“Those who wish to know about the world must learn about it in its particular details.”
Egypt has had a densely interlinked relationship with Greece.
Alexandria on Egypt’s north coast, was named after the famous self-idolising Greek, and antiquities of Greek origin lie scattered about Egypt giving a long-faded memory of the close relationship the Greeks and Egyptians once shared. Even the Coptic Christians of Egypt are much akin to the Orthodox Greek Christians, sharing the pageantry and paraphernalia of Egypt’s oldest religion.
It seemed only natural that I would travel often to Greece during my sojourn in Egypt.
I relished in the beauty of being able to catch a commuter flight on a Thursday after work, flying north over the top of the African continent, to land in Athens some 90 minutes later.
This was bliss.
There was an ease with which this happened - Athens is an easy city to visit, and I was Athens bound for the very last time from Cairo, two weekends before my long trip back home to New Zealand.
Sitting on the tarmac in Cairo airport marvelling at Egypt Air’s rare imminent timely departure and excited for having a dinner and a wander around Plaka upon arrival, my optimism was short-lived when raised voices disturbed the anticipation of pushing back from the terminal.
Three people seated in the row in front of me had been moving up and down to business class and despite requests from the cabin crew to sit down, were not playing the game. Listening in as best as I could to their million-mile-an-hour Masri, I figured they had been unhappy about something and were demanding reparation in the form of a business class seat. Cabin crew were telling them no, but they were insisting there was space for each of them up front and that they should be there.
I watched the scheduled departure time come and go on my phone and figured we could make up the time - as so often happened in these flights - and settled back in to reading my book, hoping we would get underway soon.
Insha’allah.
The voices raised even more; arms were in the air; hands upturned and fingers grasped together as anger mounted. People started to shift in their seats as 30 minutes past departure time came and went, and soon one hour. People stood up and made complaints but still the disrupters were yelling. Eventually cabin crew became short tempered and also joined in on the shouting.
How much were people willing to make a public spectacle of themselves, I thought?
Entitled people - treating cabin crew like dirt. I was disgusted. Eventually, almost an hour and a half after our scheduled departure time, I felt the jolting first hint of pushing back from the terminal. Finally!
People complained out loud that they had now missed connecting flights; the yelling rude family had seats up front, and an entire row in front of me now lay empty which I eagerly eyed up, hoping to break free from the squash between two huge Egyptian men who had accordingly spread their legs and elbows into my bodily territory.
I calculated the probable arrival time to my accommodation and likelihood of getting a wander around Plaka before I hit the sack for the night. We touched down in Athens at 7.45 PM (one hour and 15 minutes late) and having moved myself to the aisle seat in the empty row during the flight, I was now primed to sprint my way through immigration, hoping to make the 8.30 PM train. Which I did - somewhat out of breath - a mere two minutes before it eased out of the platform, saving me the 40 minute wait for the next train.
Darn - no dinner for me but perhaps a wine?
The train pulled into the familiarity of Monastiraki Square metro station and I eagerly paced the two minute walk to my accommodation - greeted with a hearty “Hi!!! - Great to see you again” from the ever-smiling receptionist who knew me now after 14 visits to the city. I had messaged I would be late, and she offered her commiserations and suggested I immediately head out for a glass of wine, to which I enthusiastically agreed.
Athens urban view from the Acropolis hill.
I walked to my room, flung open the balcony doors and drank in the view of the ever present Acropolis - all lit up now for the evening.
The Acropolis at night is a stunning vision.
I deeply inhaled, right into every crevice of my lung tissue, and let out a long slow measured breath.
I LOVED this place.
Still in my work clothing, I quickly changed and headed out into Plaka, a short five minute walk away, knowing exactly where I would drink that much coveted glass of Greek white wine.
Monastiraki was throbbing with people, even for a Thursday it was busy (unlike Egypt, the working week ended on Friday not Thursday), and I weaved my way through people milling around in the square near the metro station. I walked beyond Hadrians Library, headed up towards the Acropolis direction, turned left, then right, then left again as if on automatic, and followed the road around towards the Horologion of Andronikos Kyrrhestes (the Tower of the Winds).
There a row of quiet cafes sit, just on the edge of the main Plaka area - one has great wine and olives.
This was my idea of heaven.
I ordered a glass, and sat listening to the guy playing his Saz - he was always there, just around the corner - I had photographed him before leaking out the soulful sound as he sat on the steps of one of Athens oldest buildings, his music diffusing gently into the night air.
Wine never tasted better.
The Saz player who sends out soulful ethereal notes into the Athens night sky.
I could exhale. My shoulders could move down a bit. My neck could relax. My eyes could soften.
I could breathe again.
Soft, morning light bathes Athens.
Sleeping incredibly well, I woke to a muted pink sky and sat on the balcony listening to Athenians wake up into their Friday morning. In Cairo the prayer would be sending its haunting call across the city, inviting people to step into their most important day of the week, whilst here in Athens the weekends anticipation would no doubt be upon its citizens as they readied themselves for work.
I dressed and headed out for coffee and breakfast, blending with Athenians at a local cafe as they caffeinated themselves into their Friday.
I decided I would do a big hike in the hills I was so conversant with, and then leave the later afternoon free to wander and to visit my friend Alex, who crafted whimsical silver jewellery and had a small shop in Plaka. I boarded the metro, disembarking at Evangelismos, then walked the 100m to catch bus 224, settling into the seat to ride the full 20 minutes to the routes end, at the cemetery near the foot of one set of large heavily aerialed hills separating Athens city from the airport area.
I felt like a commuter taking my normal daily route to work.
The limestone and marble monolith of the Kaisariani hills on the edge of Athens; the ‘work’.
The commanding view from Kaisariani over the city of Athens.
This area known as Kaisariani, hosted many interesting hiking and mountain biking trails and I was well familiar with many of them, and had my favourite routes.
Today I decided that because this was possibly my last ever trip to Athens, I would take a route I had never before done.
The trail skirted around the mountainous lump and into a valley, at the end of which was a large granite quarry. I could not see any easy access to the valley beyond the quarry so opted to retrace my steps, pausing along the way to photograph flowers and take in the expansive views across Athens spread out before me. From my vantage point I could see the rocky outcrop of the Acropolis; the pointed mound of Lycabettus Hill, the basin housing the original olympic stadium, the muted tones of the ship-dotted coastline at Piraeus and across to the surrounding mountains. I slowly picked my way back to the trail head via familiar tracks passing by monasteries, ancient chapels and ruins, natural springs; wandering back to the bus stop just as bus 224 rolled in.
My timing couldn’t have been more impeccable.
I relaxed back into the bus seat and watched the world and heavily laden orange trees pass by my window as I pondered where I would get my next coffee once back in Monastiraki.
First world problems.
Happily caffienated, I rounded the familiar corner in Plaka near a quaint pinkish two-stored ornately balconied building, to Alex’s small eclectic jewellery store on Erechtheos 6 - which doubled as a gallery, showcasing the intriguing mini-world items he crafted from silver.
Alex’s cute little shop/gallery.
(Images below from Tripadvisor website)
Alex is an artist - an artist of whimsical leanings, and this shows in his intricate jewellery which is more akin to small life-depicting scenes one wears, rather than the traditional idea of jewellery as adornment. He imbibes a story into each piece he creates - a tiny miniature landscape; a person on a swing; a boat out to sea; an open window - the scenes are thought-provoking and incredibly detailed.
My eyes hurt just thinking about his work.
Alex was a man of Egyptian and Greek extraction. He proudly told me his mother was Egyptian, from Alexandria, and reeled off the few words and phrases of Masri Arabic he knew. I had seen his ‘look’ before - the look of the Alexandrian Greek; it IS a thing, and his face told that story of his family history. We chatted over a tiny too-strong coffee about his up-coming trip later in the year the Egypt, with his girlfriend and he asked me where they should go and what they should see. I wondered instead what I would buy (I always purchased something from him), and finally settled on a small scene of a tree and two people sitting on a seat, as if viewed through a window. It was suspended by a fine cord and I asked him to make it shorter for me, so that it sat on my collar bones. We said our goodbyes and he hugged me tightly, conveying his wish to see me back in Athens again, and reminded me to message him about tourist activities in Egypt for his trip. I promised I would, but like many promises made on the wing in transient friendships, I wondered if I really would.
I would however, be back - I knew I would.
On my last full day in Athens I took the metro to Piraeus and high-tailed it to a ferry office to purchase a ticket to the next available boat across to Aegina - one of the closest islands to Athens. Luckily I could take a boat within 30 minutes, so I wandered up the busy road through the port gates and found the large rusty tub which would transport me to the beautiful haven of Aegina. I had planned to either dive or snorkel and so had my mask with me, ready. It was a very warm day, so a chance to get into the water was something I really wanted to do.
Aegina is nothing short of stunning and reminded me somewhat of Symi nearer Rhodes and the Turkish coastline. Pistachio nuts were the islands mainstay and selling point for tourism, along with its fresh fish readily available at every cafe. I wandered the narrow back alleys stopping to admire lazy cats, then cruised for good coffee and a decent seafood chowder.
Sitting and watching life just amble by, was something I did not afford myself often, but here on Aegina I felt as if it would be a crime not to. There was no sense of urgency; life just rolled by with a hesitance to get ahead of itself, and people had the ambience of complete relaxation. I explored the option to dive - but the price was too high so I instead opted to walk the coastline a bit in search of a good snorkelling spot. I settled on two areas and allowed myself to drift lazily amongst the rocks and seaweed until it was time to wander back and board the ferry back across to Athens along with weekend day-trippers who had sought a reprieve from the city.
Looking from Aegina back to the mainland during golden hour.
People shuffled onto the boat as if annoyed at the interruption of having to leave, donning large bags with towels spilling out; sandelled feet and beach wraps covered sunburnt bodies, while small kids brushed sand off their sunblock sticky arms, complaining to their parents.
The sun began to sink slowly throwing its soft colours across the sky, outlining hills of the nearby mainland as the lights of Athens came into view. By the time I stepped off the metro at Monastiraki it was nine pm, and I happily fell into bed after the last two full days of action and quickly fell into a relaxing sleep, not waking until eight on my last morning. Given that I needed to be on the three pm metro, I decided to keep my meanderings more local, so headed to a favourite area of the small narrow cobbled alleyways around the base of the Acropolis, wending my way through shiny polished old roads, an indication of how many feet had moved over them.
I never grew tired of this area - the character is rich and deep; history oozes from every crack in the ground and hangs thick in the ivy clinging to every ancient structure.
Cats lay in corners warmed by the sun - fat and happy; cafes spilling with people reflected the priority over food and socialising than perhaps being home completing household chores; street performers shared their craft with passersby who paused to listen and look, tossing a few coins into an open bag or hat, and tourists wandered about with their zip-off shorts and floppy hats, cameras slung loosely over their tanned shoulders.