A Bear Called Steve

Come with me, if you will, to Greece. 

Not the Greece of Socrates, Democracy and medicine; more like Greece of the staring Bulgarians, weddings by swimming pools, locking Richard Osman in a safe, seven year old German teachers, and dogs that come to life only when the sun goes down. The Greece of my 2022 Summer holiday. 

I went with the intention to just to lie around a pool, beer in one hand, book in the other, for a whole week, letting someone else worry about the cooking and cleaning. And how did that pan out? I’m pleased that you asked. In fact, I’m pleased you’re still reading. 

On my first day on the sunbed, while my family were all off doing other things, I had my headphones on, enjoying the 1977 eponymous Boston album on my iPod (yes, my iPod), playing air drums like a demented octopus. A small shadow suddenly fell across my face. I turned my head to see a very young boy staring at me from about two feet away, in that unselfconscious way that toddlers have. His beaming father was right behind him, “doing parenting”. 

It turns out that the boy’s name was Max, and because he was staring at me in Bulgarian, I had no option but to smile and say hello in a slightly foreign accent that I always seem to adopt when I am aware that my listener isn’t familiar with English. In fact, he was so young, I suspect he wasn’t even familiar with Bulgarian. 

It seemed to do the trick. Max smiled at me, but then spoiled the moment somewhat when he reached out to grab my sunglasses. His Father then leapt into action, losing his smile in a nanosecond and grabbing his son before any further crimes were committed. He left me to my iPod, muttering apologies to me as he dragged him away. If I’d known any Bulgarian, I would’ve told him not to worry. But the only Bulgarian I know is “Hristo Stoichkov,” which is completely useless unless the conversation is about 1990s European  football. 

There were cars from all over Europe parked around the hotel. German, Bulgarian, Romanian, Serbian, Austrian… all moving freely around Europe. Imagine that. It made me feel like I wasn’t part of the gang anymore. But this isn’t meant to be a political post so let’s move on.

We sat by the pool most nights, enjoying the fact that the sting of the heat had been reduced to a mild bruising, and we sipped our all-inclusive beer whilst playing Uno or Rummy. The hotel’s two dogs, who had spent most of the day lying under a bush, started to do the rounds and seemed to be after a bit of fuss from all the guests. 

One evening though, we noticed an undercurrent. The upper part of the eating area had been transformed with the addition of tablecloths and sparkling crockery. The area was roped off, and I asked one of the dogs what was going on. They didn’t have a clue, or if they did they weren’t saying. But they seemed a bit miffed that they weren’t allowed into the now roped-off area either. So we all sat and waited to see what was going to happen.

Guests started to arrive. Not like the sunburnt, slightly pissed overweight ones in tee shirts like me, but well-dressed elegant ones who had obviously made an effort. A couple more beers and I said to the dogs “I reckon it’s a wedding.” Two more beers and they agreed. And indeed that’s exactly what it was.

The atmosphere lifted at the arrival of the bride. She of course looked radiant, and the bridegroom looked like he had just pocketed the winning lottery ticket. They advanced to the edge of the pool, and I tried to suppress the urge of setting my phone to video mode in case there was money to be made on “You’ve Been Framed.” But thankfully they didn’t fall in, just cutting the cake to great applause and smiles all round. As they left to go to their table, the International Space Station went overhead like a star. Probably a coincidence, because I don’t think you can hire it out for occasions like that. But maybe it was a sign of something…

I like to read a lot and nowhere more than on holiday. I treated myself to Richard Osman’s “Man Who Died Twice.” Unfortunately, one morning the safe in our room where we kept our kindles declined my best efforts to open it. Poor Richard was locked in there until the safe was opened an hour after breakfast.

I had waited, like every English football supporter, for 58 years for a national team to win a trophy. And the day it finally happens, I’m in a country that has no interest in the Women’s European Championship, so I missed the Lionesses beating Germany at Wembley. It just wasn’t available in Greece so I followed it on the BBC Sports app. But the following day I went in search of some German guests at the hotel, so I could do a bit of overdue gloating. I was going to propose discussing it in the pool, and had even decided that I would call it a “Float and Gloat” session. I did actually find a German family, but they turned out to be so nice that I couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

They were from Magdeburg, and they were keen for their seven year old daughter to practice her English. This Englishman was keen to practice his German so we all spent a bit of time together over last the couple of days. Alexis, being just seven, and on holiday from school, was reluctant to speak any English, despite encouragement from me and her mother. She chatted away to me in German, of which I understood about 5%, and I chatted away to her in English, which was usually met with a blank look. But we all got on really well. I promised her Dad that from now on my German team would be FC Magdeburg, as that was his team, and in a reciprocal measure, Crystal Palace now have a new supporter in Germany. I just didn’t have the heart to mention the Lionesses. 

Alexis’ Mum and Dad bought her a toy bear on the last day. She told me that she would be calling it “Steve.” 

I’m more chuffed than I ought to be about that.