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Greece in the summer months is drenched with sun and tourists. Agriculture is her first industry, but tourism is her modern fate. For Greek immigrants in the United States and their offspring, the summer is often an opportunity to return to the patrida, the motherland, and bathe in the mythical light and the “wine dark sea.” They do so in droves. This is a relatively new phenomenon and is probably an indicator of their economic success. Recently I tried to make a reservation at a Greek restaurant in New York City and to my shock found out that they were closed for the last three weeks of August. I imagined a sign on the door: “Gone to Greece.”
When I was growing up in the 1950s and 1960s in New York City, it was rare for Greeks to travel back across the Atlantic. Like many uprooted people, the Greek immigrants of the 20th century longed to return to their homeland. The expense for most, however, was prohibitive. It took my father 11 years to make the return, and he took me with him—his firstborn. I was eight years old and I spoke fluent Greek. My relatives were astonished at my familiarity with the island's terrain and my seeming recognition of all our 300 close relatives. As with my mother's breast milk, I had taken in the descriptions of my parents' birthplace and the islanders, incorporating them into my psyche. For me, Manhattan Island was just an extension of Ereikousa Island.