The city has a lovely, decaying quality — both doomed and beautiful. I suspect that inheritors of many properties are waiting for just the right offer. Athens is the size of Chicago but in many ways remains a village.
As for the rest of Greece? After emerging from bankruptcy, it is back in the EU's good graces. Yet prices are uncomfortably high, tax evasion is real problem, and people continue to arrive on little boats.
The capital is an intoxicating place. Waiting for an elevator that is just wide enough for my elbows, I hear Arabic and Indian music leaking from my neighbors' doors. I want so much for them to invite me inside, offer me tea and an uncommon biscuit. Yes, I have an active fantasy life.
So many dogs to pet! I home in on the handsomest breed, telling this guy his beagle was well-marked. "Thank you. But he is a little crazy." You don't say!
Half the traffic in the city center involves small-displacement motorcycles carrying puffy tourquoise food-delivery bags for Finland-based Wolt. This trend has just blown up during the pandemic. Nobody wants to leave home, and I totally get it.
The same succulents that grow here grow in my hometown. Well, not saguaros or cholla or barrel cacti, but you'll see plenty of prickly pear ― even yucca ― in Athens. Agave plants pop up from the forest floor.
Nothing is as far as it looks. That yonder hill appears to be a 60-minute walk. In reality, it'll take 25. Athens' geography is an optical illusion. No, I cannot explain it.
So, the demerits. This city (like thousands of others) gives zero fucks about the pedestrian experience. Sidewalks are blocked every 150 feet or so by parked cars or scaffolding or work crews. For a variety of reasons, I am used to this and accustomed to walking in the street. Motorcyclists wanting to pass traffic jams will simply weave through pedestrians on the sidewalks. You'll be fine; I suggest not wearing headphones.
Crosswalks mean nothing. To motorists, red lights are a half-whispered suggestion. Your full attention is necessary. I cannot imagine what living here must be like for people who use wheelchairs, scooters, etc.
Addicts are openly shooting up. This is Metropolitan College at Akadimias 42, near the Panepestimio metro station.
Just to the right of this building is a walkway where a bunch of people were lurching about in sweatpants and hoodies, clowning on one another. At first I figured there was a clinic (there is) or soup kitchen nearby and that it was just an unusual cluster of mentally ill homeless people. But I saw actual injections going on. At least they were using those little alcohol swabs. These aren't college kids, obviously, and the fact that this is taking place on campuses is a known issue. I have walked around some of Athens' toughest neighborhoods at night and never felt unsafe. Use your head, obviously. If you die here, it will be on the hood of some tax attorney's car.
I never once visited an ATM. Touch payments are everywhere, even for the smallest of purchases. Contrast this with the U.S., whose biggest retailer will have none of it.
It is hilly af. And I really wish my guy would take a step or two back. He is giving me a fright.
I climbed the hill above (Filopappos), as well as Lycavittos Hill (below) in my last free day here.
A few minutes after sunset, the city's lights flicked on.
Joy is returned to you. When you ask someone how they are (ti kanete?), man, do the Greek people open up. "Calla," they'll say. "Kai esis? (And you?)" "Calla, efharisto." (Good, thanks.) And from there you can continue in Greek, English, whatever.
"Efharisto I love this place!" I blurted after picking up takeout for the fifth time at Pauli's (Pitheou 20, below), and I instantly had a half-dozen new friends. Greeklish is the way to go. My most satisfying interactions in Europe, going back a half-century, have taken place here. This is a big claim; I am aware there could be some recency bias.
While inhaling a steamed stingray outside Ouzeri Tou Laki off Victoria Square. I met a series of smokers who popped out of the restaurant to light up. Both diners and kitchen staff. Many were interested to speak with the strange American who insisted on sitting outside "in the cold" (it was like 55F).
A couple who live around the corner said they were inspired by my menu choice and decided to order the same thing. We talked about movies and the post-2009 Greek "Weird Wave." Before getting here I watched every Greek movie I could possibly stream and was actually able to contribute.
One smoker inquired about the state of college basketball in the U.S. Another wanted to complain about the current Greek government. I didn't understand the nuances of what he was saying. One of the strange paradoxes for a tourist is that modern Greece seems more distant than the one of Thucydides and Aristotle. The political situation here is simply too convoluted to approach.
Out came the waiter. "Did you like the ray?"
"It was great. How about dessert?"
"We don't do dessert. Or coffee. Only real food."
He could have stopped at "Or coffee." But it's OK.
Going inside to pay, I stop by the movie lovers' table to shake hands and say goodbye.
"Oneira glyka (sweet dreams)," says the husband. I have heard this before. The redhaired cashier at the Plessas mini-mart near my apartment says the same thing. She has been teaching me a phrase a day. These Greeks and their dreams.
His wife takes my hand in both of hers. "Safe travels, Petros." Aww, I'm Petros!
It's a fifteen-minute metro ride home, followed by the long, flat-footed climb up Irakleous Street. Watching for traffic, I pause at Geometrou Avenue to look left and right. Under a low damp sky this feels like the top of the world.
The heater is working nonstop now. I bite into a sesame kritsinia while folding shirts and socks. Petros is permitted to sleep three hours.
The sky thunders dully, as if through wool. Rain slaps the roof.
End
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