We descend again in early light over the azure sea towards the new Athens airport. Along the coast the mountains roll down over the plains of corn and tobacco, through olive groves and vineyards, over the curving bays of the Aegean towards Piraeus and the Saronic Gulf. With a strong tradition of seatrading, the Athenian people have always drawn their strength from the sea and countryside, the sea imparting the city’s joyous citizens with vigour and toughness, the country providing the food. Far beneath us, as the lights of the city still flicker, the bouzouki clubs of Glyfada have begun to empty of boisterous Athenians and the last diners have left the marinas of Vouliagmeni.
A sophisticated network of escalators, enhanced by the background beat of orchestral music, meets us on landing. We exit the airport beneath a flyover; bright yellow taxis with sparkling mirrors wait in an orderly fashion; dazed travellers queue at evenly spaced bus-stops. A far cry from the old pine-smelling Ellenikon with its crackling Zorba sound tracks and squawking seabirds, the new airport speaks of super-efficiency. Buoyant Greeks greet their loved ones with high-pitched cries, their shrieks resonating through the air. Beyond lies Mount Hymettos, recumbent, curving towards the sea.
Boarding a bus crammed with lost-looking travellers, we head down a six-laned motorway before turning into the road to Athens. Hymettos, its pure, unbroken line, boundless, its light and folds ushering in the first rose light of Athens. Land of wild flowers, thyme and honey, homeland of monks and hermits, where 2500 years ago villagers, waiting for rain, made offerings at the shrine of Zeus. Furniture and auto-repair shops line a cheerless road, the architecture changing as we approach the capital. It becomes tree-lined Vasilissis Sophias Avenue and the landscape of modern Athens emerges: Byzantine churches and hospitals dotted with palm trees; the 1971 Athens Tower, the tallest building in Greece; the American Embassy, next to the thriving Megaron Concert Hall, and the little Eleftherios Park; the crescent-shaped Hilton, in 1963 Athens’ first high-rise. We pass the National Art Gallery, Evangelismos Hospital and the Art-Deco styled Officers’ Club. Museums and nineteenth-century grand mansions with porches and heavy wrought-iron balconies come into view. On past the embassies and houses of fashionable Kolonaki, and, next to the British Embassy, the little Neo-Byzantine church of St Nicholas of the Poorhouse .
Athens, the European city, is unfolding before our eyes. Conceived after Independence in 1829, still a small Turkish town in 1835, the new capital was planned by Bavarian and Greek architects whose purpose was to build the most beautiful city. They adopted the style of European neoclassicism, reviving the features of classical architecture. Increasing traffic slows our journey but, at last, nearing Syntagma Square, we spot the roadside flower-sellers as the pale ochre facade of the Hellenic Parliament comes into view. Syntagma, the heart of modern Athens, where in 1843 the people of Athens protested outside the royal palace and demanded a Constitution. Sounds of loudspeakers and crackling microphones speak of a demonstration now. Craning our necks as the bus rounds the square, we look out for Papaspirou’s, the old pavement café with wobbling, tin tables, now an upmarket MacDonald’s. Early-rising Athenians scour the daily newspapers and sip coffee around the peripteros (kiosks). Smart Athenian girls clasping Gucci carrier bags walk hurriedly by. The life-giving rays of the early morning sun gild the solar panels of the tall office blocks. The square gleams in the early light, the sun’s rays dancing on the blue and white national flags, while orange trees and silver branched olives flicker over the waters of the fountains.
Disembarking onto the square, we are greeted by the cries of lottery sellers and the smell of fresh warm tyropita and koulouria. The gaiety of the Greek square has at this early hour already laid its spell.