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Salut! is about everything and evreywhere, not just France or the UK. But in a way this story combines those countries with Greece: the narrator is English, an old friend from the North, and lives in Thessaloniki, where he and I dined a few years on a meal he recalls as including deep fried courgettes. And France, of course, has one of the banking sectors most exposed to the mountains of Greek debt. I called my friend Michael Brown for the purposes of the piece I distilled for The National* from his account of life in a country that has hit the rocks even if, for now, it bounced off again. This is part one of his story in full ...
I upped sticks and moved permanently to Greece way back in 1995. I'm afraid the reasons for the move were cheesy, Shirley Valentine-esque reasons. I met and fell in love with Sofia.
Our first contact though was through work. Sofia attended a course for environmental education experts from various parts of Europe, hosted at an outdoor education centre my employers, Wigan Education Authority, owned in the Lake District.
I delivered a workshop on the use of role play to help young people clarify their opinions, values hopes and fears relating to the environment, and Sofia was kind enough to think it might be useful for teachers in Greece to have some experience of this active approach. I distinctly remember her from the group, as she was one who readily volunteered to participate. As a drama teacher, such people are your friends instantly. We live in continual fear of setting up a situation as carefully as possible, and then when you hand it over to the group Zero. Zilch. Nothing. So an unbreakable bond was formed.
We did workshops in various parts of Greece on a couple of occasions, along with work in Czechoslovakia (as it was then,) Spain, Italy and, on one memorable occasion, Albania, not long after the death of Hodja.
The latter trip was pure Graham Greene stuff. On arrival, Sofia had a problem with her visa, which, as we were guests of the ministry of education, was solved reasonably quickly. We did the work, had lots of interesting experiences and, as there was only one flight a week from Thessaloniki to Tirana at that time, caught the bus for home.
On arrival at the border, passports and visas were rigorously checked again and again.
The conclusion was that Sofia could not leave the country. The reason given was that she could not be in the country. On this visa, it was not possible. If she couldn't be in the country, how could she be expected to be allowed to leave?
It took many hours, short bursts of arguing and long periods of sitting around, to arrive at this classic Catch 22. Then salvation. A Greek registered Mercedes with CD plates drew up at the border control. The driver worked at the Greek embassy in Tirana. Sofia explained her predicament. Ubelievably, the embassy man declared it was none of his business and left to escape to a quiet life.
I ran after him, blocked his exit, told him in the clearest possible terms that if he didn't do his damndest to sort this out I would pursue him through every ministry Greece had avaiable until I nailed him. Ten minutes later we were on the bus heading for Ioannina. I had finally repaid Sofia for being one of the first to become another person in my drama session, and our lives together became sealed.
In a way, the above tale is a metaphor for life in Greece pre and post crisis. The bureaucracy functions much more like Soviet era states than what we would expect in an EU country. To get anything done is a constant battle and fight. Not just once at a border control to imoress a beutiful Greek lady, but day in day out for the most mundane of requests. And you become tired of fighting. And then they've won.
As an outsider, I could never really work out how the Greek economy functioned.
Take Y-fronts for example.
Walking around Thessaloniki - a city of about a million people - revealed small shops selling nothing else. Niche marketing certainly, but a bit of a shock to someone used to buying their boxers at M and S or Next. But quite endearing.
Petrol would always be served, paid for in cash, and change given directly from the pocket of the bloke that put the fuel in the tank. No receipt. Plumbers, builders, electricians etc always had two prices - with or wirhout tax. With or without receipt. No prizes for guessing which the majority of us chose.
I'm self employed. I work for some large institutions. At least I used to, but more of that later. Most quite legitamately needed a full receipt when they (eventually) paid me. But there were times when it was made very clear that it would be a good deal easier for all concerned if we could just sort it out between ourselves.
All this was pre Euro days. We then had the double whammy of the end of the drachma and the Olympic games. These two momentous events were, to my mind, the tipping point for an economy which trundled along in some mysterious way but was nowhere near sustainable enough to withstand.such shocks.
With the arrival of the European currency everyday prices shot up, some wages followed, particularly those of the "strong" in society - the power workers, the military, farmers living on generous EU subsidies regardless of the suitability of the crops they grew etc.
For a period evryone felt wealthy. You were no one if you didn't have a holiday home in Halkidiki (a seaside area 60km or so from Thessaloniki) a German saloon to take you there and designer Italian clobber for the bars in the evening.
I stereotype of course. Plenty of people were not part of this explosion in spending. They just suffered the consequences of the ever rising prices. And those that did, how could you blame them? The politicians continued to borrow despite an ever increasing revenue gap. Maybe if we'd all paid our taxes and insisted on receipts it could have been contained. But we didn't.
We still have no idea what the Olympics cost Greece. Sadly, we also have no idea what benefit they brought to the country. We certainly know they saddled us with an enormous debt. But hey, it's the Olympics. They belong to Greece. Patriotism over rationalism every time.
Then we had Konstantinus Karamanlis, beyond doubt the laziest prime minister ever. He was elected on his third attempt, and it was obvious from the outset that this was job done. His whole career had been about BECOMING prime minister (he is part of one of Greece's ruling dynasties).
It was of no concern to him what his ministers spent money on and how they went about hiring all their mates and party apparatchicks to non- existant jobs. One minister, embroiled in a land swap scandal which made millions for the Greek Orthodox Church and all its little helpers, came out with the classic line: "If it's legal, it must be moral."
He didn't resign. He wasn't sacked. He continues today to enjoy the fruits of a corrupt philosophy.
That's when the alarm bells started to ring for me. After a couple of very half-hearted failed attempts to reform some minor elements of the system (how long pharmacists could stay open for example, talk about fiddling whilst Rome burns) he was slung out of office and it was left to Georgios Papandreau of another ruling dynasty, this time of the left, to (eventually) tell us just how deep in the doggy doo we actually were. The rest is history.
So, we are where we are. How have the cuts affected people like us? Well, Sofia is the headteacher of a 500-pupil junior high school. She has 30 years teaching experience and a PhD. Her take home pay is €1,500 per month and declining, approximately 30 per cent less than the previous headteacher and about half of what I reckon an equivalent post in the UK would pay.
We are liable for a new property tax, a solidarity tax, heating fuel has risen by 40 per cent irrespective of the oil price and will rise another 40 per cent next year.
The universities, environmental centres, local uuthorities and so on that used to employ me to run seminars for teachers ave all had their spending frozen. Work we did in Athens last year cost us air fares and hotel stays that have yet to be repaid. In short, we are in a Mr Micawber situation. Income a pound. Expenditure 99 pence. Result happiness. Income a pound. Expenditure a pound and a penny. Result misery. No prizes for guessing which end of that equation we and the majority of Greek working people find themselves. Savings won't last for ever.
We don't go out much anymore. When I came to live in Greece, it was often as cheap to eat in a local taverna if you were sensible about what you ordered than to cook food yourself. Gradually, this became once a week. Then once a month. Now....Cinema is a carefully considered treat. Not so much room for experimentation and risk taking. Lidl has become my supermarket of choice.
I'm a cyclist. I race my bike. A set of decent race wheels costs €1,000. I worry every time I hit one of the increasing number of potholes in the road.
I realise these are not by any means life threatening issues. We are not starving or freezing to death.
However, as hard working, well qualified, experienced professionals in our mid to late fifties, should we have such concerns?
Then there is the erosion of the already pitiable health/social services provision. Sofia's mum has advanced stage dementia. There is no state support to help us manage her condition and provide some dignity for her at the end of her life. We are liable for everything. Until recently, we received some help towards the purchase of incontinence pants. It was a bureaucratic nightmare which took half a day of visits to three different offices to get the necessary authorisation stamps, a process which needed to be repeated every two months. When was the last time somone got better from dementia?
This help has now ceased. Is this what Sofia's mum and dad worked all their lives for? Is this how it will be for us in our dotage? Sure, we can afford to buy the pants. It's only a couple of cinema tickets a week. But what about families who can't. What price dignity?
I needed to check a problem with a doctor. Not serious. I was offered an appointment a month ahead. The state had reduced the numbers of doctors in the health service, and reduced the numbers of patients they were allowed to see per week. Of course, I could always drop the doctor €40 and be seen that day. I pay €320 a month for the right to be self employed, and I still have to subscribe to the private medical sector when I have a problem. We are fit and well, touch wood. Imagine if you had chronic health problems.
... to be continued. Part Two can be found at this link...
* The National article, with Michael's story edited (with his approval, albeit retrospective), can be found here.
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