Skip to main content

Ιφιγένια


Intrepid Iphigenia and I needed to go out to buy some fruit and veg.  We had just arrived in Tbilisi a couple of days before.  Tense and touchy, we start arguing about where to buy the said goods.


Iphigenia spots a stand in which she says the produce looks agreeable.  But I’ve been to that one before during a previous stay in town and I say, “No, let’s go to another.”


She doesn’t understand why, of course, and I have to explain, but I don’t have time to expound on Patrick Leigh Fermor’s brilliant theory of the way in which locals perceive outsiders.*


Instead I tell her that the lady is a bit nosy and she wants to marry her daughter off to me, probably because I know how to string together a few sentences in Georgian.  Iphigenia replies with a Don’t be silly, but I am adamant.  I am cold, cranky and, as such, determined to avoid niceties, conversation, explanations — hell, all human contact, for that matter. 


Iphigenia shortly lets me have my spoiled, nonsensical way, and she storms off.  It’s rainy and muddy; the steps she is climbing are slippery. 


She falls and soils her elegant long coat. 

Instead of rushing to see if she’s all right, I become angry, as if she had meant to fall or as if I myself had fallen.  My tone of voice is reproachful.  This infuriates her, which then makes me further furious.  We yell a few words we will later regret and then stop talking altogether.  The chill and drizzle and anger in that grey square squeeze the life out of me. 

She never wanted to come here, but was kind enough to indulge me.  So how could I have so thoughtlessly ruined even one hour in our lives together?

Are Ferekeekos too proud to apologize?      

---
*On being foreign, Fermor writes that the locals in the Greek cities and towns he visited tended to solve “the conundrum of a solitary foreign traveller, by regarding him as (a) an omniscient sage, (b) a millionaire, (c) a lunatic, (d) a spy.  Sometimes all four simultaneously” (Roumeli, Ch. 3, no. 18 on the list of the differences between Greeks who style themselves Hellenes and those who relate more closely to the Romiós [sc. Byzantines]).  NB that all four choices are way off in my case, well, except (c) perhaps. . .

*  *  
Select enlightenment:
P. L. Fermor, Roumeli: Travels in Northern Greece (London: John Murray, 1966).
N. Mahfouz, Miramar (The American Univ. in Cairo Press, Eng.  trans., 1978 [1967]).

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Them Memphis Notions

I believe that the minds of men. . . will change . . . that all the old pictures will fade out, and new ones will take their place. . . that what we have in our heads now is only one of millions of possible seeings ; I believe that the man animal got started on the wrong foot. —K. Patchen, Albion Moonlight , 298 For J-Y In Memphis I saw plainly that for all these years I’ve been travelling with an indifference that now leaves me feeling incredibly ashamed. I tell myself that I should know a place well before visiting it, and so I prepare by picking up bits from books here and there. But being interested in the idea of what other people have found a place to be like has blinded me from seeing what is actually in front of me. I get hung up on history and aesthetics and the like, which are arguably only of academic or cocktail-party use. Because of this I’ve been content to let someone else take care of the suffering I see. I had been wanting to visit Memphis for a lo...

HE AIN’T HEAVY — THE GRAND FINALE

( Cont’d from parts I and II .) After a year in town the sounds of the street which I once thought sensuous became nothing more than endless streams of noise. Once again I couldn’t manage to fall asleep. Rhappy, V. E. and Co. were at it right outside my bedroom window. I considered getting up and roaring from the balcony, fist pumping like Il Duce, but finally could not bring myself to do it. It will only make things worse, I decided, because then they will start to take pleasure in annoying me in subsequent 3:30 am sessions, talking even louder to mock my fury. Better to let them remain oblivious to my suffering, to do it in silence. At length I became so tired that their voices seemed sufficiently muffled to act as a white-noise machine . When I got up later that morning I took a closer look at the pine tree whose branches shaded my window. It reminded me of a tree I had seen near a chapel at Kodjori, a town in the foothills above Tbilisi with a ruined fortress t...

Beijing The Behemoth

Beijing the behemoth. At the airport I’m beat from being up some thirty-odd hours, but too sentient to think of sleep, the hotel be damned. Throw me instead into this sea of concrete, bemused smiles and unabashed stares. In the taxi with Chris, the school’s recruiter, Iphigenia and I watch the towers of concrete repeat themselves for miles. I command myself to take in every detail, no matter how small. But I’m fading fast and when the city center at last comes into view, she’s too late. The fatigue has unfortunately set in and I can’t make out much but the obvious: taxis, bicycles, rickshaws. . . . And so the hotel it is for us, because anyway I’m just too damn worked up. I don’t have a map, I don’t speak Mandarin, I haven’t changed any money yet. I promise myself a good random stroll the next morning, one which will enlighten me as to the way of the street, the dao of the hú tòng.  But the morrow brings nothing so edifying. Only a short walk with killjoy Chris, who cl...