The Polish Connection

Our Athens flat is near Larissa Station. It’s a mainly Polish area, but also has a large population of Bulgarians, Russians, Nigerians, Ethiopians, Iranians, Iraqis and Bangladeshis, making it a colourful, cosmopolitan place to live. Within 200 metres of the flat I can buy spices from Bangladesh, beer from Bulgaria, and countless types of ham and sausages from Poland, not to mention any of 50 types of vodka.

Wandering around the area one warm summer’s evening, I came across a restaurant which looked interesting enough, so I gave it a try. I was chatting to the young waiter in Greek, when he suddenly said to me.

‘You’re not Polish, are you?’

‘No, why?’

‘Because some Poles, when they drink too much, start fights in here.’

‘Just a minute,’ I warned him, ‘I’m English, and we invented that behaviour.’

He gave me a free drink.

‘And where are you from?’ I asked him.

‘Oh, I’m Polish myself, but I’ve been here since I was eight, and I’m helping my mum to run this restaurant. My name is Danielle.’

The restaurant became a favourite of ours. Nice to have a plate of pierogi or kielbasa instead of the usual Greek salad or moussaka.

One evening, at the next table, a middle-aged man was tucking into something very Polish-looking, when he was joined by a tall, leggy blonde dressed from head to toe in brown leather, including knee-high boots. She kissed him on the forehead and sat down. Tall blondes from Russia and Poland are very popular in Greece as escorts, and we were pretty sure the fellow was in for a wild time.

In the meantime I had spotted a Polish optician’s right opposite the restaurant, and needing new reading glasses, I asked Danielle if he knew anything about the owner.

‘You’re lucky,’ he said, indicating the middle-aged man and the blonde. ‘That’s the owner right there. Come on, I’ll introduce you.’

I walked over to the table with him. He explained who I was and what I wanted in rapid Polish. I expected the man to stand up, but instead the blonde extended her hand and said in near-perfect English.

‘Hello, I’m Katerina, and if you’d like to make an appointment for tomorrow, I’ll be there. By the way, this is my father, who helps out in the shop, now and again.’

Never jump to conclusions.

And while we’re on the subject of opticians and Poles, have you heard the one about the Polish guy who goes to have his eyes tested?

‘Can you read this bottom line?’ the assistant ask.

‘Read it?’ the Polish guy replies, ‘I know him.’

Zobaczymy pozniej !