal grilled fish and cold white wine. And we sat at a table on the beach, where small shoals of fish, silvery in the moonlight, flew out of the water and skimmed Homer’s wine-dark sea. 

He continued to whisk me off to tavernas, bars, beaches, mountains, forests and villages all year and the fact that I only passed my driving test when I was nearly fifty was only partly due to the fact that I was terrified of being on the road with a load of mad Greek drivers but also that he never tired of whisking me here and there, even though the places changed to supermarkets, banks, hospitals and airports. 

Going out with Thanasis was nothing like going out with any of the lads I had dated in England. For a start, when you go out with a Greek, you can leave your purse at home. I have to say, in case you think that I am over romanticizing our relationship, that this is something that has definitely changed over the years. Now Thanasis leaves his wallet at home. But then, there was never a question of going Dutch, splitting bills or me paying for anything at all, not even a pack of cigarettes. Thanasis always had a wad of drachma notes in his pocket and was generous in the extreme. Recently I read a wise article saying that men who are very free with their cash in their youth would never have healthy bank balances in later life as they were unlikely to change and start saving. Oh well, I read it too late. 

Of course verbal communication was a bit limited because my Greek was virtually non-existent and his English was pretty basic. He knew enough to flirt and pay me lavish compliments. Where do Greek men learn all that? Certainly not in the schools I was working in. Those poor students I taught in that first year are probably trying to chat up foreign women by going ‘I am, you are, he she or it is’ and then running around like mad things waving flash cards in the air. Do you think that’s why the birth rate is dropping? 

I had a phrase book and that helped. I have this theory that life in Greece can be a Garden of Eden, but you are only allowed into this potential paradise if you can hack your way through the thorny bush of the alphabet. Luckily my book had transliterations with each syllable separated by a dash. So, for instance, when I needed the loo I would be able to say things like, ‘ Poo ee-nay ee too-a-let-a?’ You can see why Vasso thought I sounded ill. And ill with a Surrey accent too. Accent wise I have hardly improved. I only have to say ‘Yass-oo’ on the phone for everyone to immediately click that’s it me. 

But Thanasis didn’t mind this haltering speech and we managed to establish that he had a stationery shop and went skiing at the weekends. Both wildly untrue of course. The first was due to phrase book confusion and the second was down to him lying. I had asked him what the bars on top of his car were for, he had said skis and then just agreed with my suggestions about why they were there. He’s never been in his life. Greeks do that; they lie to keep the conversation going and you happy. My mum believed that Athens buses came apart in the middle and could be made bigger or smaller according to passenger requirements. Just because of the way she phrased her question to Thanasis’ sister. Had she asked, ‘What are those concertina type things in the middle of buses for?” she might have got an honest ‘I don’t know’ for an answer. But because she said ‘Do those concertina type things in the middle of buses mean that they can be taken apart?’ Marianthi answered ‘Yes’ and that was it.

So, communicating with Thanasis was not a problem. We were smitten, tolerant and keen to get on whatever the obstacles and, anyway, through the all-important, international body language, Thanasis made it clear that he wanted to be the man in my life. Understanding other people was another matter.