Cretan Diary - Chapter 9 | |||||||||||||||||||
We Visit the Police Station!Friday, September 25, 2009 Jenny had set her alarm but, as it happened, we awoke early so I dressed and went downstairs to make tea and sandwiches.
Our appointment at Vamos Police Station was for 8:30am so we left shortly after 8 to make the 10 minute journey by car. As we set off I noticed that our "RAV4" engine warning light was lit. Oh, joy! The oil and ignition warning lights were out so I ignored it and carried on. We parked outside the Police Station and phoned Georgio to remind him that he'd agreed to meet us to assist with the telephone bill. No answer. We went inside the Police Station, where we were greeted with cold, indifferent stares. We reminded the guy behind the desk of our appointment so he held out his hand for our documents. "I ask you to breeng TWO copies, not one!" My heart sank. In fact it listed, gurgled and plunged twenty fathoms. I heard Jenny mutter "I told you so." She must have told me while I wasn't listening - an annoying habit women have. "OK, we can go back and make more copies." "Come back on Monday." "We can be back in 30 minutes." "OK (reluctantly, scowling), plees come back at eelefen oh clock." "Will do. Ya sas!" Outside, we phoned Georgio. No answer. So we crossed the road to the "OTE" office to pay the telephone bill. A man sat at a desk, staring at papers. "Oreeste?" he said, without looking up. "Meelate Angleeka?" "Ohee", he replied, and raised his eyebrows to emphasise this "NO". "Endaksee. Prepee na pleerenimo ya to teelefono." "OK, you haf to pay thee laydee over therre" (in English). (Awkward sod. He just wanted me to struggle.) He looked at the documents and shouted our telephone number to a lady behind a glass partition. It was only the last 5 of the ten digits so I guess the first 5 must be the same for all of the Vamos telephone area. She printed a bill and announced "One hundred fiftee two Euros plees." I handed over the money. This was more than the 124 requested by the man who phoned a few days ago. She gave me the receipt. Anyway, it was paid now so everything was fine. Or so I thought! We struggled up the hill to the Post Office where Jenny bought some stamps, and posted a letter and postcards to England. We asked if we could pay the water bill there (don't laugh) but the clerk said "Ohee, sto theemo." Then we climbed higher and bought a fresh loaf from the "fournos" (bakery). "Ena mavró, parakalo." (A black one, please.) The lady handed us the loaf, took the 80 cents, and recognised us from last year when we rented a house nearby. "Tora menoume monima konda sto Vamou," I told her. "Ah, kala!" "We'd better try phoning Georgio again before we pay the water bill," I told Jenny, outside. Georgio answered and I told him the news. "You haf thee house purchase documents?" "No, they're at the house. But we have to go there to make more copies for the police, as soon as we've paid the water bill." "OK, forrget thee waterr beel. Go to thee house and get thee documents. Then phone me to make surre thee telephone worrks. Then I weel arrange forr my brrother, Makees, to meet you outside thee OTE offees because I theenk it weel not be worrkeeng." We drove back home and made the copies. The phone still announced that outgoing calls were barred (in English - how does it know? If a Greek person in England picks up a phone, will it talk to him in Greek?*) We phoned Georgios. No reply. Within a minute, he phoned Jenny; no signal (Footnote 1). I phoned Georgios and got him. I ran outside to make sure the signal remained OK. He told us to be outside the OTE office in fifteen minutes and Makis would meet us there. We went and left our car in the car park in Vamos, then walked the short distance to the OTE office and waited outside, sitting on the wall, in the shade of a large tree. Ten minutes later, Makis drove by. We waved to each other. He didn't stop. Ten minutes later he arrived back on foot. "I have to parrk een thee next veeleeds (village). There ees no rroom heerr! Endaksi. Pame mesa!" (OK, let's go inside.) There followed a lengthy discussion with the lady behind the glass. It looked and sounded like a heated argument but, by now, I had grasped the idea that this sort of shouting and wild gesticulating was merely friendly banter. (I'll have to practice it but I suspect I'll get arrested. I think the tone of voice and precise hand movements are quite critical. Also my pronunciation isn't good and I'm likely to say the equivalent of "shit" instead of "sheet". Heck, I even have to be careful to keep my fingers together when I wave goodbye, otherwise it looks like a "flames of hell" curse to them.) Anyway, between them they decided that I still owed 124 Euros. This was the original amount advised by phone but turned out to be the reconnection fee which was in the previous owner's name. Jenny and I between us had just enough money left so we paid with good grace. I told the lady (in my best Greek) that now I would not be able to eat for a month. "Ah!" said Makis. "But you weel be able to yoos thee teelefono!" "This is true," I said. "We'll starve but we'll be able to tell all our friends about it." Makis translated for the lady behind the glass and she laughed. I thought that was nice of her. There followed a discussion about the monthly cost of the broadband and line rental, which amounted to about 38 Euros. I was currently paying for 24Mb/sec but only (!) getting about 4Mb/s. (Twice as fast as in the UK.) I could choose either 2Mb/s or 8 Mb/s to reduce the cost. I chose 8. We'll see if it makes any difference. (It did. Oh my goodness! It's gone UP to 5.1Mb/s ! ) Makis left us and we trudged up the hill to the "Dimo" office. This is the municipal building where water bills are paid. Inside was no counter but merely an open office. We waited until the payment desk was free then handed over our bill and money. The bill was stamped and signed and handed back to us with our change and a smile. That was nice. We walked across the road to a little coffee shop and sat outside at a table. We asked for two lemonades. The lady went inside then, after a minute, came out and went across to the supermarket. Two minutes later she returned with some bottles of lemonade in a carrier bag. After a few more minutes she brought out a tray with glasses, two bottles of lemonade and a friendly smile. Unlike in the UK, a waiter will seldom turn you away with "sorry, we have none." He will offer you an alternative or go and buy one. This is very common and completely acceptable in Greece. There is absolutely no embarrassment on either side. You are paying for the food/drink and for the service and pleasant surroundings. If you don't want that, you can go to the supermarket yourself. I spilt some of my lemonade on a freshly laundered table cloth so I gave a generous tip when we left. "Come back in two hours," said the lady, in Greek. "We are cooking some (sounded like chicken in wine) and it will be ready at one!" I promised that we'd be back if possible. Now we had ten minutes to walk down the hill to the police station for our 11 am appointment. We marched into the office there which, on reflection, was probably a bit rude. I'm always uncertain how to approach an open-plan office. Anyway, we were asked to wait outside, where five young fully-armed policemen were laughing and joking. They kindly gave up their seats for us and we were able to sit on the shady veranda and watch their antics. One of them took out a vicious-looking folding knife and proceeded to extol its virtues to his friends. I pulled out my tiny penknife that I use for opening envelopes and shouted "Kalo machairi!" (Nice knife.) "Wanna swap?" (in English). "Some otherrr time," he smiled. I rather like the policemen. Most of them speak at least some English and have a sense of humour. After a Greek while, Jenny was called in to the office by a girl called "Maria". She spoke English and they discussed the various documents. Eventually, she asked if I would bring mine over and I said "veh vayos!" (Of course.) "Ah, meelate elleeneeka?" (You speak Greek?) "Theesteekos pollee leega. Eena polee theescola.") (Unfortunately, very little. It's very difficult.) "But I speak German. It's easy." "I theenk German eet is verry deeficult!" "Well, for me, Greek is more difficult." And the chit-chat ended there. I sat down and she carried on with her rubber stamps and staples, then copying the information onto her computer and onto more sheets of paper. Finally, just after a nearby clock chimed noon, she handed over our nice new Residence Permits. "There!" she announced, somewhat proudly. Eet ees finish. Now you haf to pay heem fourr Eurros." She pointed to her sullen-looking male colleague. Jenny and I pooled our remaining cash and handed over eight Euros. "No, eet is only four! I geef you some chaynz." (Greeks have trouble pronouncing the "J" sound. "Jenny" is pronounced "Tzennee" and written that way in Greek.) "Oh, please, keep at least one Euro!" I said. "Pour boire".* *(They use this French expression "for drinking" to indicate a tip.) "Ochee. Eet ees not necessarree but thank you." He smiled. (Not such a sullen sod after all.) Now I had to investigate the car engine warning light. We drove back home, picked up some "car boot sale items" for Eleni, and a wad of cash, then drove back (dropping off the boxes at Eleni's house) through Georgioupolis to the car hire office. I explained to the owner that the warning light was on and that the passenger side windscreen wiper rubber had been missing since the day we collected the car (but I hadn't noticed until I tried to wash dust off the windscreen). He disconnected the battery to reset the on-board computer "dhen beerazee" (it doesn't matter) and left his fitter to replace the wiper blade (glued it in place with white silicone rubber) and wash the car. "Eet always goes betterr eef eet ees clean," he confided. He reminded me that he "norrmallee rent thees car forr one thousand Euros a fortnight" and that he was giving me more discount than he would give his own father. I told him that we'd return his car on Tuesday and that we were arranging to buy a car in Xania. "What carrr - how much?" he enquired. I told him: "A 1600cc Peugeot 307 automatic for 6500 Euros." "Oh, that ees a verree good price!" We thanked him and drove away, stopping at a supermarket after a few hundred meters because we were really hungry! We bought a pasty (which turned out to be filled with chocolate - ugh!) and some crisps. Then I phoned the car salesman in Xania to ask when he closed the shop. Three p.m. so we had time to get there! As we set off, the engine warning light came on. I ignored it. A quick drive along the National Road, and off at the Souda Bay turning, got us there in 35 minutes. This was quite an amazing feat for me because I can get lost just looking for my shoes! Forms were duly completed; photocopies were made; then we were driven a couple of miles to the nearest Notary Public to have them rubber-stamped and signed. (This procedure appears to be mandatory for any transaction involving more than a few Euros. God help us if we want to eat lobster!) We handed over 500 Euros deposit and received a receipt. Then followed a rather one-sided discussion, in broken English, which seemed to relate to insurance, servicing, and how much we would like the car to be worth for tax purposes! I confess that I mostly nodded my head in an agreeable fashion, not really understanding what it was about. Anyway, we've committed to buying a Peugeot 307 with a slightly crumpled bonnet which, I understand, will be mended by next Friday. Or, possibly, "avrio". (The Greek eqyuivalent of "manana".)
Manolis had brought his entire family. His eldest son spoke some English but we managed mostly in Greek. They seemed surprised by my amazing command of their language. Or perhaps they were simply astounded that anyone could mangle the grammar and pronunciation quite as much as I. Anyway, it was lucky that they came because one dimension on my sketch was double what it ought to have been! We gave them 100 Euros deposit and they promised to phone with an accurate price some time next week. I expect it will be "avrio".
 The prisoner was marched out, a few minutes later, wearing different clothes. Four policemen escorted him to a waiting police car, one of them carrying his clothes in a bag. The car drove out of the yard (stopping all oncoming traffic in the process) with three policemen, a police woman and the prisoner on board. It was followed by another police vehicle, which returned a few minutes later. There. It's 8:30 pm and I think I've typed enough. Eimai kourasmenos. Night night.
Chapter 10 - Bills, Papers and Rubber Stamps - Jenny gives her version | |||||||||||||||||||
