Τα πράγματα δεν είναι καλά....

Ένας αναγνώστης μας, ο Ανδρέας Παναγιωτόπουλος, ένας illustrator για περιοδικά και εφημερίδες που ζει στη Σουηδία, επισκέφτηκε την Ελλάδα και γράφει για το...πολιτισμικό σοκ ανάμεσα στην Ελλάδα και τη Σουηδία. Γράφει στα αγγλικά όσα νιώθει και πραγματικά έχουν ενδιαφέρον.
Δυστυχώς είναι πολλοί που νιώθουν έτσι, και δεν έχουν και άδικο...
Myspace :http://www.myspace.com/227825094.
Εν συντομία για όσους δεν διαβάζουν αγγλικά ή έχουν απορίες, αναφέρεται στον τρόπο που βλέπεις την Ελλάδα όταν είσαι μακριά, η νοσταλγία που νιώθεις, και πώς με το που πατάς το πόδι σου σε απογοητεύει, σε κάνει να θες να φύγεις ξανά. Γιατί άλλο η ωραιοποιημένη εικόνα που έχεις στο μυαλό σου και άλλο αυτό που συναντάς.
Και ειδικά όταν μιλάμε για 2 χώρες πολύ διαφορετικές σε πάρα πολλούς τομείς. Αναφέρεται για παράδειγμα ο αναγνώστης μας στα γεγονότα του Δεκέμβρη, που όταν τον ενημέρωσε φίλος του στη Σουηδία, αμέσως υπερασπίστηκε την Ελλάδα λέγοντας "δε γίναμε Βαγδάτη", θεωρώντας πως απλά υπερβάλλουν οι ειδήσεις. Όταν πια ήρθε στην Ελλάδα, συλλογίστηκε ότι τελικά έχουμε γίνει Βαγδάτη.....

Και η εικόνα δική του δημιουργία...
Κάντε κλικ να τη δείτε μεγαλύτερη, αξίζει τον κόπο...


IT DOESN’T LOOK GOOD

I am working out at the gym in Gothenburg when Domingos the Portuguese martial artist comes over and asks me in a worrying way : “ Man, are you ok?”

“ Y…yes… why? What happened? ”.

“ Your family? Are they ok?”

“ YES, I hope, but why are you asking? ” .

“It’s the news man, you know, it seems really bad…”

“ No, phh, that is clearly an overstatement, relax. You know how press is. A Molotov goes off and suddenly the television portrays it like it’s a frickin’ warzone. Athens is no Bagdad, ok? I mean it’s a few streets up and down in the center of Athens where this is taking place and they make it look like it is the whole country”.

I answer in an almost apologetic way, being slightly annoyed at this implication. I mean, I live in no dreamland, but it is clear to me Swedish television doesn’t like Greece at all, it’s like it takes a small incident like that and makes up a whole sequential story about some distant war zone in order to make Swedes be grateful for their living standards, security, prosperity and all that crap. And me, not knowing why, I feel like I have a big obligation to disperse that “myth” and defend my country.

At least when I am in Sweden I do.
A few days later I am getting off the plane in Greece. The atmosphere is heavy. And the air thick and fills my lungs with disgust. By the time I reach Sintagma, I realize it’s mental gunpowder what I am smelling, far before I get to see the real wrecks. Pieces of glass, and smoked walls and broken windows, all wrapped up beautifully with the sound of a police siren fading away in the distance. The air smelly and humid as always already invites me to light a cigarette. The radio in the cab is barfing out curses and horror for the death of a young boy by the hand of a police officer. And triumphantly announces promises of revenge and social revolution. I feel nausea. On the corner, there is a bunch of students screaming and fighting for things they haven’t yet come to face in life. Repeating to me a very familiar motive in life, the blinded adoption, the embrace of the culture of decadence and pessimism. The culture of protesting… There is just so much to absorb during this “rehab phase”.

You see every time I travel between these 2 countries -between which I have been divided the past few years- I go through what I like to call “ the rehab phase ”, I think like so many others who spend a long time abroad. It is the time period -lasting from one to 2 or 3 days- it takes to get back in your older body, your older self, your older life when returning to your country of origin; to get used to the familiar but yet unfamiliar visual scape, the people, the temperature outside. It takes about that long to switch modes and adjust the thematology of your conversations with people from the global and ecological issues (Swedish agenda) to the stupid policy implementation of the current government, and the new hit track by the I-should-be–shot-in-the-head-before-I-open-my-mouth hot shot singer (Greek agenda).

And here I am having already an overdose of Greek reality, a few hours after landing. I sense the feelings of nostalgia I have been feeling the past few months in Sweden quickly being replaced by anger and frustration. And a whole lot of other things like anxiety for the military service, which I will be called to start in a couple of months. And all that for what ? I really don’t know. I start trying to focus on the reasons I shouldn’t permanently flee the country…

Oh yeah, it must be because of how homesick I was feeling seven hours ago.

On the turn to Ermou Street we pass by a flaming garbage bin. I look at it and follow it with my eye, its red flare.

“Domingos was right, we are Bagdad after all. Or a scene of Mad Max at best for all I know…”

The taxi stops. I am home. I feel the tiredness all over my body…Sinking into the softness of the bed, in a “protected” environment, at least 150 meters diagonally away from the flaming bin.

That night I dreamed…

I am standing on a wooden crossroad. I am throwing the recruitment paper over my shoulder. With the edge of my eye I see the wildly distorted image of a monster parade, with dogs tearing a flag apart, and a monstrous fat guy holding a knife and a fork and a blond woman singing something about ”midnight” with a painful voice for the human hearing and a wild bunch of yelling and screaming old people in languages nobody can understand, all in a frenzy closing down on me.

I turned and I said «goodbye...»

And there in the midst of this monstrous carnival stood my brother, underneath a thick cloud of smoke and dust, sitting and looking at me through multiple layers of .

And my brother was wearing an oxygen mask....