All the Little Things

"Men go abroad and wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, and at the circular motion of the stars; yet they then pass by themselves without wondering at all"

       The past two weekends have been filled with exotic experiences and amusingly unforgettable moments. Last Saturday my roommates and I woke up bright and early at 7am to get ready for an exploration of Athens. Determined to walk till we could no longer, we set off for the infamous Syntagma Square. This is the square that the media portrays in the news, the square where the ‘demonstrations’ occur, and the square where you venture to see and be seen. Of course we had to discover its secrets. After getting intentionally lost while wandering through a labyrinth, known more fondly as the National Gardens, we wound up outside the Greek Parliament, overlooking the Square.

       At this point, it is crucial to mention the abundance of police vans all around the city. Not just regular vans – but big chunks of steel with barred windows and 20 policemen to each one. Handsome policemen at that. They are actually a combination of policemen and civil servants; all Greek men have to commit to a year of such civil service at some point. They (don’t) get paid to sit and watch the world go by, ready to end any nuisance that may develop. It is quite intimidating to walk by all of them as they are fully armed and find no awkwardness in staring at you as you stroll (or hurriedly pace) by.

      After passing many more police entourages and watching the changing of the guards at the Parliament building, we walked on. To our delight and amazement, the street leading straight up beyond the square opens up a world of McDonalds, H&M stores, Starbucks, Marks and Spencer, Pandora, and Swarovski. We might as well have been walking down Newbury Street in Boston or the Magnificent Mile in Chicago (or a high-end street in Paris, Milan, or Berlin for that matter). It shouldn’t have surprised us as much as it did, but it was nevertheless a pleasant reminder that we lived in a non-commercial part of town – thus granting us permission to look down upon all the regular tourists.

Balloons anyone? Amidst high-end retailers

       As we settled down at a little Taverna for a light lunch, we were approached by a middle-aged Bengali man selling walking sticks. As I am informed by many professors, there is a significant immigrant population from Bengal who recently arrived in Greece within the past seven years or so. He talked to me in Hindi about “these white foreigners who don’t understand what it is like to be stared at continuously as you walk down the street” and remarked that “it is nice to see such a beautiful Indian face after so long”. I’d be lying if I wasn’t flattered.

       It was not just him either. This past Sunday, a friend and I ventured back to the same area to visit the Athens Flea Market (located in Monastraki, beyond the Square) which is an enormous array of people selling antiques, pocket watches, pirated media, sparkling China, old gramophones, and anything else you can imagine. They are objects that inspires one with visions of 19^th century European estates. It was reminiscent of walking through the set of Pride and Prejudice, only, it was artistically Greek inspired. At one point I was behind an elderly Greek lady who inquired about the price of an intricately decorated blue floral plate. I had been eyeing it earlier, and the shopkeeper came out to attend to her. He quoted 40 euro. That was my signal to leave and keep walking. Just as I was about to turn away, I noticed he was Bengali also. He looked at me, and said, “Do you like this?” I redundantly asked him how much it cost, just to be polite. 

       “For you, because you are Indian looking, it is only 10 euro”. Needless to say my friend stuck by me the rest of the day and made us visit nearly every store owned by a South Asian, to see if the same thing would happen again. I ended up not acquiring the plate, out of mere bemusement and confusion.

Greece's largest flea market; one lazy Sunday morning

       Food has been a big source of entertainment for all of us. I get my spices from the Bengali couple who own the store below us (good thing I know the Hindi name for mustard, cumin, and turmeric – instant 10% discount), we shop for groceries at the Alpha Beta supermarket, bread is fresh every morning from the bakery up the street, and chicken is skillfully prepped for us by the butcher: skinned and chopped. Fruits, being the bane of my existence, are full of such sweetness. Along with olives, they remain my favourite food group. Wine has replaced water for many students here, and vinegar is the dressing of choice. I enjoy cooking a late dinner on most evenings for the apartment after my last class at 7pm, and sneaking in a kraitsinyi (whole wheat bread stick rolled in sesame seeds and sunflower seeds) with breakfast. It is mostly the feeling of responsibility and being held accountable for everything I consume that make it seem more important that it really is. Being so far away from the comfort of my school’s delicious dining hall  and home cooked Indian food has definitely taken its emotional toll on me. I am gradually getting used to feeling my way around all the Greek labels though, hoping that the box of couscous is actually couscous and not bird feed.

       With eating taking up so much of my time and interest, exercise has also been relatively easy to commit to. We walk around quite a bit as it is, but impromptu 5K runs around the National Gardens at 9pm are exciting. Athens I think has many faces, each exposed at a different hour of the day. Similar to make-up I suppose: easily altered and removed, but underneath it's heart remains as one spirit, true to itself. Running, of course, up to a limit, is fun. As is being forced to move all my furniture around so two of us can attempt to follow a Pilates video online. Walking up to the Acropolis is quite a hike as well, which we eagerly did last Sunday night to experience the most famous European Ballet dancers in the Herodeion Theatre under the Acropolis.

       Watching the performers spin and arch so gracefully evoked such inspiration, which was especially magical because it was without any story line or narration. It was an effortless story they told, and a beautiful story that we followed with bated breath the whole way though. They still managed to connect to the audience; under the stars and the ruins, we witnessed stunningly elegant displays of agility and poise. With great seats to expand the experience, it was one of the most memorable nights to remember.

Onset of the pre-show excitement and jitters

       Another casual phenomenon for the Greeks, yet an astonishing event for us, is stumbling upon ancient archaeological sites at the most unexpected moments. In the National Gardens is a seemingly random set of ancient blocks with Latin and ancient Greek words that my roommates were actually able to half-translate, being they are Classics majors at school. Similarly, while wandering out of the Syntagma and Monastraki areas, we found the Kerameikos cemetery, which is the oldest one in Greece. Just sitting there, waiting for us to find it and wonder at how well preserved it is. After gazing to our hearts’ content, we decided to find the metro station nearby so we could get the hang of navigating the public transport system. Easier said than done. Armed with what we were told was an updated map of the metro system in Athens, we walked up and down the same street nearly four times, searching in vain for the station. It was supposed to be bustling and fully functioning, but was nowhere to be seen. Add to that the fact that it was the local immigrant neighborhood with questionable stores selling Gucci handbags and Prada sunglasses for less than 30 Euros. We were being watched, which was slightly nerve-wrecking.

       We finally made it to the correct street after being directed by several people, all of whom pointed us in different directions, mind you. We ended up in the middle of lots of bars and nightclubs that are very popular with you Athenians; the entrance to the metro was in the middle of a giant park. It would have been hard to miss even with our eyes’ closed. The neighborhood, called Gazi, is supposedly the hippest place to be every Friday and Saturday night (note: at night, not during the day). Just another day in the life of a local (or so I like to tell myself).

The metro station itself is spectacular: stainless steel walls, long walkways, spotlessly clean amenities. The government spent a large amount of money during the last Olympic Games held in Athens 2004, to update the city. Most public facilities were renovated and completely redone.  This is in stark contrast to other inner parts of the city. Everywhere actually, there is a noticeable gap between societal classes. There are urban sprawling areas filled with too much wealth, families living in two bedroom units in the basement floors of apartment buildings, couples in modestly furnished locations surrounded by similar age groups… and then there are students from the United States crawling through the very family-oriented neighborhood of Pangrati.

Rows upon rows of ancient graves

       We try very hard to speak what little of the language we can, but the result is us being bombarded with flurries of rapid Greek responses and gestures by locals who are so excited that we can communicate with them. This rapidly turns to disappointment for everyone involved, we regularly dole out grimaced apologies of “Signomi, den katalaveno. Xerees Anglika?” (Sorry, I don’t understand, do you know English?). At the very least, we get them to smile sympathetically at us, or in some cases roll their eyes and shoo us away impatiently.

       I wish I could document every moment of every day, remember every conversation about life, love, and food, and also manage to be on top of things academically with ease. It is all slowly coming together though, expertly aided by gigantic bowls of Greek yogurt with honey and Nutella that I learned to love during our week field trip in Crete. My shenanigans so far have been good ones to share. There are lots more reflections to come, and many more waiting to happen.

       All the little things that make up life here are worth noting. The smiles we get from elderly men drinking their early morning coffee (at 11am) in cafés nearby, the little kittens and puppies who follow us around in the park and on the street, my new best friend Chloe who owns the bakery and always gives me the warmest loaf of honey oats whole grain bread (and a lecture about why I never ask for the sinful looking four layered chocolate brownie sitting right next to the bread), George the winemaker who has fallen in love with my roommate and always gives us free fruits and wine, the lovely staff at our institution (CYA) who tell us stories, ask us about our day, and give us secrets about the mystery that is Athens. The list literally could, and does, go on forever.