A reasonable €42 for the Uber from the airport to the Airbnb, conjured minutes after discovering that the railway workers were on strike—good on them. It was already late in Greece when we had landed, and our driver had taken to Europop radio to keep the senses sharp. To the groove of Bad Boys Blue’s “You’re A Woman”, our cab zipped along the arid slope of Mount Hymettus as we got our first look at a glimmery sea of lights—Athens, the birthplace of many things.
I slept hard and dreamed of olives. Up and out of the flat, down the frigid quartz stairwell, stepping over the neighbours’ flip flops, and into the crisp Mediterranean morning air. We begin our trip in the Plaka district, the historic old neighbourhood on the Acropolis’s northern and eastern slopes. The street—just below the popular Plaka Steps and beside the Roman Agora—is a quiet collection of ochre, pink, and pale blue homes, some of which had Christmas lights and Greek flags, all of which fell under the cold shadow of the towering Acropolis. An abandoned neoclassical building is to the left, and an equally abandoned archaeological dig site is to the right.
Athens has been a top travel destination for people around the globe since its establishment just 3,400 years ago. The city brought in 6.4 million visitors in 2023, with tourism contributing 46 billion euros to the Greek GDP in the same year. Yet most Sams, Harrys, and Bills come around to Greece in the sweltering summer months; our December visit fell right in the middle of the slow season. The only flocks of linen-wearing, sunburnt tourists we spotted were on the sides of empty tour buses and info boards, smiling underneath graffiti. The city hummed at an active but pleasant level, and our time was ours.
After a breakfast of Greek eggs and fruit juice in the local kafeneío, we would string together two or three destinations around the city and set out on foot like Baudelaire’s flaneur. Even in the slow season, the typical Athenian street demands every nerve of your attention. Hopping off broken sidewalks, ducking under perfume orange trees, slipping between postcard display racks, all the while eyeing wares in shop windows, catching a free whiff of sizzling meats and spices, and watching as ancient hills shift in and out of the skyline. Try not to look lost or easy.
Midday, we hit the destinations or whatever neat thing we wandered upon. A good rule of thumb: no ancient structures or museums back-to-back. It would kill a man. Here’s our short list:
- Slink through the Dimotiki Agora, or the Central Market of Athens, founded in 1886, providing Athenians with the best produce and meat since. Dead things that swam chill in plastic crates in the cavernous central hall, dead things that walked hang from metal hooks in the surrounding halls. The smells are heavenly. Try to imagine how I would cook any of this up in my flat back in Dublin.
- Watch the Change of Guard Ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, embedded in the square below the towering Hellenic Parliament Building. The evzones, or Presidential Guard, stand tall and serious for the onlookers—their unserious bobble-tipped tsarouchi shoes, I reckon, will be this year’s must-have fashion item. After, stroll the National Garden of Athens and enjoy the shade of over 500 varieties of flora. Stop at every bench in the park and see if one is warmer than the other in the winter sunlight.
- Duck into the Church of Panagia Kapnikarea (we passed here while looking for the Pandora jewellery shop). To enter the church, you must descend about two metres. Since its construction around 1050, the surrounding city streets have been built around it. I donated €5 for my first experience in an Orthodox church, and I think I held my breath the entire time.
- A walk in the First Cemetery of Athens, founded in 1837, suits those who love stray cats. An online search reveals that almost every significant figure in contemporary Athenian and Greek history is memorialised here. An undergrowth of white marble tombs shadowed by dark green cypresses creates a tranquil space where families lay flowers and polish portraits. Our highlight of the trip was a silent moment of reverence in a bustling capital city.
- Acropolis: inescapable, enduring postcard! The moment you see it, it beckons you to climb its ancient steps and see the known world from a god’s height. On a clear day, we climbed the slick marble steps just after noon, enjoying warm Mediterranean breezes and a sea view. Take a selfie. Later, a sunset run up Philopappou Hill reveals a view of the Parthenon and accompanying characters in a fiery orange. Bring a bottle of wine and sit with the locals.
Arguably more important than reading plaques and Wikipedia pages—eating your way through the city. Each neighbourhood offers its culinary impression. The fresh, simple, and enduring food displays Roman, Byzantine, and Ottoman influences. Chilled octopus in vinegar, warm pita, roasted lamb, gentle spices and fresh vegetables made every meal better than the next. Dreams of olives are replaced with dreams of portokalopita, a phyllo cake soaked in orange honey syrup. Wine first, and then shots of ouzo, a 42% anise-flavoured miracle drink (definitely pack that home for Mom and Dad). Meals are slow, plates are small, and life is worth living again.
Our slow season journey thankfully permitted us to sit amongst more locals. A typical encounter was families who had journeyed into the city centre for holiday shopping. Parents set down glossy shopping bags, took their children upon their knees, and tucked them into plates of dakos or dolamades. Our inquisitive glances— “What do you think they ordered?”— were met with kind smiles, and the mutual acknowledgement that we are all here, together, eating, made every bite more flavourful.
American Qualms
The journey to Athens was the furthest I have ever travelled from my native Seattle—becoming the brink of my known world, the foreign and the other. Yet Athens is the birthplace of the Western world from which I am produced. And so, cursed to be both simultaneously tourist and American, I pondered my relationship to this place (olive tree groves and marble columns make pondering easier):
“As an American, what did I know, and what do I know now?”
The entirety of my travels and university education can be—and is often—framed through this simple question. My trip to Athens was no different. On the steps of the Acropolis, it felt carcinogenic to think of Bill and Ted’s experience meeting Socrates (1989). Before my trip, my knowledge about Greece rode off the back of Mamma Mia and mythology—fancified mythology, even. Rick Riordan’s series of mythological fantasy books dominated my bookshelf for the better part of my childhood. Not to say that I was strolling the streets of Athens wearing a neon orange “Camp Half-Blood” shirt—we saw plenty of that during our trip. However, each new experience became an intentional effort to absorb something new and shed the “mediated” construction.In my time in Dublin, I’d like to think that I’ve sliced through the mediated Ireland of potatoes and redheads to access a beautiful reality of beautiful people. Did I achieve that in my four-day bender and gastronomical walking tour? Who knows? I took home a Belgeri toy for my brother, an evil eye for my mother, postcards for my mates, and memories and photos for myself.
Benjamin Floyd – Features Editor
