Waiting at the traffic lights to cross the street to Hotel Grande Bretagne, I watched the city pass me by. To my right, I saw Stadíou street towards Omónia Square, bordered with palm trees. To my left, the route to the coast, passing Pláka and the Acropolis on the west and the temple of Olympian Zeus on the east. A little lower in front of me lay Syntagma Square with wide pavements, benches, little patches of grass, orange trees, and a fountain that was gurgling with Greek enthusiasm, shooting its water into the air with such intensity that it was arousing rather than calming. A bit further away, I heard the church bells of Mitrópoli Cathedral not chiming, but banging their praise.
Just before the lights turned green, I remembered to put on my sunglasses. Full of expectation, I crossed the street to Hotel Grande Bretagne. This was my daily moment of fame. Fancy porters were guarding the entrance, neat black suits, black sunglasses, looking very stern. I passed them with the air of a film star. Proud, elegant, guileless, smiling mysteriously. While trying to look straight in front of me, my eyes went to the side. Were they looking at me? Their sunglasses were too damn black. I would never be able to tell.
Two weeks later, the situation at the entrance of the hotel got an upgrade from simply extremely chique to full-blown regal. On the other side of the street, cameras and telephotos had been positioned to catch a glimpse of royalty arriving for the funeral of former King Constantine II. Journalists had their lenses fixed on cars arriving, a little crowd of curious onlookers behind them. As I passed the entrance as usual, I felt a bit of an intruder this time, yet I was imagining myself a queen, or perhaps a distant but beloved princess. Who knew, maybe one day I would be.
Passing this hotel, made me dream. That I would be in a position to stay here some day, whether I would be prepared to lay down the thousand euros per night or not. I dreamed, believed, that there would come a day, when I would be successful, when I would be loved, respected and recognized for what I do best. That day, I would wear beautiful clothes, my body would be brimming with good health and life, my smile would be open, warm and proud. I would have learned how to express my love, how to materialize it, how to monetize it. I would feel free to do well for myself, to show myself, without being afraid of people hating me, of people loving me, of people victimizing me. That day, I would fully trust myself.
I did have my little moments of stardom in Greece, some wonderful, some unsettling. A bit further down from Syntagma, was a fancy food store/restaurant. It had an arrogance to it that I didn’t like, and yet the sheer beauty of the place made me go there again and again, just to look at the design, of the architecture, of the interior, the food packaging, the wall paintings. At the entrance, a very kind and humble porter, welcomed me into the store.
The first time I visited, he greeted me warmly, thanked me for my smile. The second time, he pulled it off to kiss my hand. I did not have the impression, he imposed himself on me, as if he was just grateful for me smiling at him. It made me feel precious, but also a bit uncomfortable, maybe for the status he attributed to me. He seemed too servile, too humble, as if he was not respecting himself.
One day, he walked after me, surprising me in one of the isles. I felt a little fear, what did he want from me? “Are you angry with me?” he said timidly, yet with great urgency. “You looked differently, did I do something wrong?” I was a bit shocked. This kind, generous man, twenty years my elder, was standing in front of me like he needed my reassurance. I started comforting him: “Oh no, no, why would I be? There’s nothing.” He looked relieved. I, however, didn’t know how to feel about this power he had given me. It made me feel sad too. This man, so good-hearted, so kind, so scared. The things people do to themselves.
Weeks later, when I was leaving Greece, another very kind Greek man, part of the board personnel welcoming me upon embarking on the boat to Italy, made me feel grateful for my smile again. This time, I was the one who was a bit fearful, hoping everything would be alright, that he would just let me pass without further difficulties. But apparently, I was smiling too. “Do you want my ticket?” I asked him in Greek. “For you to smile is what we want,” he answered happily. It was as if the sun broke through, I was smiling unapologetically now, feeling safe and beautiful and welcome. “It suits you,” he added.
And I felt so grateful for this man, for this country that had treated me with so much love, appreciation and respect. It made me even more sad to leave Greece. Full of faith for my new adventure, I embarked on the boat.
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