And here’s how it all started.
– Glenn Fry during The Eagles’ “Hell Freezes Over” live concert
Robie and I were returning to the scene of the crime.
Years earlier, we translated our birth certificates into Greek, made an appointment at the U.S. Embassy in Athens and got permission to marry in a foreign country. Then we flew to Santorini and were paraded through town before tying the knot at sunset on the rooftop of Melissa’s Piano Bar.
Beginning our life together in Greece, we found symmetry in starting our roving retirement here. But after prebooking a three-month stay on an Aegean island in the fall with time to get the house ready to sell over the summer, our realtor convinced us to put our home on the market in June. And when we left Dallas a few weeks later, we kept our Greek reservation and made a stop in Liverpool first.
We departed Great Britain on a chilly, overcast late-October morning when the forecast called for dropping temperatures. By the time we landed in Athens, the streaming sunshine melted away the memory of rain-soaked Britain.
In the decades since Robie and I were married, the Greek capital had changed. Twenty-nine years ago, the Acropolis was barely discernable through the nefos, a thick cloud that enveloped the city from exhaust fumes trapped between mountains and the coast causing respiratory ailments, eroding ancient monuments and making Athens one of the most polluted cities in Europe.
In an article from the month we married, The Independent cited the Greek government’s decades-long struggle to curb the pervasive, ever-present haze. Public employees worked irregular shifts to alleviate traffic and reduce car emissions. Metro lines were under construction but slowed as workers continued to unearth archaeological treasures. Laws restricted cars coming into the heart of the city based on their license plates as wily Athenians bought second cars with new plates and continued to drive where and when they pleased.
Exasperated, the government banned all private vehicles in the city center for three months. They brought in free minibuses to shuttle tourists around the sites and began enforcing overnight deliveries for restaurants and businesses. And Athenians, for once fed up with the nefos, responded with unprecedented discipline.
Suddenly 70,000 fewer cars choked the capital’s roads. People walked down the street without fear of being mowed down and sidewalks sported outdoor seating at busy restaurants as locals and tourists reveled in the traffic-free zone.
Over time public filters were installed to trap pollutants. “Pocket parks” turned dilapidated plots once riddled with trash and weeds into green spots, and the metro line from the airport opened in time for the 2004 Summer Olympics. Today, electric cars and motorbikes keep the air purer and noise levels down, making Athens a quieter, more walkable city.
The transformation is astounding.
Where cars once blocked the roadside, café tables litter the sidewalk. Instead of the clash of horns, music and laughter spill out from bars. And in place of a white fog hanging over the city, the sky seems bluer and brighter each day.
While Robie and I had intended to pick up where we left off, after a month of grey skies along the west coast of England, we ditched our plans for stuffy museums and galleries and designed a new itinerary allowing us to explore Athens outdoors.
At the Ancient Agora, we walked around ruins that once formed the political, commercial, administrative, religious, cultural and social center of the city. We hiked Philopappos Hill for stunning views of the Parthenon, strolled through Roman ruins, joined families on promenade at the National Gardens and wound our way around the ring road circling the Acropolis. Along the way we peeked inside ornate Orthodox churches and dined al fresco. Because all we wanted to do was soak up the beautiful autumn days.
Returning to Psyrri near the plaka, we wandered the narrow streets filled with sprawling cafés, intimate coffee shops, artisan stores, a “sundae restaurant,” and vibrant bars that stayed open late. And when Robie discovered the oldest traditional taverna in the neighborhood, we became short-term regulars.
En lordani stood out from other restaurants. Not for the maître d’ beckoning us inside, swinging wingback chairs or sign promoting “free range” snapper which were present at nearby restaurants. But for the locals crowded around the tables, a telltale sign of delicious things coming from the kitchen.
At En lordani, the seats are rustic and there’s no host to guide you to a table, so getting a seat requires vigilance and a little spirited competition. But once Robie and I snagged a freshly vacated spot, we could only sit by and watch as the busy waitstaff ran pitchers and platters wafting enticing aromas to nearby tables. And after helping ourselves to a menu, we waited expectantly for someone to notice us.
But the wait was worth it. Because when our meal finally arrived, the portions were large, the fare delicious, and the prices reasonable.
During our five days in Athens, Robie and I ate at El lordani three times. And if we’d stayed longer, we would have happily been back for more. Because based on their giant menu book with photos of every dish, we barely scratched the surface.
But our favorite pastime in Athens was watching the city from our hotel rooftop.
In the morning, we sat at the oversized picnic table drinking coffee and inspecting the wares of delivery drivers unloading their cargo. In the afternoon, we kept an eye on the constant stream of people climbing through the gates of the Acropolis, and at dusk we toasted the last rays of the setting sun.
At night we peeked through the window of a nearby dance studio to watch tango lessons, listened to the late-night revelers at El Che Cuban Bar and watched the moon rise over the Acropolis.
Then before we knew it, our time in Athens was over. And soon we were boarding the ferry to another Greek isle.
Check out Central Stay Athens for more information about the boutique hotel located in the heart of Psyrri.
Reid & Robie 