Provocolate: Athens in Winter is all Charm and Grace, and Surprises.

Summer is the sun around which the rest of the year revolves, and fall- otherwise the season of newness and anticipation (shopping for notebooks, the smell of pencil shavings), is here in Greece simply the thing that comes after the "good weather;" The Greek word for "summer" is "καλο(good)καιρι(weather)" ("Kalokairy- accent on the third syllable); winter holds no good in its definition. But it is good- very, very good, filled with moody, subtle pleasures. Athens gets all plush muted gray like Paris does in the winter. It's a respite- none of that trying "penetrating" and "expanding" that so beguiled Henry Miller. You can take in every dreamy detail at your leisure; Miller's light of Greece hides as much as it reveals. Winter in Athens is very three dimensional, rich with detail, and all the time in the world to enjoy it.

Here is an Athens winter day, unplanned, unfolding by chance. They're all like this- perfect in their own way:

True, the Acropolis museum is spectacular- content, location, structure- all spectacular. But the Archaeological Museum smells better, has a great classic layout of endless grand rooms, and is jammed with riches- jammed. You cannot make a wrong turn with each thing more breathtaking than the last.

Double fun!
This 2nd C AD Aphroditi was partially
restored by Canova.

Or, more entertaining than the last:

Aphroditi again- her left foot is bare-
that's her slipper in her hand that she's about to smack Pan with.

the museum is at the edge of Exarchia, the neighborhood of riots, teargas, musical instrument sellers and restorers, publishing houses, and book binders- not always in that order. Also the neighborhood of grafiti art and incredible murals:

Scale- One story tall-
the ants are about the size of a three year old.

Some things worth looking at are quite small, and you'd miss them in the blinding sun. Like the window of this book restorer:

"Artistic bookbinders- I. N. Mantzakos"

A magnificent little slice of a much earlier century, not much wider than one's outstretched arms. Blink and you would have missed it, as they say, and blink you would in the summer sun. Winter is full of these surprises.

The main shopping street, Ermou, is just that- wide and long and lined with international chain shops and full of shoppers. Every city has one. But right at a main intersection there is this guy:

selling salepi from his magnificent samovar, which is how you know you are not in Arizona. Salepi is a warm, slightly viscous drink, made from the powdered root of a wild orchid. I would not buy a warm viscous drink from a street vendor in a million years so I cannot tell you how it tastes, but I hear it is delicious. The salepi vendor is just a short distance from the Metropolitan Cathedral- itself under renovation. Next to it is an older Church- a more intimate choice for lighting a candle:

And next to this is Philothei street- which I discovered by accident in the heat of August 2 years ago and now visit regularly. This street is where the church shops- not household religious articles like icons and home altars, but serious stuff- Sceptres, Crowns (!), pigments for icon painters, bishops hats wrapped in white paper and lined up on glass shelves like panettone, and unbelievable textile shops. There is a hushed atmosphere that makes you feel like you are probably not supposed to be here, which makes it more interesting than it already would be.

These are not for the layperson-
they are about the size of a hand.

Between this street of eerie calm and the serene grand promenade Aeropagitou is Plaka. It's not so big, and you can get a couple of postcards. Before you know it you are in front of the Acropolis museum, between going in or wandering aimlessly, and decide to wander aimlessly. Athens looks a little like Vienna from some angles in the soft wintery light: