The reason for this sudden fraternity in intellectual interests is the result of the latest round in the war between the Government and the driver. Although the energy-conscious State of California had already gone so far as to attempt banning the sale of petrol on odd Sundays to auto licence numbers ending in odd numbers, it took the wilier Greek government to ban cars with odd-ending numbers from circulating altogether on every other weekend, and the same for even-ending ones. The Government, however, was unaware that it was dealing with the wiliest of all people, the Greek motorist.
Like all social phenomena in Greece, the roots of the matter go back into ancient history. Way back in the thirties, the media started a campaign to encourage Athenians, who loved their city so much that they would never leave it, to go out of town on summer weekends to enjoy their beautiful country. They were encouraged to take up exotic activities like picnicking on Mount Hymettus and wading at Vouliagmeni or Voula (which was then still thought fit only for farmers giving their donkeys an annual scrub-down). None of this did much good.
In the fifties DEH started a campaign related to the present problem with somewhat greater success. This was a nationwide advertising campaign overselling electrical appliances which induced citizens to buy refrigerators in villages which did not yet have electricity — and Athenians to purchase cookers with “matia” who lived in flats still supplied by much cheaper city gas.
Now, what with the policies of neo-lslamic Iran and other oil-producing countries putting the energy squeeze on everybody, the swallows of yesteryear have come back to roost. For local demographers two-and-a half million people moving into Athens in the last twenty years may be causing a serious social problem for the future, but for today’s energy specialists it is the two-and-a half million people that are moving in and out of Athens every weekend who are causing their current headache. Just as a country which disapproves of another’s regime politically goes overboard to say that it has no quarrel with that country’s people, so the Greek Government is trying to convince the public that while it loves motorists, it disapproves of their motors.
The Government of course has good reasons for its actions. Not only are energy costs rising and consumption growing, but every foreign automobile purchased creates a new burden to the problem of imbalance in payments. On the other hand the auto owner has his reasons, too — and today he is no rare member of the elite, with half a million cars circulating in Athens alone. As congestion, pollution and overcrowding grow, the Athenian feels that the quality of his newly-affluent life is deteriorating and uses his car to improve it. The urban exodus is no longer an amusement. It has become a means of escape.
In consequence of the new strictures five thousand new cars were at once purchased by former one-car families in early April, the rent-a-car agencies were cleaned out of autos with numbers appropriate to the weekend, the Saturday traffic jams before the four o’clock curfew were greater than ever, and families who rarely took weekend trips at all were planning excursions two weeks in advance simply because they were not allowed to use their vehicles on the Sunday that affected them.
In spite of this, more weekend pedestrians than usual could be seen in Athens, and they were even more noticeable in the suburbs, where people have often picked up their bread, their milk and their beloved Sunday newspapers by car.
Meanwhile what is going on among progress-oriented odd and even couples in popular week-end resorts like Kolopetinitsa is anyone’s guess. One theory (among negative thinkers) is that the country, in trying to solve its present energy crisis, may suddenly find itself facing the future problem of a baby boom.
Hello, Beautiful Athens
IT made its debut one morning in the middle of May. Without warning it suddenly appeared in the blue Athenian sky. The UFO turned out to be an airship called Europa owned by the American company Good Year. Staring in amazement as it hovered above us, many of us shuddered as we remembered the 1937 disaster of the ill-fated Hindenburg, but the story of the air balloon commenced long before that.
It began in the gardens of the Palace of Versailles when, in full view of Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette and the local populace, three volunteers, a Iamb, a duck and a cockerel climbed into a basket suspended from an enormous paper bag filled with hot air, and to the amazement of all, floated up into the air. Many later attempts were made to improve the design of the airship. In 1900 Count von Zeppelin’s Zet 1 made its initial flight over Lake Constance. Only seven years later a fleet of Zeppelins was operating between the major cities of Germany transporting passengers and cargo. These Zeppelins were manufactured with a wooden skeleton, covered with material filled with hydrogen and powered by combustion engines.
After World War I the Good Year Company purchased the designs for the Zeppelin and later produced the Graf Zeppelin, a luxury airship designed for passengers only. It made a true-to-life ‘Jules Verne’ trip around the world with only three stops, in Tokyo, Los Angeles and New York. The Hindenburg, which flew from Germany to New York, exploded as it was mooring in New Jersey, resulting in the loss of life of all on board. This sealed the fate of the airship and by 1940 it had ceased to exist commercially.
Good Year, however, still continued designing airships and owns four out of the five ships operating today. They are used for measuring air pollution, controlling traffic flow, and assisting in aerial experiments. The Europa is used only to give entertainment and pleasure to the people of Europe. The balloon is made of rubber-coated dacron and filled with helium, which, although heavier than hydrogen, is far safer. It is capable of carrying six passengers in a cabin suspended from the stomach of the balloon by metal cables. Her flight direction is controlled by four blades in her tail and her exterior is covered with thousands of small bulbs.
Along with a cavalcade of even-numbered cars, we sped across Athens to Tatoi Airport, where we watched her descend. Twenty brawny men rushed to assist her, holding the cables which drifted from her nose until the six passengers had alighted. The enthusiastic crowd, hovering outside the barbed wire enclosure of the military airport, caught a glimpse of her before she soared once more, like an over-stuffed bird, into the air.
That evening back in Athens we heard a strange whirring noise and upon opening our doors there she was, the ugly duckling had turned into a swan. She whirled around the Athens sky. “Come and see me at Tatoi,” flashed in lights across her side. This was followed by an animated picture of the Acropolis. Triangles in various colours followed, darting from front to rear of her, followed by other patterns and designs until, printing out the words “Protect the woods from fire”, the animated picture of a small red fire broke out in lights in the left hand corner and then a small animated figure rushed onto the scene with a hose gushing out water which quenched the flames.
For a while Europa disappeared behind Lykavittos and reemerged from the other side. “Hello, Beautiful Athens” flashed across her side. Across the rooftops small blurred figures cheered and waved until she completed her full circle and drifted once more over the pine-covered hill and out of sight.
So we all saw something during that week in May. Some saw it as a form of art, some as technically quite brilliant. For the young in heart and the children of Athens it was an exhilarating experience, and for once, free of charge. As one little voice had called out in the night, “I see’d it. I see’d a spaceship!” And despite the scornful reply of her older brother, she went on emphatically, “I see’d a spaceship, and I see’d a little spaceman running round it!”
Moment of Truth
“AND now, ladies and gentlemen,” said the announcer with a twinkle in his eye, as the twelve contestants of the “Star Hellas ’79” competition waited breathlessly for their grand ballroom entry in bathing suits, “comes the moment of truth.”
Shop-worn as the statement may be in beauty contest parlance, this was not the case regarding the events that occurred on May 12. The moment of truth had already taken place outside of the Hilton Hotel two hours earlier.
By ten o’clock that evening several hundred women had gathered outside of the hotel representing the Movement of Democratic Women and several liberation groups. There were a few men in the crowd giving them support. They carried placards, one of which, depicting a woman cut into parts along with appropriate measurements, looked like a carving diagram in The Joy of Cooking.
Several minutes later the police arrived, fully equipped for a major urban insurrection. Not only were there two busloads of regular city police but these were supported by units of MAT, special emergency forces with helmets, face shields and the most sophisticated equipment. They began shouting orders, and pushing the demonstrators back. The women reacted with aplomb. Throwing leaflets left and right, they shouted “Saturday night Grand-Guignol!”, “We are not meat for sale!”, “End the slave trade traffic!”, “No, Mr. Karamanlis, we are not of the West, we are of the East!”, “We have as much right to organize as those inside!”
In spite of this resistance, the police moved forward and the demonstrators retreated. Some time later the police were still in hot pursuit, pushing the protesters back on Queen Sofia Boulevard beyond the American Embassy half-a-mile away.
The Star Hellas pageant has been an annual rite for many years, although it has never won the respect of a folk custom. This year, in spite of waning enthusiasm (beauty contests are a social phenomenon as obsolete today as Marathon dances), great publicity was given not only to the spectacle itself but to its elaborate preparation. One television preview days earlier, showing the participants sinuously dressing and undressing in the atelier of a fashion house, made a great fuss over the girls all of whom claimed great intellectual and artistic accomplishments. All (of course) spoke from two to four foreign languages and were virtuosi of musical instruments. When a girl was asked why she thought some women objected to beauty contests, she confided: “I think they lack personality and have inferiority complexes. Beauty contests have a cultural meaning.”
As the women without personality were in embattled retreat towards Ambelokipi, the cultural event inside the hotel was progressing smoothly if not unctuously. Finally, the climax came as the crown descended on the mammoth coiffure of the winner. Inevitably, the crown wobbled and swerved on her head – dress and nearly fell. Perhaps, after all, this indeed was “the moment of truth”.
