An influx of new French to the dorm has seen the room transformed into a loading bay. The sheer quantity of luggage is astonishing and even more astonishing is the fact it’s all been dumped right by my bed.
When I went down to the kitchen to make my breakfast, I found that my peanut butter was no more. It wasn’t that the jar was empty, it was just gone. Vanished. How nice of the food thieves to leave the Tahini! I stormed out of Hawks muttering curses to myself – wishing I knew who the food thieves were so I could pay them back. They could be anyone… they could be everyone.
Sat moodily in a coffee shop by Omonoia Square with a plank of cheese pie and a coffee. A Muslim woman offered to buy me a cappuccino after I let her charge her phone on my laptop. I declined. Instead, I bought myself one of those croissants I had last night, the one drizzled with chocolate and filled with hazelnut cream. Thought it would cheer me up. It did. Temporarily.
Today more than ever, it has started to feel like I am waiting… surviving abroad rather than actually living. I go back to London in two days’ time. If I had longer… if I was merely approaching the end of 1 month of many, this is when I’d make a drastic move; book a flight, get a train to the other side of the country, or just go anywhere else. But I don’t have that kind of time left. And so, it feels like I am simply waiting for the end of the journey to swoop in and take me out of my misery.
After skulking around the city for hours, getting yet more Mailo’s pasta – the creamy pistachio-pesto from yesterday – and eating it moodily on a lonesome bench somewhere near Lycabettus Hill, I slunk back to Hawks where I collapsed onto my bed and slept for hours.
It was only 4pm when I got back, but I awoke past 8pm and still didn’t feel like getting up. Perhaps this is what Steve the Australian felt like?
I eventually forced myself out of bed and went on a night walk through the city, picking up two Greek sausage rolls for my dinner. I found a peaceful square devoid of crowds, in the middle of which stood a beautiful four-piece fountain. I sat by the water and finished my second roll.
Walking to the other side of the square, which is called Kotzia Square, I discovered a set of ruins I had not seen or even heard about before. I had been told that all the ruins were strictly in the city centre near to the acropolis. But now I found this was untrue; for what I now came across were the ruins of the wall of Athens. The wall that was built by Themistocles after the Persian war and protected the Athenian people from outside invaders. An old plaque, barely readable in the dark, claimed that nearby should be the remains of the Archanian gate. But those remains have never been found, and probably never will.
Merely minutes ago, I’d had no idea what to do other than buy more food – for entertainment if not for hunger – but now I knew. The ruins of the wall had given me an idea. I made my way back into the bustle of Monastiraki Square and upwards towards the Acropolis, where I climbed up to the rocky crag I ascended on my very first night in the city.
I sat down on a rock in the dark, once again surrounded by couples whom judging from the excessive smooching I could hear were having a very nice time. It doesn’t get boring staring at the city from above, especially at night like this when you’re away from the stench of petrol and car exhaust – the excessive pollution which settles in every Athenian Street like gas in a trench. This morning I couldn’t wait for my time here to end, desperate to get home and viewing the rest of my trip like some sort of waiting game.
Well, that’s okay. Sitting in the shadow of the Acropolis, I realised I’m happy to wait…
