Heavenly Wonders

The sizeable steps up to the Propylaea make me sweat. Its columns rising high above me. So high I have to crane my neck upwards to see the very top. The narrow path through the Propylaea is littered with tourists, their brightly coloured clothes contrasting with the neutral beige of the background.

I make my way through the crowd, anticipating the view.

And there it is. The Parthenon. Its presence dominant and fact, instantly transporting me back to an age of togas. The 2,500 year old structure is magnificent. My feet refuse to move any further. I am in awe.

Soon I am surrounded by fellow tourists, who also seem to be rooted to the spot, their necks slowly moving upwards, their eyes wide with astonishment.

The columns of the Parthenon rise above the city like a beacon of hope, the sun shining down on the ancient building like a spotlight. Its no wonder the Greeks worshipped at this temple for centuries, its magic evident even from a distance. But the construction is a crumbling perfection, held up on one side by scaffolding.

Making my way to the eastern edge of the Acropolis, I pass the Parthenon on my right. I see Mount Lycabettus before me, rising above urban Athens, leaving below everyday life, and the sea in the distance, beckoning me towards its cool.

The sun is hot and bright, the city's window glistening in its presence. I try to find shade as I make my way to the Rock of Ares, located north-west of the Acropolis. The wind blows through my hair, ancient prayers were surely made here.

I carefully find my way down from the rock and find a small path. A path that has been formed by the footsteps of those before me. I follow its direction to Adrianou Street.

The restaurants along this street are known for their world-famous cuisine. The waiters outside, not realising I am a foreigner, beckon me in with their Greek words. They need not to beg me as I willingly accept. The menu, handed to me instantly, is an array of traditional Greek foods. I am spoilt for choice.

I order a classic Greek salad, so delicious that my mouth is left watering even after I have devoured it. I pay the waiter serving me, thanking him for a heavenly meal.

Making my way to the end of the street, I follow the crowd. I find myself in a small square. The metro station on my left reading Monastiraki. A small ancient chapel sits quietly on the edge of the square while Greeks are milling around the various dining experiences on offer around the square.

I turn left. I am greeted by the famous flea market my hotel concierge insisted I must visit before I leave. The smell of souvlaki, a popular Greek fast food, overpowers my senses. I breathe it in, walking through the enticing side street. I am lost in a world of glimmering gold and vintage clothes.