What impressed upon me most about Athens was the smell of flowers. Everywhere I went, some different flower was blooming and drowning out the scent of the five million people that live there running about their lives. The streets smelled of orange blossoms, and small curved petals would fall constantly in our hair, like plastic snow flakes, and passersby would casually pluck an orange and start peeling it as they rushed by in suits, balancing it precariously against their briefcase. The temple of Olympian Zeus was surrounded by a field full of clover and tiny white chamomile flowers. Each step would crush the leaves, and the fragrance of tea with honey would drift up. We laid down in the flowers and watched bumblebees drift lazily from one bloom to the next, blacklit to outline by the blazing afternoon sun. Bright red poppies dotted all the other flower fields, like beautiful exotic interlopers. Small children weaved daisy and dandelion head pieces in every square, next to the immigrants hawking their wares.
chamomile flowers, as seen from below
Beyond the flowers, it was also nice to be back among the Mediterraneans. People laughed, chatted, and smiled. Speaking no Greek, even in the suburbs or outskirts of the city where nobody spoke English, I had positive interactions with anyone. A grocery store clerk shook his head and winked at us as we purchased beverages for the evening. A little old lady patted our backpacks and commented to her friend, laughing kindly. A waiter surreptiously shook his head at our order, and suggested we try something else, which was absolutely delicious. Strangers would recommend sights to us when they saw us holding a map, and tour guides would smile, "But your English is so good! Where are you from?" When we replied that we were American, they would gasp, then smile and ask how long we had lived abroad. Bars served us endless bar snacks. Men made vaguely innappropriate comments about us as we strolled past, and old folks marvelled at my very curly blonde hair. To interact with these warm people was such a joy.
Old men play chess and backgammon in the park.
Athens was full of little delights and surprises, as well. Wandering a park near the center, we were surprised to come across a small zoo full of birds and "petting-zoo" animals, such as goats and rabbits. In this way I managed to see an Easter bunny on Easter, snoozing in the sun. In the business center, we came across a tiny church, no bigger than a utility shed, from the 17th century. We found a shop that specialized in turbans, not the religious kind, but the kind dramatic old ladies wear. We bought gyros and paid for them by placing the money in a tray by the door and scooping out our own change.
A peacock strutting for the ladies in the little zoo in the park.
Also, Athens is a really, really big city. It's surprisingly well organized for that, but we spent more than a few minutes sitting on a bus stop, waiting for a bus to decide to show up. Everywhere, it was somewhat... I don't know, I want to say unsettling but that isn't it. It was just jarring to be pacing a quiet ruin in the middle of the city, and hear an ambulance's siren. Or to be standing on a hill, surrounded by grass and soft silence, and see the highrises in the outskirts stretching up as far as we could see into the surrounding hills. The Athens airport is halfway across the peninsula from Athens, over an hour away by bus, and it was full city all the way. It was just strange, the contrast between the two, and also to see just so many people after little, flung-out Budapest.
sprawl near the new Olympic stadium
On a much less serious note, should you ever find yourself in Athens, absolutely do not look at your guide book and go, "Oh, there is a changing of the guard at Parliament every hour. Well, seen one, seen them all, I'll give it a miss." Because it is ridiculous, and hysterical, and bizarre. This single thing may have been the impetus behind the Ministry of Silly Walks skit by Monty Python. They swing their feet and arms high in front and in back, in unison, in extreme slow motion. The whole thing takes several minutes. Oh, and they have giant poof-balls on their shoes. It is amazing.
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Golden octopi
Lyla and I, exhausted and hungry after four hours of museum-ing, take a dramatic photo upon exiting. Please note my gorgeous new necklace, made of ceramic, purchased from the craftsman on Hydra. :)
Me, Lyla, and the Parthenon.
Greek coffee, which is wicked thick and gross.
baklava, dripping with syrup
The Acropolis above the Kerameikos ruins
The Flying Dolphin, lifted above the water.
In Hydra there are no cars. Instead, locals and tourists alike use donkeys to carry themselves and their belongings. While waiting for clients the donkeys stand together in the port, chewing cactus.
Hydra was absolutely covered in "communal" cats. They seemed to be stray, and it also seemed that everyone put out food and little kitty shelters for them. Here, one enjoys his prime spot under a tree in the sun, only slightly bemused by the Americans taking his photo.
