BS: News from Kalymnos

Subject: RE: BS: News from Kalymnos
From: Roger the Skiffler
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 08:15 AM

...I wonder if I changed my name to Manoli I might get a gig?
I enjoy the idiosyncracies of our Greek experiences but am aware we can't afford to be smug- John Reid's UK Home Office makes the Sindagma Square Post Office in Athens ( target of many of Brian Church's articles in Athens News)look "fit for purpose" by comparison!

RtS
(aka Manoli the Skafi Plaka)

Subject: RE: BS: News from Kalymnos
From: katlaughing
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 06:02 PM

Great stuff, Roger! My Rog says your friend should have a blog in order to share his brill recounting with more> Damn good stuff, I say!

Subject: RE: BS: News from Kalymnos
From: GUEST,lox
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 11:14 AM

Come on folks - imagine migrating from Greece to the UK or the USA.

Do you think they don't have to show ID documents?

and what about utility bills as proof of address?

Not to mention archaic registration laws, that recognize me as my daughters biological father, recognize that I am her sole carer and that I am legally her sole resident carer (I have sole residence), and recognize that she is dependant on me, yet unless I go to court to ask for an order proclaiming it in writing, they will not recognize me as having legal parental responsibility.

What kind of nonsense is that?

Subject: RE: BS: News from Kalymnos
From: George Papavgeris
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 07:10 AM

Of course. And the stray dogs too.

Subject: RE: BS: News from Kalymnos
From: Linda Kelly
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 06:54 AM

are the feral cats still there I wonder?

Subject: RE: BS: News from Kalymnos
From: Roger the Skiffler
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 03:24 AM

...another extract from Andy's updates:
Best example so far of the Greek mentality occurred on the ferry from Ancona in Italy to Patra in Greece. It was a Greek ferry run by a Greek shipping company.
When we got to our cabin I noticed there was an ashtray on the table, however there was a large red no-smoking sign actually printed on the ashtray. I was totally confused – they had supplied an ashtray suggesting that smoking was permitted in the cabin but there was a no-smoking sign indicating that it was not. If they did not want you to smoke then surely they would not have provided an ashtray and the no-smoking sign would have been on the door or on the wall. If they did allow you to smoke why have a no-smoking sign???
Curiosity got the better of me and I went to the information desk. This is the conversation verbatim between the clerk- and me.

Me – 'I have an ashtray in my cabin which has a no-smoking sign printed on it'.
Clerk – 'Yes'
Me – 'Well, does that mean that I can smoke or not?'
Clerk – 'Yes, you can smoke in your cabin if you wish'
Me – 'So why does the ashtray have a no-smoking sign?'.
Clerk – 'Ah, that is there for people who choose not to smoke'.
Sometimes people say things that stop you dead in your tracks and you are unable to come up with an answer. This was one of them. The logical extension to his argument was that the no-smoking sign on the ashtray was necessary otherwise non-smokers might feel obliged to start smoking just because an ashtray had been provided.

RtS
PS Andy has a possible gig with a local hard rock band for the winter as he noticed they lacked a bass player. He 's also met up with keyboard Manoli who's not now playing with Brian May/Keith Richard lookalike bouzouki Manoli (it'a a hair/face thing!) but has another bouzouki player called ....Manoli. I asked if the band needed a washboard player but they don'r ring, they don't write...

Subject: RE: BS: News from Kalymnos
From: Amos
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 10:37 AM

LOL.

In all fairness, this is not just Greece you see being acted out in this wonderful story. You can find the same Wonderland reasoning skills in Portugal, Spain, some parts of France, Sicily, Morocco, and so on. It is -- I think -- a rearguard mindset which has not quite emerged from the Dark Ages, and only begrudging peeks from time to time at the notes arriving from the early Industrial Age. It varies in wide swings from one neighborhood to the next. One block has a cybercafe, and another less than a mile away has a man repairing bicycles with a nineteenth-century blacksmith's kit.

A

Subject: RE: BS: News from Kalymnos
From: George Papavgeris
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 07:50 AM

Here is the 23rd February installment from Brian Church from his Athens News column...

Subject: RE: BS: News from Kalymnos
From: Nessie
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 06:43 AM

Ah, memories..!! The electricity, the endless stamps..
The book mentioned, by Brian Church, (along with his weekly column in the 'Athens News', Church on Sunday) should be essential reading for anyone thinking of settling in Greece.

Subject: RE: BS: News from Kalymnos
From: George Papavgeris
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 06:41 AM

Why do you think I live in the UK?

Subject: RE: BS: News from Kalymnos
From: Sandra in Sydney
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 06:10 AM

wot a laugh, thanks for sharing it, but I would not like to live under such a system!

sandra

Subject: BS: News from Kalymnos
From: Roger the Skiffler
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 04:54 AM

The English friends who got married while we were there last year have now moved out permanently.
Below is an extract from their last e-mail which might amuse those who enjoy my holiday reports:
Virtually all houses have flat roofs and rainwater is collected in an underground storage tank. We are connected to the mains and we also have the underground tank to store rainwater. We were delighted to see that our underground tank was virtually full despite this being one of the driest winters in living memory. We were somewhat less than delighted when we had persistent and heavy rain for 36 hours last weekend and the tank filled past capacity and overflowed into the garage. The water in the garage was not in itself a huge problem – unfortunately the point at which it overflowed was directly above the main fuse board for the incoming electricity supply. We only knew there was a problem when we lost power – Sue went into the garage to check the main fuse and saw the water pouring down the wall. She opened the door of the fuse box and half a gallon of water poured out – all of the fuses and circuit breakers including the main switch had been submerged. We were unable to do anything about the electrics until we had emptied a few hundred gallons out of the tank and the fuse box had dried out. Fortunately we still had power to one electrical socket, which fed the pump, otherwise we would have had to bail it out with buckets. Having stopped the water coming in I then set about sorting out the electrics – it's times like this that you learn very quickly. In Greece each individual light and socket has its own supply run from its own fuse rather than a ring main. The net result is that we actually have three fuse boxes, one for each floor and each fuse box has 20 or so circuit breakers. In addition our house has a number of outside lights and most of the inside lights are double switched so they can be operated from more than one location so we have 48 light switches in total. (I suppose that eventually I will work out which switch operates what light but at the moment it's all guesswork and trial and error.)
On inspection I discovered that instead of just the one incoming live wire as in UK we have three, one was live and the other two were dead. I conceded defeat and went to find an electrician – question is how do you find an electrician at 1100 am on a Sunday morning of a bank holiday weekend and even if you do find one how do you convince him to turn out for less than £100. The answer is that, being Greece, you visit the local tobacco kiosk where you speak to Petros who knows everything there is to know and everybody who is anybody. If he can't sort a problem for you he will certainly know someone who can, usually a brother, cousin or a friend of a cousin. (There is a joke about a Greek Mayor who, when accused of nepotism promised to get the Deputy Mayor, his uncle, to investigate the matter)
Sure enough, Petros knows an electrician so he phones him up and tells me he will arrive in a few minutes. 10 minutes later the electrician arrives on his moped with a few tools in a supermarket carrier bag slung from the handlebars and we return in convoy to the house. He speaks no English at all and my first faltering steps at mastering the Greek language do not extend to phrases such as 'circuit breaker' or 'multi-switched lighting'. Fortunately he does not need to speak my language to see that the electrics are out and within 10 minutes he has everything working again. The problem was quite simple but it never occurred to me that there might be yet another main switch situated in the road on the outside of the boundary wall at the bottom of the garden.
So how much does it cost? 20 Euros (about £14). Absolute bargain, I reckon.

We have managed to buy a car and a bike – sounds really easy until you enter the arena of Greek bureaucracy. In order to buy anything like a house, car or boat or have any of the utilities connected to your house you must first of all be registered for tax. This involves supplying documentation including passports to an accountant who then completes the paperwork and registers you at the tax office. In addition, as a non-Greek we had to register with Police as aliens. This takes best part of a fortnight as the paperwork has to be sent to Kos and returned. Suffice to say that its return was delayed. We then had to present our tax papers and Police registration to the car dealer before he could sell us a car. (There are also restrictions on what vehicle you can actually own – as an ordinary citizen you can have a car or a motorbike but not a pick-up or a van unless you are registered as a tradesman and can prove that you need this type of vehicle for your work). The car dealer then takes a photocopy of the Police Registration papers and sends me back to the Police Station with it where I need to have the photocopy stamped and signed to verify this as a genuine copy of the original. At the Police Station the man in charge checks the original and the copy then sets to work with his rubber stamps. He has about 20 stamps lined up in front of him and he selects five, which he duly stamps onto the copy document. He then opens up his desk and produced a book of postage stamps, removes one, licks it and sticks it on the copy document before selecting another rubber stamp to cancel the stamp he has just attached. I then have to return the copy document to the car dealer who has to send it back to Kos in order that the vehicle can be registered in my name. Once this is done I can then have the car BUT I have to return to the dealer once he gets the registration document, then I go again to pick up the insurance document, then I go again to collect the tax disc, then I go again to pick up the warranty document, return the following day for number plates to be fitted and once more in order that he can take details of the key number. Every time you think you have finished there is another call to go back for something else.

Buying the motorbike provided my second encounter with the Greek mentality. I had similar documentation 'problems' as with the car but I had further problems with the bike itself. I paid cash for it – it is only a 125 automatic scooter, basically a mechanised shopping trolley. It is a Chinese import made by 'Lifan'. I had never heard of them but they are dead cheap and really common in Greece. I collected the bike during the evening (most businesses are open till 9 or 10 at night here). After being given the guided tour of the various bits I went to ride off but noticed that the rubber mat covering the footplate was not secure. Before getting on it I tried to secure it but found that it would not fit. I called the mechanic over and he attempted to fit it but was unable to. He was speaking to me in Greek – I have no idea what he was saying but from the tone of voice and body language it was obvious he thought I was being a difficult customer. He eventually called the owner back out of the shop and she translated. In a nutshell 'This was the rubber mat which was supplied with the bike' so that was it. I repeated that it did not fit and she said that the battery was located under the rubber mat so it would be an advantage for it not to be secured in place just in case I needed access to the battery. The mechanic then said something else in Greek which she translated to 'If you're that bothered about it he will put some self-tapping screws through it to hold it down'. I declined this kind offer to mutilate my brand new, as yet unridden bike and decided to take it home and have a look in daylight – it was probably just not fitted properly and I would spend some time the following morning in daylight refitting it.
When I could see it properly the next morning it was obvious that there was no way the mat would fit – it was clearly the wrong part and meant to fit a similar but smaller bike. It was 3 inches too short and an inch too narrow. I returned to the dealer with the bike and invited the lady to have another look. The only thing she could say was that this was the mat that had been supplied with the bike and that was it. She even showed me another identical bike in the showroom with an identical non-fitting mat as if that was the end of the matter and I should learn to live with it.
(To paraphrase from the book 'Learn Greek In 25 Years' – 'In America the attitude is that the customer is always right. In Greece the customer can get stuffed')
'What else can I do?' she says, shrugging her shoulders.
'Order me the right mat' says I.
'What, from China?' says she.
'Yes' says I.
'But they won't send it' says she.
'Why not?' I ask
'They just won't' she replies
'So what other bits will they not send, bearing in mind this bike was sold with a years warranty' I ask
She declines to answer this but instead we return to the bike where she again calls the mechanic over. He pulls it about for a minute or so and is then joined by second mechanic and the two of them try to get it to fit. I decided to take a step backwards and just observe whilst grease monkey and grease monkey junior attempt a sort of tug of war with the rubber mat. Unless one of them is able to change the laws of physics in the next couple of minutes they are doomed to failure. (A piece of rubber measuring 14 inches can only be made to be 17 inches by stretching. Once the tension is released it will return to its original size. I'm sure they both know this but it does not stop them tugging it about).
The lady who owns the shop has since disappeared back inside but now reappears clutching another mat.
'What bike is that from?' I enquire.
'I don't know' she says – (I had not anticipated that answer)
The petulant ill-fitting mat (surprisingly still 14 inches long) is removed and we try the second mat. It is obvious that this mat will fit properly and was clearly made for this bike. Within 2 minutes the transformation is complete.
'So where did that mat come from?' I ask.
'It came loose in the box that the bike came in; we didn't know what it was for'.
I concluded that this could only happen in Greece and in many ways this sums up what Greece is like.


RtS