That time I hopped on the back of a motorcycle of a sort-of stranger and trespassed the Olympic Stadium

I could feel my entire body tense up. That tends to happen when my cautious side is high on alert, and riding on the back of a motorcycle zooming through the streets of Athens at full speed with a man that was a stranger to me five days ago calls for sirens ringing. But I’m in a new city and I’m travelling. And Travel Me throws caution out the window and does every reckless thing under the sun. So I eased and enjoyed the wind flowing through my hair as we rode up a hill.

Ahead of us were groups of twenty somethings chilling on the hood of their cars. Perched on the edge, I drank beer with Vyronas - the neighbourhood I live in while in this city - glittering with lights below me. After chatting about the Greek economy I assumed the night was over. I thought wrong. We rode up another hill (one I’m not allowed to share the name of) and made our way in through bent metal fences. It was pitch dark and around me just pine trees.

 “Could I just be absolutely murdered here? “  says cautious me.

“Possibly. But what are the odds?”

We stopped and I looked ahead.

“Wait we’re on the first Olympic Stadium? Like… On it? Isn’t this… Illegal?”

“Don’t worry, you’re in Greece.”

To the left of the Olympic Stadium was the Acropolis, and I squealed at this sight.

“I can do you one better.”

We made our way to the other side of the hill and it did not disappoint. The Acropolis was goldenly lit and I am as close as it gets. I ended up laughing out loud at how insane all of this is. This is mad. One day you’re having your last ever Bachelors exam and the next you’re exploring what Anthony Bourdain calls Parts Unknown. Definitely not a spot you’d find in Lonely Planet, or even Atlas Obscura.

That time I yamas-ed shots of raki and strutted down the street with the Acropolis in the background

My Greek friend wasn’t in town so I met up with her friend in Monastiraki, which is somewhere near the city center. After grabbing a local draught beer at lesser known rooftop bar, we were joined by another Greek whom we just met at the bar to have local desserts at my favourite graffiti-covered neighbourhood: Psyiri. We then walked to another local bar where my friend’s friend made it her goal to feed me with her favourite local alcohol: shots of Raki and Tsipuro that are boiled in honey, and a tall glass of Ouzo made from anise with ice. Though Ouzo just reminded me of the anise/mint mix you get after eating proper Indian food, I kid you not Raki and Tsipuro went down smoother than water to the point that it feels like its good for you.

At 1 AM, We ended the night strutting down the road with the Acropolis brightly lit and the low-lying full moon hanging just above it and nearly as big as the architectural site itself. 

About four hours ago, we were complete strangers. But by this time we were yelling “FLOROS!” at each other and playing hide and seek in the alleys. I’ve graduated from merely greeting and saying just efcharistó (thank you in Greek) to full on learning slang.

This is the exact reason why I love travelling solo. You’re never really solo when you’re travelling solo, because if you embrace it enough, you enjoy moments and clarity of solitude and even better, find yourself laughing with locals and fooling yourself that you are one too.

That time I spent mornings with my Greek family at the balcony overlooking Vyronas

Every morning before I leave to explore the city, I would say yiá su (good bye) to the mother and father of my friend, and they would proceed to stop me and ask if I want coffee.

When you’re travelling on a shoestring budget, always say yes to free… anything.

So I spend my mornings with them on a humble balcony overlooking the neighbourhood of Vyronas. After coffee came thick slices of bread, butter, and fresh strawberry jam; and the father would bring out a 90s Sony stereo and do his crosswords with Greek radio playing in the background. Both the parents don’t speak any English, but somehow we’ve managed to converse with hand gestures, Google Translate, and the limited Greek and Albanian I’ve learnt over the last few days.

I was supposed to stay in a 10-person room backpacker hostel but my friend, who wasn’t even in town, invited me to stay at her family home instead. So I savoured every bit of this moment of calm in the morning knowing full well that I could’ve been waking up with the sound of my roommate’s snoring. This family has embraced me like I am one of their own, and I’ve felt such immense level of warmth not from the bed they’ve allowed me to sleep on or the mother’s feta and olives, but from all the simple acts of kindness they show me.

Vyronas means “Byron”, named after the poet Lord Byron who fell so much for this neighbourhood. There’s nothing particularly beautiful about it. No well-manicured lawns or picture perfect architecture. It was raw and simple, with orange trees lining up the neighbourhood and shopkeepers of flower shops and bakeries greeting you good morning as you walk by. Groups of old men having their morning freddo espresso at cafes with tables and chairs spilling out to the pavement. Cars parked, bordering the sloping roads making Athens like the distant Mediterranean cousin of Lisbon. Indeed because of its simplicity, Vyronas was beautiful.

Lord Byron was right.