A Trip to Athens and Down Memory Lane

by Amilamia Calvillo (United States of America)

Making a local connection Greece

Sometimes I find places beautiful simply because they touch the inner child in me. Some places make me think, “Wow, ten-year-old me would have loved playing here!” I spent a great part of my childhood playing make believe in my best friend’s back yard. My favorite part was the mini sugar cane labyrinth. It was this memory that instantly came to mind as I walked down the narrow streets of Anafiotika; the hidden city under the Acropolis in Athens. A magical place I wouldn't have found, were it not for my new friend Manos. The town was secretly built at nighttime by the Anafi, and consists of white houses completed with blue domed roofs and shutters. The aroma of bougainvillea dominates the air. I was not expecting to see anything like it until I got to Santorini. I could have spent all day there day-dreaming of how the Anafi children used the village as a playground. Manos, brought me back to the present by navigating us back to modern Athens. Manos showed me his favorite street art, as he described his family’s struggle with the current economic crisis. He spoke of unemployment and impending homelessness with an understandable sadness. He said the street art was a way the youth found to be heard. “Plus, I think it makes the city so much more vibrant, don’t you think?” He asked rhetorically. I just smiled and nodded, as I thought back to the colorful murals that surrounded my old high school. Manos showed me where aspiring artists and musicians squat in abandoned buildings. One of them a beautiful dance studio with a wall length mirror. As it turns out Manos did some Greek Folk dancing when he was younger. We both laughed at the unlikely coincidence, when I shared I used to dance Mexican Folklore. As we reminisced about our childhood we ended up at the Monisteraki Flea Market. Manos led me down a hidden stairway tucked between two shops, seemingly leading to a storage room. I was surprised to find a sandal shop. The walls lined with sandals in all styles, but all natural leather. In the corner, the old shop owner sat at a wooden lathe machine. Every time a customer came in the owner greeted them with a kiss on each cheek and listened carefully to their orders. I of course, had to buy a pair. The owner gave me a flyer and told me he could mail me sandals anywhere. I walked away with the sandals tucked under my arm, the folded flyer in my pocket and a smile on my face. A much better adventure than my ten-year-old imagination could have ever come up with.