I’ve always loved walking down 31st avenueand Ditmars Boulevard in Astoria, Queens. It’s the one place in New York that makes me feel like I’m back home again. It used to be that no matter what direction you turned your head to, you would always see an elderly Greek man smiling at you, or a typical Greek scene where his wife is yelling at him, and telling him to hurry up
The winds of change though pass through every single place on earth. Astoria was no exception.
I was always extremely proud of my heritage while growing up. I thought (and still do) that being born Greek is probably the coolest thing that could happen to a person. I mean. Come on. If you ask any Greek they’ll tell you that we invented civilization. What could be cooler than that? This is why these next few words that I’m about to write, are quite honestly the hardest words I’ve ever written in a paper The Greek community, or at least the Greek community that I’ve always known (in Astoria) is slowly dying.
While I have no doubt that the Greek people in New York have simply moved to different locations. Many have relocated to Long Island. It hurts me a bit inside seeing that an area that used to be almost exclusively Greek now has hints of other cultures such as Indian, and Middle Eastern. AlthoughI am in no way against this cultural diversity, it’s disappointing that I can’t stand in the middle of the street, close my eyes and let the smell take me away and make me imagine that I’m in the middle of Athens. Within five seconds of closing my eyes I’d hear the most typical Greek thing of all: me getting cursed at in Greek to get out of the way. But now things are different. I wouldn’t get cursed at in Greek anymore. Now there’s a good chance that the person that yells at me does so in English but it just isn’t the same.
I usually take little walks in the neighborhood, just to get to enjoy the sights and smells of the area. I’d pass stores that have been there for what seems like forever. A few examples consist of, Stamatis, Telly’s Taverna, and Kyklades. But now, I see newer restaurants as well. Restaurants that are more modern. More American. In the infamous corner of 23rd Avenue and 31st Street, there’s now a Bareburger. It wasn’t always a Bareburger though. This corner has probably my single fondest memory of Astoria.
It was in 2004, but to me, it feels like yesterday. Greece had just beat Portugal 1-0 in the finalof the European Cup in soccer. In that moment, when the final whistle was blown, I, along with every other Greek person that happened to be in Astoria at the time ran out into the streets. People were cheering, and singing. Cars were honking their horns, but for once not to tell someone to get out of their way. The whole area seemed to have been instantly painted white and blue. And then there was my dad. In the corner that had the Barebuger was the restaurant that he worked in. At the time it was called Anna’s Corner. It was there that I remember seeing my dad outside of the front door jumping up and down smiling at me. This was paradise. It is pretty safe to say that I wasn’t the happiest person in the world seeing that restaurant close, even though my dad didn’t work there anymore at the time of its closing.
If I walk up 31st street, then I’ll come to the one place, that hasn’t changed. Agora Plaza. This translates to “Market Plaza.” In this little plaza is where my parents used to, and still do most of their food shopping for Christmas. There’s a Mediterranean Foods, Aphrodite’s Bakery, and of course my favorite store of them all, the butcher’s shop. My dad’s a well known person in the plaza, having worked nearbyfor so many years, thus causing me to become well known in the area as well. Of course I’m still just “Peter’s kid,” but it’s better than nothing.
It’s at this plaza that I decide to turn my walk around. There isn’t much to see up farther. Just houses. I’m only eighteen. I want to be in the middle of everything, not looking at houses. As I turn around I take a long look at the plaza, and at what used to be Anna’s Corner. For all I know they might be completely changed the next time I come to Astoria. As I walk farther I pass the local coffee shop, Lefkos Pyrgos, I greet the elderly men that are sitting around playing backgammon, and they smile and wave to me,asking me how my day is. Then I come around to the best pizza place in the world. Franky’s Pizza. Okay, it may not be the best in the world, but its pretty darn good. I eat pizza relatively often and I must say, this is the one place I’m actually willing to wait twenty minutes for a slice. It may not be a Greek restaurant, but it’s been there so long (since 1958) that it’s embedded into the community.
Suddenly I hear the roar of the train above me, which wakes me up, from my little fantasyland. I then begin to realize that I’m nowhere close to Greece. Even more importantly I realize that I have to go meet my friend for her birthday. But I really don’t want to leave Astoria. For about half an hour, I forgot that I was in New York. At the same time though, I knew that my walk couldn’t last much longer. There aren’t many exclusively Greek locations left in Astoria. Most have a mixture of other races that live and own stores amongst the Greeks As I walk up the stairs to the N train, I think to myself: I’m not sure how much more change I could take to Astoria. I still think it’s perfect. Maybe a bit less than it was ten years ago, but it’s still close to perfect in my heart.
