Pardon the Hesiod pun, but it makes me feel clever so I’m keeping it in.
The Athens Res Gestae started with arriving and being ridiculously happy that I’d made my first non-direct flight.
The taxi driver from Welcome PickUps was amazing - it was the first transfer I had got by myself and for a lot of female solo travellers (by this I mean myself and the blogs I read) this is a stereotypical sketchy area with the stereotype of sketchy men : all you seem to see are horror stories. But this man gave me time to pee before I got into the taxi and talked me through everything he saw me gazing at as we drove past, with some recommendations for places so hidden, it took me ages to find them again. So I booked every airport transfer from then on with the same company. Then when I arrived at Athens Hub, there was an issue with my booking, they had me booked in for two days less than I had actually booked, including the night I was trying to check-in for. As usual, this would’ve sent me into panic attack mode a couple of months ago, I knew it wasn’t my doing and it would be remedied if I stood my ground. They looked for a hotel I could stay in for the night, paid for by them, and made me a Margarita while I waited. And this waiting in the bar led to meeting my first friend in Athens, who I spent the next day exploring and eating with. We went to the technological museum, where I saw demonstrations of things that fascinated me, but I had been too nervous to be seen going on my own (a stereotype I’m over now). We then ate at cool and traditional places like Retro Tavern and the taverna opposite the second building of the technology museum, where a Greek family were celebrating a boy’s fourth birthday. It felt like I was really throwing myself into Athens; as much as I wasn’t drinking the same volume as Spain and meeting people through that, I was finding other ways and spending time thinking clear thoughts in cool places, which was quite nice actually.
I Spent the next day feeling like the main character wandering around the Agora and reading the Homeric Hymns. It’s a bit more accessible than the acropolis but in 35 degrees, nothing is. Main character mode was activated and I got ready at my own pace and doing every inch of self-care as I’d already missed to cooler part of the morning; I may as well take my time getting easy. I’d bought a mini puff sleeve snowball of a dress from Zara in Barcelona and had been too scared to wear it, but it was the perfect vibe of self care, hiding my Greek bread and beer bloat, and looking like the newest Bridgerton character, newly arrived from a Mediterranean country. So I wore this white dream of a dress and wandered round, stopping at any placard or name of divinity I recognised and reading their Homeric Hymn, and googling the ones I didn’t. And it was a dream. It felt like this visit was the reason I chose to study Classics - wandering around ruins, connecting the foundations with a mystical or ritual literature whilst getting a tan and looking fabulous in my own little world. I followed this up with lunch in a pretty touristy spot next to the Agora, but the food and service was amazing, especially when I tried to flirt with one of the waiters in my very broken Greek. After desserts and dessert wine on the house, I finished with a little bit of tipsy shopping then had some cheap but delicious Gyros and a can of Mythos from Just Pita for dinner. The perfect ‘Hannah’ day.
In the hostel in Athens, I ordered a freddo espresso and a Greek omelette, clearly the breakfast of champions, and was sitting down when I heard someone keep shouting my name. So far in Greece if someone’s shouting me or trying to get my attention and they don’t pass the vibe check I’m in full head down pretend I can’t hear vibe. But this guy kept shouting ‘hi’ at me, and he most certainly did not pass the vibe check. So I turned around ready for some gross confrontation, and he just said “you know your shorts are inside out” and laughed a congested and snotty snort which his three American friends joined in on. Now, a month ago, this would have reduced me to tears or some sort of meltdown. These were my shortest shorts which, little did he know, I’d put on at 2am, incredibly tipsy - and had not taken off since despite it now being 12pm. And in all honesty, I had been wondering why they kept coming unbuttoned and it was probably a good willed thing, like when my dad turns my collar down in the middle of a restaurant or somewhere I’m trying to act very cool. And I would’ve been annoyed if I left the hostel like that, but there’s no way my thunder thighs could manage walking up to the nymphs hill in booty shorts, so I was definitely getting changed before I left. But my response made me so proud. It’s such a small thing but I guess you can tell by the quantity that I’m writing about it, it was a huge thing to me. As quick as a well trained reflex, I laughed and replied “thank you, but I’ve definitely done worse”, which made his whole table laugh and turn back to their midday beers. No tears. No self consciousness that someone was looking at my lower half. No spiralling that I’m simply not capable of looking after myself and I should just stay in bed. Just a joke and back to my food. Little Hannah, that was so used to comments like this being a vicious joke for the entertainment for the whole class, would be so proud of me. Hannah from April 2022 would be so proud too. Current Hannah is so proud. Especially now I’ve learnt to spell restaurant without autocorrect.
But don’t get me wrong, as much as I write about success in challenges, I’m still learning and fucking it up before. An example of this is the last day in Athen’s. ‘Taking it slow’ meant I had breakfast at 11:30 and only because Eli verbally dragged me out of the dorm. I could tell something was up; all the signs of mental fuckery were present. For me, this is reluctance to leave bed, extreme fatigue, brain fog and shortness of breath with a sprinkling of asshole irritation. Although a nice wander through plaka and Monstraki shifted this for a while along with a beautiful lunch watching a kid learn to ride his bike, on return to the hostel the breathing shortened and I started spiralling. I felt like I looked stupid when I looked in the mirror, I couldn’t focus enough to pack for the flight tomorrow, I was getting irritated with the temperature, texture of my clothes and smell of the room along with what I can only summarise by the phrase ‘a day walking through Greece’ scented feet. I was already an hour late for dinner when Eli left, I packed at my own pace for a while, trying to treat these symptoms with love, then other roommates came back. This meant I couldn’t have my freak out in peace and then when my dad phoned, I just cracked. As much as I know I need to do, it can be things as little as trying to explain myself and hearing a comforting, familiar voice that sets me off. When I was walking down the stairs to leave I knew I should call my parents to regulate myself but I’d convinced myself that they must be busy and I’d spent most days convincing them that I was fine, and they were so proud of that. They didn’t need to hear my panic attack down the phone. But my head was removed from my ass with great difficulty, I figured out what I needed to do and did it. Shakey, snotty and puffy - but doing it. I’d spent so much time doing my makeup like Natasha lyonne, just to cry, smudge it and clean it off. One step backwards. But I’d got out of the anxiety woods. And I was on my way to celebrate my last night in Athens. Two steps forward. And it ended up being a sweet and celebratory night wandering through neighbourhoods and ending up at a bar called Bad Tooth, which matched my butch-leather-jacket-but-with-red-lipstick aesthetic. 3 steps forward. Or 4 if you count the bar. You get my point anyway.
Everytime I fly within Europe. I’m in awe of the Cabin Crew. IN my mind, and a lot of others, they symbolise the peak of beauty and sophistication; when their skin looks the same colour as mine, I feel some sort of pride in my appearance. But flying out of Athens, I was still feeling wobbly fro the episode of my last night, and slightly hungover from the group support that followed, and instead of all the similarities, all I could see were the differences. I want to be smooth, even-tend and olive skinned. I want to be graceful, slight and elegant. I want a smooth slicked-back bun, expensive looking manicure and makeup. But I was there frizzy haired (35 degree heat and a 2-3 day hair-wash cycle were not my friends in Athens), mid-sized, dry, scarred and unevenly pigmented and tanned skin. Acne and eye bags, feeling extra clumsy with bug bites, bruises and oversized clothing. But this had all served a purpose. My nails were a bit weak and flakey because I’d been sticking out their ragged nature to heal from my acrylics. My legs were unshaven so as not to agitate my bug bites and scratches from adventures in two different countries. My hair was frizzy because I’d been experimenting with different products as self care. I knew the reasons, but I couldn’t help but feel butt-ugly next to these gorgeous women, but then I fell asleep on the plane, got woken up with snacks, and felt better. I guess moments like this are all about riding the wave. It’s a common response (specifically from my therapist) that comparing myself with others will do nothing to make me more like them, but it WILL distance me from the person I am. And after a snack, I still thought they were pretty, but I was getting on with my day, knowing after a bit of self care I would be feeling more like myself again.
As much as Athens was a quieter time than I had planned due to overwhelm, listening to what I was needing in the moment (often rest and recovery), weird moments and mistakes, I fell like I rode the wave pretty well. I did a lot of things that I had wanted to do, drank some amazing cocktails from amazing views and met some amazing people in and from amazing places. Consider this Aegean wave well and truly ridden. For now.
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