Lost in Translation

by Shannon Kernaghan (Canada)

I didn't expect to find Greece

Lost in Translation The joy of exploration lessens language barriers in Greece Destination Greece, for an experience awash in mythology and olive groves. Although my travel partner Karis brought a list of Greek phrases, I rarely remembered them in time. In my defense, the word for “yes” sounded like “no” and a simple “thanks” involved four syllables. I rarely felt hampered because many Greeks communicated seamlessly in English. These welcoming people made themselves clear yet some of the printed material was lost in translation, like the belly dance CD I bought for the song titles: “My Bouzouki’s in High Spirits,” “You’ll Get Used to Me Little by Little” and my favorite, “I Do Not Own Mansions or Have a Pot.” Guidebook: Sightseeing features the Acropolis and Parthenon, plus views of the Agora, Royal Palace, Temple of Zeus and Hadrian’s Arch. The translation delights didn’t end with music. While ordering lunch at an outdoor tavern near Syntagma Square in Athens, Karis read aloud a typo-riddled blurb from the back of her menu: “This store is obliged to dispose ofprinted sheets, at a special place by the exit for the expression of any complaint whatsoever, with content fot the market police, the hygiene department or the fiscal department.” Who am I to complain, lazy me, I thought, my stomach drum-tight with succulent tomatoes, grape leaves and olive oil. I couldn’t decide which greeting to use, kalimera (good morning) or kalispera (good evening) so when paying the bill I simply smiled in the direction of our server. Guidebook: In Mycenae, see the Treasury of Atreus, the Beehive Tombs, Lion Gate and Agamemnon’s Palace. Don’t miss the amphitheatre of Epidaurus before touring the Olympic Stadium. I wasn’t always lazy. I climbed hundreds of stone steps, roamed through revered ruins and the temples of Athena, Zeus and Apollo, where Karis and I held hands to our hearts. Greece is a land of discovery, past and present. Greece was also a land of icons, available at every street stand and corner store. I collected the Holy Virgin Mary, weeping, black or pensive, from tiny key chains to bulky triptychs. And if a suitcase full of the Virgin Mary wasn’t enough, I added an assortment of Byzantine saints. Guidebook: We invite you to an evening excursion at a taverna in Plaka. Excellent food served in a lively atmosphere, and entertainment through dances and music. In a restaurant and seated close to a troupe of folk dancers, one of the dancers stopped in front of me and stuck his shoe under my nose. His toe sported a gigantic yellow pom pom. The man shouted and pointed to that fuzzy pom pom. Was I supposed to stroke it? Kiss it? I did both and now could be married to a Greek man. I only hope he owns a pot. I have no memory of what caused the sparrow-brown bruises on my shins when pulling up my socks the next morning. I blame the anise-flavored ouzo and the Metaxa brandy. Guidebook: Bask in a four-day Aegean cruise where you can spend time in the playground of the rich and famous on the island of Mykonos. From the islands of Rhodes to Mykonos and Patmos, tan-furred stray dogs recognized the rustle of bags with the leftovers I gathered after meals. Each dog’s grinning pleasure lingered in my memory, as did every piece of antiquity I studied through nose-smudged glass at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens. Guidebook: After breakfast, bid farewell to new friends as you head to the airport for your return flight home. When Karis and I jogged through the airport to find our homeward terminal, we passed a souvenir kiosk with the faces of a dozen Madonnas on every shelf. “Last chance for icons,” Karis called out. “I’m good,” and I patted a bulging bag that slapped my thigh with each fast step. “Opa!” Karis shouted. “Opa to you, girlfriend!” I shouted back, my grin wide and idiotic, not caring who heard or watched. Anyone could translate the joy we felt after our Grecian discoveries.