The Irish have the Irish Goodbye. The French have the French Exit. And the Greeks have a departure process that can take longer than the gathering itself.
While an Irish Goodbye involves disappearing from a party without telling anyone, the Greek approach is rather more elaborate. There are announcements to make, relatives to farewell, conversations to finish and, inevitably, food to take home.
It usually begins with a familiar declaration.
“Άντε, να φεύγουμε σιγά σιγά.”
Roughly translated, “Come on, we’d better start getting going.”
The key phrase is σιγά σιγά, meaning slowly, or little by little. In the context of a Greek goodbye, it is less an instruction than a remarkably accurate prediction.
Nobody is going anywhere just yet.
In fact, the first announcement is rarely taken seriously. It simply alerts everyone that the departure process has officially begun.
Someone suggests another coffee. Someone else remembers a story they meant to tell you earlier. A relative you haven’t spoken to all evening suddenly wants a detailed update on your life.
“Κάτσε λίγο ακόμα.” Stay a little longer.
And just like that, another twenty minutes disappear.
Eventually, you stand up. This is an important development, although hardly a guarantee of progress.
Experienced guests understand that once you’ve stood up, you must remain standing. Sitting down again is effectively an admission that you have abandoned your original plan.
There is also the question of how many people require an individual farewell.
In a room full of relatives, you cannot simply wave towards the general population and announce your departure. There are kisses to exchange, hands to shake and people who will be deeply offended if you somehow overlook them.
The first round takes place in the living room. The second in the hallway. The third at the front door, where an entirely new conversation often begins.
By now, somebody has remembered something important they meant to tell you three hours earlier.
And this is where some Greeks have developed a few unofficial escape strategies.
The most common is the early warning system, where you announce your intention to leave a good 45 minutes before you actually need to go.
Another involves gradually moving your belongings towards the front door, hoping that proximity to the exit might eventually translate into an actual departure.
More experienced guests may send their partner to start the car while they complete the remaining social obligations.
None of these strategies is particularly reliable.
Especially when somebody enters the kitchen.
“Να σου βάλω λίγο φαγητό;” Shall I pack you some food?
What follows is a negotiation in which the guest insists they don’t need anything and the host proceeds to pack it anyway.
There is rarely any point resisting. Refusing leftovers can require a longer explanation than accepting them.
By the time you’ve collected your belongings, you’re carrying more than you arrived with.
Which raises an interesting question. Why don’t Greeks simply adopt the Irish Goodbye?
The term, sometimes called the Irish Exit, describes the practice of leaving a gathering without announcing your departure. The French Exit refers to much the same thing, although the French themselves have the expression filer à l’anglaise, meaning to slip away in the English manner.
Apparently, nobody wants to take responsibility for leaving without saying goodbye.
For anyone accustomed to the Greek version, the Irish approach sounds wonderfully efficient.
You collect your coat, locate the door and disappear. No explanations. No repeated kisses. No standing on the doorstep discussing somebody’s recent trip to the village.
In a Greek family gathering, however, such a manoeuvre would be considerably more complicated.
You would first need to retrieve your belongings unnoticed, avoid attracting the attention of anyone in the kitchen and somehow leave without being intercepted by a relative demanding to know where you’re going.
Even if you succeeded, your absence would soon become a topic of conversation.
“Πού πήγαν;” Where did they go?
“Έφυγαν;” They’ve left?
“Ούτε ένα γεια;” Not even a goodbye?
Before long, somebody would be on the telephone trying to establish what happened and whether anyone had been offended.
The Irish Goodbye may save time, but in a Greek household it could create considerably more work than simply saying goodbye properly.
Of course, there is one final stage in the Greek departure process that deserves recognition.
The car goodbye.
Having successfully navigated the living room, hallway and front door, you are now seated in your vehicle, convinced that the evening has finally concluded.
Then somebody appears beside the window.
A final question. Another reminder. Perhaps a discussion about when everyone is getting together again.
“Πάρε τηλέφωνο όταν φτάσεις.” Call when you get home.
You promise you will.
The engine starts. There is one final wave, another “άντε, γεια” and, at long last, you are on your way.
The whole process may seem unnecessarily complicated, but there is something rather revealing about it.
The Irish Goodbye is designed to make leaving almost invisible. The Greek goodbye does precisely the opposite. It turns departure into one final opportunity for conversation, hospitality and connection.
Perhaps that is why nobody seems particularly interested in making it more efficient.
After all, θα τα πούμε, meaning “we’ll speak again”, is one of the most familiar expressions in Greek conversation.
And if the goodbye takes another half an hour, there’s plenty of time to make good on that promise.
Just don’t sit down again.
Read also Paul Frazis, Australia’s Commercial Broker of the Year: ‘Lending Is About People’
The post The Long Goodbye: Why Greeks Take Forever to Leave appeared first on Greek City Times.