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WHOAH! There I am, unassumingly drifting
down
Kolokotroni Street
in central
Athens
on an ordinary weekday morning when the smell
of kotopoulo psito (roast chicken)
tweaks my nose. It's only
10am
but out of the blue I'm overcome with hunger
for crispy roasted chicken skin drenched in
salt and lemon. And what's more, suddenly I
nostalgically recall the exact same smell that
danced out from the sidewalk vents outside
Vassilopoulos supermarket in Paleo Faliro,
summers of 1976 through 1983, when, on my
visits to
Greece
I used to accompany my dear granny during her
local shopping expeditions and eagerly soak
everything in. I stop by the Psitopoleion O
Vizandinos and take a deep breath. Mr O
Vizandinos sees me from the corner of his eye
but keeps them fixed on Eleni Menegaki on the
box and lets me feel free to enjoy the smell
for a while, "yeah, go on, enjoy it, just
don't bother me."
The olfactory sense is perhaps the most
amazing of all for its ability to irrevocably
bring back a universe of clearly defined and
strongly felt memories. Visitors to
Athens
often complain about the noise, the
disorganisation, the over-cluttered
architectural foundations, the traffic
congestion, cigarette smoke and the pollution
which can be seen and smelt. In their quick
dip here they feel disappointed that it wasn't
as clean as the surface of their glossy
tourist brochure. But it is elements like
chaos that longer-term
Athens
residents grow to love. The noises, the
jaggedly contrasting angles of buildings, the
driver letting off black fumes that we can all
do a moutza to and curse, are all part
of a secret recipe for deep, unshakeable
passion. And the smells, those very smells,
each one depicting a different era,
philosophy, taste and revelation.
Try it. Take a smell-directed journey
through
Athens
and you'll discover how each odour indicates
the society surrounding it. There are the
musty shops throughout the city which smell
like old
Athens
, like the homes of people past who collected
furniture from generations ago, the homes of
those alienated, few remaining elderly folk
who still sweetly wear their suits and hats or
well-ironed A-line skirt, coiffed hair and
beads to walk to the laiki. Mostly,
there are the shops that smell new, like the
new money, the new values, the new identity,
of second-generation city dwellers who answer
"
Athens
" when asked where in
Greece
they're from, carelessly forgetting
yiayias, cousins and theies in
their village or island. There are shops that
smell of mystery and nature - musky wood and
cool dusty glass, selling trinkets, charms and
furniture, and then gaudy tourist shops that
smell of antiseptic.
Most prominent of all in this journey is the
part involving food aromas. Starting with
junk-food smells, the MacDonald's smell is the
same worldwide; regardless what the company
says on its justifiably paranoid TV adverts
desperately trying to reassure consumers that
ingredients are indeed pure and healthy, the
artificial pong-cloud of these "restaurants"
is a nauseating reminder of what we have
thoughtlessly resorted to ingesting. Ditto for
Wendy's. But tell me, where else in the world
can you find the smell of Everest? There is no
one smell of this food-chain, but anyone who
lives here would recognise it with a blindfold
on; it's the smell of salami with French
fries, tirokafteri and cheese, or ham,
tomato, omelette, florina peppers and
onion, or any other weird toasted sandwich
combination. Talking of junk-food, I guess
souvlaki should be mentioned, although it
pains me to call this 300-calorie snack junk.
Plaka (musky old trees and houses, and
honeysuckle in the Anafiotika) and Monastiraki
(leather goods, dust) are the places to
experience gyros, tzatziki and
lemon-and-oregano-sprinkled kalamaki me
psomi, but as Athens is so full of
surprises, the familiar aroma will make itself
felt just about anywhere, usually making your
mouth water even if you are a vegetarian
(that's why stores Athens-wide have created
the potato-and-veg-filled oikologiko
souvlaki for non meat-eaters).
Like souvlaki, the smell of roasted chestnuts
and corn on the cobb spin through the air all
around the city.
Psyrri, which used to be not only a red-light
district (stench of immorality?) but also a
central area for shoe-manufacturers (leathery
air) and DIY nuts an bolts (mettalic breezes)
now smells of food. The spirits of
mezedes, Indian cuisine, ouzo and
trendily exotic concoctions fill the
air.
Visiting the sights can also create an
aroma-experience. Surrounding the Acropolis
are caves where earth, wind and fire meet and
share a gentle sleep. The smell is dark and
dank. Standing below the Parthenon may be an
experience itself, you may be able to smell
the silent presence of the past in earth, air
and marble. Lykabbettus Hill, however, smells
fresh and vibrant, possibly owing to the
valley hidden behind it.
Extensive research has proven that whether we
are attracted or repelled by others is
pre-conditioned by smell. It has happened to
me to be wildly drawn to someone whose smell I
hadn't even consciously noticed, and whom a
friend says "smells really wierd" to her.
Surely this must be true for cities as well.
And like a lover whose odour lingers in the
nostrils even days after an intimate clinch,
the originality, familiarity and beauty of
that smell becomes all the more addictive. You
can acquire a distinctly ageless sense of
Athens at the National Gardens, which, being a
place I also visited as a child, I can
reassure always smells the same - deliciously
musky and moist vegetation, animal excrement,
feathers, fur, stale water, earth and
trees.
Walking along the bottom half of Vas Sofias
Ave, you're bound to experience the fresh
zingy zest of flowers from the cluster of
dimly-lit little florists. Gusts of jasmine,
roses, tulips, carnations and other lovelies
are a magnificent refreshment from the traffic
smell beyond. And if you're further down in
that area, around
Syntagma Square
at the right time, you may be fortunate enough
to get a feel for tear-gas, generously
provided to protesters as well as on-lookers
and passers-by.
Work is on your mind, maybe that's why you're
in
Athens
in the first place after all, so where can you
smell the coffee and face the day with
sufficient bravery? everywhere is where you
will find practically any kind of coffee under
the sun in this murky-coloured caffeine-loving
country, but smelling it whilst simply walking
along is another story, as you'll have to go
to Omonia Square at the corner of
Panepistimiou St (or Eleftherios Venizelou as
it's sign-posted) to Papagallo for that, and
get a gust as the door flaps open and
shut.
If your nose is in need of a little work out,
head towards the spices and herbs, which
pierce the nostrils with their exquisite
poignancy can be visited on Athinas St or
on
Evripidou
street
, where there is a market and little shops
selling huge varieties of these, as well as
coffee.
The sea, however, is the best part of
Athens
you can possibly get a good smell of. No sea
in
Athens
? Take the train down to Paleo Faliro
(jasmine, dust-bins and, at a certain point,
roast chicken) and walk down to
Bati
Beach
. Smell the sand and the water, and there you
have it, sea! Of course you won't smell as
much coconut-oil, innocence, freedom and youth
as I did, but you can't have your cake
(chocolate, deep butter, vanilla) and eat it
too, can you?
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