No Loitering

Greece is, to the unaccustomed eye, an impossible place. There is so much movement and confusion, yet at the same time, nobody appears to be doing anything at all. Crowds move hectically around the capital of Athens, but upon closer inspection, they don’t seem to be in much of a rush after all. Working hours may be in place, but everybody seems to be sitting around in the myriads of cafes spread densely throughout the city. The first question tourists ask is therefore, “don’t these people work?”

The question is a tricky one. Everybody – well, everybody lucky enough these days, works. In fact, a surprising number of people work two or three jobs at any given time, to make ends meet. What are they doing at the cafes then? In one sense, the answer is, skipping work, taking extended lunch breaks, and generally being lazy, which is quite true. In another sense, they’re doing something far more important than any number of work hours can possibly achieve. Something that may save the world. Which is, shortly, nothing in particular.

To explain, we need a counter-example. A continent and an ocean across to the west, the exact opposite of Greece is happening. Here, work is life; it is one’s purpose, one’s route to freedom, one’s rite of passage. This is demonstrated not only in the dedication people show to their work, not only in the quirky protestant work ethic which seeps into most interactions between people, but oddly and far more alarmingly, in the two words that loom ominously above the doorway of almost every shop, business, apartment building or other public space in the country. The two words read “No Loitering”. The first time I saw those words – they were among the first things I noticed in this country - I asked somebody what “loitering” meant. The answer I got was “umm, just standing around doing nothing”. I thought it was a joke, so I proceeded to look it up.

It was true. It is illegal in the United States, and indeed, as I have found out, in much of the English-speaking world, to stand around doing nothing in front of buildings. Since anywhere that isn’t “in front of buildings” is either private property or the road, where one has slightly more pressing matters to attend to, what terrifies me the most about this sign is not the seeming breach of civil rights or the aggressive bureaucracy that seeps into modern life here; it is the fact that the very act of standing around doing nothing is extremely vital to civilization and, indeed, humanity itself. The greatest ideas in history were born out of doing precisely that: standing around and doing nothing in particular. Plato would not have conceived the theory of forms if he wasn’t idly standing around on a field watching horses, and thinking “what is a horse?” and “why is a horse different from everything else in the universe?”. Had Archimedes been thinking about a business meeting at the time, he would not have noticed the level of the bathwater rising when he stepped in it, and therefore discovering the law of displacement of liquids, and triumphantly running through the streets of Syracuse naked, shouting “Eureka!" He too was, in essence, doing nothing at the time. Einstein discovered the theory of relativity not by spending hours at a cubicle or poring over books on self-development, but by gazing idly outside the windows of the tram that took him to work in Bern every morning, and noticing that the buildings around him seemed to be moving when they were in fact still.

Similarly, civilization itself was born not out of work ethic and career goals, not out of hard work and saving for the new tool shed, but instead out of man’s habit of doing nothing once in awhile. People are only able to notice the phenomena around them when they are mentally relaxed and, as cliché as it sounds, by living at the moment, and not years into the future.

And this takes us back to Greece saving the world. What the citizens of this small country are doing is not just lazing around; it’s creating and perpetuating civilization. The café in Greece is not merely a place to sit and drink coffee, it is the continuation of an ancient Greek tradition; the tradition of dialogue, which was carried out by the ancients in the Agora or Forum, the Byzantines at the Market, and the Greeks under Ottoman rule illegally in caves and basements. At the cafes of Athens, Thessaloniki and every settlement, large or small, in the entire country, people continue carrying out dialogue, and doing so for hours at a time. And even when they’re not in cafes, they converse with everyone they find, family, neighbours, co-workers, friends, or passers-by, about politics, sports, the story of their lives; effectively making every place they happen to be at a café. To take away a Greek’s ability to chat endlessly is like taking away his Hellenism (proper word for Greekness). This, of course, is not an attribute unique to the Greeks, but their role in it is vital as it was they who invented it and, by virtue, created western civilization and democracy in classical Athens all these centuries ago.

Not to undermine the cultures that do not act in this way: they have all contributed vital things to the world, in some way or another (we are all, after all, just human and as ignorant and vulnerable as the next person). But the modern way of life in many developed countries, countries which often decide the fate of the rest of the world, can often be dangerous. Take, for example, the United States, the western country I'm most acquainted with. Americans are always "doing" something, even in their leisure time. When they are taking a bath, they aren’t just happening to be in a bath at the moment; they are actively engaging in bath-taking activities. When they are going somewhere, they’re not idly, carelessly making their way to some other place, letting their surroundings soak in, but are instead on a mission of going from point A to B in a given amount of time. Testament to this is the almost complete lack of sidewalks, the monstrous distances between places, and the mythical size of the roads. When they are sitting down, they don’t only sit, but watch television, play around on their laptop, or read a book. When they read books (those dreadful books on how to improve the quality of your life in 2502 easy steps) that tell them to not do anything in particular once in awhile, so that they may relax, they do so obligingly. However, when they’re doing nothing, they do it actively, and meanwhile are thinking “I am doing nothing right now, maybe this will help me relax and even contribute to the enlightenment of the human race”, thus rendering the entire excercise fruitless. If they spend a short amount of time idly, they stop and say they’re not doing anything “productive”. Ironically, quite often the most productive moments in our lives are when we are “unproductive”. Give it a try.

End of the World

A certain end-of-the-world aesthetic is characteristic of urban America in the early hours of morning. The long, wide, empty roads seem as paths to various dead ends of a sleepy prison, the fluttering paper bags and newspapers only serving to enhance the loneliness of the scene. The typical American approach to urban planning leaves the far-apart buildings lining these roads out of focus, almost indiscernible, irrelevant and otherwise unwilling to be disturbed. For comfort. Houses, markets, student apartment buildings, all put into separate ziplock bags, not wanting shares of other people’s business. The whole city an old housewife’s fridge, its products zipped and stored neatly. For later use. The street seems to end nowhere. The skyscrapers in the background, dull and gray with humidity in the low morning light, render the place beyond the view-obstructing hill a nightmarish landscape in the passer-by’s mind, instead of a benign curiosity.

American early wakers do their normal business, jogging, going to work, getting the morning groceries. The cold wind renders their countenances more preoccupied, scared and sad than usual. The distances between people are immense in these moments. People in this country, when physically close, are still mentally apart, over the intricacies of daily small talk. The new car, the wife’s job, the kid’s school, the promotion. In this hour, however, even these formalities or lost attempts to intimacy are completely shoved aside. People are further than ever. The jogger will take advantage of the empty streets and sidewalks to shift even further from you if you’re on the same wide sidewalk as her. She has no reason to notice you and wave, no time and too much space.

The cars driving by at the morning rush are the defining image of american business culture. In this end of the world, career and protestant work ethic are the new rebel leaders, brought about after decades, if not centuries of estrangement and personal over-regard, with the promise to render these qualities moral and timeless. This image scares me even more, and quickly, not without some irony, I open the door of the local grocery store, which is the most frequented place in this side of today’s morning Baltimore. Professional how-are-you-today’s and how-may-i-help-you’s are thrown as people line their new future acquisitions on the register, or are confused in the isles over which canned soup will make them happier. Further conversation is not in the job description and is thus strictly prohibited, unless it concerns the weather or the traffic. My attempts to find a kitchen towel are disturbed by a squat, red, mustached man, most likely the manager, who just as likely seems to take a distinct pleasure in what he feels to be an obligation of asking the day’s first customers how they are today, and if they find everything alright. Because he cares. The store’s single kitchen towel is right in front of me, but despite this I still ask if they have kitchen towels, not wanting to disappoint him. He picks it up and asks “Is this what you’re looking for?” I respond with a “Guess it gets the job done”, unsuccessfully trying to adopt his version of friendliness. He turns blank, smiles, and offers to help me if I need anything else. I thank him and slowly head over to the next isle, looking for anything palatable in the huge selection of pastas and sauces.

Mama’s Italian linguine, authentic Italian experience. A taste of Italy in your home. Enriched spaghetti product. Made in X, New Jersey. All rights reserved. Or,

Toscano’s Whole Wheat Penne Rigatte. Authentic Italian product. Enriched wheat spaghetti product. Made in Ohio by WOP industries, ltd.

It’s pointless. I pick up an overpriced pesto sauce, Benelli’s or some other Italian-American’s last name. The dairy section is next. The only brand of milk existant, Margarine’s, dominates the bottom shelf. Low fat, No-fat, skimmed, 2%, half-and-half, full cream. On the cap it says “from cows not treated with growth hormones (Note: there is no evidence of differences between AbCd-treated cows and non-treated)”. I pay and, after an awkward exchange with the student/register woman, head out.

When I step outside, the world is different again. The nightmarish scenery hides itself behind more people, coming out as the day gets older, silently walking to and fro with worried thoughts in their head. Just as hurriedly and worriedly, I walk back to my room, put my new acquisitions away, and have a glass of milk. Margarine’s half-and-half, off-white and with a delicate hint of paint thinner (maybe non-treated cows don’t cut it). I pour it down the sink and go back to sleep.