that held dishes, provisions and teas stored for the winter, and, hanging on the whitewashed walls, a few photos of her family. In another corner were the recent additions of a television and telephone.
Everything in Maria’s home has its purpose. We always struggle with what to bring as a present for Maria—what do we buy a woman who looks like she has nothing in comparison to the goods available in our shopping malls in America, but who, in actuality, has everything she needs? We handed her the fresh fruit we had purchased in the city. We knew full well that she had access to many different varieties of fruit and vegetables only steps from her home, so we also brought her a few treats from the bakery.
YiaYia Maria had been busy all day preparing a simple feast for us and the other five relatives who had also come to visit. Her table was overflowing with fresh food to share—thinly sliced cucumbers, cubes of feta cheese, plump red tomatoes, beans, beets, potatoes drenched in olive oil and oregano, olives, slices of freshly baked bread, apples, oranges, nuts, and, of course, small cheese pies for dessert—all served with an abundance of love. Yes, we felt like we were home.
Since there were only three chairs in the room, the other “girls” (YiaYia Maria, her two daughters, and two granddaughters) sat on the edge of the bed. The conversation flowed easily with YiaYia Maria’s positive energy filling the room. As we were enjoying our feast, YiaYia Maria noticed a hole in the knee of her granddaughter’s jeans. “I will sew that for you,” she offered, but was quickly refuted.
“That’s fashion, YiaYia!” responded the granddaughter, eliciting a round of laughter.
“Do you want more food, YiaYia?” asked her granddaughter.
“No thanks,” she replied; “I’m watching my figure.” She burst out laughing again, rolling backward on the bed. She was almost eighty but had the spirit and energy of youth.
A few hours later, the gathering came to an end and we all said our good-byes. Of course, YiaYia Maria handed us a few extra cheese pies to take with us on our journey. As we descended the hill, holding onto the railing once again, we remarked to each other about what a wonderful visit it had been. We’ve been to gatherings in homes many times larger than YiaYia Maria’s was, equipped with many more so-called amenities, but we have never experienced the feelings of warmth and belonging as we did on that day. Once again, our visit to the village of Vrisses had reminded us of the value of living in and connecting meaningfully with others in the village.
Humanity
We can use the concept of “village” to define many groups of people—from a few family members to a collection of people living in a neighborhood, organization, city, or even nation. What makes a village is not the number of people or the buildings or the possessions of its members, but the energy that is shared between the people who choose to belong to that village. It’s their energy, which is breathed into the space. Importantly, their energy can be positive or negative—both good and bad can spread throughout any village.
—PARMENIDES
In a deeper metaphysical sense, a collective life is created in the village. Life is reflective. Life in the village reflects the belief, “I am because of you. I am more of myself because I am connected to others in our village, be it the village where I live or where I work.” For YiaYia Maria, she is because she is a part of the village. Living her life in the village of Vrisses gives Maria a deep sense of humanity, belonging, and meaning. And like YiaYia Maria, many Greeks we met along our way shared their need to be authentically and meaningfully connected; to be a part of the whole.
—HERACLITUS
People come to Greece for many reasons—some to enjoy the serenity of the blue sky and pristine water, some to walk in the footsteps of the ancients and, of course, some to drink ouzo and indulge in the delicious food. We come to Greece because of the people. For us, the people we meet are very real.
In America, we are used to people asking us, “What do you do?” The answer to this question tends to categorize people into social classes and achievement levels. However, in Greece, we found that conversations go to the very soul of the people. In Greece, we were asked questions that focused on who we were. “What village are you from?” is a typical question that serves both to understand one’s roots but also is a means to find a common connection:
“My family originates from the village of Monastiraki in the Amari Valley.”
“Ah, Amari—you are near me—I am from the same valley.”
The conversation helps people connect on a human level. Making you feel comfortable, asking about roots, and establishing the human connection comes first; asking about work and accomplishments comes later.
During a conversation with a young woman named Violetta, who was seated beside us on an Aegean Airlines flight back to Athens, we shared that we had just traveled around Crete and loved a little village named Plaka. “Plaka, my mother is from Plaka! Did you know there are only fifteen full-time residents when the tourists leave in the winter?” she replied, her eyes showing absolute delight. During another chance meeting, this time with Iakovos Pattakos, a relative, his introduction was telling: “You are Pattakos. I am Pattakos. We are Pattakos.” With these words, he quickly established the bond that will last a lifetime!
Everyone tries to find a connection somewhere in the lineage where you might be a cousin, a distant relative, or know someone they know. Hearing the word “cousin” shouted in a crowded room results in many people turning their heads to see if you are, indeed, the cousin they are looking for. Everyone may be your cousin! If you are not Greek, the same philosophy applies: “Where are you from? Ah, you are from Chicago. I have cousins Nick, Nicki, and Niko in Chicago. Perhaps you know them?” In some way, they will always find a connection, a common bond.
The Human Touch
Throughout Greece we noticed that building relationships through conversation was an integral part of daily activity. Our business meeting in Athens began with the grandfather and son of the owner spending time with us discussing our odyssey while sharing water, coffee, and cookies—an example of “the human touch before the task.” The clerk in the local grocery store in the picturesque town of Hania, Crete, engaged in a long conversation with the young woman in front of us in line, while we and everyone else waited patiently. Although we may have wanted to pay for our purchases quickly, we all knew that the store was an important connection point in the community and that the clerk was taking an interest in her customers as people and not just as business transactions—again, “the human touch before the task.”
It’s about the conversation and the connection. Stopping to say hello to others acknowledges their presence—their human existence—and signals to them that they are an important part of the village. Every interaction is an opportunity to strengthen or weaken connections with others. Little by little, with each interaction, meaningful relationships are built.
During one of our visits with YiaYia Maria, she shared her dislike for large cities where she felt it
