Athens
Uprooted from his birthplace at the tender age of four, the Wild Traveler spent his adolescence dreaming about Athens. Though reasonable and well – documented, his parents’ decision to move house left a scar in the little brat’s soul, a scar tendered by the vague promise of a future return. Over the years Athens assumed a mythical aura in the Wild Traveler’s wild imagination, filled with wondrous places, glittering shops, massive history and streets whose names quickly rose to the status of Downing St and Pennsylvania Av. Stories of the family history, amazing gifts from extended family who lived in Athens, anecdotes and reminiscences, all city magic in the Wild Traveler’s life was emitted from Athens.
Years passed and it was finally time for the Wild Traveler to return to where his life had begun. Filled with excitement, the young lad packed his bags and, armed with a dated tourist map of the city and a load full of imaginary images, he set up home where home was when he was born. A flock of smells and sounds welcomed the Wild Traveler into his new nest, lining his mute, still fantasies. Suddenly the roads and shops and landmarks became real and for months the Wild Traveler wandered in awe of a reality that was familiar yet unknown, getting to know alley shortcuts, neighborhoods, supermarket chains and bus routes, feeling at home in a strange place, identifying himself with a city old as time that is being created just for him as he walks its streets.
Decades later, the Wild Traveler is still in awe of his beloved city. Familiar and well known by now, Athens still manages to take the Wild Traveler’s breath away, as every now and then he takes the time to play the tourist at home, visiting the Parthenon on a hot spring day and exploring Plaka and Monastiraki. When snow visits, he hangs outside the Athens Hilton, admiring the rare and elusive sight of the marvelous Runner statue dotted with snowflakes. At Christmas he marvels at the shop windows and city center decorations. In the fall, he strolls from Exarhia to Kolonaki happily jumping universes along the way, having given up the false dichotomy of the route long ago. And when the Wild Traveler returns from one of his travels, it is always the smell of the water, that fresh, metallic smell that comes out of the faucet, along with the distinctive sound of an Athenian six-lane highway passing by his window three blocks away that lulls the weary traveler into slumber, assuring him that he is home.
