Ryan

Tempo

Reality falls short of expectation. I thought I had gotten used to this unpleasant quirk in life. I’ve grown up in a city with huge social pressure where every student is expected to become a professional after they graduate. We are so aware of it we jokingly name one of our universities – HKUST – as the Hong Kong University of Stress and Tension, a far cry from fields of science and technology. Adult life is already a far cry from what we envision. What use is being aware when we can’t react around changes?

There is always an attraction about ancient cities like Athens, Rome, Alexandria and Jerusalem, just to name a few that are on my bucket list. Yet, it is hard to pinpoint the attraction. Why do some fall head over heels over the Avengers? There’re no life-sized Iron Man figures in these cities; all that’s left is a weird mix between old cobblestone and modern, dull, boring concrete with those huge glass panels that refract sunlight onto your shades. Yet the city’s past and its continuing secrets put me on a flight after reading Thucydides. What ideas and knowledge have survived the passing of time? What do I expect, compared with what I’ll find? And here, I was only among the millions of tourists visiting the city every year, and I definitely don’t look as if I’ll be buying a dozen Rolexes.

So, I was taken back upon arrival. The airport was pretty unkempt, with sluggish immigration procedures and hastily designed posters that introduce the country’s history. “Athens, Discover history”, seriously? Even I did better than that promoting Mother’s Day in primary school. The toilets encouraged me to hold it in until I got to the hotel. One of my friends pointed to a Chinese sign that says “€200000 FDI to gain Greek citizenship” at the Athens International Airport. “See?” she waved her arms in exasperation, her expression clearly not accepting the fact that the country had a worse subway than the MTR. “They are horribly broke so they are attracting wealthy tycoons from China to invest. EU citizenship is such a good selling point.” Yvonne was reluctant to visit the country in the first place, especially knowing that it’s the G from the PIGS. Crime thrived. Poverty, loosely regulated immigration. And the homeless took injections right in the middle of the streets. Before I got onto the plane from Rome, my aunt reminded me to be careful and cautious. She told me a friend of hers lost her wallet with few credit cards inside last time she visited the city. Certainly didn’t want to call up the card centre do I?

We were walking to our hotel in the late afternoon. Just chatting casually about the bakery around the corner and the aroma it gave out when a man came running from across the road towards us while waving a tissue paper in the air. I told my friends to keep walking. I kept a close eye on the man in case he tried anything stupid. Having travelled the most, and the only male of the three of us, I watched our backs. My friends continued to find our hotel with Google Maps.

My father and I had been to Paris a few years ago. We were extremely cautious and aware. The City of Love knows its thieves and pickpockets, not only scattered hearts and rainbows, or the patisseries that sell sweet macarons. Tourists’ unawareness and kindness were unimpressive excuses for stolen properties. From the bottom of the Arc de Triomphe, people raised their hands to clap for a street performer across the street. Gypsy children began to harvest Iphones, wallets and passports. So, I was wary of the man who kept following us, shouting and waving a tissue at the same time.

We increased our pace. The man was still running and shouting after us. We came to a stop on a “safety island” in the middle of the road. Our hotel was right in front of us. The only thing stopping us from getting into air-conditioning was a red pedestrian light.

It was inevitable that the man caught up to us. I tensed. My friend patted me on my shoulder. “Well, our hotel is just across,” she stopped. “Why not listen to what he has to say? Perhaps it’s something important.”

The man stuffed the piece of tissue paper which had accompanied him for the last 5 minutes under my nose. “Clean, back, clean!” I managed to see that someone had spilled paint on our backs.

I was ashamed of myself for assuming the man had malicious intentions. I lamented at the traditional Chinese mentality to not trust strangers, and how I was taught to put up a wall between myself and others. I felt deeply regretful for not opening my heart to the flowing kindness of the world, that even if we are not the same race or same people, I was still helped out by little acts of kindness which may seem very insignificant.

I took his tissue, put down my bag, and began rubbing my back. It was very hard to reach my back. I spent too much time lounging around at home watching Netflix with a bag of popcorn in one hand and phone in another. Otherwise I would have had no problem linking my left and right hands behind my back since I practiced Krav Maga regularly in Jordan. Seems like I let my guard down.

I reached for my bag to grab my own packet of Tempo, because I’d dirtied the man’s tissue.

“Hey you – “ The man was gone.

I don’t remember what happened exactly after that. I am reluctant to recall any memories of that moment of realization I’ve been scammed. Instant panic turned to anger — I was out for blood. Surprisingly, even to myself, I accepted very quickly the fact that my bag had been stolen. I did not go through Freud’s theory of the mourning process, nor did I wail out loud in the nexus of a den of thieves (turns out later that I’d booked a hotel located in the most dangerous neighbourhood in Athens, Onomaia). I cannot describe precisely how I felt, but it was definitely not my proudest moment having two female companions glancing at me and offering consoling words when we went up the stairs in our hotel. Pity or genuine concern I could not tell; I hoped it was neither, leave me alone.

At least three people I spoke with later told me that they were sorry for what happened to me.

The ‘sorry’ from the police officer had pity in it. He was well-built with a tough, gung-ho look and a voice that spoke of experience. What captured my attention was not the number of stars and stripes on his shoulders, nor the staggering line of tourists lining up in the Athens Police Station for Tourists. The police officer spoke fluent Mandarin, English and Italian in quick succession, catering to different unfortunate tourists.

“Well lad, I’ll let you know that we’ll work on this as soon as possible.” He collected a report from me and stamped on it with a chop. “But you have to understand there’s very little chance to get your stuff back. We receive dozens of reports like this every day. Be careful from now on ok? I’m sorry that happened to you on your first day here.”

He picked up the ringing telephone. He spoke in Greek loudly, then paused for a moment, jotted down something on a notepad, and continued barking orders to his colleague on the line. Looking at his family photo on his desk with a smiling German shepherd, I wondered if he could leave on time to meet his family for dinner.

The ‘sorry’ from the department store was layered with guilt. After I left the police station with an official report, I went to the nearest department store to replenish my supplies. I was browsing through different backpacks from the rack. A salesman approached and asked me what I was looking for.

“Do you have a cheap, yet durable backpack? I had mine stolen just now.” I stated it as a matter of fact. I was not exactly in a foul mood, but as with every salesperson, such enthusiasm annoyed me at that moment.

His smile turned into a frown. “Oh, I’m very sorry to hear about that, may I ask where it happened?”

“Onomaia.”

“That’s no surprise actually, it is the most dangerous part in Athens. I always tell my friends who visit Athens to stay as close to the Pantheon as possible when choosing accommodation.” He spoke quietly, “I’m just really sorry to hear that. It’s just, our country is not exactly in the best shape right now. I’m really sorry about that.”

He paused for a moment and clenched his fists. His disappointment at the state of decay of his home country came through his tightly curled fingers. I looked away, pretending not to notice clearly visible knuckles. A fury gathered underneath, his own powerlessness to help out someone in need.

“But well, let’s put that aside and find you a good backpack shall we? You are lucky to visit us when we are having huge discounts!” He smiled again, seemingly energized by a new vigour. He began picking out backpacks from the rack for me to choose. He had apologized on behalf of his fellow countrymen. I really wanted to give him a hug and tell him I’m ok now.

I went back to the hotel and called my travel insurance provider. Fred, the manager who picked up the call, was really helpful. He ran me through the steps required to apply for reimbursement. This could be a perfect time to stress the importance of applying for a travel insurance scheme before any trips, but that’s not the point. A lengthy call followed, to make sure I’d understood the procedures.

“Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” he asked for the last time.

“None at the moment, thanks. The information is very helpful,” I replied with a smile, as if I was talking to the man face to face. “Ok, great. Once again, thank you for calling AXA. I’m really sorry that you had to go through all of that, and I’ll do my best to help you with your policy. Please don’t hesitate to call this number should you require further assistance. Stay safe sir and goodbye!” The call ended.

The streets of Athens 13 floors below taunted me back with a smile of its own. It was the first time I found recited customer service scripts touching.

I called my parents next. They told me they were glad to know that I was still alive and well despite losing my belongings, knowing how dangerous the crimes could be. They stressed how fortunate I was as it turned out in the end. Telling me to stay vigilant, they hung up. I was released from the hectic day. My parents never once said ‘sorry’ in the call.

I looked down at the city with dotted yellows speeding in the dark, like an unburdened high now free from trouble and running in my veins. My smile opened. Extra credits to myself who’d successfully endured the unexpected in a country far far away. I was finally an adult who dealt with a theft all by himself. At that moment, I felt triumphant like I’d just won a war.

More from Creative Nonfiction & Fiction: Read Discounts by Ryan