National Health Service in Greece

Recently I had opportunity to experience the Greek National Health Service in action in Athens, at the level available to every citizen, and despite some hardship I was mightily impressed. This was somewhat unexpected...

Let me explain: I, like most Greek residents, have found through long experience -yes, I'm getting on a bit now- that most contacts with the state mechanism in whatever form is generally frustrating and unrewarding, ending in disappointment if not anger. Most state employees, secure from dismissal or, sometimes, even evaluation, often show complete indifference to their fellow citizens needs and requests, making life extremely difficult. Loads of bureaucratic procedures exist to keep the general populace in their place and to insulate, empower and protect the bureaucrats; anyone who has had to face the system will have stories, including horror stories, to tell. This leads most everyone to approach the system with apprehension, or even loathing.

Well, on an overseas visit over Christmas (the United Kingdom if you must know, nosey parkers...) I managed to contract one of the many forms of COVID, diagnosed on my return to Athens. This was treated according to prevailing advice and went away fairly quickly and painlessly, save for a bit of a cough with some sputum which sometimes had a bright light green colour. This I knew from previous experience and doctor's advice to be a bad sign, a sign of infection that could have serious consequences for my sensitive respiratory system. Antibiotics were needed pronto, to put a stop to this and to get a prescription I needed to go to a public hospital to be examined and assessed; I was assured this was dead easy.

A few days later I walked across to SOTIRIA (literal meaning: salvation) hospital, about a mile from where I'm currently living, as not only was it the nearest but also specialised in respiratory ailments. Unfortunately I made a crucial mistake and did not check its status as far a s being the duty hospital (it was!), so found queues in the emergency department. Still, my little priority ticket claimed that I had something like a thirty-five minute waiting time, which seemed not unreasonable. So I stayed and waited, and waited some more, and then some; intensely frustrated, I considered leaving after two hours but stayed on, telling myself to be patient. Emergency cases kept arriving on stretchers or otherwise, desperately ill people needing immediate care and pushing non-urgent cases like mine down the list, something I found completely understandable if frustrating; the same could not be said of some of the other waiting people, many of whom kept complaining bitterly, often in a rude manner, to the obviously inundated and overworked staff. I kept my mouth shut, though I desperately wanted to have a go at the moaners, and waited. It was five hours from the time of my arrival before I was seen.

I had expected a cursory examination, with a prescription speedily dispensed to get me out of the way; nothing could have been further from the truth. I was given a full and detailed examination, including blood tests, in an efficient and courteous manner by people clearly overworked and under pressure but not shirking their duties, nor losing their patience and professionalism. There was even evidence of a sense of humour, something not always evident in Greek public facilities, and plenty of understanding.

Sure, I had to wait a further two and a half hours before my results were ready to take away, so overall I ended up having spent over eight hours in this not especially pleasant and certainly stressful environment, but I walked away tired, yes, but surprised, pleased and mightily impressed. The men and women I witnessed manning (personning?) the front line were dedicated, efficient, willing, capable and civil in the face of serious, sustained pressure. They operated at a level equivalent to any western country even though the Greek economic meltdown of a few years ago left them under-equipped and, possibly, under-staffed. So for all I witnessed I salute, congratulate and thank them.

Yet not everything is perfect, or even good. The bureaucracy that supposedly underpins and supports the system is convoluted, inefficient, occasionally self-serving, self-satisfied and lazy, letting down everyone concerned, patients included. Admittedly they often have to work under pressure, but still... There is a lot of work to be done before this system can operate like a well-oiled machine, with this perhaps easier said than done. But surely this is worth striving for, as it will benefit everyone involved. And the Government of the day, irrespective of political affiliations, should aim to provide these good people with the means to continue improving the good work they so clearly do.

Finally I must congratulate myself, as I don't see you, dear reader, rushing to so do... After all, while not known for my patience and stoicism, I managed to spend nearly nine hours in a far from pleasant hospital environment quietly and politely waiting as directed, without strangling or even wishing to strangle a single person. Or no more than a dozen or so of my fellow patients... A veritable candidate for sainthood, wouldn't you say?

More than brothers

I am aware that there are people who go through life without close friends and, I must say, I do not understand it at all. As the more devoted amongst you know, I have been blessed with many good friends in my life, people who have enriched my existence immeasurably and have made me feel infinitely wealthy and blessed. Every one of my friends has added something to my life in their own way.

But here I need to tell you a story involving  a small group of friends that has an extra special position in my life and affections:

Once upon a time many years ago a little blond boy entered the world, probably screaming and maybe even cursing, though he was generally sunny natured. About a year or so later he was introduced to a little boy a year older than himself, whose parents were friends with his lot. Over time they were brought together by their parents to play usually at the same time as the parents socialised, but not living next door to one another this was not an everyday occasion. Nevertheless their friendship grew and grew, was further tested but also strengthened during joint family summer holidays, and developed further with the passing of time.

The original little boy, by now six years old, left to live in the USA for a year, leaving his by now well-established friend behind but without forgetting him. On his return about a year later the two little boys took up where they left off, more or less, getting together quite often.

On his return from the USA the little blond boy, by now not quite so little, had what turned out to be a pleasant surprise in his neighbourhood - two new boys, brothers, just a bit older than him - had moved in more or less next door, so were instantly available potential playmates and possible friends. And friends they, indeed, became, to the point that late last year they celebrated sixty years of friendship! Shortly thereafter they were introduced to the blond boy's other friend, soon becoming firm friends with him also. The young boys not only played together regularly, including football, but became something of a unit, hanging around together at every available opportunity despite various ups and downs in their lives. Their little unit even acquired a name, which to this day describes the individuals involved but which must remain secret.

The blond boy was fortunate to have some spare space in his family's garage, with this becoming a base for the boys, a sort of clubhouse for their activities, this lasting throughout most of their teenage years. To the despair of some of the long-suffering neighbours one of their activities was a pop group, generating plenty of noise, which thankfully developed from the original cacophony to a loud but accomplished modern sound. Three of the four provided musical services (guitar, bass guitar, drums) while the fourth member, less keen on performing, remained as support staff. With parties and local events benefitting from their abilities, the musical activity lasted for maybe three years all told. All sorts of other adventures also ensued, especially as the eldest boy by now had a driver's licence and an ageing Austin Cambridge car available to him!

Life does not follow our self-penned scripts, alas, and the four boys experienced some serious ups -and even more serious- downs over the next few years. While the time spent together varied, their bond was tested but remained strong, and so it has remained despite many changes in their lives including living in a different country, weddings, funerals, children, financial triumphs and catastrophes. They have remained firm friends throughout, supporting each other in times of need and enjoying the shared history that unites them to this day, irrespective of how often they meet. And all this time there have been no fallings out, no periods of unpleasantness, no estrangement; to this day if one of the four asks one of the others for help with something the response is always positive within the realistic possibilities available.

From being the little blond boy, and you probably guessed that was me,  I am now a bald, ageing man grateful for the blessing that is my friendship with these three individuals. And how we feel about each other can best be summed up by the response of one of the four when thanked by the sister of one of the others for helping with a bureaucratic problem her brother had, quote: 'I would do anything within my power for him.'

Eternal beloved friends 'baked in the oven of life' so to speak, so much more than brothers, to you as long as I live and breathe I will be loyal and grateful.

Lucky, lucky man...

 I know that you have missed me, dear reader, as it's been a long time since I put pen to paper or, in any case, got the old laptop out to record thoughts, irritations, even good things. My old excuse, COVID in all its forms has come and looks to be going, so I cannot use that. I guess there has been a kind of hibernation, which seemed to start before the summer and lasted until now; I have no idea why.

Still, I'm back and raring to go, especially as I need to tell you about a very special lunch that my friend YT gave about a week ago. This was very special indeed - a once in ten years, if not once in a lifetime event, and only for wine people - and the wines were rare, largely unusual and served blind; this led to all sorts of interesting conversations and in which I failed miserably in the detective work required. In my defence I have been drinking plonk over the last few years, so my exposure to the more serious stu is limited.

The food that accompanied the wines was relatively simple by YT standards, in order to accompany and not overshadow the wines, but it was delicious and beautifully prepared - home cooking on another level entirely.

Now you may curse me for parading these beauties, but they are worth reading about simply because this will be the closest most of us will ever come to them. Most of these wines are rare and now expensive, superb examples of the winemaker's skill, which takes grape juice and turns it into something magical. They are:

1. Chateau Chalon 1995 from Jean Macle in the Jura. These wines, quirky and individual, were for years undervalued, as they were an acquired taste, but are now in demand and with the appropriate price. Luckily YT has been a follower for many years and still has some bottles he is willing to share with us. This particular one was golden in colour, had a restrained and almost medicinal nose, had sweetness and a typical complex and very long palate. What a way to start...

2. The second wine was a Sancerre 2010, cuvee Paul, from Domaine F. Cotat, as untypical as they come, with a golden colour, burnt sugar nose, bone dry yet with hints of sweetness, long and complex. Would not have pegged it as a Sancerre in a million years.

3. A Clos Ste-Hune 2000 from domaine Trimbach followed, its age disguising its pedigree to some extent, greeny-gold in colour with a distinct grassy nose, medium sweet, complex, long.

4. Bienvenue-Batard Montrachet 1999, domaine Leflaive. This wine caught me completely by surprise, as I had never tried anything but younger, more vibrant examples. Golden yellow, with a bit of brimstone on the nose, a big brute from on the best estates in Burgundy.

5. Cristal 1996, Louis Roederer. I love aged champagne so I appreciated its browny gold colour, its lemony, biscuity nose and its now sedate, long, complex palate. It is a great pity that these wines usually end up in the hands of people who don't understand their quality and care only about their perceived status - the show-off value. Cristal is a beauty, perfectly made by serious people and meant to be enjoyed by like-minded souls, not poured into drunken idiots...

6. Musigny 2011 Domaine de la Vougeraie. Top class red burgundy from a top producer and, if you are tempted to drink Pinot Noir from anywhere else in the world, don't! Most of us may not be able to afford the Grand Crus, but Pinot Noir from anywhere else is at best well-made and competent. Starting to brown, with strawberries and plums on the nose and palate, complex and very long.

7. Chateauneuf-du-Pape Chateau Rayas 1998. This property has made outstanding, untypical, quirky wines for decades, with a complete lack of interest in wine fashion but a total dedication to their craft. Bottles of Rayas are like gold-dust, elusive and beautiful. This was ruby red in colour, wild strawberries on nose with dry tannins and a green-ish finish that was very long indeed.

8. Chateau Haut Brion 1989, one of the heavy hitters of Bordeaux from a good, rich year. Dark in colour still, nearly black, a refined deep red fruit nose and a jammy ripe palate with a perfect ripe, very long finish. A lovely example from a part of the world that can sell most of its wine even when it is mediocre, especially the big names.

9. Chateau Yquem 1967, a mythical wine from a special vintage, rare and delicious. I challenge anybody who says they do not like sweet wines to try something like this beauty. Of course they're expensive, of course making Sauternes is difficult and costly with most things done by hand, but this is a life-changing experience for wine lovers. This was golden brown with ripe apricot and caramel on the palate, caramel on the palate, long, complex, seductive, special.

And then we finished with some Chartreuse Verte Tarragone 1964, a digestif with a strange green yellow colour, minty aromatic nose, medicinal & complex, powerful palate, long and complete, an unusual but rewarding way to finish this most interesting of meals.

Oh, and the bit about the lucky man refers to me, dear reader, not you!

Regression brings disappointment, and death

 As a young child growing up a few years after the Second World War I had to face the suffocating result, strangely named the Cold War; there was sadness, enmity and mutual suspicion, East versus West, freedom versus oppression, but also plenty of optimism that one day we would overcome all that. We, mostly, where eagerly looking forward to the day when hate would be consigned to the bin of history and all people could bask in the warmth of freedom.

The ultimate symbol of the oppressiveness of that era, the Berlin Wall, came down amid loud cheering from the assembled crowds on the 9th of November 1989; or bits of the wall came down that day, with lots more in the days and months following. I remember watching the events on television at home in London and feeling blessed to see this, freedom overcoming oppression, light defeating darkness. Hearing the song 'Wind of Change' still brings a tear to my eye, especially the verse "where the children of tomorrow dream away in the wind of change", because I lived some of that sentiment even if, by then, I was no longer a child.

Some of the tears in the last twenty years have been shed for how we have betrayed those children of tomorrow, how most of the love overflowing that day dried up and became cynicism, how nationalism and materialism overcame all fraternal sentiment. But sad as all that has been, nothing can equal the sadness of what is currently becoming the new status quo, with Russia and its 'charismatic' leader initiating and executing its appalling invasion of Ukraine based of excuses that make the Iraq invasion look like the best documented, thus justified, military intervention in history after the Trojan War. We have regressed to something from the Cold War era, with a dash of WW2 thrown in for good measure.

Death is not reversible, with loads of bodies adorning our tv screens daily, Ukrainian civilians in shocking numbers but numerous young Russian soldiers also. All these people are dead, irreversibly, for reasons I am unable to fathom. Of course loads of theories abound, none of which to my mind adequately justifies the death and destruction. There is no rewind button, no glory, just pointless brutality and many dead bodies.

It may be that we human beings are unable to live together in harmony for long periods of time, that sooner or later we cherish our neighbour's possessions or feel we need to display our superior strength to anyone convenient. It is sobering thought, even more so for the younger generations whose life stretches ahead of them, tantalisingly promising. For older creatures such as myself the dreadful realisation dawns that our life, which not that long ago was full of optimism for humankind, will fizzle out in the sour miasma of bitter disappointment.

Let's hope at least that we won't see World War Three.

English football and Marcus Rashford

English football has had some of its best - and worst - moments in the last few weeks, during Euro 2020 which has happened thanks to the Covid pandemic during 2021. Let me elaborate.

Anyone who knows anything about football - American football fans look away now - knows that the standards of the game are incredibly high in England, which happens to be its birthplace, with teams at all levels being hugely competitive. English teams have been extremely competitive and very successful in international competitions for many, many years; not so the National team, which has only won one major trophy and that on home soil - the 1966 World Cup, wine in thrilling fashion. This success has never been repeated, despite some great teams/players/managers being involved, for reasons not known or understood.

Roll around Euro 2020, a young unheralded English team and an untested manager on, essentially, his first managerial position - a recipe for disaster, one might think, and I confess to have had my doubts as to their potential. I was, of course, spectacularly wrong, with the England team showing great character and resilience while fighting their way to the final, convincingly beating their old Nemesis (Germany) along the way. Admittedly, there was little great football to see along the way as this young side struggled to fuse and fully express their talents, but there were sparks of greatness showing the potential, coupled with a convincing fighting spirit. And they reached the edge of greatness, only to fail in the penalty shootout against Italy in the final but still the most successful English team since 1966.

Probably the most spectacular penalty miss was by Marcus Rashford, the Manchester United player who has shown great maturity in his career to date on and off the pitch. A supremely talented young man, unfailingly polite and modest in behaviour, a player set to star in football both home and abroad for years to come. Marcus badly fluffed his penalty, hitting the post, while he had already sent the opposing keeper the wrong way - a mistake by a young man, almost still a kid, at an extremely stressful time and for which he was clearly devastated.

Out came the haters, ready to heap abuse on him, because Marcus is a young black man. To make matters worse, all three players (Marcus Rashford, Jadon Sancho, Bukayo Saka) who were unsuccessful in their penalty kicks were black, fuelling the imaginations and reaction of racists in England and elsewhere, producing despicable outbursts on the internet and even vandalism of a Rashford mural somewhere. Why? What were people thinking? These are hugely talented youngsters who are part of the future of English football and will surely bring trophies home soon - what will the haters say then?

Marcus Rashford issued a powerful, dignified, modest statement in response that shows, once again, the character of the man. My admiration for this young man has grown since his penalty miss; despite his youth he is mature, caring, articulate and a supremely talented footballer who will reward his team and his country hugely over the coming years. His skin colour is clearly an irrelevance, his quality as an athlete and a human being is not!

Lots of funerals, no weddings...

 Pass a certain age and the less than ideal fact is that one attends or hears of far more sad events, illnesses and deaths than joyous celebrations; that's just a fact of life, the way it is, tough. So funerals are common, weddings extremely rare, alas.

It was to another funeral that I made my way to this morning, luckily taking place at the local church, that of an older male relative. Though he and I were never friends as well as relatives, I felt the need to represent my branch of the family and show my face to his children, one of whom I am relatively close to. The price to pay is to endure the liturgy that the Greek Orthodox Church deems appropriate for deceased individuals which, while not excessively long is, to an irreligious but Greek Orthodox born person like me, a bit of an ordeal.

It is an ordeal not only because, depending on the 'package' agreed with the priests conducting the service, things may drone on and on, rich in readings, chanting and platitude, but also because it is full of impressive but meaningless verbiage to indicate constancy and eternity. I mean, really, who is going to be around to remember me fifty or a hundred years after I kick the bucket, never mind centuries later... Yet the chant goes: 'may his/her memory be eternal' - a joke, a silly little joke in bad taste.

Humankind has been on this Earth for a very short time, relatively speaking, for only a few thousand years, and Christianity for an even shorter time, 2021 years to be precise, yet it loves to talk about worship and remembering every Tom, Dick or Harriet centuries from now. And it does so on and on, on and on, on and on during a funeral service, pretending whoever has just died is of deep significance, to be remembered forever; we're not and we won't be, so please can we get on with the blinking service so the dead person can go to their grave or whatever forthwith, and I can go home/cafe/drinking sooner rather than later.

I have never been married and now may never have the joy of experiencing this particular ritual as a participant, so my only experience of weddings is as a guest, impatiently eyeing up the female section of the congregation for the reception later. The thought of nice food, drink and, perhaps, some attractive female company immediately after helps me through the religious gobbledegook; no such luck at funerals. And at my age there are now many funerals - with my own also on the horizon, though hopefully not quite yet -  and hardly any weddings.

And don't worry duckies, I'll make sure my own funeral is brief and to the point - he's dead, get over it and get on with life, thanks - so you won't be bitching about it to your friends or on some blog.

Ateni beach, Andros island, Greece

This should have appeared last summer, but did not; appearing today, it gives off a whiff of summer and what we are missing, but also what we are looking forward to in 'a glass half full' sort of world... Enjoy:

My loyal reader knows well that there is a beach on the island of Andros that I have a soft spot for, even more than for St. Peter's Beach, my ever pleasing consistent standard go-to place with bar called Funky Donkey -and this beach is called Ateni. I love this place primarily because, despite having a great little beach bar with sun loungers, umbrellas and drinks/snacks, it has the feeling of an unspoilt, undeveloped, natural place. Granted, it is open to the northerly winds that cool/batter the island for most of July and August, sometimes making the bay at Ateni an angry cauldron of water; waves can regularly make swimming a bit of an adventure. And the sea, during these windy days, seems eager to deposit loads of debris of all descriptions - though mainly assorted plastics from as far afield as Turkey - on the lovely sandy beach.

As unpleasant as these things sound, they detract little from the amazing overall experience offered by the place. The clean air, the feeling of being close to nature, the peace and quiet, they're all supplemented by an impeccable little beach bar, run by the Glynos family and their assistants/employees, that has won me over not just by the care they put into everything they do and the food they serve, but also the unfailing politeness and friendly service that is consistently offered. This year, despite the problems offered by the pandemic and substantial loss of business, they were all out there again looking after everybody while wearing the requisite equipment (masks etc.) and immediately utilising the necessary cleaning materials whenever there was a need, quickly and efficiently.Getting in and out of the water is slightly tricky at Ateni, as there is a rocky ledge running along most of the length of the beach. This is just an inconvenience and easily overcome with a bit of care, so it looks more tricky than it actually is and, once you are past it the water is just fantastic, clear and cool. There is a tremendous feel when splashing about in the middle of the bay surrounded by nature, with few sights, sounds and smells of the modern world intruding. There is peace and quiet here, allowing full enjoyment of the sea yet with the modern but unobtrusive facilities of the Ateni Beach Bar only minutes away.

The drinks and food available are, for a little family-run place on a beach somewhat off the beaten track, of good to excellent quality and represent a fairly comprehensive offering, for which they get great and well-deserved reviews. But in this strange year, dominated as it has been by Covid-19 and the measures taken to limit its spread, the quality at Ateni has just not been enough to ensure a sufficient level of business to ensure survival. Still they smile, welcoming repeat and new customers alike with the same warmth, efficiency and humility; hopefully enough of us will appreciate their qualities to enable them to survive, to be there next year, to continue enhancing this beautiful location.

Don't take my word for the attributes of the place - a pair of swans were daily visitors, enjoying the hospitality of the beach bar with us but, unlike us, they did not have to pay

for sunbeds, parasols or food.

Magical Ateni, probably my favourite beach - and beach bar - on Andros; it really is that good!