Venice is sinking. These three words, meant literally, are being quickly imbued with hidden meanings, and, as quickly, becoming clichéd. Venice is sinking, literally, because fresh water has been drained from its underground aquifers, leaving parched and contracting sand below the city, and because, each year, global warming raises the high water mark on its glut of crumbling historical mansions. Venice is sinking, metaphorically, below the weight of its own history.
Athens
Monastiraki square bubbled with the bustle of Athenians and tourists alike. Fruit sellers, bananas hanging from the awnings of their wooden stands, bellowed the price of their wares in rich resonant voices. The sweetest seedless grapes were piled up in bunches. Heart shaped chocolate donuts wafted their merciless scent through the crowds. Koulouri, sesame bread rings, were sold hot. But in this land of treats, baklava was king.
On every corner, hunks of meat rotated on vertical spits, dripping oily juice. Olive skinned men brandished large steel knives, watching the meat brown before carving a few more slices. Each portion was adeptly stuffed into a pita with a handful of salad. A blend of garlic, yoghurt and cucumber – tzatziki – was then smothered inside the warm bread pocket, it was sprinkled with chilli powder, and another hot gyros was doled out to the next hungry Greek.
Gyros is sold everywhere, in tavernas, tourist restaurants and fast food stands, and is Athens’ tastiest, cheapest, and most convenient meal. Few streets are without a local outlet of some sort, complete with a gyros master carving away, his belly bulging from years in the trade. Continue reading Athens>>
