I lived on a small Greek island, 15 square miles, for a major part of my life (1971-1986), totally immersed in their culture, as I had a Greek boyfriend who later became my husband. I loved Greece! I learned to speak, read, and write this difficult language. It was a culture shock in so many ways but I adapted well, even passing for Greek. A taxi driver once told me “you could be a spy, you pass so perfectly.”
On this island, I experienced so many unforgettable adventures. One of the best ones immediately comes to mind. When I first moved there, I recall a well-known local, a tall, good-looking lothario named Yiorgios, pronounced YOR-gos (George) who owned a boat named the Nautilus (also Captain Nemo’s submarine’s name). It was sleek, glossy, navy blue with white trim, red details, and had brightly colored flags of all the countries displayed from the bow to the stern. He was a handsome man and he sailed a handsome boat. Yiorgios would stand on the quay in the harbor with his Greek sailor cap, jeans, a tight white T-shirt, calling customers to sail around the island for a day trip and return in the evening. He was a notorious flirt, charming all the tourist ladies. Yiorgios never married or had any children, very unusual for a Greek, but he was a constant character in the island life and in his old age, would sit at the coffee shops, visit with his life-long island friends. He never travelled anywhere. The boat and the island were his life and that was all he needed.
The small population of this island would swell to triple its size in the summer tourist months, but would close up for the winter, with maybe one grocery store and one taverna open for the winter months. All the tourist shops would be closed, sidewalks rolled up. It was quiet -no night life -dark by 5PM. There were also only two boats per day during the off season, one in the morning and one arriving early evening, with maybe a handful of passengers, all locals, who had been on an errand to Athens.
In the winter of 2005, my now ex-husband and 3 men were playing cards in the only open taverna, smoking cigarettes and drinking whisky in a room in a building on the harbor. A non-local, German man had disembarked from the last evening boat. He stood for a minute, looked at the island for the first time, no clue where to go or who to ask for information. It was cold and dark, the streets were empty, the wind was blowing, and the only sound he heard was the boat lines clanking against the side of the boats. He walked a few hundred feet, saw the only light on, so he headed there. He peered into the window, saw 4 men playing cards -plucked up his courage and entered. He did not speak Greek, but asked in German-accented English “do any of you know a sailor named Yiorgios who had a boat named Nautilus?” The three men pointed to Yiorgios –“that’s him.” The German, named Jorg, stood in from of him and proclaimed, “I am your son.” With that Yiorgios jumped up, his chair flew to the floor, “no, no no, I am not your father…I have no children.” In the confusion, the 3 other men looked at the German, looked back at Yiorgios, and the resemblance was undeniable, identical, truly father and son, no DNA test needed. After a few shocked minutes, they sat down and began to talk.
Jorg explained it all -45 years prior, his mother Greta had been a German tourist on the island and had met Yiorgios while taking a tour of the island on the Nautilus. Yiorgios had used his Greek charm and … one thing led to another. She ended up back in Germany, pregnant, had her son Jorg, never married, and raised him by herself, choosing to keep the identity of Jorg’s father a secret. Jorg asked his mother many times who is father was, even when Jorg had become a father himself, but she always refused...until her death bed. She revealed that she had a romantic encounter with a sailor named Yiorgios from this island and that was his father. A week after she died, Jorg departed on this fateful journey, his first trip to Greece, with only a name and a location to go on, not even sure if this man was still alive.
Jorg stayed a week getting to know his father and soon after, Yiorgos flew to Germany for the first time on a plane, to meet the rest of his family, especially his two grandchildren. Lost years melted away. So, in his solitary golden years -Yiorgios acquired an insta-family, the happiest years of his life. Better late than never!
For the next 8 years until Yiorgios’ death, the German-Greek connection was strong, going back and forth, between countries, making up for almost 50 years. How life can change in an instance!
Final note: the name Greta is of Greek origin and means a pearl that comes from the beauty of the sea. Jorg, (pronounced Yorg) is German for George and means handsome, strong, caring, and can walk the earth for someone if need be when he really loves someone.
Carol Veliotis is a local columnist for The Covington News. She can be reached at carol.veliotis@gmail.com.
