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Europe > Greece > Mainland Greece > Athens > Articles > Athens without the Acropolis

Athens without the Acropolis

by Juliet Kinsman

Can Athens snare weekending tourists for more than a quick glance at the Acropolis and stroll around the winding cobblestone streets of Plaka?

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A weekend jaunt to Athens without a glance at anything ancient? My hopes of unearthing contemporary cool in the Greek capital sound tantamount to searching for a new Tokyo, sans neon or hi-tech. But with billions invested spent cleaning up the original Olympic city, and whispers of a new generation of places to eat, drink and stay, I cross my fingers and call Olympic Airways. A journey taken by many a tourist since the first package hols of the Sixties, I’m curious as to whether Greece is ready for weekend-awayers. Would my fellow flyers head straight to the islands? Or can Athens snare them for more than a quick glance at the Acropolis and stroll around the winding cobblestone streets of Plaka?

As I search among the families and businessmen for bohemians flocking to the new beep on the style-city radar, one of a voluminous gaggle of Australian girls shrieks: ‘Hey! We should’ve got some t-shirts made up with Mykonos 2004!’ Despite the aural turbulence, our flight whizzes by in under four hours. This airline has no problem getting you from A to B smoothly; it’s just the letter after P I found a problem. A native of ancient Crete may have invented the first toilet back some 4,000 years ago, but Olympic clearly has yet to discover the wonders of Cif.

To date, the most noticeable flaw in Athens’ plan to reinvent itself as a slicker city break on a par with Barcelona, has been the absence of designer hotels – until recently. So it’s with excitement we’re en route to one of its freshest openings: the Life Gallery. ‘My, this is leafier than I expected,’ remarks David, a first-timer to Greece, and my accomplice on this mission. ‘Hmmm, me too,’ I ponder, remembering a pre-Olympics Athens of busy streets, roadworks and scaffolding. Perhaps their promises to plant thousands of trees in time for the Olympics actually reached fruition. Boy, that’s a lot of Baby Bio. Then the secret to the scenic route is revealed. The hotel is 12km north of Athens. Yikes. We’re being dropped off in Windsor to get a fix of London. We glance at a building that looks dark, industrial and deserted. It’s now feeling more Slough trading estate. Is this really the bright new thing set to put Athens on the Wallpaper* map? Inside, and the mist clears. It’s sleek and stylish.

‘We’ve barely been open a year,’ explains the elegant black-suited receptionist, ‘so at the moment it’s quiet on weekends, with only businessmen Monday to Friday.’ So peaceful in fact, the ratio of guest to staff is now 2:20. The rooms are a technophile haven from a school of design which doffs its cap to Zen philosophies. Buttons open the curtains, the slender B&O phone seems capable of calling far-off solar systems, and you could sell tickets for screenings on the superwide telly. As impressive as the modern interior might be, there are so many clean lines in the architecture and furnishings (from the glass and metal framework of the building to the sharp-edged pillows) we start to feel trapped in a grid. It’s time to sniff out the nearest hive of activity and something with ice and a slice. After all, the best way to a Brit’s heart is through their liver.

Kefalari Square: we envisage quaint Greek taverna-packed idyll. We’re greeted by Pizza Hut- and TGI Friday-boasting suburbia. Gadzooks – is this our new Athenia? Then we find the bar-restaurant Klik. While the bright red sign is more Wendy’s than Met Bar, the interior is an Ian Schrager-like confection. Candelabra, chandeliers, a mishmash of Dali and Palace of Versailles-inspired chairs. Heck, they’ve even ticked the boxes for quilted columns and sheer fabric-draped walls. Very Philipe Starck; then we notice the two big flatscreen TVs. A Tanqueray and tonic later and in Blighty it would be time for last orders; only now do the first drinkers trickle in, but we’re ready for snack back at the hotel.

The moon high, and the The Life Gallery shares the nocturnal characteristics of a rainforest; it’s buzzing with life. In Avenue 103 we enjoy a haute cuisine take on Greek classics with elegant twists. Out-of-this-world delicious, and as sophisticated than any Gordon Ramsay fare, but the sky-high prices leave a slightly bitter taste. It looks like our holy grail might also mean having to remortgage.

Our next stop is Athens original boutique hotel – or so they’ve dubbed themselves on their website. This translates as small and expensive. Tucked away in a cul de sac it smacks of money, like a shiny Versace suit with solid gold cufflinks.

I always think a great hotel is defined by that magnetic pull that keeps dragging you back when you know really you ought to get out and about. My dark room has the scent of a thousand cigar-fuelled business deals, and I need some fresh air – something I’m still praying modern Athens has some breaths of. Thankfully the Andromeda is is close to Kolonaki, an area capable of satisfying the most upmarket retail hankerings, particularly if you share the sartorial sensibilities of Donatella Versace.

I pop into a lingerie shop. Delicate lacey underwear, and the proprietor is tugging on a big ol’ fag. A posh shop like this in Manhattan would probably plump for a sweet-smelling candle; aromatherapy here clearly has a nicotine count. She up-and-downs me; I’m tempted to ask her if she works on commission a la Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Then I peep at my battered Converse; she may have a point – I won’t be forking out 200€ for any of her smalls. Certainly the most chichi area of the city, I decide making like Victoria Beckham on my jollies isn’t what I’m after.

Shopping desires sated, it’s time to sniff out those other beloved of holiday s-words – sun, sea and sand. A 15-minute tram to Glyfada will soon be on offer, but while it remains bricks and loose cables, we grab a cab and luck out with a 25-min drive to Vouliagmeni. Voula is a top spot to melt onto a sunlounger, but we sneak into a private members club – Ominos. The best thing about our afternoon of swimmng and sunning is how slowly time passes – when you’re locked into Greek time, there’s no feeling of urgency.

As afternoon segues into evening we ponder where to get our nightlife. There’s even time for some culture. ‘Taxi – Technopolis please!’ And to a converted gasworks we head, in the revitalised area of Gazi (itself meaning gaslands). Hosting exhibits and concerts, it’s indeed an art city as Technopolis translates. A little art, and food care of cutesy all-white Mamacas later, it’s time to sample some of the bars this area boasts.

A word of advice: don’t let a cheesy English pun put you off an Athenian establishment – else we’d never have ventured into So Bar So Food. Buzzy atmosphere, booming music... but all eyes are on the telly. Bizarre; the predominantly gay crowd doesn’t seem the footie-loving type. Of course, it’s Eurovision. The Greek entry performs, and the revellers reach fever pitch. The two backing singers flanking the vocal Adonis rip off their white suits and reveal sequinned bikinis; the crowd goes wild. Bucks Fizz, eat your heart out.

Opened a couple of years ago by three girls, one of the trio Michelle informs us new bars are opening every day in Gazi and it’s caused an after-hours revolution. 'If you want something different you can do anything here. Eat, drink, dance or just have a coffee...’ Tasos, the barman, chips in that the most noticeable change is a shift in attitudes towards sexuality. ‘People are much more open-minded about gay culture. Before not many gay people were to be seen – now we’re too many!' he laughs. Another whoop erupts. As the UK awards Greece full points, I chalk up extra marks for our new Athens.

Declining the offer of a cab to a club, we head to Mommy in Thissio for a nightcap; another patch of city that has been given a new lease of barlife. It’s just what the doctor ordered. We settle on a sofa on the terrace and toast the city that we’d dreamt making herself known, in such a great lounge bar with a retro yet modern style of its own.

Even though Saturdays nights are long and action-packed, Sunday brunch in Psirri is a must. (A small spanner in our works comes in the form of the marathon. so no taxis – still, it gets us into the gleaming new metro, a worthwhile experience.) Once the terrain of only those in the know, Psirri, Athens’ worst-kept social secret, is now a epicurean epicentre. Ten years ago it was still a run-down sprawl of tumble-down buildings and grimy sidestreets. Having since basked in the gentrification spotlight, there are now more bars and restaurants with live music than you can throw a bazouki at. Tables and chairs have been spewed onto every inch of pavement – but it starts raining so we duck into Bee, a cute and kitsch oasis. Fruity Fifties’ tablecloths and muticoloured icons – we could be in New York – if it weren’t for the usual fug of cigarette smoke. And when in Rome...

I ask the smartly dressed gentleman on the table for a light. It transpires his name is Dimitri, and his daughter is British. His English is animated, and as he explains between puffs of his Marlboros, he’s sneaking in a ciggy before she arrives. She thinks he’s kicked his habit, and that makes her happy; and at least his pronunciation of words with an H sound capable of clearing decades of tar. ‘I don’t like smoking,’ he confides in a stage whisper. ‘I LOVE it!’ he adds with a chesty chuckle.

Outside the rain is coming down in sheets. ‘It’s the worst weather for this month in twenty years,’ continues Dimitrius. ‘Conditions are changing everywhere. I read the other say that within 50 years the Greeks will be going to Scotland for swimming, and here it will be cold.’ My phone beeps. I’ve had a reply to my SMS to someone back home about taking shelter from the freak weather. They’ve done the same – except there it’s because the sun is scorching. Thankfully my company is warm and a welcome distraction. From politics to meteorology, it’s a nation of folk who give good chat.

The clouds empty, the photographer ventures out to capture a Kodak moment; a girl cuddling puppies. ‘You want to take one?’ she smiles. While it’s tempting, we mourn our quarantine restrictions. ‘So stay here!’ she grins. Her friend strolls over and introduces himself; Socrates, a TV director thinking about moving to London. How do we like Athens? I explain we’re here to carve a path of the city, avoiding tourism clichés. ‘Ah, then you must come to Bee-oos tonight,’ he gushes. ‘It is very avant garde. There is a four-hour play tonight and an exhibition called It May Be a Metropolis.’

It sounds a good plan – but first I have plans to pop to the Hotel Grande Bretagne in Syntagma. We share a taxi to the main square, where the striking difference is an absence of traffic – at least this means we spot the changing of the guards outside Parliament. But without the throng of horn-heavy cars it feels a little like Tom Selleck without his ’tache. The Games barely around the corner and they’re still drilling and paving maniacally – Athens is determined to leave no stone unturned in the pursuit of the ultimate urban facelift.

As for renovation, Grande Bretagne ploughed £40 million into its refurb. Having first opened in 1862, the five-star hotel has had every visiting dignitary pass through its doors. It’s also where my parents spent the first few days of their honeymoon back in the Sixties. It still feels distinguished and wise, but a slick new spa and rooftop restaurant have given it a new credibility. We settle for a cocktail in the lounge where we’re in the company of a group of Georgian Orthodox clergymen, all on their mobiles. Texting bishops; what a great bandname that would make. They’re not your obvious endorsements this place is a magnet for folk with fingers on pulses, but judging by an entourage of chauffeurs and TV crews it’s as exciting here as Kylie. But from men of the cloth to our bars cut from a new one, we bust a move to Bee-oos.

The cab driver looks blank as we head back to Gazi. We just know to look for a grey-looking building, and there’s no sign outside. A call from Socrates later with some careful navigation, and we find it. Bios (as we discover it’s spelled) is not a place that needs bright neon to scream This Is Where It’s At. A giant house of cards and a skip of rubbish growing grass are among the art installations, a DJ spinning electro-tinged tunes; we may have found our leader of the new cool. Socrates ushers us up to the ‘theatre’; now for the piece de resistance... five rooms, each with a white-nightie-clad actress shouting from a window. Two men in black suits light candles. The audience wanders soundlessly between rooms. Call me a Philistine, but it’s the sort of performance art if I stumbled across on BBC3 I’d probably have a little snigger. And people stand and watch this for four hours? Within minutes I’m transfixed.

The jewel in this trip’s crown has been the element of discovery. Having some fantastic plot points along the way is important, but finding something new for yourself is unrivalled. When I text a Greek pal back home about our latest find, she commends us; we have achieved the impossible and have stumbled on performance art in Athens. My work here is done.

EATING & DRINKING

Klik is the most stylish drinking and dining option for anyone spending time in the upmarket suburb north of Athens of Kifissia. While the bright red sign is more Wendy’s than Met Bar, the interior is an Ian Schrager-like confection. From the chandeliers to the muslin-draped walls it’s all very Philipe Starck. (Kefalari Square, 210 623 0810)

Mommy’s serves fusion cuisine in a funky vintage decor, and includes exhibitions by modern artists drawing young actors, stylists and a fashion crowd to its lounge bar and terrace. (Delfon 4, Pefkakia. 210 361 9682)

Mamacas delivers a modern spin on taverna favourites in cute all-white surrounds. (Persephonis 41, Gazi.)

Bios music, gallery, space and bar, an injection of cutting-edge culture into Athens unlike anywhere else. (Pireus 84, Gazi. www.biofighter.com)

CULTURE

Technopolis is the converted gasworks in the revitalised area of Gazi (itself meaning gaslands). Hosting exhibits and concerts, it’s indeed an art city as its name translates. (Pireus 100)

SHOPPING

Try strolling along the street of Pindarou in Kolonaki for Yiorgos Eleftheriades for unique and unisexy, or Bettina who stocks international designers alongside Greek fashion stars like Sophia Kokosalaki.

STYLISH SOUVENIRS You’re best bet for stylish souvenirs is the Korres toiletry range. Available from most of the chemists out there. Fantastic natural beauty products with stylish packaging which makes them look much more expensive than they actually are. Always a bonus.

BEACHES Vouliagmeni is the seaside resort just south of Athens. A txi from the centre of the city takes around 30 minutes depending on traffic and costs 15–20€.. Or take the A2 bus.

Glyfada is a little closer, but more developed. A 15-minute tram will be operating from Athens after the summer.

GREAT VIEWS Take the funicular from Aristipou to the top of Lykavittos Hill, or go for dinner in the rooftop restaurant at the Hotel Grande Bretagne, Georgiou 1.