By Bernie Lopez
Author’s note. Encounters with Filipino seamen in Athens. This is a true story, with the dialogue reconstructed. In the 70s, I hitchhiked 25,000 kilometers for 18 months, drifting through 18 countries in Europe and North Africa. Totally broke, I settled in Amsterdam. My adventure was dubbed eastwind, the wind from the east blowing west. If Monching or Kardo (not their real names) or one who knows them, will read this, please keep in touch.
(File Photo)
On my second day in Athens, I wandered into Syntagma Square in the center of the city.
“Hey you, Filipino,” a Greek waiter in all white spoke.
“Hello,” I countered.
“You Filipinos are the craziest people I have met ever.”
“Really now. How come?” I countered.
There were about ten waiters dressing up with white linen a long table about half a kilometer long across the entire square. It practically ended at the horizon.
He continued, “You see this table, 300 meters long? This table is for big shots like the mayor of the city or an important businessman. This table is expensive. Only rich people have their parties here.”
“What does that have to do with crazy Filipinos?” I asked.
“You see that crazy Filipino over there?” he pointed to one giving instructions to the waiters.
“That’s the crazy Filipino? Looks normal to me.”
“You don’t understand. He is a humble second officer in a Panamanian ship that just landed in Piraeus yesterday. He can’t possibly afford to hire this long table.”
“If he is a Filipino seaman, he can,” I said.
“That’s what I mean. You guys are crazy. He saves his salary for five years and spends it all in one birthday bash. He is inviting all Filipinos in the entire city of Athens, I mean all. Now, tell me, what is the logic in all that?”
“I don’t think you would understand even if I explained it to you,” I countered.
“Try me.”
“Well, okay. Filipinos have a different way of looking at things. Money is not everything. You work your ass off, that’s okay. But for a Filipino seaman, you earn money to spend it.”
“I give up. You’re just as crazy. I wouldn’t kill myself for five years inside the belly of a lousy ship just for a birthday party. He’s crazy.”
“I agree. He’s crazy alright. But he likes a birthday bash. What can you say? I must meet him and get invited,” I said.
I walked over to him and he smiled upon seeing me, speaking in our native language, “Name’s Monching. What ship are you from?”
“Name’s Bernie. No ship. I’m not a seaman.”
“You’re invited anyway to my birthday tomorrow night. All Filipinos are invited, no matter who they are, what they are, nurses, musicians, bar girls, whoever. Listen, I’m busy. You go talk to my friend Kardo over there.” he pointed to another Filipino and left to give more instructions to the waiters.
***************
I went over to Kardo. He had a huge dapple bag with him. He was in the US navy.
“What ship?” he asked.
“No ship,” I answered.
“What are you doing here?”
“Not much. Just passing through?”
“And you’re not a seaman?”
“Nope.”
“That’s strange. You must be a tourist.”
Filipino seamen were not aware of Filipino drifters, hitchhikers, which were rare at that time. I did not bother to explain.
“Listen, man, I need help,” he whispered furtively, looking away to see if there was anybody else listening.
“Yes?”
“You see this?” he opened the huge dapple bag. I peered in and saw a ton of blue seal Salem and Winston cigarettes, green and red like Christmas decor. “You help me. We sell this in the night bars. You get free drinks.”
“You’ve got about $2,000 worth in there, right?”
“Five. Okay, okay, I’ll give you a commission,” he whispered cloak-and-dagger style.
“I’m not interested in a commission. I’d like the drink though.”
“You’re on. Let’s go.”
“You navy men are crazy.”
“Of course, that’s the only way to be. Listen, this is nothing. I smuggled Harley Davidsons in Corsica.”
“You got anything in mind aside from making money on the side?”
“Of course. Women. You want a woman tonight? On me.”
And so we left Monching, fixing up his birthday party, and went around the bars. I was amazed the bartenders knew him. He must have been smuggling cigarettes regularly for years. We had one or two free drinks in every bar. After about ten bars, we were dead drunk. The dapple bag was now almost empty. Kardo treated me to American steak somewhere. I could hardly walk. I couldn’t go home, so Kardo dragged me to his three-star hotel. Pretty good. I ended up with a hangover and missed Monching’s party. I could have met the entire Filipino community of Athens but I had a splitting headache from retsina, the Greek wine which smelled and tasted like aviation gas to a Filipino.
(eastwindreplyctr@gmail.com)
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