Noticed, named, known

The reception desk at the municipal gym handed me my membership card last week making the check-in process much more personal than simply flashing the phone app at the scanner. For me, a physical card increases the opportunities to interact in Greek. Aiming for three sessions at the gym makes me a regular attendee who says hi, bye and occasionally dares to proffer an opinion on the weather or my workout. And on the subject of membership cards, this week I finally picked up my residency permit, the first step on the path to permanent residency five years from now. This might be what belonging feels like, your name on something official.

But it’s not just about getting documented. Even Google has recognized where home is now. If I type in “weather”, it no longer automatically shows me the forecast for Victoria, British Columbia. That’s progress as I approach the six month milestone.  Self-checks continue as to whether this was the right move but they happen less. Perhaps that’s what Google feels too because the Google switch happened on the day I received my residency permit.

One of the reasons I moved to Greece was to be near a major airport hub in order to facilitate multi-directional international travel and so, later this month, the lady is going back to Laos. I’ve heard from Vientiane friends and former students about meeting up and now I’m counting down the days to departure. Vientiane will be a jumping off point for more Laos adventures plus travels in Thailand before ending up in Singapore. When you’re settled you start thinking again about new adventures. I picked up a brochure the other day about ferry routes from Heraklion. I didn’t know you could take a ferry all the way to Rhodes throughout the year. And in Rhodes you can connect to a ferry that goes to Turkey. So many possibilities!

As for the current weather, there are days when the front windows in my apartment are covered in a yellowish dust from the Sahara that, according to the meteorologists, blows in usually with the rain. I thought it was my location and wondered about the clouded over view (even fretting momentarily that I had the beginnings of cataracts until I took a damp cloth to the glass) but apparently everyone’s balconies and windows are affected here.  I’m reminded that I need to sluice down my balcony  while walking through town towards the bus-stop where, despite the sunshine, something liquid is  falling on my head from the overhanging porches. Early-bird housewives have already washed away their share of Saharan dust and the water is dripping on me. I move into the centre of the road.

The two barber shops I pass en route are busy. I often wonder about all the barber shops here and all over this part of the world. The very fit and handsome barbers dress in black to blend in with both the elegant barber shop décor and their customers who are also attired in black. Everybody wears black!  I glance down at myself; I guess charcoal grey everything counts as a kind of black too. I’m fitting in.  Into the squares of Old Heraklion where a few more people dressed in black gather at the various cafes for a morning libation. People call out to each other. A simple “Kalimera” or topics as mundane as my gym conversations. Things that used to sound both exotic and incomprehensible. This morning, as I eavesdrop,  the words I hear are a reminder that people all over the world talk about the same old stuff. I understand!  With my English learners last week, it was easier to explain a language structure via the corresponding Greek grammar concept. Greek is slowly becoming the default language and just when did that happen?

From Plateia Eleftherias I can see a couple of ferries down in the port. No cruise ships today although a few have docked throughout the winter. I wish “out of season” would go on all year. I like the peace and quiet. Am I starting to act like a local?   Ferries are a lifeline for island life. I think again about the ferry brochure. I’m conjuring up a future trip, planning some ferry-hopping as I traverse the little park and nod good-morning  to the two men who seem to sleep year around under the trees on the park benches. Not homeless just their preference according to people who’ve lived here longer than me. The purple bougainvillea is regally stunning; even the weeds are lush at this time of the year. 

Later on and errands finished, I encounter Fotis, Spiros’ son; Spiros owns the ground-floor taverna right under my apartment. Fotis  explains that a group of doctors are holding a party this evening with music and that I am welcome to attend because it could get noisy. But, he muses, it probably won’t go on long because “doctors tire easily”. We laugh, I thank him and tell him I likely won’t come down and he repeats the invitation. “There’ll be a glass of wine for you.”

Belonging.

Update, 10:30 pm came and went and it stayed quiet downstairs. Maybe the doctors were so tired they cancelled their party.  I packed up my work, went to brush my teeth. The bathroom is right over the main room of the taverna. It was then that the opening bars of Zorba the Greek played on at least two bouzoukis reached my ears via the bathtub drain. I’d forgotten that Greek parties start when everyone else goes to bed. I still have much to learn. Thank heavens for noise-cancelling headsets.