It was unusually warm for this period of the year, even for Athens – so I was told. Eighteen degrees in the middle of January is something that invites you out of your cozy room to walk the streets of the Greek capital - with a predicted and outlined path or simply without it. I have decided to discover the city relaying on my so-called female intuition and turned left after leaving the building. While walking, I was passing by all those colored skinned non-Greek men, who were whispering “cigara, cigara” in my ear as they were avoiding eye contact. The whispering voices were combined with a strong smell of urine and human sweat not washed away from the body for days. As the street name changed, the smell got replaced with an odor involving cat food and their droppings. A scene of Omonia square opened up in front of my eyes, where a whole bunch of people, mostly immigrants, were sitting on an undefined monument and teasing a dog walking by probably in search for food. The smell of urine hit my nose again and all I wanted was to get out of here and run to a familiar area, where I knew the smell of lavender would fill up every pore of my nose and I would carry around that smell for the rest of the day. I took a turn right and walked the familiar street of the area, this time without a map, but with a lot of self-confidence. After passing the same street for the second time that day and the I-do-not-know-which-time while my stay here, I wanted to change my path and see something else, something different.
I knew there was the central market somewhere near by, but it did not even cross my mind that one part of it is hiding right behind that tall and dense flower, which is there just to prevent the undesirable eye to get a glance of the inside. The first young man, who was standing in front of the folia which covered his small stand, was checking me out with curiosity. I was not sure if this was because I did not enter the market from the right direction or just because I differ so much compared to the short, black-haired Greek girls. His face faded away as the scene of skinned animals caught my eyes. Rabbits, lamb, chicken and chopped meat of unidentified animal in almost identical sizes. After a few steps and a slight turn to the left the view was even more fascinating – a whole street of butcher men. This almost unbelievable picture was accompanied with sticky tile beneath my white shoes and only numerous light bulbs that kept light on the long hall of butcher man. Some of them tall, some of them short, some with curly hair, with shaved heads, old and young. All man were different, but had a thing in common – a once white working clothing, now covered with bloody stains, big, massive working hands and a pallet of different types of meat on their small places. Skinned lambs were hanging up side down accompanied with a price tag which said 4, 99 €. Some of them with heads, some of them without – sometimes the chopped off heads would be places forming a little pyramid with an empty look in their dark eyes. At the next stand chopped off pigs feet carefully cleaned were set in straight line with the once useful skin, which now serves the gastronomical satisfaction of the human. An uncountable number of the butchers were engaged with customers, those who were not, took the chance and passed a warm smile with a loud greeting to the tourists passing by, who would not buy anything, but just try to capture the moment with all the pictures the eye can take and all the smells the nose could handle. The view did not spare the ears with all those shouting, greeting, chopping and sticky walking. As I was entering deeper and deeper into the kingdom of butchers, the smell became stronger and stronger and the feeling of eyes following your every move was present. I was enjoying their reactions although I was not able to decode if I was the first light tanned and light haired women they have seen in their life or they treat every female without a male accompanier the same way – as a piece of meat. They were whistling, screaming at me and offering pieces of meat, which they picked up from their butcher desk and pointed it right in front of my passing by face. I took out my camera from the bag, but was too entertained with the sight. I was not bothered by the smell of the meat or blood, and I forgot about the sticky floor which had diluted blood stains and some small pieces of an animal once alive. I could see the daylight while getting closer to the end of this meat tunnel, when for some reason I just stood there as buried and my eyes could only stare at a wooden hive, which had blood on, three seemingly sharp knifes, a butchers axe and a bloody, once white, piece of cloth. I heard some voices behind me and turned around while holding the camera in my hands, trying to take a snapshot of this magnificent, almost barbarian scene. “He’s name is Nikos and he is a nice guy looking for a girlfriend” said the voice in English with Greek accent, pointing at a tall guy with strong dark brown hair and not typical Greek facial features. I just stared at him without blinking because I could never imagine why a young guy like him would like to live his life as a meat chopper. His long fingers were resting on a massive, typical butcher palm, but there was something strange about his nails – they were chewed down and his cuticle was covered with blood. He was holding a knife in his right hand and made a simple meat cutting look like art. You could easily tell his strict and precise movements were with a dash of passion. For a moment I wished he could stab me with that sharp knife of his and chop me off to small pieces - I would probably enjoy every cut of it. I could not stop staring at his moves. Doing something with such a perfection and moreover passion ended up with him putting down the knife and wipe his hands in his white working cloth leaving stains behind the moves. I took a photo of him, smiled and escaped to the sunny part of the street, took a second glance and simply walked away with long steps.
I knew there was the central market somewhere near by, but it did not even cross my mind that one part of it is hiding right behind that tall and dense flower, which is there just to prevent the undesirable eye to get a glance of the inside. The first young man, who was standing in front of the folia which covered his small stand, was checking me out with curiosity. I was not sure if this was because I did not enter the market from the right direction or just because I differ so much compared to the short, black-haired Greek girls. His face faded away as the scene of skinned animals caught my eyes. Rabbits, lamb, chicken and chopped meat of unidentified animal in almost identical sizes. After a few steps and a slight turn to the left the view was even more fascinating – a whole street of butcher men. This almost unbelievable picture was accompanied with sticky tile beneath my white shoes and only numerous light bulbs that kept light on the long hall of butcher man. Some of them tall, some of them short, some with curly hair, with shaved heads, old and young. All man were different, but had a thing in common – a once white working clothing, now covered with bloody stains, big, massive working hands and a pallet of different types of meat on their small places. Skinned lambs were hanging up side down accompanied with a price tag which said 4, 99 €. Some of them with heads, some of them without – sometimes the chopped off heads would be places forming a little pyramid with an empty look in their dark eyes. At the next stand chopped off pigs feet carefully cleaned were set in straight line with the once useful skin, which now serves the gastronomical satisfaction of the human. An uncountable number of the butchers were engaged with customers, those who were not, took the chance and passed a warm smile with a loud greeting to the tourists passing by, who would not buy anything, but just try to capture the moment with all the pictures the eye can take and all the smells the nose could handle. The view did not spare the ears with all those shouting, greeting, chopping and sticky walking. As I was entering deeper and deeper into the kingdom of butchers, the smell became stronger and stronger and the feeling of eyes following your every move was present. I was enjoying their reactions although I was not able to decode if I was the first light tanned and light haired women they have seen in their life or they treat every female without a male accompanier the same way – as a piece of meat. They were whistling, screaming at me and offering pieces of meat, which they picked up from their butcher desk and pointed it right in front of my passing by face. I took out my camera from the bag, but was too entertained with the sight. I was not bothered by the smell of the meat or blood, and I forgot about the sticky floor which had diluted blood stains and some small pieces of an animal once alive. I could see the daylight while getting closer to the end of this meat tunnel, when for some reason I just stood there as buried and my eyes could only stare at a wooden hive, which had blood on, three seemingly sharp knifes, a butchers axe and a bloody, once white, piece of cloth. I heard some voices behind me and turned around while holding the camera in my hands, trying to take a snapshot of this magnificent, almost barbarian scene. “He’s name is Nikos and he is a nice guy looking for a girlfriend” said the voice in English with Greek accent, pointing at a tall guy with strong dark brown hair and not typical Greek facial features. I just stared at him without blinking because I could never imagine why a young guy like him would like to live his life as a meat chopper. His long fingers were resting on a massive, typical butcher palm, but there was something strange about his nails – they were chewed down and his cuticle was covered with blood. He was holding a knife in his right hand and made a simple meat cutting look like art. You could easily tell his strict and precise movements were with a dash of passion. For a moment I wished he could stab me with that sharp knife of his and chop me off to small pieces - I would probably enjoy every cut of it. I could not stop staring at his moves. Doing something with such a perfection and moreover passion ended up with him putting down the knife and wipe his hands in his white working cloth leaving stains behind the moves. I took a photo of him, smiled and escaped to the sunny part of the street, took a second glance and simply walked away with long steps.
