I swear that she kissed me awake.
The news must have sounded unreal to my wife. Even exciting. A snap referendum, with only a week's time for campaigning - wow!
I had gone to bed early, with a planned road trip ahead of me. Despite the worrying latest news - of people queuing in front of ATMs - Friday fatigue had helped me sleep fast.
And there I was, seated bleary-eyed in front of the TV and wondering. Not whether it was real -it sure was- but what it really meant. Some idea we did have, from earlier Cyprus or Argentina footage, from warnings spelt out after the abandoned 2011 referendum idea, from the very term bank run. You just run.
I still needed to sleep but only managed part of what I hoped for. Show had to go on. I hit the road with my son, not too late in the morning. We made all the right stops for coffee and lunch along the 600-kilometer route, trying to enjoy the ride. Our destination was an attractive one, after all - the seaside Thessaloniki, where the young lad would spend three weeks in an English-speaking summer boarding school.
I hardly enjoyed the first break and the cold coffee I ordered. A text message had come from a worried colleague seeking my advice. I don't quite remember what I answered but most likely it was a tip for caution and vigilance - what else could it be?
Run.
It was extremely nice along the north Aegean waterfront. Following a stroll along part of the revamped promenade we watched a Swedish street performer and then had dinner with an old MSc classmate and her daughter. We chatted a bit about what was to come, but only a bit - there was so much to talk about, spanning some fifteen years (and thankfully the youngsters developed their own interesting conversation, largely ignoring us).
The next morning I drove my son to the school, situated in an uphill suburb. All along the drive we saw people queued in front of ATMs. At the school I met the mother of another student who told me she regretted having paid the fees in advance. For a moment I wondered whether we should have cancelled this luxury. Then I thought, perhaps cynically, that at least the school would make sure the kids would be sheltered and fed for three weeks, no matter what.
Sensing my conflict, the nice lady gave me her number, offering to help in case of any emergency. My friend had suggested the same the night before. But nothing will happen, I kept telling myself, even as I walked down to the parking lot to pick up the car for the drive back home.
It was a long drive and only started a few hours later, after several futile stops for cash withdrawal (the only ATMs without queues were the empty ones, and the non-empty ones would soon dry out), a gyros lunch and a downtown coffee. And then I hit the road.
Run. But not exactly in the right direction. Somehow I felt I could afford to fool around a bit more, so I took the Edessa road instead of the tollway and decided to drive for the first time ever along what some people believe was "Greece's first motorway".
As I wrote in my Greek blog entry of those days, this 60-km stretch belonged to my personal terra incognita. For the most part it isn't really a motorway. Only a small part, including the 16 kilometers between Polykastro junction and the border have a divided cross-section. Traffic-wise this is more than enough and it is really puzzling to see as many as three (!) lanes per direction at the Edessa road interchange.
Apparently the road was meant as a facade for those arriving from onetime Yugoslavia and the rest of Europe. Even today, with the facilities otherwise looking relatively shabby, an international driver would be impressed by certain unusual signs leading to the Karasouli allied cemetery or to the only roadside Greek mosque at a huge rest area. It was the main gateway from Europe - and to Europe, of course.
Run.
It was a leased car, meant for travel within Greece. This must have stopped me, together with realizing that it would be irrational and ridiculous. Even if I'd had the documentation to cross the border (a passport and a green card, as a minimum), where exactly would I go? The nearest I could find any friends was probably Vienna. My family, obligations and job were all south of the border and even if payments should get delayed (which in the end didn't really happen) there was no way they could reach me on the other side.
I filled up the Nissan using a credit card - it worked - and drove back towards Athens and Corinth. At my last stop I heard the announcements on capital controls and called once again my family. Everything seemed under control. On arrival in Corinth the streets were busy. No ATM queues, nor protests of the slightest sort. People were actually partying to celebrate the local festival in honor of Saints Peter and Paul.
They don't give a f*ck - they breed their chicken and plant their tomatoes so they're not afraid of starving, was a communication expert's explanation for rural Greece's apparent indifference to banking restrictions. He knew better - and actually surprised me by foreseeing the key resignations (of the finance minister and the opposition leader) in the wake of the referendum. His cool head helped me exercise the caution and vigilance that I advised to others.
No partying on either of those Sundays. A lot of TV, internet and talk until late in the night. Then I needed sleep. We would all run, but not immediately. In the meantime, she kept kissing me goodnight.
The news must have sounded unreal to my wife. Even exciting. A snap referendum, with only a week's time for campaigning - wow!
I had gone to bed early, with a planned road trip ahead of me. Despite the worrying latest news - of people queuing in front of ATMs - Friday fatigue had helped me sleep fast.
And there I was, seated bleary-eyed in front of the TV and wondering. Not whether it was real -it sure was- but what it really meant. Some idea we did have, from earlier Cyprus or Argentina footage, from warnings spelt out after the abandoned 2011 referendum idea, from the very term bank run. You just run.
I still needed to sleep but only managed part of what I hoped for. Show had to go on. I hit the road with my son, not too late in the morning. We made all the right stops for coffee and lunch along the 600-kilometer route, trying to enjoy the ride. Our destination was an attractive one, after all - the seaside Thessaloniki, where the young lad would spend three weeks in an English-speaking summer boarding school.
I hardly enjoyed the first break and the cold coffee I ordered. A text message had come from a worried colleague seeking my advice. I don't quite remember what I answered but most likely it was a tip for caution and vigilance - what else could it be?
Run.
It was extremely nice along the north Aegean waterfront. Following a stroll along part of the revamped promenade we watched a Swedish street performer and then had dinner with an old MSc classmate and her daughter. We chatted a bit about what was to come, but only a bit - there was so much to talk about, spanning some fifteen years (and thankfully the youngsters developed their own interesting conversation, largely ignoring us).
The next morning I drove my son to the school, situated in an uphill suburb. All along the drive we saw people queued in front of ATMs. At the school I met the mother of another student who told me she regretted having paid the fees in advance. For a moment I wondered whether we should have cancelled this luxury. Then I thought, perhaps cynically, that at least the school would make sure the kids would be sheltered and fed for three weeks, no matter what.
Sensing my conflict, the nice lady gave me her number, offering to help in case of any emergency. My friend had suggested the same the night before. But nothing will happen, I kept telling myself, even as I walked down to the parking lot to pick up the car for the drive back home.
It was a long drive and only started a few hours later, after several futile stops for cash withdrawal (the only ATMs without queues were the empty ones, and the non-empty ones would soon dry out), a gyros lunch and a downtown coffee. And then I hit the road.
Run. But not exactly in the right direction. Somehow I felt I could afford to fool around a bit more, so I took the Edessa road instead of the tollway and decided to drive for the first time ever along what some people believe was "Greece's first motorway".
As I wrote in my Greek blog entry of those days, this 60-km stretch belonged to my personal terra incognita. For the most part it isn't really a motorway. Only a small part, including the 16 kilometers between Polykastro junction and the border have a divided cross-section. Traffic-wise this is more than enough and it is really puzzling to see as many as three (!) lanes per direction at the Edessa road interchange.
Apparently the road was meant as a facade for those arriving from onetime Yugoslavia and the rest of Europe. Even today, with the facilities otherwise looking relatively shabby, an international driver would be impressed by certain unusual signs leading to the Karasouli allied cemetery or to the only roadside Greek mosque at a huge rest area. It was the main gateway from Europe - and to Europe, of course.
Run.
It was a leased car, meant for travel within Greece. This must have stopped me, together with realizing that it would be irrational and ridiculous. Even if I'd had the documentation to cross the border (a passport and a green card, as a minimum), where exactly would I go? The nearest I could find any friends was probably Vienna. My family, obligations and job were all south of the border and even if payments should get delayed (which in the end didn't really happen) there was no way they could reach me on the other side.
I filled up the Nissan using a credit card - it worked - and drove back towards Athens and Corinth. At my last stop I heard the announcements on capital controls and called once again my family. Everything seemed under control. On arrival in Corinth the streets were busy. No ATM queues, nor protests of the slightest sort. People were actually partying to celebrate the local festival in honor of Saints Peter and Paul.
They don't give a f*ck - they breed their chicken and plant their tomatoes so they're not afraid of starving, was a communication expert's explanation for rural Greece's apparent indifference to banking restrictions. He knew better - and actually surprised me by foreseeing the key resignations (of the finance minister and the opposition leader) in the wake of the referendum. His cool head helped me exercise the caution and vigilance that I advised to others.
No partying on either of those Sundays. A lot of TV, internet and talk until late in the night. Then I needed sleep. We would all run, but not immediately. In the meantime, she kept kissing me goodnight.
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