Monday, December 26, 2011

Beer Run

    It’s no secret to anyone who knows me, that like many men, I enjoy a cold frosty beer on a hot day, and certainly there are plenty of hot days during the scorching summer months in Ikaria. The problem arises, as it does everywhere, when the beer runs out. This of course means that someone has to make the all important beer run. In Ikaria, as in most parts of Greece, acquiring alcohol is as easy as buying a can of Coke. This is because of Greece’s favorable and tolerant drinking laws. For a long time at our seaside village, the only places to buy beer were the kafenios, our diminutive grocery store or the one man bakery that sold three items, bread, beer and tiropites. The closest of the three sites to our house was the bakery, about a half kilometer away. However, it meant taking the rocky foot path, past the sweet smelling bushes full of bees, avoiding the ever present goats that often blocked the path and traversing around the noisy and odorous chicken coops.


   This daunting but essential undertaking was always hotly contested by everyone, because it meant a fairly arduous uphill walk to the bakery and back again carrying multiple bottles of cold beer. The task was usually assigned to one of the younger members of my family, either my son, Alex, or my daughter Andrea. Since Andrea was the younger of the two, her brother somehow mysteriously conned her, along with lucrative bribes from me, into taking the trek up to the bakery. This brave six year old would take her little pink backpack and start her odyssey hoping to avoid the many perils along the way. Under ideal conditions we could expect her back in about half an hour with her bag full of liquid refreshments. This common practice of allowing minors to purchase beer for their parents fit perfectly into the lifestyle of the island. My wife and I certainly had no qualms about sending our children on these quests for beer that is until we returned to the States.
   Back in the States one of the most popular classroom activities for first graders was the weekly show and tell, not only for the students but also for teachers. Six year old Andrea, having traveled to Ikaria three times in her short life, always had plenty to show and tell about life on the island, especially one week when the topic was farm animals. When it was Andrea’s turn to tell about animals in her life she stood up with bravado to explain to her fellow classmates and her teacher, how she had to take these dangerous journeys to the village bakery in order to bring back beer for her thirsty parents. She described in vivid detail how she had to circumnavigate the bee bushes so as not to disturb the bees, and how she had to out maneuver the intimidating and stubborn goats, and how she had to hold her breath as she quickly passed the smelly chicken coop. The toughest part of her odyssey she explained to her class, was carrying those heavy chilled bottles of beer in her little pink Barbie back pack. The weight of the hefty bottles often threw her off balance landing her in the thicket and brush resulting in scratches or bruises, as she made her descent from the bakery along the uneven rocky foot path.
   When Andrea came home from school that afternoon she told us about her school day and the electrifying story she told during show and tell. My wife and I immediately knew and understood the predicament we were in. Did her teacher believe her?  Or maybe she thought Andrea made up the story? Would her teacher call Child Protective Services on us for child abuse, negligence or endangerment? Luckily no authorities came knocking on our door, no phone calls asking if we’d be available for a home visit. However, at parent-teacher conferences later that year I couldn’t help but notice a certain amount of probing and suspicious looks from Andrea’s teacher. The looks that mean: “I’m not quite sure what is going on with your strange and unusual family, but if Andrea comes to school with beer breath I have Protective Services on speed dial.”

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