The Greek Sailors

(In response to my writers' group's task of writing about a person you met while travelling who made an impression on you...)

I found myself in a dark, noisy bar, surrounded by smoking shadows and speakers pumping euro-pop into the atmosphere. I remember staring at my pint, feeling very peculiar. And then starting to feel a bit panicky. And slightly sick. “Whitie”.

This trip to Amsterdam was a statement. Well, a statement to myself. Planned as a romantic weekend; scuppered by the fact that the relationship had ended before we’d had a chance to book it (just as well, really…). I went anyway. Alone. That was my statement to myself: I’ve been dumped, I’m alone again, but I don’t care – I can fend for myself in my favourite city.

By night two, I had walked miles: miles of streets and miles of aisles in galleries. I had smoked too much, drunk too much and eaten too much fast food – the inevitable “body-abuse-without-the-guilt” which is likely to occur when you are the dumpee. By that night, though, I was feeling low. I was enjoying my own company, but I felt like I hadn’t spoken to anyone in days (in truth, I hadn’t, really…) - I wanted a blether.

So, already feeling rather low, the unmistakable feeling of the oncoming whitie was far from welcome. Just as I was about to admit defeat and seek out the fresh air of the Spuistraat (well, as fresh as it gets there…), I suddenly realised the two other seats at my table had become occupied.

Dodgy pub, in an often dodgy city, wasted young female – the fact that two men of large stature had sat down at my table could easily have been a slight cause for alarm, or at least a slight cause of discomfort. However, as one of them said “We can sit here?” and I said “Sure”, I felt my threatened whitie ease.

I can’t remember the names of these two guys: although I remember clearly they were Greek sailors, on leave in Amsterdam for a few days. And they were partners. I remember a great conversation, which lasted well into the next morning – although the Amstel and hash was flowing, so perhaps the conversation was not as high brow as I choose to recall it. I remember talking about politics: me explaining about the opening of the new Scottish Parliament - which I was ecstatic about at the time - and them telling me all about the Greek government, and their life together.

The most memorable thing, however, was their view on homophobia.

My two companions for the evening told me about their relationship, how they had met many years before, living in the same small village. How they had always known they were gay – no doubt about it – and how they had always known they could not be open.

I remember being perturbed by this. Why should anyone not be open about their sexuality? Surely, in the early 2000s, all (legal) forms of sexual expression were much more celebrated and accepted. Don’t get me wrong – I wasn’t naïve: I wouldn’t have argued that it was a good idea for two gay men to walk into the Sarrie Heid in Possil holding hands. But that was just pockets of ignorance and cruelty on the part of people who were ignorant and cruel about a lot of things, surely. But the idea of two gay men, who had been in love with each other since their teens, not being able to “come out” – that did surprise me.

But they explained. Greece was, they said, still rife with homophobia. Greek society – especially where they came from – just didn’t acknowledge that being gay was a way of life for some men. “Why do you think we come to Amsterdam whenever we can? It’s not just for the hash.” They told me their families knew - or had guessed - but it was never spoken about, and certainly never “accepted”. One of them had even been married for a few years in his early twenties. That’s just the way it was.

But didn’t it drive them crazy? Didn’t they feel that it wasn’t fair? Didn’t they think they should be allowed to be open and honest about their lives? I remember asking them these questions, and more, as the night went on, and the smoke got thicker. They just shrugged most of the time, and laughed – it wasn’t even an option, they said. Just would never happen. They lived the way they lived and that was that. For the foreseeable future, at least.

So that was why they had chosen to work together on ships. Their employers and workmates didn’t know about their relationship – but, as they explained to me, THEY knew, and they were together every day, and that was the only thing that really mattered to them.

We were sitting in a bar in one of the most sexually liberated cities in Europe, where unconventional, as well as conventional, sexual behaviour was the norm…

And these people I met were a reminder that there’s still a long way to go…

L Stokes 1st August 2006