The Stray Dogs of Greece

We could sleep in beds on the overnight ferry to Greece.  The dinner was mediocre, but at least we could rest in a horizontal position.  So much of travel is merely the reduction of life to the basics.  A good night’s sleep, a hot shower, and a filling meal are simple pleasures that we often don’t appreciate when surrounded by the conveniences and comforts of home. 

I was worried about this journey because there were rumors we’d have to sit in airplane-style seats, and most likely the ferry would be late because we were entering Greece.  The country runs on “Greek-ish time,” meaning I’ll get to it after this cigarette break.  We left port from Sorrento late and were expected to miss our connecting ferry unless that boat was late, too.  But we felt confident that nobody would punctual. 

Since I’m late to work all the time, I fit in well here, and I didn’t mind the tardiness one bit.  I don’t believe we should center our lives on the precision of time.  The Greeks take more vacation than the Americans.  Although the U.S. economy is stronger, perhaps we should spread their way of life rather than our way of business. 

We left Italy well after dark, and we expected to reach Greece before dawn.  The group retired to their cabins.  My soft mattress was a welcoming comfort after spending weeks on a blow-up sleeping pad inside a tent.  I got the best sleep of my life on this trip, and I was out swiftly, oblivious to the drone of the engine and the subtle churning of the ship. 

Aaron told me a crew member on the ferry opened our cabin door at 3:50 A.M. and announced we would soon be reaching the port.  Aaron shut the door and went back to bed.  I slept through the whole encounter.  My alarm chimed at quarter ‘til five, and our haggard entourage emerged from darkened dens into the lounge.  Most of us sat on the floor with our eyes squinted and our faces puffy from deprived slumber.

After waiting over an hour, we finally disembarked.  I’m not sure what the rush was.  I could’ve had another hour’s rest, but instead I was forced to listen to a droning message that needlessly heeded truck drivers to go to their vehicles.  Apparently the drivers needed to be reminded fifteen times and in several different languages.  And, apparently, my fellow non-truck drivers and I needed to be awake for this.   

We docked and then drove to the next ferry, which was empty.  To kill time I strolled around the sleepy town and spotted a small café with its lights on.  Even the bakeries weren’t open yet.  Inside there was an old man with a haggard smoker’s cough.  He could barely speak Greek let alone English.  The café was a cramped space covered in dark brown wood and equipped with a few small tables.  I ordered a Greek coffee.  The drink was cheap, sweet, and sedimenty on the bottom.  The caffeine did much to turn the lights on in my brain. 

Inside the dingy bathroom, there was a sink with a crooked faucet that spewed out water I couldn’t drink.  The room contained a woman’s stall to the right and a man’s stall to the left.  The stall had no lock or handle, so I had to hold the door shut. 

I was surprised to learn that Greek commodes cannot handle toilet paper, which is thrown away in a trash bin instead.  A previous trip to Ghana introduced me to this practice, so I was not shocked or disgusted.  In Africa, I sucked water out of bags and brushed my teeth with bottled water and bathed with tepid bucket water.  I associated non-potable water and poor sewage systems with developing countries, so I was uncertain how to categorize Greece. 

Outside the café near the harbor, two stray dogs sought attention from our group.  Their fur, although thick, was dirty and frayed.  One of my rules when visiting a foreign country is to never touch the animals, no matter how cute they are.  The dogs were plump for being homeless probably because they mastered the skill of begging for food from strangers who couldn’t bear to see a dog go hungry. 

A shaggy dog walked along the port, approaching us.  The two strays nearest us spotted the loner.  They barked and chased him away.  A few of my companions thought the dogs were being mean, but I knew they were fighting for territory and resources.  If we were to feed all the dogs, each dog would get less food since they had to share.  The animals were increasing their chances of survival by scaring away competitors. 

The scene served as a fitting metaphor for Greece’s recent economic crisis.  Germany bailed Greece out of bankruptcy to keep the European Union intact.  Helping each other out was a main purpose for unification, but assistance did not come easily to a continent rife with a history of warfare.  Germany has had a negative worldly image for nearly the entirety of the 20^th century, and now they were the good guys. 

Although a few Greeks I met were very thankful for Germany’s generosity, I heard stories of disgruntled patriots who felt ashamed to receive such handouts.  By the same token, many Europeans were unhappy with Greece for diminishing the value of their currency.   

But if it weren’t for the Germans, the Greeks may have ended up like the strays begging for food from docking tourists.  I was shocked by the nation’s poverty.  Greece is where democracy, the pinnacle of civilization, was born.  This was the home of Plato, Socrates, and Aristotle, who revolutionized mankind’s conceptions of the world.  This was an intellectual and educational hotbed in ancient times, but now you can’t even drink the tap water here.

My volunteer experiences have taught me the contradiction of giving freely.  If I were to feed these homeless dogs, they would grow more dependent on handouts and would be less inclined to be self-sufficient.  Aid is only a temporary solution to help one rebuild.  If a dog truly wants to survive, it has to learn to hunt for its food.