This is Ta leme, where Switzerland meets Greece and confusion ensues.
Today, three things happened on my way to the office.
Really? That’s a lot of action for a 15 minutes commute.
Thing one: I was riding on my bike, trying to reach the one cycling lane of the city (you know, the seafront one), when I came across a block1 of pigeons, chilling on the promenade. I saw them, they saw me: would you think any of them batted a wing? Keep on thinking. These bitches gave me the sly eye and as I don’t identify as a pigeon slayer, I had to showcase my mediocre cycling skills and slalom between them to get to the other side.
Ok, but everybody knows pigeons can’t be trusted.
Thing two: I was off the cycling lane and hitting the last stretch of my commute. Here be dragons, aka a three lanes boulevard, a couple of smaller streets, and a cute bunch of traffic lights.
Is it safe?
Not particularly. So I got off my bike, I got on the pavement, and I waited. As I was waiting for the pedestrian light to turn green, my ears registered some rambling. My eyes registered a dude on a scooter. My brain did a double-take and I realised that the dude on the scooter was, in fact, rambling in my direction. He didn’t look too impressed. I didn’t understand why. Sure, I was on the pavement but I was off the freaking bike. Plus, I was wearing a helmet. I wondered: what is he on about? Mercifully the light turned green and the dude’s drive to get places was stronger than his urge to lecture me. He disappeared, but I kept wondering.
He was gone from your space, but he still existed in your ~°mindspace°~.
Exactly, which brings us to thing three. At this point I was vaguely annoyed. I crossed the boulevard and I waited at the next (and last) traffic light of my journey, still next to my bike. An older gentleman was gallivanting across the street, staring at me. He gestured at the red traffic light, he gestured at the empty street, and, finally, he shook his head at me. I am not fluent in older gentleman, but the message was clear. Don’t be a silly goose and cross the street already. Well, I didn’t like it. I spitefully waited for the light to turn green like the silly goose that I am.
So you reached the office and you were fuming in a meditative state.
I have been crossing roads successfully and independently for the past 25 years, I don’t need advice on how to cross roads.
“Let me know better”
I started the day thinking about how much more outwardly patronising Greek society is compared to my baseline. Not that Switzerland isn’t a patronising society, but the Swiss brand of patronisation is a very interior one, expressed through subtle signs of discontent and thus easily ignored, especially for those of us who haven’t been through years of conditioning and brought up to look out for the signs.
Here even the pigeons are patronising.
As for the people, there is a foodchain of patronisation, and at the top of the chain rest the apex predators: the Greek giagiades (little old ladies). The prey/predator dynamics becomes especially apparent around the bottom feeders, aka children. The giagiades raised children (half a century ago). The giagiades love children. The giagiades will not waste an opportunity to tell you how you could raise your children better (or compliment you on how on what a good job you are doing).
It is a sad fact of life that, as a woman who once was young, I have mastered the art of smiling politely while tuning out, a skill which comes in handy when a giagia gets overly invested in the minute aspects of my parenting. I nod, I smile, and I try to practie my Greek. Are they saying that my baby is cute as a button, or that I should button up her jacket? No idea. Keep smiling.
At this point, I’m not even sure I mind. In Switzerland, everybody is pretending everybody else doesn’t exist and half the country is dying of loneliness, which is only marginally better.
Pat pat pat
There is one exception: when a giagia tries and pats the head of my eldest daughter. Because the giagiades always end up poking the children. Which, in itself, I don’t mind much either.
But, please, read the room.
My youngest daughter is a social animal. Waves at everybody. Squeals a everybody. You smile at her, she glows. Her and the giagiades? Natural synergy, infinite head patting potential.
My four years old daughter is another beast altogether. Not that she isn’t fabulous. In fact, she is like this adorable, nerdy little egg and I understand why people want to squish her, because if I could, I would be squishing her all the time. The thing is: she really doesn’t like to be touched by strangers. And if you take three seconds to view her as a person rather than as an object of public cuteness, she makes it abundantly clear.
The script plays as such: after a pinch of chit-chat, the giagia yields to the call of her natural instincts and goes for my eldest’s head. Reaction: she shrieks (my daughter, not the giagia). Everybody (except my daughter) shares an awkward laugh and I deliver a mumbling apology about a “shy child”.
Would you believe what happens next? The rogue giagia pokes her again.
This doesn’t feel right.
On the one hand, I don’t like conflict. It gets stuck in my throat like a fish bone. It’s so much easier for everybody to get along. On the other hand: would you ever do this to an adult? Think about what happens with women’s bodies and the answer becomes pretty uncomfortable.
So even if it’s a ridiculous fight, it’s never too early to set a good example (and boundaries), and I’m trying to stand up to rogue giagiades.
I stopped smiling at second offenders. Words matter. I stopped saying einai ligo dropali (she is a bit shy). Because she is not the one who should apologise. Instead, I shake my head and I say den tis aresei (she doesn’t like this) or den thelei (she doesn’t want). If I had bigger balls ovaries, I would pat the giagia on the head, too. Alas, I’m a coward.
The most effective change was to teach my daugther what to say:
“No, I don’t like being touched by strangers.”
A tiny person looking you in the eyes and affirming her bodily autonomy is infinitely harder to dismiss than a shrieking baby. Hands off, cue eyeroll.
Now, this feels right.
Like a flock, but with powers of obstruction.