Events trigger memories. Remembering exact dates though, without a diary notification or some other documentary evidence, is both difficult and often enough unnecessary when it comes to private matters. It´s when you can look them up in a history book or as I did just now Google a date that you become aware of having been more than just a contemporary onlooker of historic events. In the future the present Corona crisis will no doubt be bestowing that particular feeling on a vastly larger number of people than in most previous scenarios. For me the present crisis reminded me of my first lockdown experience albeit a limited one but no less ominous.
Arriving from Israel I landed in Athens on Saturday the 17th November to partake in an international school book exhibition at the Hilton hotel. The trip to Athens including my taxi ride to the hotel was uneventful and I was looking forward to a pleasant stroll in the city and a meal in a local restaurant. From my hotel room overlooking a neighbouring roof top I noticed what looked like the silhouette of a man carrying a rifle. An embassy guard maybe, then I thought no more of it.
On my way out of the hotel one of the staff came up to me and suggested that I should perhaps not go out. His English was either not very good or he was frightened of saying too much because all he managed to stutter out was, ”no go out, students very bad” Today I realize that it probably wasn´t bad English that was the cause of his stunted warning it was more likely a careful effort to warn me without making what could be construed as a political statement in a country ruled by a military junta.
Even today at 73 and most certainly at the age of 26 there are very few serious problems that spring to mind at the mention of the word students. You understand of course that I didn´t heed his warning and walked out into the Athens´night.
Actually nothing happened, in fact I hardly remember my stroll or whether I had a meal in a restaurant or later at the hotel. The consequences for me of the student´s revolt on this day were yet to come.
From a publisher´s point of view I believe that the exhibition was considered a success perhaps more so in highlighting the importance of education against this intimidating backdrop of political suppression. The soldiers and tanks policing the streets had no direct effect on our daily exhibition whereas the nightly curfew on the other hand meant that for those of us staying at the hotel it was work all day and lockdown every evening. Learning that Athens´ airport had been closed added to the uncertainty as to where all this would end.
Spending a restricted week in the Athens Hilton might be considered luxurious and limited enough to belittle the use of the word lockdown yet recent events surrounding Corona, with many people suffering a lockdown in their own homes, highlight an anxiety and a pain that is other than physical. Situations such as these show us with brutal clarity that the things we often take for granted such as the freedom to interact with our loved ones, our friends our neighbours are vital for our wellbeing. They show us we are creatures of habit and servants to expectations.
Towards the end of the week there were rumours that the airport would be open from Friday onwards and this had a great effect on the atmosphere at the closing banquet on Thursday evening. The relief was palpable and the food and wine never tasted so good.
The following morning I woke up early, unfortunately not early enough to get to the airport in time for my very early flight. Desperate attempts to get my taxi driver to drive faster were in vain and whether I was feeling sick at the thought of getting stuck in Athens should they, as was rumoured, shut the airport again or whether it was my body pointing out to me that there are limits to alcohol indulgence whatever the reason, did not preoccupy my mind at that moment.
Needless to say I wasn´t the only person at the airport in need of a new flight booking and after much ado and nail-biting I finally squeezed in onto a stopover flight from I believe Cairo to Copenhagen.
Of course I missed my connecting flight to Gothenburg which would have left me ample time for the final flight to Karlstad. Luckily there was another connection which would have got me there in time but it was delayed, thus missing the last flight connection of the week to Karlstad. When the SAS lady pointed out to me the next flight to Karlstad was on Monday the idea of one extra night in a hotel morphed into 3 nights and just about robbed me of the little energy I had left.
Obviously I only had myself to blame but the fact SAS had not kept to their timetable resulted in a courtesy of SAS taxi ride from Gothenburg to Karlstad, a total of 278km. On the way I negotiated a price with the taxi driver to take me the further 104km to our home just outside Ekshärad.
Late in the night the taxi´s tyres crunching on the snow was the only sound to be heard as we slowly drove the last kilometre to Stenåsen with snow clad pine trees standing to attention on either side of the road in a peaceful and wintery Värmland forest. I was not too tired to appreciate this and in retrospect probably the closest I will ever get to travelling in time.