I've learned that the best parts of Athens aren't where everyone expects them to be. Today I took a left turn away from the main tourist trail and found myself in one of those quiet stone-lined neighborhoods where the light hits differently and people actually sit down to eat instead of rushing through.
There's something about choosing the smaller street. It forces you to slow down, to notice the way ivy grows up old walls, the temperature shift when you're in shade versus sun. I wore a white crop and linen skirt because the forecast promised heat, and I was right about that, but what I didn't expect was how much better the day felt when I wasn't surrounded by crowds.
I ordered a proper salad with feta, not the watered-down tourist version. Real olives, actual vegetables, the kind of meal that tastes like someone cared about making it. Cold coffee on the side because I'm particular about my caffeine, and the light was so clean and bright at that hour that I didn't need to think about angles or lighting. It just happened.
The thing about maintaining yourself the way I do is that you get picky about your surroundings too. You can't separate how you look from where you are and what you're eating. They're all the same conversation. So when I found this place, tucked away where the stone still smells like centuries, it felt like the right choice. Not performing for the background. Just existing in a place that matched the effort.
