Smile Restaurant, Athens. 20.02.
I was half-tempted to go to bed without eating this evening, but after walking past a sign in a shop window saying LOOK AFTER YOURSELF in big white print and then seeing a team of chefs preparing sea bass in the next window along, my instincts got the better of me. Chances are this will be my last meal out of the summer, so I might as well make it a memorable one.
I got to bed shortly after six fifteen, after Thomas and Maria dropped me off at the apartment. The wedding festivities went on until well into the early hours of the morning, with the last of the dances wrapping up around half three. Alex, Peter and company enjoyed a few Cuban cigars, blowing liquid smoke rings into the night sky, while the venue staff slowly started to pack up. There was talk of a swim to cool off – had I brought my swimsuit? No, I hadn’t! But that didn’t seem to be a problem. A short pit-stop at Elena’s parents’ house sourced me a pair of trunks and then we found a parking space down by the beach.
Naturally, at half past four in the morning, it was nearly deserted. Just a couple of Greeks listening to trap music over a boombox and a lonely soul sitting on the breakwater and watching the stars.
I’ve never done a night swim before – at least, not in the Mediterranean. I might have gone for a dip after dark with Lucy and Emily many years ago in the summer I left school, but those memories are hazy now – and the cold waters of Whitstable are incomparable to the Aegean. It felt like stepping into a bath. The water was so clean and so clear that I could see all the details of my toes and the ripples in the sand below by the distant lights of the beachfront alone.
My mother used to tell me stories of starlight swimming in the Mediterranean in Barcelona back in the 80s. I’ve clearly been missing out. These beaches are absolutely rammed during the day, but by night you pretty much have the place to yourself, and the water is only slightly less warm. To the Greeks, perhaps, it might have been tepid, but after the chill of the North Sea and the cool waters of the Humboldt Current, it felt incredible. I didn’t feel in the least bit tired, either, though that may have more to do with the fact that I’m almost certainly still on South American time rather than the restorative properties of the Mediterranean Sea.
I slept until noon and waited out the heat of the midday sun in the cool of the apartment. I ummed and ahhed about going up to the Acropolis and ultimately decided I’d be mad to be in Athens and not see its most iconic feature up close. Missing Machu Picchu was… a choice, I’ll admit. But Machu Picchu costs hundreds to see, whereas the Acropolis is a flat 30€. So I packed a bottle of water and set out into the afternoon.
Athens is very quiet around four in the afternoon in August. Most of the city folk are sensibly avoiding the lingering heat. It’s only when you reach Makrigianni Street and the Acropolis Museum that the city suddenly springs to life – with tourists, that is. Germans with peaked caps. Koreans with parasols. Spaniards with GoPros and Americans with sweat-stained XXL tee-shirts and portable fans. All of them defying the 37°C heat to see one of the most famous architectural treasures in the world.
You have to meet your timeslot with these Acropolis tickets, but once you’re in, you can spend as long as you like in the area. The city seems to descend en masse shortly before sunset around 7pm – the lines were immense as I left – so I wouldn’t recommend leaving your visit to the last minute.
With time on my hands, I hunted for cicadas in the olive trees along the path. It wasn’t hard. Once you get your eye in, they’re very easy to spot, despite their cryptic camouflage. You just need to listen closely and look for the little white stripe at the bottom of their abdomen.
Check the trunks from different angles at first as your eyes adjust, because they really can disappear against the surface of the bark. Once you recognise the white stripe, you’ll see them everywhere. I found four on a single trunk by the Sanctuary of Dionysus.
It can be hard to find peace and quiet within the Acropolis complex, as its swarms with tourists at almost all hours of the day. But there are quieter spots. Curiously, the Erechtheion doesn’t get as crowded, despite being directly opposite the Parthenon itself. I suspect many tourists only go up to the great temple itself and then come straight back down.
An olive tree grows in its ruins, in the same spot where the sacred tree that was the symbol of Athena’s gift to her namesake city once stood. A couple of Americans called it a cicada (sick-aider) tree when asked. Two others said they were glad they’d got ChatGPT to give them the lowdown so they didn’t have to hire a guide. I even heard one family – specifically the adults – opine that the only way they could have got a crane inside the Parthenon was by airlifting it into the centre by jet.
Sometimes – just sometimes – I’m extremely grateful that my American adventure ended in heartbreak. Some of the most intelligent people I’ve had the fortune to encounter are from the States, it’s true, but also, some of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard have been said in that American drawl.
I’m always terribly conscious that I’m just another tourist with a smartphone in places like this, so I sat in the shadow of one of the Parthenon’s colossal columns and sketched the temple ruins in my journal. I’d like to think somebody might have sat here doing just that a hundred years ago, and perhaps a hundred years before that, in the time of the Grand Tour, before Apple put a camera into every hand on the planet.
That being said, it is a fantastic place for people watching. So many different people from so many different parts of the world… You could come up here with a sketchbook and spend hours drawing, if you had the time.
The internet seemed to think that wild tortoises might be found around the boulder-strewn path up to the Eptathrono, just opposite the Acropolis. I looked everywhere, but I didn’t find any. I guess I lucked out with the giant tortoises last week, which are – admittedly – a heck of a lot easier to spot. Still – you should always leave something to come back for, right? The view from the top was worth the climb, too.
I’ve made it back to the apartment and have managed to put my feet up at last. I’m quite happy with this afternoon’s adventure. This time tomorrow – for the first time in nearly two months – I’ll be back home in Somerset. All good things come to an end eventually, right? But not before their time – and it really has been a truly wonderful time. The very best of times.
I might post once more tomorrow to hit a 50-day streak. It’s been fun writing every day all summer, but it does help when you have something to write about.
See you in the UK! BB x
The Book of Barnabas 