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| Last of the Real Shops |
The butcher has moved out of town and calls his emporium a ‘Meat Market’.
The baker has been superseded by a ‘Bread Boutique'. And the
candlestickmaker, sensing his trade losing headway, has retired to take up
priestly vows.
In San Rocco Square, for more than a hundred years Corfu Town’s commercial
centre, only the soapmaker remains from a hotchpotch of small concerns which
fueled the area’s economy at the turn of the 20th century. A 1900 register
lists the shops which supplied the day-to-day needs of the locals in those
days: Candlemaker, bellmaker, farrier, blacksmith, chemist, foundry,
gunsmith, soapmaker, oil storage warehouse, umbrella manufacturer, dairy,
bakery, milliner.
Today, the circumference of the square is bordered by fast-food outlets,
banks and boutiques. It’s indicative of our changing needs, which are mostly
catered for by big out-of-town hypermarkets and superstores. Today we go to
town for leisure.
So only Patounis the Soap remains. Today’s Mr Patounis, fifth generation
descendent of the original proprietor, not only maintains the family
product, but also has reantiquated the premises, turning the business into a
living, working museum. He has cleared the vast stone-flagged factory at the
rear of the shop, brought the vat where the soap is ‘cooked’ back into use,
and constructed dozens of copies of the traditional wooden trays where the
soap sets and ripens. A clean, antiseptic and slightly oily smell pervades.
New trays were needed to cope with increased demand. Though the soap is
popular locally (and not just amongst the old folk), the bulk of production
goes to Japan. Out of the four varieties available, one type is excellent
for hand-washing clothes, and removes careless olive oil splatters in a
flash. Another is specially formulated for the face, and is reputed to
counteract the effects of aging. Among its other attributes is an ability to
cure bedsores.
Patounis is a ‘real shop’ in anyone’s book. We know one when we see it, but
can we define what it is? My own definition is that a ‘real shop’ sells something you need rather than
something you want. The merchandise will be stacked according to the
convenience of the proprietor, rather than in an artful display aimed at
making you buy. Furthermore, the shop will be staffed by ‘real people’, ones
who know exactly what you want even if you’re not sure yourself.
Nowadays, Corfu Town is ringed by giant chain stores offering discount
foodstuffs, hardware, electrical goods, toys... you name it, it’s available.
The quaint old shops we used to rely on - usually run by an extended family
- cannot compete, and the town centre increasingly resembles a theme park,
with every street bordered by boutiques, souvenir shops, jewellery stores,
fast-food outlets and retail units dedicated to the God of Mobile Phones.
There’s not a sprat left on Fish Street, and in neighbouring Pie Street no
tiropitta to be had.
The question is, are there any ‘real shops’ left?
Yes - and even in San Rocco Square.
Squashed between a sandwich-and-snack bar and an upmarket bookshop, the
Heimarios Hardware Store is a relic of the past. You want rushes to secure
grapevine to pergola, a copper ‘backpack’ sprayer, a witch’s broom,
mousetrap, birdcage, boots, or chains and ropes sold by the kilo rather than
the metre, this is where to go. Further along, adjoining a boutique selling trendy menswear, is one of those
old-fashioned butcher’s shops (they’ve not all been emporized) where the
proprietor’s idea of display consists of stringing up lumps of flesh and
offal, which puddle blood onto the pavement, instead of tucking them into
sanitized trays pillowed with parsley.
In the central streets of the Historic Centre, the ones where summer
tourists wander, high rents have driven out the old tradespeople. On death
or retirement, their heirs cleared out the premises that once housed a
grocery or wine shop, and offered it for transformation into a jeweller or
‘Traditional Local Products’ shop (actually mostly ‘Made in Crete!). But
even beside that typical high-street feature, the Body Shop, the Vlassis
Cava is still holding out. Shaded by a deep arcade, the cavernous space is
cool and the air drowsy with yeasty and winey scents. Take along a water
bottle and - a miracle! - you’ll leave with a full bottle of wine, after
perhaps having sampled some of the six or seven different vintages
available. Unfortunately, the uneven stone-flagged floor has been dug up and
replaced with tiles, but barrels stacked in the depths of the space still
hint of the past.
The best area to search out real shops are the streets around the ‘Evraïki’,
the old Jewish Quarter, where a few little stores only differ from those of
a hundred years ago in one respect - they have a modern cash till. In this
district of tall tenements and narrow alleys, of steep flights of steps and
sudden gaps which are the legacy of wartime bombing, some of the old trades
are still practised. Tinsmiths display equipment for your summer barbecue as
well as winter-warmer stoves. Dress shops still cater for pre-fashion-victim
folk, with displays of 1950s-cut midcalf dresses and 1970s-style pullovers.
Sternly masculine establishments offer the paraphernalia of hunting,
shooting and fishing. Ancient pantopoleia (literally, sellers of everything)
may have acquired neon lights and Coca Cola fridges, but continue to sell a
highly eclectic range of goods with a distinctly personalized service.
One of our ‘real shop’ criteria is that the establishment should provide for
a need rather than for a desire, and perhaps strictly speaking this rules
out coffee bars and restaurants. On the other hand, both are an intrinsic
part of the Greek scene, without which social and community function would
cease.
In Town, it is hardly possible any more to find a real spit-and-sawdust
coffee bar, since all of them, anxious to attract the young and newly
wealthy generation, have moved upmarket and now vie with each other for the
trendiest decor.
But out in the country you may still find the odd ‘kafenion’ which time has
passed by: no plastic chairs and not even any of that meccano-type shelving
for the packets of pasta and bottles of bleach. These establishments, often
stone-flagged, have wooden shelves and benches, overpainted so many times
that any details is smoothed out. Sometimes bundles of stockfish, like a
giant’s spatulate fingers, hang from a central hook.
One of the few restaurants anywhere that more or less maintains this oldstyle is located - remarkably - in a prime position in Corfu Town. Stamatis Prevezianos (the taverna has no fancy name, just that of the proprietor) has been serving up meals at the Spilia end of Velissariou Street since 1954,
and except for a face-lift and a new kitchen extension, little has changed.
The bilious green walls are now cream, and the formerly concrete floor is
tiled, it’s possible it has even gained a loo! But the cooking is just how
it always was. Mr Stamatis, now well into his eighties, starts cooking early
in the morning on his ‘range’, adjusting the bubbling of the casseroles not
by the touch of a button but by constantly shifting their position on the
stove-top. Beef pot-roast and chicken crisped in oil, casseroled fish in
herbs and cuttlefish simmered to melting point are among his staples. And
the good news is that once he decides to retire (one feels he’s been putting
it off for some time), his son is poised to take over. So at least one ‘real
shop’ will remain in the centre of Corfu Town. |
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