In the good old days women kept their places, one argument goes, and things were a lot simpler for everyone concerned. A letter we received from the Women’s Union of Greece in February reminded us, however, that the good old days were not always as romantic as they might now seem and that contemporary man should probably count his blessings.
The letter, an invitation to men and women from Western Europe and North America to participate in a series of tours of Greece planned for this summer, noted that the ‘tongue in cheek’ part of the itinerary would be a visit to the island of Limnos where in prehistoric times the women enticed their menfolk to a banquet, intoxicated them, and then threw them into a deep chasm. Although excursions in Athens would include a visit to the wine festival, such festivities would not be followed by the ritual that took place during those ‘good old days’ on Limnos, the letter continued reassuringly. Our curiosity aroused by this note of whimsy so often absent from activist movements, we decided to join some members of the Women’s Union for lunch one day at the Eighteen restaurant to find out more about the organization’s activities.
Contrary to widespread belief abroad, there are numerous women’s groups active in Greece, the ladies informed us. Most are affiliated with political movements (which no doubt accounts for the plethora of groups), and many are professional women’s groups. The Women’s Union of Greece, which has been in existence for a little over a year, is socialist oriented. Their primary purpose is to provide women with information as to their legal rights, to advise them on their day to day problems, and to correct existing legislation which discriminates against women.
We have always had the distinct impression, we told our hosts, that medieval laws pertaining to women’s rights notwithstanding, many of the issues being raised by women’s action groups are exclusively in the interests of middle and upper class women. Not only may they be irrelevant to less privileged women, but possibly against their interests. A case in point is the dowry system which, when not an outright gift, is, by law, managed by the husband who draws the proceeds. This, of course, is humiliating to progressive women. The law, however, precludes the husband from selling, transferring or otherwise disposing of his wife’s property without permission from the court. He must prove that the changes are in the best interests of his wife. Thus, it protects those women who under present social conditions are vulnerable to coercion. They agreed that this is indeed the case and a cultural time gap exists between various groups. Coming to the aid of those who are still at the mercy of incapacitating traditions, customs and attitudes is a primary goal of their organization. To make women aware of their legal, political and social rights is of tantamount importance but offering advice and assistance in their immediate needs, is equally significant, particularly in such matters as child rearing and education, simple hygiene and medical care.
Meanwhile, the Women’s Union is making contacts with groups abroad. That such exchanges and dialogues are essential became very apparent whenever representatives from various nations came together during Women’s International Year in 1975. The definitions of issues and problems faced by women vary from country to country and class to class, and understanding is essential. The first tours this summer will take place from May 8 through May 22.and June 15 through July 3. The response from abroad has been immediate and so enthusiastic that other tours are being planned. The first three days will be spent in Athens beginning with a picnic in Kesariani to be attended by prominent local personalities. The tour to various parts of Greece will take the visitors into the countryside to see and speak with rural women providing an opportunity to come in contact with women from all walks of life. Our lunch over, we bade farewell to the ladies, wishing them success.
A Cat in the Cupboard
A YOUNG Greek American friend, Laraine Prasinos, told us not long ago that she spends her mornings at the University of Athens learning Greek. We assumed she meant that she was unofficially sitting in on regular lectures, and mixing with the students in order to learn the language through osmosis. She hastened to correct this misconception: The doors of the impressive and stately neo-classical building are open to qualified foreigners wishing to study in any one of the university’s faculties. To prepare them — most do not speak Greek when they arrive here — the university offers an intensive course in the Greek language. These are attended by Germans planning to study medicine here, Indians planning to study law, Africans sociology, Japanese ancient Greek, as well as others who have no intention of studying here at all but merely wish to learn Greek. Classes begin at eight o’clock, Monday through Friday. Ms. Prasinos says that a source of dissatifaction is the fact that instructors frequently resort to English to make themselves understood: students would prefer to wrestle with understanding Greek but since English is the language that the students seem to have in common, this is what they turn to. Despite the students’ disatisfaction, we told our young friend, we were relieved to hear that there was at least a common language. After all, one never knew when a cat might get locked in a closet. With everyone babbling in different languages and the instructor unable to make himself understood it might be hours before it were released. Seeing her confusion we decided to explain:
Some years ago at the university, a visiting professor of English Literature from the United States took special pains preparing his lectures. Somewhat disconcerted by the lack of response from his students, he urged them not to hesitate to ask questions, but to no avail. Greek colleagues explained that asking questions was not encouraged here in Greece and since his students listened in fascinated silence while making careful notes, he assumed all was going well. One day, however, as he began his lecture, he was interrupted by howls emerging from a cupboard in the lecture hall. A brief investigation with ear-to-the-door revealed that a cat was locked inside. The professor asked for someone to fetch a janitor to unlock the door and release the cat so that he might continue his lecture. He repeated his request several times. The only response was blank, incomprehending stares. It was then that he realized that none of his students understood a word of English. We never did find out what those notes were that they were busy writing. We presume he didn’t dare ask.
The Backgammon Champ
MAKING a hasty post-luncheon exit from the Stagecoach restaurant not long ago, we were stopped short by a gentleman who informed us that we had written about him in a recent issue. Hurriedly scanning his business-like bearing for a clue of recognition, we drew an uncomfortable blank and were forced to ask the gentleman to repeat his name. ‘Floros, Stamatis Floros,’ he declared with a certainty that made it seem unlikely that we would not know him. ‘Backgammon,’ he elucidated.
With a welcome flash of recognition we placed him. There before us in the flesh was the tavli— backgammon — champion whose exploits aboard the cruise-ship Atalantelast September had been reported in the November, 1976 Kosmos section of the magazine. During the three-day cruise he had won first prize in an international championship tournament. Harbouring a newly-minted addiction to tavli, our curiosity at the time had been aroused, but the news accounts from which the item had been taken gave few details. ‘Did the champion wear a menacing grin behind a handlebar moustache?’ we had asked ourselves. ‘Did he train for the event at a local kafenionV Our curiosity had remained dissatisfied but here now was the champion himself, to our astonishment debonair, speaking with a highly cultured English accent, and looking like the retired banker he later told us he actually was. No handlebar moustache. Since our exposure to tavli had thus far been limited to observing the denizens at our neighbourhood kat’enion, we eagerly invited him back to our office. The champion, we felt certain, would be a vast treasure of authoritative information on our unofficial national sport.
Settled into a corner of our office, Mr. Floros quickly launched into a rambling chronicle about his backgammon career which begun unofficially when he was a teenager in Athens. He learned the game, we gathered, not through formal instruction — he cannot remember learning or who taught him — but through ‘osmosis1. Diligent practice combined with dedication and skill eventually enabled him to join the elite coterie of the world’s greatest players.
As he skipped between recollections of official and unofficial matches in London, Munich and Monte Carlo at exclusive clubs where one plays by invitation only, we realized that this was a highly refined species of the game, a gentleman’s luxury quite distinct from the local coffee-house variety. Visions of elegantly-tuxedoed, smoothly-restrained competitors poised in plush parlours quickly displaced our image of arm-waving enemies locked in perpetual dispute at the edge of a spartan, brown table bathed in the traditional stark yellow light.
As Mr. Floros described the dignified summits of tournament play, and the genteel variations in the rules and equipment unknown in the local coffee-house variety, we became increasingly bewildered. The familiar rhythms of clattering dice on a bare wooden board, the ritual slap of the poulia — the plastic discs with which the game is played — are absent. Instead, the playing board is lined with a green felt seamlessly partitioned off by leather geometric points so that the fall of the dice is cushioned into a soundless roll. Contrary to the local system of communal dice shared by both players, each tournament player rolls his own set of dice out of his own regulation cup, to avoid the possibility, we were told, of mishandling the dice. Tournament protocol even allows a player to exchange ‘unlucky1 dice with another player during a game; this also discourages tampering with the dice. We were finally left totally disoriented to learn that touching the board is forbidden and that a rule of silence prevails. Players and spectators, furthermore, must refrain from even throat-clearing which might, at a crucial moment, be misconstrued as a secret code. Any such rules inhibiting either speech or movement, we felt, could only be enforced in a local kat’enion by muzzling the players or wrapping them in straitjackets.
We asked Mr. Floros if he ever returns to play at kafenia in the rough-house tradition. His ‘No’ was unqualified, in terms of philosophy, however, rather than technique. He explained that tavli, in the eyes of the average local player, is considered strictly a game of chance—an opponent wins by luck, not skill. Backgammon, however, retains a classic balance of luck and skill in which a grasp of mathematical probabilities is as essential as intuition and lucky dice.
Whatever the magical combination, it was mastered by Mr. Floros who played in his first international tournament in 1968 and went on the following year to secure third prize at the world championships in London. Thus, it was not without just cause that he received an invitation from La Coupole Club in Geneva to participate in the tournament they were sponsoring aboard the Atalante last autumn. Embarking at Patras, the eight Greek participants joined the other dozen entrants who had boarded in Ancona, Italy, as well as passengers and would-be spectators on the cruise. Touring the Ionian islands alternated with the competitions, conducted several hours each day at ten tables set up in one of the lounges on the spacious cruise ship. The tournament progressed in the form of elimination rounds, each round completed when one player won eleven games.
At approximately noon on the third and last day, just off the coast of Itea, the port below Delphi, Stamatis Floros was applauded the winner and shortly after presented with the coveted silver cup with due ceremony on the deck of the Atalante. The event was recorded with extensive local television and newspaper coverage for proud countrymen, who could rejoice in triplicate since the second and third prizes were also swept away by Greeks.
Invitations have once again begun to collect for various tournaments at the Athens and Aegina residences of Mr. Floros, who maintains a strict regimen of playing at least once a day at his club. One of the sponsors of the Atalante tournament is considering the possibility of inviting a grand total of three hundred players to participate next year. It is a fairly sure bet that Stamatis Floros will be among those in the inner circle.
