From the Acropolis of Athens the city extends in all directions like an unwashed white carpet. There are no built exceptions to it. Only Hills pierce this carpet as if they had ripped holes into it. At the horizone the city stops abrubtly and gives sight to the hard floor it has been built on and the sea on the other side.

The buildings on the Acropolis are serene, surrounded by piles of rubble. Rubble like pieces of a gigantic puzzle that is slowly reassembled in a process of restoration. Only an isolated group of people is allowed to enter the temples, only they are allowed to touch the marble. It is the archeologists. Around them the city aches filled with its impovered citizens and the ones seeking refuge in it.

On the day we walked Athens clouds full of yellow sand from Egypt filled the sky pressing on the city. Dust covered all surfaces, making cars in the street look like they have been unused for years. The appartments to the side often have narrow balconies lining most of the facade. The upper floors step back, giving space for bigger balconies. Both are often filled with plants so that the street becomes green. If the balconies are empty, so are the flats. Dust covered also the man pushing his trolley with his belongings that we were passing in that street.

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