October 17, 2017:
There was one time though when something very interesting happened.
We found a bar. I dunno if I found it or he did. I think I did, and asked him to come with me to meet the guys there. It was down a cellar in Exarchia, literally underground, where the bartender and the patrons wore suspicious faces born of habit and necessity. They were reds who'd escaped the Colonels during the long nightmare of dictatorship.
No-one spoke English. I spoke no Greek. Many of them spoke German, probably having once been Gastarbeiters in the West. I had enough to understand the conversations I overheard and to introduce myself. Ich bin auch ein Roter, Kumpels. Happy to meet you.
I brought the prof there — or it could have been he who brought me there, I really don't remember with certainty after so long — 'cos he had more German than me and I thought he'd dig it. He did. We spent several evenings there listening to stories, and telling our own far smaller ones.
The bartender, whose name I don't recall, had a specialty: Brandy Alexanders. I drank them there and forgot about them, until this return trip, when I convinced my friend to help me seek them out. They're out of style nowadays, I guess. It was a treasure hunt requiring days.
That was my only experience of bonding with that professor. Apart from that I was never on his Mickey Mouse Club guest list — the students he'd chosen to be helpful to.
But that really was an interesting experience.