The OPA! Way. Elaine Dundon
That began an evening of conversation with Giorgos; Petros, the owner of Cavo D’oro; and his father, Vasilis. The evening flew by as we all laughed and shared stories from our lives, savoring the impressive food, the soothing atmosphere, and most of all, the hospitality. As we walked back to our hotel in the cool night breeze, we remarked how wonderful our adventure to Cavo D’oro had been, especially in comparison to other dining experiences when we simply ordered, ate, and left.
Early the next morning, we chose to skip breakfast and set out on our journey to the beautiful Amari Valley, located in the central mountainous area of Crete. As our car weaved through the small village of Thronos, we decided to stop, stretch our legs, and take a look around. A few yards ahead we saw a sign, “Aravanes,” that was painted on a piece of wood, with a large arrow pointing straight ahead. Curious, we followed the narrow pathway and arrived at the back of a building that appeared to be a small hotel, and gasped at the magnificent view of the Amari Valley that was laid out before us. We wandered inside and were greeted by Lambros, the owner.
“Yiasas, welcome,” he said. He was busy setting up the restaurant for the day, but within a few minutes following our introductions and establishing that we were visiting Alex’s homeland, he set three shot glasses on the bar and quickly filled them with homemade raki. (The offering of raki is a symbolic gesture welcoming one in from their journey as well as a gesture of celebration or friendship.)
“Yamas,” we said in unison before downing the raki in one gulp and slamming the shot glasses back onto the bar.
Later, when we informed Lambros that we had to be on our way, he said, “Wait, I want to give you something—here is a book about the region.” Returning to our car, we reflected on what a wonderful man Lambros was . . . and that we really should have eaten breakfast before setting out; a little bread and honey would have been good protection against the raki in our empty stomachs!
Continuing on our journey, we arrived at a crossroads where a small kafenio was located. As we weren’t sure which road to take, we decided to stop and ask the men gathered together in front of the kafenio. We introduced ourselves and shared that we were looking for the road to the village of Monastiraki, the birthplace of Alex’s pappou (grandfather).
“Please sit,” gestured one man as the other yelled something into the kafenio. Soon the shot glasses and raki arrived at our table and the round of “yamas” echoed throughout the kafenio. We thought to ourselves, once again, “We really must have breakfast before we set out on our adventures!”
Following a short conversation, we again asked which road would take us to Monastiraki. Instead of simply pointing to the right road, one fellow jumped up and signaled for us to follow him—he would show us the way. We followed his truck up a winding dirt road and, after a few turns, the road opened up into the quaint village of Monastiraki. When we stopped our car, our guide motioned for us to follow him to his home. He insisted that we sit at his kitchen table, upon which he took out his carving knife and began to peel two apples for us. “Ah good, some breakfast,” we thought to ourselves, knowing that the apples would help soak up the raki in our empty stomachs! Our host handed us the apples, which we gladly accepted. He also gave us two large oranges to take with us on our journey.
As we sat at our kind host’s kitchen table, we reflected on the last twenty-four hours: beginning with our dining experience at Cavo D’oro, to meeting Lambros in Thronos, to meeting the men at the kafenio, and finally . . . to sitting in the home of a fellow we had just met by the roadside, who had shared raki with us and shown us the way to the village of Monastiraki, and who was intent on making sure that we had something to eat. We couldn’t have been more grateful for these wonderful examples of authentic Greek hospitality!
Philoxenia
The word “philosophy” is derived from the Greek words “philos,” meaning love, and “sophia” meaning wisdom, so philosophy is really the love of wisdom. In similar fashion, the word “philoxenia” is derived from philos (love) and the Greek word for stranger, “xenos.” So philoxenia, as it relates to the concept of hospitality, is the love of strangers. Its roots can be traced back to the myths of the Greek god Zeus, referred to as “Zeus Xenios,” who was the king of the gods and also the god of hospitality and protector of travelers. The English words “host,” “hotel,” and “hospital,” it is interesting to note, are derived from the very same concept—that is, to take good care of strangers or guests.
There is a saying in Greece that if you are ever lost, you can just knock on someone’s door and he or she will help you. The true meaning of Greek hospitality involves making sure the guest feels protected and taken care of and, at the end of the encounter, even providing guidance to the guest’s next destination.
The Greeks we met along our journey told us that they believed all things, and thus all people, were connected and that they had a duty to ensure the health and well-being of others, especially during a crisis. “We are born to help one another,” they told us. “In your family, it is expected, you have to do it; and for strangers, especially those who are tired and need help, it is your obligation to be hospitable.”
—SOPHOCLES
Kindness
Once upon a time, a lion captured a small mouse in his large paw. Just as the lion was about to eat the mouse, the mouse exclaimed, “Stop, I may be able to do you a favor one day.” The lion thought this was amusing as he doubted how a small mouse would be able to do him a favor, but he let the mouse go. Sometime later, the lion was caught in a rope trap set by hunters. The mouse, seeing the plight the lion was in, began to gnaw the ropes and eventually freed the lion. “See,” said the mouse, “wasn’t I right?!” No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.
—Aesop’s Fables (Greece, ca 620–560 BC)
We were the recipients of many acts of kindness during our odyssey. For example, when we were in Athens at the Megaro Mousiki metro stop, unsure of which line to take to our destination, a kind woman named Lida offered to help us. Coincidentally, as our destination just happened to be the same stop as hers was, she helped us purchase our tickets from the machine, ensured we followed her to the right train, and even walked us up to the street level and pointed us in the right direction. Despite living in the big city of Athens, where everything seems to move at least twice the pace of life on the islands, Lida still embodied the traditional values of Greek hospitality.
—ISOCRATES
Just as others have helped us in the past, we must help the next person. We need to keep the kindness circulating; to pay it forward. As global villagers, we are all born with the capacity to search for ways to help others and to spread kindness in the world. Living and working with meaning involves more than just satisfying our own needs. A truly meaningful life, including a meaningful work life, requires that we look out for the interests of others in addition to our own. In this connection, if we want more humane villages within which to live, we need to be more kind. Similarly, if we want more humane workplaces within which to work, we also need to be more kind.
TRADITIONAL VILLAGE WISDOM
Being kind requires empathy, the ability to identify and find resonance with someone else’s situation or feelings. Being kind requires the awareness that we are all connected in some way. If we are willing and able to see ourselves reflected in the other person who needs help, then we can also see that we too may need help. The more aware we are of this interconnection