close your eyes and hope for the best

Women on bench. Mani Greece (click image to enlarge)

Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak had not yet been invented, but I might as well have been wearing one. It was as if I could wander into homes, or move close in on someone by the roadside, with none aware of my presence.

I don’t speak Greek, I explained.

“Why not?” The person whom I had gone to see at the Greek National Tourist Organization in Athens was incredulous. Both my first and my last names, as written and as pronounced, have more than once been misconstrued as Greek. In defence, I avowed that I was indeed fluent in the language of my parents: Latvian. Not very useful in southern Europe.

I needed his help. I was on assignment for Equinox (which unfortunately no longer exists; it was a great magazine to work for). Their photo layouts always emphasized people, and the story I had to illustrate concerned the remotest portion of the middle of the three long peninsulas of Greece that fork far into the Mediterranean. Mani, as this rugged, isolated place is known, ends in the cape that is the southernmost point of mainland Europe, but its history is even more extreme than its wild geography.

Locals in Mani Greece (click image to enlarge)

Some of settlements there among the exposed Taygetus Mountains consist of clusters of tall stone towers. Their picturesque aspect belying dark and grim origins. The towers are fortified homes, with cannon-proof walls several metres thick and upper floors accessible through trap doors via retractable ladders. Violent interfamily vendettas lasting into the Twentieth Century made such Mordorian architecture a necessity. Often the inhabitants would venture outside only under the cover of night to avoid being shot. Meanwhile sea piracy had been one of the main local industries. And no foreign occupiers in Greece ever subdued the Maniots, who pride themselves as being the direct descendents of the Spartans.

Despite the fact that it is now a tourist destination, its recent past didn’t make Mani sound like the kind of place one could go knocking on doors, cutely pointing to camera equipment and hoping to elicit a warm reception with sign language. Nor could I hope to find the people pictures I needed along busy streets or in crowded markets - there would be none in the entirely rural, sparsely populated Deep Mani, the remote, southern portion that I was assigned to cover. I desperately needed an interpreter to accompany me.

“You should have let us know sooner,” the gentleman in the Athens tourist office said. “Any of the students who could have helped you now have their summer assignments.” He paused. “Perhaps I could go with you…or Vicky here could.” A very attractive dark-haired young woman had just walked into the office. “Who would you prefer?”

No offense, but this was a serious question? I can’t remember what flustered answer I gave, but at least I had communicated the obvious choice diplomatically enough. It didn’t take Vicky long to pack, and by that afternoon we were driving south. En route, and over some iced cappuccinos in the first seafront town we came to, I began to realize that my language liability had turned into an asset. What could have been a challenging and intimidating assignment was going to be enjoyable and very productive.

Vicky had a passionate, inquiring intelligence combined with an extroverted, strong personality and she captivated everyone she met. She was genuinely very interested in all people and in their stories; young or old, male or female, children, elderly women, virile men, it made little difference.

Because of her engaging nature, I effectively disappeared whenever we photographed anyone. Back then, Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak had not yet been invented, but I might as well have been wearing one. It was as if I could wander into homes, or move close in on someone by the roadside, with none aware of my presence. And with no ability to make conversation and therefore no expectation that I should do so, I was left to concentrate on composition, to focus on focus. It struck me that indeed the perfect way to work on a travel story was to be actually ignorant of the local language, and to be accompanied by an enthusiastic interpreter.

The downside was that I was missing a lot. I’ll never know what amusing anecdotes the widows on the bench shared with Vicky, or what stories were told by the two rugged men in the doorway (who I thought resembled Clint Eastwood and Charles Bronson).

Man with goats. Mani Greece. (click image to enlarge)

Despite my initial misgivings, it turned out that everyone we met in Mani was very gracious and helpful (a common Greek trait it seemed to me, when I later worked on other assignments in the country). No request was ever denied us. At first, it had seemed things weren’t going to be that way. “Ne…ne, ne”, people had assertively responded. It turns out that the Greek word for yes sounds exactly like the Latvian word for no. It took me some getting used to.

Late one afternoon I pulled off the roadway at a spot overlooking one of the villages and set up my tripod. It had been a long day and Vicky was tired and remained in the car. A man approached and started asking me questions. I explained a couple of times that I didn’t understand Greek; but he didn’t understand me. Rather than persist further or ignore him, it seemed that the polite thing to do was to nod assent and periodically express agreement with his small talk. I simply answered all his questions in the affirmative.

When I got back into the car, Vicky, who had heard the whole inane conversation, was in hysterics. In the end, the man, exasperated, had evidently asked me, “What are you, some kind of idiot?”

“Ne, ne, ” I had unequivocally replied.

© J. A. Kraulis

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