Oxford-Tiflis-Cairo-Salonica

The first people to greet me in Salonic were the two Turkish speaking Rum ladies from Tblisi, who were complaining of their lot, and who kept making compliments about my Turkish. They had been estranged from their "own people", and thought them far too degenerate, telling me again and again the tea that they had been offered in the port town of Samsun in Turkey on their ardous journey to their new Jerusalem, Salonica. Only later did I realize that this was now a socio-cultural phenomenon in Greece, they were opening their doors to "Rums" from all over the place in order to boost their population, the country has one of the lowest birth rates in Europe.

Just as I was congratulating myself on the progress I was making on my itinerary to the Esties, the Student Guest House, I lost the way when I got off the bus, having dropped my hard-attained city map on the bus as I was having the heated conversation with the Georgians. I asked the way a couple of time, even tried to take a taxi to the place, but all to no avail, the Greek experience had begun. Although they were really nice and smiling, noone seemed to be able to help me, all faces registering wonderment when I showed them the name of the place as if I was speaking of an address in middle earth. One particularly sweet girl warned me that buses would not be running regularly today anyway because of student demonstrations, and that I should keep trying the impossible taxis.

Then I approached another guy who turned out to be a Ph. D. student from Cairo, studying veterinary medicine. He was doing the "sister-brother" thing and insisted that we take the bus, totally ignorant of the fact of the demonstration and not taking me seriously when I told him about it. But he was to believe me soon afterwards because just as he was suggesting that we wait at a busttop at a road which was so obviously cordonned off, we saw people coming from the head of the street, their faces covered in snow caps, or whatever they're called, and then the police moved in, we crossed the street, and then heard gun shots. After that the students started to pelt the police with cobble stones, as we hurried to get inside what seemed to be a stationary store, underground. The last I saw of the squabble was two, not one but two students lighting molotov cocktails and hurling them in the direction of the police. Welcome to the country of unrest, I thought with imperial glee. They were always thus, and always shall be.

The commotion lasted surprisingly short and then we came out, and saw nothing but a couple of stones on the pavement as testimony of what had happened. I also thought of the group of young people sitting at the three lavish outdoor lounges at the bottom of the street like it was Nice in July in their fancy dresses, and where they had run to during the confrontation. Also the terror in my Egyptian friend's eyes and my insouciant folly as we hurried into the stationary. He had actually been afraid, while I felt as if the city was putting on a show for me. One of us had probably experienced violence at first hand, and one of us was used to be just a news-audience.
We went to the top of the street and walked along the main artery for while, two main attractions appearing on our right hand side, the Galerius arch and the Rotunda, and he telling me that Atatürk's house was not far from that spot. I had tried nicely to tell him that he need not bother himself with me anymore, that I could find myself from then on, he took it badly, and told me he was acting only like a "brother". That shut me up alright. We took a cab with a couple of other young people and when we arrived at the hotel where the conference was to take place, we got out and he did not let me pay.

Like the Rum taxi driver who had spent time in Beşiktaş had not let my parents pay when he took them to the hotel. I was watching a modern dance troupe whose piece talked to me of immigration but was actually, it turns out, about cloning. "I've got the impreshaun, I'm just a cawpy" one of the girls kept saying. And then they packed bags and unpacked bags which later led to the hotel staff to put Anamaria's Turkish coat into that prop-case, a coat which she would be looking for for two days, and a coat after which she was inquiring when I formed my first false impressions about her.