Athens and Syracuse resemble each other (and I think both have forgotten it)
My visit to Athens was, in many ways, a personal turning point. It marked my first real attempt to step into the world of photography competitions, and my debut in the realm of art galleries and group exhibitions. What had simply begun as a small exploration of Greek culture, however, quickly turned once we arrived into the discovery of countless similarities that reminded me of home.
It wasn’t just about leaving behind a cold, rainy Vienna for a city bathed in the same Sicilian sun of May, nor (just) the chance to go for a swim in the sea. It was the emotion of finding a city shaped by the same culture, the same habits, and the same innate generosity of my homeland.
What struck me most about Athens were the little things: the palm trees in the city parks, the balconies with colorful awnings, the narrow streets with cars parked on both sides, the fruit market in the city center, everyday life unfolding next to ancient ruins, the green and yellow of the dry grass that, in that heat, inevitably takes over, the pigeons, the ancient architecture, the smiles, the music of the night.
As strange as it may seem to those who didn’t grow up like this, perhaps the moment I felt most at home was right in the center of town, when I saw that Greeks shared the street space with cars, even in the narrowest of roads. What a joy, being able to walk freely in the middle of the street again, without a single worry! The cars that passed by did so slowly, at walking pace. This archaic legacy of shared spaces, once between people and carts, now between people and cars, symbolically represents, for all practical purposes, the city that gave birth to democracy: a city designed on a human scale, rather than for the grandeur of a Hapsburg emperor.
Setting aside the differences between the two cities, Athens could be seen as an example of what Syracuse might have become, had it managed to retain national relevance and influence throughout history. Knowing its past, and knowing that the city never truly regained its importance, naturally stirs in me a touch of melancholy, born out of my Sicilian pride (meant quite literally as pride in being Sicilian). In Athens, it felt like I was seeing an alternate version of Syracuse, one that only the language reminded me I was dreaming. And how many times have I thought or said that, if it weren’t for the language dividing us, Southern Italians, Greeks, and Spaniards could have formed a Mediterranean League?
But Athens also represented a new attempt for me with street photography. Compared to my experience in Berlin, I felt I took a few steps forward and found a more engaging dimension, somewhere between travel photography and street documentation.
Of course, the two cities couldn’t share only the good sides. There were at least two experiences that, in their own way, I had already lived in my previous (Sicilian) life:
To reach the Temple of Poseidon, we were supposed to catch a bus at 10 a.m., impossible to locate in time. And when we finally figured out where it departed from, what was the next available one for the same route? The 4 p.m. bus. To avoid wasting the entire day we had to cross to the other side of the city and catch the 12 p.m. bus instead, longer, yes, but it got us there by 2 p.m., behind schedule but not as badly as the first option would have.
Our second day at the beach was also a rather lively experience. On the way back, we missed the first bus, and the second and third drove right past us without stopping. One of the drivers even waved at us before disappearing into the horizon. The rising wind didn’t help. To keep from getting cold, we walked for about twenty minutes until we crossed paths with the next bus. And not satisfied with just tempting fate, we even got off at the edge of the city, right in front of the first tram stop, just to enjoy the last light of the day. But from that point on, everything went smoothly again.
Athens forced me to confront not only my past experiences, but also the ones I’m living now. I realized it when I found myself genuinely shocked as the subway doors opened and passengers started getting on before letting others off. “How rude!” I thought — me, by now something of an expert, who in Vienna has been yanked by the arm or the sleeve to align with the floor markings, shoved back into place with corrective elbows, or once even hit in the face with a handbag by an old lady in a hurry. Me, an expert or maybe just traumatized.
Here, though, I saw something entirely different. I rediscovered the kind of spontaneity I had been searching for for years when I was welcomed like an old friend by people I had just met that very evening, people I’m still in touch with almost daily.
I realized that this spontaneity isn’t just part of my culture, it’s something I genuinely need. And in Vienna, unless you meet people who grew up in similar environments, it will be hard to find that same spark. After all, it’s easier to import foreign products than foreign values.
Talking to some people, however, made me realize that the similarities between Greece and Sicily also extend to their more dramatic aspects. Certain conversations about the Greek mindset, in fact, felt as though they were describing the mentality of Sicilians too (and of Southern Italy more broadly). On one side, the deep value placed on human relationships, the solidarity among families and neighbors, generosity; but on the other, a still-dominant patriarchal structure, a resistance to anything new, a defensive attitude. It’s an emotional fracture that goes beyond the economic crisis, it’s also about the longing for freedom felt by those who choose to leave (or are on the verge of doing so), and the stifled sense of resistance in those who, day after day, choose to stay.
Perhaps it’s in this tension — between heat and fatigue, between chaos and belonging — that the beauty of both places lies. And maybe that’s what I tried to photograph: the colors of a summer that is hot, slow, ancient and modern all at once, hungry, yet somehow full and content.
