Small kiosks big business in Greece

The kiosk or per∅ptero is part of the charm of daily life in urban Greece and an essential element of the streetscape of every Greek city and town. Early in the morning or late into the night, the per∅ptero is the first and last place most Greeks look for when they want to buy a newspaper, cigarettes, ice cream or soft drinks.

This is the easiest place to make a phone call, and the kiosk sells everything imaginable, including pens, lighters, postcards, stamps, razors and kombol≤i, the worry beads that serve as an antidote to smoking for every male Greek.

Late at night, long after all the shops have closed, you do not have to walk far to find a kiosk that is still open . . . My favourite kiosks include one in Syntagma Square, outside the Economy Ministry, where I found a tooth brush, toothpaste and socks late at night after my luggage failed to arrive with me in Athens, and another in Venizelou Square in Irβklion which has the most bedazzling range and variety of newspapers.

Kiosks close to archaeological sites and tourist spots sell rolls of film; those close to the beach have fridges and coolers stocked with cold beer and soft drinks; and kiosks everywhere sell football scarves and lapel pins. They are small in size - a mere 1.9 square metres each - yet their displays spill out onto the pavements and the streets, taking up more space than the tiny kiosks themselves.

But because of their convenience and because they are such an integral part of Greek life, few people complain apart from neighbouring shopkeepers.

About 46,000 per∅ptera are scattered throughout Greece, with 1,200 in central Athens alone. As a major outlet for high consumption goods, the small kiosks have grown into a big business throughout the mainland and islands. According to conservative estimates, the annual turnover of kiosks totals two trillion drachma (€2.9 billion), and some of the best located per∅ptera in Athens are said to have a daily turnover of more than one million drachma.

The three main product lines contributing to this high turnover are cigarettes, newspapers and ice cream. Greek law allows one tobacco sales point for every 400 people, and because the kiosk operators take up most of this quota they enjoy a virtual monopoly on cigarette sales.

Cigarettes account for 30 per cent of their turnover, but high taxes on tobacco sales drive the profit margins down to 8 per cent, compared to the 10 per cent surcharge they earn on phone calls and stamps.

Newspapers and magazines are the second major product line. Greece has a large variety of daily national and local newspapers, and most kiosks string the daily newspapers up like washing on a line - many even use clothes pegs to secure the afternoon editions to make easy reading for passers-by. But the profit margins depend on location, and can vary between 5.5 per cent and 7.5 per cent. Many kiosk operators complain the press distribution network ties them to one agent and leaves the retailer with a lower profit margin than the wholesaler.

The third main product line is sweets and dairy products, including ice cream, with profit margins ranging from 16 to 25 per cent for ice cream and up to 28 per cent for sweets. But when it comes to selling ice cream, many kiosks are operating on the margins of the law.

They are supposed to sell dairy products only at a regulated distance from shops and supermarkets, but manufacturers' pressures and inducements ensure few supermarkets ever complain formally. Local regulations usually limit kiosks to two fridges each, but the distributors of ice cream and soft drinks, anxious to promote their own brands, often put pressure on the operators to take more, so that fridges and coolers take up space on the street.

Some local officials turn a blind eye, but others are more rigorous, and one operator was recently fined 11 million drachma for an extra illegal fridge.

The kiosk managers are at the mercy of wholesalers and local regulators, but are particularly vulnerable when they are dealing with the kiosk proprietors. A Greek law dating back to 1949 stipulates that only wounded soldiers drawing a pension from the Defence Ministry may own a kiosk. But, although Greece has sent troops to Macedonia and Kosovo in the past two years, tensions have eased with neighbouring Turkey and Greek troops have not fought in a war for decades.

Proprietors are often soldiers' widows or policemen and soldiers who have been injured in peacetime activities. Most are not involved in the daily management of their kiosks. The law allows them to rent their per∅ptera for three-year periods that can be renewed, and it is estimated that 5 per cent of kiosks are owner-managed while the other 95 per cent are rented. The licence owners often demand an initial payment that can sometimes be as high as 10 million drachma with monthly rentals varying from 150,000 drachmas in a small island town, to over a million drachma for prime sites in central Athens.

But kiosk operators face other dangers too.

In recent months, this cash-based business has become easy prey, with a kiosk in suburban Peristeri, western Athens, being robbed of 630,000 drachma in cash and phone cards, and 200,000 drachma stolen from a kiosk in Thessaloniki.

A few years ago, a kiosk on Panepistimiou Street in Athens fell into a hole in the ground. It had been tilting dangerously for days, and the accident was blamed on tunnelling for the new metro line.

Kiki Dimoula portrays everyday life in Athens in her poems. In Mourning in Kypseli Square, she talks of "the kiosk./ Standing on its feet all day/ with its small-stock melancholy,/ dressed/ in its afternoon papers." But the reality is less mournful and more lively.

Despite the pressures from owners, regulators and wholesalers, the future is secure for the kiosk as part of the charm and vitality of everyday street life in Greece.