I was determined to speak to more locals. The memory of the Athenian guards from my first full day in the city was playing upon my mind, but the idea of trying to talk to them was too unnerving to contemplate. Then I remembered Maria. The overly friendly American-accented woman who pulled me into her café on my very first night in the city. Those pork stuffed cabbage leaves weren’t half bad. Perhaps I could go back there for lunch and ask her about the Athenian guards?
So off I went. The restaurant in which I force fed myself the pork stuffed cabbage leaves is called To Kati Allo. When I arrived, Maria was nowhere to be seen, but I was welcomed in by a bald guy just as friendly. To help me with my language learning, we agreed that he would give me a run-down of the day’s menu entirely in Greek. I listened and looked carefully at everything he said and pointed at. In the end, there were two words that stood out to me.
‘Spanaki’ and ‘Pastitsio’. I’d heard of Pastitsio – the ‘Greek lasagne’ it’s known as. Similar to Moussaka but with the added bonus of pasta. I ordered the Pastitsio. Got a tiny glass of wine with it too.
What did I think of the pastitsio? It was full of pasta which is never a bad thing. But it was too dry and certainly didn’t need the basket of bread they served with it (and charged me for). If it’s Pastitsio vs Lasagne than I’m afraid to say the Italians win this round. But I’m still rooting for Greek pasta and I hope to taste more before I pack myself back to the U.K.
Once I’d left, I cursed myself for not asking the friendly man about the Athenian guards. Are you allowed to talk to them? Are they friendly? What’s the deal? From a quick google I found out that they’re general citizens doing mandatory military service, and the proper name used to refer to them is “the Evzones”. I walked back past the Hellenic parliament, and there they were; two of them, standing guard by some kind of tomb. Whose tomb were they guarding? Then I saw another guard. But he wasn’t dressed as finely as the others – just normal military uniform – and he wasn’t standing to attention but pacing around. Perhaps I could talk to him?
I nervously began walking towards the Athenian guard until he noticed me. ‘Mesihoriteh,’ I called out to him, and completed my sentence with the help of google translate. He said something in Greek beyond my comprehension. Then, seeing the struggle in my eyes, he spoke in English. He explained that the tomb belonged to nobody. It was a stand-in to represent all the fallen Greeks in the wars of the last 200 years. The first world war, the second world war, but also the wars before that like the Greco-Turkish war.
‘And… are they conscripts?’ I asked. Thinking about the mandatory military service in Greece.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘We are volunteers. We do not get paid to do this. Where are you from?’
‘London.’
‘You have the Kings guard,’ he said.
I was about to say we have the Queens guard, but then I remembered Elizabeth is dead.
‘The kings guard. They get paid. We do not.’
‘Ahh.’
Then he began to explain that they are not actually fighting military. Said there is an alternative branch that learn how to jump solo out of a moving plane and parachute to the ground, how they are trained and can fight in the event of war, and I couldn’t fail to note that when the guard mentioned war, he used the example of ‘war with Turkey.’ It was only yesterday that the Turkish president Erdogan threatened Greece, boasting that Turkish ballistic missiles can hit Athens.
In October, Turkey test-fired a short-range ballistic missile, and now Greece has been arming its islands in the Aegean which has clearly rubbed Erdogan up the wrong way. There’s a history of conflict between Greece and Turkey, going all the way back to the 1800s. The Greek rebellion against the Ottoman empire and the later Greco-Turkish war.
Anyway, back to the point in hand, I couldn’t help but wonder if this guard’s mention of Turkey suggests that tension between the Greeks and the Turks is always high. I really want to find out more.
The guard pointed to the uniform of the two blokes standing guard by the tomb. ‘They are dressed like this,’ he said, ‘this is what they would have worn back then…’ I couldn’t deny the smartness of their uniform.
The guard glanced at his watch and asked me if I had any more questions. Still nervous, I asked him what his favourite and his least favourite things are about doing service.
His favourite thing is representing his country, what his service stands for and what he therefore represents. He shifted his shoulders and pointed to a badge on his sleeve. ‘You are from London,’ he said, ‘and you have heard of me. Not me personally; you do not know my name, but you have heard of the guard?’
I nodded quickly, feeling a tad ashamed that I had not heard of the Greek guard or ever thought about them before coming to Athens. ‘And that is why I am proud to represent,’ said the guard, ‘because you’ – he waved his hand – ‘two thousand kilometres away have heard of us.’
I nodded again. ‘And your least favourite thing?’
‘The summer,’ he said. ‘The heat makes it hard. Standing with the uniform in 45 degrees. You have a mental battle and you get through it.’
‘And am I allowed to ask your name?’ I said, perhaps the most nerve-wracking question of them all.
‘My name? Kostas.’
‘Ahh nice to meet you, I’m Shane.’
‘You’re what… Sane?’
‘Shane.’
‘Sane.’
We shook hands and I went on my way, turning to say ‘Efcharisto… Katipliktikos,’ as I went, which translated into English would be: ‘Thank you… awesome.’ I meant to say them the opposite way around.
I felt ecstatic coming away from the guard, but also weirdly embarrassed. I really wished I could have offered to buy him a pint so I could ask him more questions. Ahh well, I could always buy myself a pint, which is exactly what I did.
