Call it love at first sight, call it fallen head over heels, but sometimes you just get a gut feeling that tells you no matter what you will see something again.
Under this concept, I think I may be bound to return to Athens at some point.
Perhaps I am wrong--it is possible that I fell in love with not the city itself, but the characteristics of a city that my own hometown (emphasize the “town” part) lacks entirely. My hometown is small, calm, safe--it is one of those ideal places that city people, such as my parents, escape to so they can raise their kids in a secure, suburban environment.
But when I woke up this morning, all I could think about was how alive the city was.
It lives and breathes and thrives and pulses with incessant movement.
It was raw and dirty with parts unkempt, throbbing with bustling, rushed people, and in the midst of it all, its ancient history stands tall--everywhere--the acropolis surrounded by streets, and the ancient ruins illuminated atop a hill, enclosed by the city itself, by the dark night sky and by the low glowing moon.
Yet somehow in an unconventional, exclusive manner, its vitality makes you feel alive.
Sure, it is possible that all of this is just a teenage rebel coming out of me, who yearns to jump into city life. Maybe I simply got caught in my excitement of traveling and, though not as a desperate escape, of venturing away from home.
But when I think about returning, I do not fabricate any mischievous plans. I think about walking along the beaches, and watching the sun set. I think about admiring the pure white houses built into the hillside and seeing the windmills on one of the islands.
There is that idea that from every bad thing, there is a good thing as well. Maybe it was all too appropriate that my camera broke while I was in Greece. I have not a single picture of Athens.
In that case—sounds like a good photo opportunity to me!
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