The comparisons started as soon as I landed at Thira International Airport, Greece. Having started my journey from London with a stopover at Zurich, Thira — which is the airport of the scintillating Santorini Island of Greece — felt like Pakistan.
The international airport may well be on par with some of the domestic airports in terms of capacity and infrastructure, just like our very own Benazir Bhutto International Airport.
As the passengers were asked to move into a shuttle to carry them off towards the terminal from the plane, the Pakistani Déjà vu had only just kicked in. I never anticipated the rest of my trip would be a constant ‘feels-just-like-home.’
As I stepped outside the airport, the bus driver was shouting “Fira Fira” — Fira being the capital of the island, where most of the tourists initially go. The call was not much different from “Faizabad Faizabad.”
-All photos are by the author.
I asked the driver for a ticket to Fira and he told me to get in. I was a bit confused, as living for a few months in England had taught me to pay first and get in later. It turned out to be the other way around in Greece.
As the bus moved towards the destination, a man with some receipts in hand started collecting fare from passengers.
The conductor ustaad was at work, and so was the driver with his Pindi-style driving, overtaking vehicles on a two-way, single road at a fair amount of speed.
This sight can not be witnessed in the rest of the developed world.
Due to the language barrier, one tourist missed the stop at which he was supposed to get off. The conductor got furious and the rage was evident, resulting in a cross-lingual heated argument.
By now I was convinced of a Greek-Pakistani secret brotherhood.
Over the next four days, I came across a multitude of sights which transported me back to Pakistan. I saw a fruit seller on the streets with his wares on a cart, a rusty wheelbarrow, and even a Pakistani style dhaaba on my marathon hike from Fira to Oia — the far end of the island.
On the same route, there were rocks with names graffitied on, something we would normally find in public places back home.
A bus station that had an uncanny resemblance to Rawalpindi’s Pirwadhai Laari Adda and the legendary Suzuki FX parked along the street brought unavoidable nostalgia.
Gas cylinders reminded me of CNG tanks back home. Indian-style toilets, large containers pouring water through pipes into domestic water tanks, the brands Geo and Gree, along with the usage of the term ‘Cash and Carry,’ were also vastly familiar.
Although a small island, the number of private medical clinics I encountered were overwhelming, just like every other registered medical practitioner in Pakistan who starts up their own private practice in commercial areas.
Scarecrows, like the ones we place outside our countryside clay-made houses, with wooden doors and electricity metres placed outside, further added to the list of similarities with our rural areas.
The famous saying “everything was Greek to me” was nullified.
Gyros (pronounced Eurosh) is the most common fast food in Greece. Aside from the addition of fries, it is almost same as shawarma. Which one of the two is inspired from the other is a matter I didn’t dig into, but the taste and method of preparing both items was strikingly similar.
Soulvaki — small meat pieces grilled on a skewer is also a popular dish, strongly resembling our seekh kabab and tikka boti.
One of the sweet dishes I found was named halva.
History tells us that Alexander the Great camped in present-day Karachi’s port area from 327 BC to 325 BC as his troops prepared a fleet for Babylonia.
I could not find a reference on the origin of its name but I constantly wondered whether the Karachi’s coastal town, Kaimari, has anything to do with Kamari beach on Santorini.
It may seem like a farfetched assumption to some, but I was reminded of Karachi while visiting the beach.
Love for donkeys was evident by the fact that the official symbol of Santorini is none other than a donkey.
Donkeys are a mode of transportation on the island and there are donkey stations just like the stations for other modes of transport. Bargaining with customers is not a rare sight.
They even have eating places named after the animal and many streets are littered with donkey excrement. Donkey milk soap is quite cheap and popular.
If you’re wondering, the similarity here is that the Greek are fed donkey milk, which they drink knowingly, while Pakistanis are fed donkey meat, which we eat unknowingly.
At the end of it all, although I was fully enthralled by my international adventure to the picturesque Greek Island, I was also reminded of my roots, the land of my origin.
While it is true that we are a developing country, so is Greece. It also has an underprivileged section of society which we often don’t see in pictures.
We too are blessed with immense natural beauty throughout our country. If they can have a flourishing tourism industry, why can’t we?
