Logo
Prev
search
Print
addthis
Rotate
Help
Next
Contents
All Pages
Browse Issues
Buy This Issue
Select edition
Monday
Thursday
Saturday
Home
'
The Weekend Neos Kosmos : 15 December 2018
Contents
DIATRIBE 24 THE WEEKEND NEOS KOSMOS | SATURDAY 15 DECEMBER 2018 DIGITAL.NEOSKOSMOS.COM Ari, the Prince of Western Libya DEAN KALIMNIOU When I met Ari, in a tavern in Plaka that evening, it was as a kindred spirit. At least, that is what my Grecian hosts told me. "Come and meet an Αυστραλό like yourself." And there was Ari, blonde, blue eyed, with the bronzed complexion of a Wanda Beach surfer, even though he hailed from western Sydney, resplendent in jean cutoff shorts and tight T-shirt, clutching at a plastic souvenir bag, emblazoned with a blue representation of a hyper-muscular Hercules in the process of inflicting grievous bodily harm upon an endangered member of the feline species. "Whataya got there mate?" I asked him. "Oh, just some books and shit," he remarked laconically. "History and philosophy mainly. My aim is to travel around, rediscover my roots. Brush up on my language skills. Dad was Greek, but mum is Aussie, so I never really learnt the language. Love it here though. It's as if I've come home." "Isn't he gorgeous?" one of my hosts gushed. "What a pity he is Greek. I've always wanted to date an authentic Αυστραλό." "What do you mean Greek?" a corpulent, balding male host interjected, visibly enraged. "He isn't Greek. He is an authentic Αυστραλό. He looks, acts and speaks nothing like us. He doesn't live here. He has no idea what it is like to be a Greek." "You getting any of this?" I turned aside to Ari as the group descended into a heated discussion as to Ari's ethno-cultural affiliation. "Some," Ari admitted. "What's going on?" "She is saying she wants to date a real Australian but you are Greek and he is saying you are a real Australian." "He wants to shag her doesn't he?" "Evidently." "So if she is saying that the reason why she doesn't want to date me is because I'm Greek, why on earth is he maintaining that I'm Aussie? Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose?" "I don't think he's picked up on that, yet," I replied. Ari crossed his thong-shod foot over his leg and leaned back nonchalantly. "Taste is as taste does," I riposted by way of obfuscation. "You bet it is," he remarked, reaching for his wine. As I reached for my own glass, I watched Ari, sitting now with his legs wide open, his countenance adorned with We both sat, listening attentively, as our hosts meandered in their discussion from Ari’s identity, to whether Australia is a British colony, whether Greece is a European colony, and the quaintness of Greek Australian tourists arriving in Greece and seeking an affiliation with their Helladic cousins. Not once were we asked to proffer an opinion. "Two bob short of a pound. Well, I'll be whatever she wants me to be, as long as I can take her out," he finally opined. "She's a good sort, isn't she?" an expansive grin, soaking up the musky nocturnal air. Though he followed the conversation, he did not participate and we both sat, listening attentively, as our hosts meandered in their discussion from Ari's identity, to whether Australia is a British colony, whether Greece is a European colony, and the quaintness of Greek Australian tourists arriving in Greece and seeking an affiliation with their Helladic cousins. Not once were we asked to proffer an opinion, or to verify any of the facts that were being disputed. Ari yawned and I was immediately reminded of Constantine Cavafy's poem 'The Prince of Western Libya': "Aristomenis, son of Menel- aos, ya, the Prince from Western Lib- was generally liked in Alexandria during the ten days he spent there. As his name, his dress, modest, was also Greek. He received honors gladly, but he did not solicit them; he was unassuming. He bought Greek books, especially history and philosophy. Above all he was a man of few words. It got around that he must be a profound thinker, and men like that naturally don't speak very much." "You Aussies don't talk very much," the fleshy man who questioned Ari's identity, now more relaxed after the fifth glass of wine, observed. "Hang on, I thought we were Greek," I replied slowly and carefully, weighing each word as I spoke it. I was in Athens, a place where the dialect of my Anatolian ancestors and my own mother tongue was neither spoke, nor socially accepted. Consequently, whenever in Athens, the speed of my conversation would automatically be halved, as I sought, simultaneous to carrying on a conversation, to: a) find urban equivalents for the rural idiomatic expressions used in my own idiolect, b) eradicate the elision of vowels and undulating intonation that is evidence of rural and thus extraneous provenance. More often than not the mental and linguistic strain would prove
Links
Archive
08 December 2018
22 December 2018
Navigation
Previous Page
Next Page
