Green Neon

2 Turkish Coffee

On the first evening in Piraeus, Stephanos invited Christina and Tom to dinner. They walked the few steps to Passalimani, the promenade lined with small restaurants. It was ten o'clock and the streets and taverns were packed. Stephanos headed for a small, somewhat dingy inn, and after a loud and lively greeting from the innkeeper, he proceeded to a table with a dozen seats, all but three of which were already occupied.

Enthusiastic greetings ensued. The assembled family friends all spoke to Tom at the same time and hugged him as if Stephanos had brought home the prodigal son. Tom was surprised. In Westphalia and in England, greetings, especially from strangers, were rather subdued. He actually only had bad memories of greeting hugs - from elderly aunts. Here he was received like a cousin from far away who is finally visiting his relatives.

He was amazed to find that he understood everything that was said to him, although he only recognized a few snippets of English and French. And apparently the Greeks understood him too. After a while everyone sat down again. Stephanos took him by the hand and led him into the kitchen.

"That's how they order in Greece," he smiled. He had spent enough time in Germany to know that the following scene would be strange to a German. In the kitchen they were welcomed by the landlord, who let them look into the pots and pans and had a story to tell about every dish.

In a conversation that would have passed as a heated argument in Westphalia, Stephanos ordered almost everything that the innkeeper advertised to him. It got particularly loud when the compartments of the huge wooden refridgerator covered with ice cream sticks were opened one after the other. Every fish and every piece of meat led to an exchange of words. At Stephanos' command, many of these were placed in tin bowls.

Finally they left the kitchen, not without another admonishing speech to the innkeeper. Stephanos grinned: "That's how they do it in Greece. Now we know exactly what they put on our plates."

At that moment, Tom realized how far from home he was and he found it immensely awesome. His insecurity disappeared. He could even grin back:

"In Hohenberg they would have shot you for it."

Stephanos' voice took on a mockingly conspiratorial tone:

"Don't tell anyone else, but that's exactly why I live in Greece and not in Hohenberg."

Well, he actually said "Kreece" and "Chochenberg".

No sooner had they returned to the table than carafes of red wine and ice water, many small plates and bowls of appetizers, and baskets of bread were brought. Tom was happy to sit between Georgios and Sophia, who translated the adults' questions and his answers.

Georgios was 15 like him, his sister a year older. They didn't need to resort to the questions they had prepared to get the conversation going. Georgios announced that he wanted to show Tom a submarine in the next few days, which was exciting. The anticipation was put into perspective somewhat when he learned that the submarine was a museum and, what's more, on land.

However, he found the career prospects of Greek submarine commanders very interesting, because Georgios proudly told him that his father had been one and now a pensioner, at 42, ran a bridal shop in which he had invested his severance pay. Tom decided to find out about the relevant regulations from the German Navy, with a disappointing outcome, as it would later turn out.

Sophia shot the bird by promising a trip to a lido in Vouliagmeni. With their girlfriends. Georgios commented on this with a pitiful "Poor boy!", to which Tom replied with a non-committal "Hmm". "Brothers can sometimes have a somewhat narrow perspective," he thought.

Meanwhile, two little boys, scurrying about the cramped restaurant, brought the main courses, countless little bowls of all sorts of vegetables, and platters of fried fish and meat. Georgios and Sophia explained every single dish to Tom, and when Stephanos asked him to try everything, all of his dams broke.