Green Neon

6 A taxi with wings

Nikos and Tom sprinted to Georgios' cab, a huge 1962 Dodge with splayed rear wings. Tom had already noticed that countless American road cruisers were used as taxis in Athens. The car was equipped with continuous benches covered with imitation leather.

After greeting, the two boys sat in the back and Georgios steered the limousine into traffic. The car swung lazily over the bumps in the road. Tom felt like he was sitting in a sedan chair. At least that's how he imagined it.

Nikos proudly took a cassette player, a Philips, from the net attached to the front seat. This iPod from the late 1960s was a real status symbol, both in Germany and in Greece. He said that his cousin, who lived with his family in England, regularly sent him cassettes with the latest hits. He pushed the start button and Tom was home. "I heard it through the grapevine."

"Do you love Marvin Gaye?"

Tom slipped into English without realizing it. He had spoken a lot of English over the past few days, often mixing English, German and French with the few snippets of Greek he had picked up.

"I love everything from Motown," Nikos replied. " Stevie Wonder, Temptations, Smokey Robinson, Martha Reeves, but Marvin Gaye is the greatest."

Tom liked the Greek music that surrounded him from morning to night. He had almost forgotten that he was, of course, a rock music fan. During the day he was accompanied in Hohenberg by the English bands that were played on BFBS (British Forces Broadcasting Service). Only when he was alone did he tune in to stations that played Motown. His friends didn't necessarily share this love, so he indulged in the wonderful music late at night when Radio Luxembourg was broadcasting in English or the Dutch pirate radio stations had good reception.

He became more and more sympathetic to Nikos. They rocked with their windows open along Pireos Road, which was crowded with so many cars at that hour that the term "expressway" was quite an exaggeration. Palm trees passed them, endless rows of white, multistory houses, then again a tangle of small businesses. The warm air blew around them, and then "Grapevine" was over.

There was a loud crackle, the sound of a record player needle being dropped too hard on the LP when the tape was made, followed by the first note of the new song. The two boys sang at the top of their lungs:

"Get up in the morning

slaving for bread sir

so that every mouth can be fed.

Poor me, the Israelite."

The two boys danced sitting on the back seat of the cruiser, and Nikos shouted out the window "Poor me, the Israelite" loudly each time, until his father spoke a few clear Greek words to him. Foreign music was also banned, although this ban was not pursued as relentlessly as that of Theodorakis' music.

A feeling of absolute bliss came over the boy from Westphalia. Surely the overdose of sun over the last few days had led to a strong release of endorphins, and the encounters with so many people had stirred him up. But here, thousands of miles from home, to meet someone who ticked like himself, who was familiar to him like an old friend, even though they hadn't exchanged twenty words, and then this incredibly beautiful, driving song - a perfect moment.

It was over far too quickly and Tom yelled, "Rewind, rewind!" It took them an hour to get to Agios Andreas, which was enough for about 25 repeats of the piece. Completely exhausted and overjoyed, the two boys stumbled out of the car and were immediately surrounded by a crowd of people.

One by one Tom was introduced. In addition to Nikos' parents and grandparents, Yannis and his wife Eirene, there were a few neighbours, around 20 people in all, who made him feel like he had always belonged to them. The next surprise awaited him when the company headed towards the sea-side terrace. This was occupied by a row of three wooden tables, on which stood bread baskets, water carafes, glasses and a stack of plates. On another table, a huge baking pan with a dish that was called "moussaka" beckoned. Even more than at the meal in Piraeus, he was overwhelmed by the hospitality of the people who didn't know him at all.