Greece — a journey of discovering a city in crisis and total disconnection
Beginning of July, I spent a few days in Greece. My mom and dad were staying with friends on Evvia, an island next to the mainland two hours outside of Athens. I was on my way to Switzerland so I decided to take a detour and meet them there. I could combine the trip with a few days in Athens, where I would do some work and explore the city. I rented an Airbnb in the heart of Monastiraki, a trendy neighborhood close to the old town of Athens with lots of restaurants, bars, galleries and shops. I arrived in the late afternoon. Coming straight from the French Alps the city felt like a bee hive. Buzzing, moving, colorful and loud. I’ve never seen a city covered in graffitis as Athens but it didn’t seem to do it any harm, rather the contrary. I crossed the busy main square from the subway and escaped into a quiet back street.
My lovely host Maria welcomed me at the door and lead me into the place. The apartment was on the top of a five floor building and had a terrace which gave view over the lower buildings around it and at the Acropolis, which was sitting up on a hill, shimmering in the golden sunlight of the afternoon. Maria and I immediately started a vivid conversation. I had tons of questions for her. What is life in Athens like right now? Who does she live with, what does she work with? How had she been experiencing the crisis, what did she think of Britain voting on leaving the Union (the vote was one week away)? Maria confirmed, she was enjoying living in Athens. She found the picture that the media had been drawing of a city in misery and buried in refugees exaggerated. Obviously it is a very difficult time. And nothing compared to back in the days. But she told me she had been able to make her passion photography her profession, helping to curate and promote art shows, exhibitions and galleries in the city. She later sent me to a restaurant-gallery she worked with. The place could have been in the Lower East Side. Asian style food, green walls, hip couples and groups of women chatting loudly. She thought of Greeks as outgoing people, sharing a social life, meeting with friends for coffees or dinner in a neighborhood bar.
Once installed in my tiny place in the heart of Athens I went out for a little aperitif. The people I met were warm and friendly. The places crowded, specially after 8pm when the night brought more human temperatures. I was surprised to find everybody smoking inside and outside the restaurants and bars yet there was no smell of cigarette .
During the few days I spent in Athens, I tried incredible food. Fresh falafel, home made burgers (no bread just amazing meat and fresh salad or grilled veggies), Eggplant with a garlic and olive oil baked in the oven. Humus. And the tomatoes of the Greek salad are fleshy and sweet as a strawberry they don’t need dressing, just a bit of salt. I was glad to find out Greek coffee was just like Turkish coffee, thick, intense, and slightly sweetened.
One night, I had been working for several hours on the rooftop. The city still had a little glow from the heat. I brought out my Jambox, played my favorite Brazilian song and danced in front of the beautiful scenery. I felt so alive in that moment. I could have been anywhere but I was there in Athens, on a rooftop dancing by myself calm and satisfied and breathing in life.
I left Athens on a hot Sunday morning, embarking on a 90 minutes bus ride that would take me to Arkitsa from where I’d cross to Edipsos on the ferry. An elderly woman, very small — She didn’t reach my shoulders — kept talking at me in Greek. I had put my luggage on wrong side of the bus and sat on her seat. After those initial faux pas, I found my place in the front row, next to another lady that didn’t speak English either. Pointing at the ring on her left hand, she asked if I was married. I found the question funny but was thankful for a friendly interaction. Once we arrived in Arkitsa, everyone got off the bus and walked towards the ticketing cabin. I followed all the old people and got a ticket for the ferry as well, then walked on deck. Some people brought Souvlaki sandwiches, others ordered coffee and frappe (the cold nescafe with milk and lots of sugar). Time seemed to stand still on the deck. In front of us the hills of Evvia, and in our back the coast of the mainland. And in between nothing but blue. Blue sky, blue water, even the hills seemed dark blue, and the boat was painted in a light blue, turquoise. The ride took less than an hour, but felt like an eternity. After we left the ferry, the old ladies sent kisses and got back on the bus.
Once on the island, my dad picked me up and took me to the little pension our friends have. A family business — the son had been running the place for a few years. His father was the first one to greet me in the morning and make me coffee. The mother was the chef of the house, cooking for all the hotel and restaurant guests. Her cuisine was impressive. Simple but hearty, made with love. The olives — from their own garden — tasted spicy and fresh like anything I’ve ever eaten. Every day, she would let us choose our dinner from what had arrived in the morning: Fresh mussels, fish, lamb or lobster. Served with potatoes, greek salad and lots of garlic and olive oil. While waiting for the food we would drink the national liquor Ouzo and white wine with the locals. The few days passed flying. The calmness, joy and warmth of our friends reflected in me. The way the family looks after each other reminded me of my own. I left the island in Zen state.
Back in Athens the trip to the island felt like a dream. Surreal and distant. And I went back into working mode for a few days.
The experience was magical for me. But sadly I also saw a lot of poverty. Many people were asking for money or food on the restaurant terraces. I handed a woman a falafel and one or two euros to the other people who came by. ‘This is the lowest you can fall’ Maria said. She confirmed refugees generally didn’t want to stay in Athens, because of the crisis and the lack of work opportunities. Things had changed since the borders to the Balkan countries had been closed, and that those who arrived on Greek territory were outraged and complaining, cause they had paid to go to Italy, got stuck and had no money to pay for another journey. You see and hear sad stories. At the Benaki Museum there was the European photography festival on display. Photographers from all over Europe, portraying their home countries or focusing on far places. Many of them had made the refugee crisis their theme and were telling personal stories, a selection of intimate images, that bring out the human beings in the situation as opposed to the image of millions of people moving through Europe like a stream of dots detached from the privileged who tried to secure their borders and belongings. Strong images that I hope make it into more mainstream outlets.
I left the museum thinking about the hard working people in this country, who had been exposed to years of crisis and were still incredibly friendly and curious. I thought of the end of the Greek Antique, the failure of the Roman Empire and the European Union. We’ll see what comes next but I hope we can be kind with each other, like the friends I’ve met these days.
