Leap from myth to modern day faster than you can say "Acropolis!' by Rachell Howard. View our Portfolio at

Nuggets of nostalgia linger in the contemporary clutter: Fallen temple columns lie pell-mell in parks, Byzantine churches snuggle between skyscrapers, neoclassical mansions wear their peeling facades with pride, "Chaos" was coined by the ancient Greeks; in Athens, most modern of ancient cities, that chaotic legacy is everywhere apparent. And that's exactly how the locals like it. "The only reason Athenians have survived for so long is because they accept the assumption that they're all half-crazy!" laughs Kalliga. "They're proud of the fact that they do things their own anarchic way." Calm prevails in Anafiotika, a labyrinth of whitewashed lanes meandering below the Acropolis. Things liven up as we descend into Athens' oldest quarter, Plaka. Chock-full of folk museums, guesthouses, and cafes, for all its gimmickry Plaka remains disarmingly charming. Ι feel less of an imposer and more like a bona-fide (xeni / foreigner) here. Bouzouki players pluck a path through courtyard taverns while mustachioed men press us to invest in Ouzo Power-shirts. A chorus of hecklers chants in our wake: Madam Best price only for you.Please, Madam! Step inside and take a look! alliga bustles me past the glow-in-the-dark deities and phallic figurines. There's no time to haggle-we're going to church. In the hushed shadows of Kapnikarea church-a fragment of Byzantium marooned on commercial Ermou street instinctively cross myself three times. Orthodoxy is a way of life for Greeks, although it sometimes manifests itself in the most unorthodox ways. A few blocks over we come across a window display pairing icons and underwear. Next door is an ecclesiastical outfitter that doubles as a furrier. Thank God the city hasn't lost its surreal edge. Nothing has changed at Tristrato, the quaint Plaka tearoom where I would skip class as a teenager. We fuel up on iced mountain tea and creamy yogurt gilded with thyme-flavored honey. "You're in Greece-you're not allowed to pay! scolds Kalliga when I try to pick up the check. A cheerful squabble ensues. (Athenians always insist on treating visitors, but it is good manners to protest loudly before accepting their generosity.) "Next time, it's my treat. I'll be a local again by then," I promise as we kiss each cheek good-bye. After the drowsy lanes of Plaka, the honk-honk-honk of Athena's Street comes as a shock. I wade through a Balkan sea of hawkers peddling everything from bootleg cigarettes to hard drugs, then navigate parked cars, wayward motorbikes, and orange trees growing out of the sidewalk before setting a course for the Centric Agora-Central Market. Early this century horse-drawn carriages and chickens trotted along Athens's dusty boulevards. Today, more than a million cars, 600,000 motorbikes, and over 3.5 million people (a third of the total population of Greece) are squeezed into the capital.

The new metro system, still burrowing its way through layers of antiquities and scheduled to open in sections through 2000, promises to alleviate the perennial traffic problem. Ambitious plans to link all the major archaeological sites with pedestrian walkways are also underway. The sixth century B.C. Agora, Europe's first shopping mall, is where the ancients bartered and bickered. Nowadays the pulse of the Athenian marketplace races at the Centric Agora. Whiffs of oregano, paprika, and raw meat tickle and prickle my nostrils. Α delicious assault on the senses, the market is also the perfect appetizer. Like a saucy schoolgirl Ι dip my fingers into a barrel of olives, snaffle a handful of pistachios. For big spenders and big hairdos, Kolonaki, in the city's center, is the place; only suburban Kifissίa competes with this upscale district. Ι hail a cab, squeeze in beside a pair of hefty housewives, and we inch our way uptown. Suddenly Athens looks glossy, glamorous. Everything oozes wealth. Haughty shop assistants give me dirty looks as Ι gaze into designer boutiques decorated with α selection of haute couture labels. So Ι settle for a cheap thrill: chocolate gateau at Desiree, a zaharoplasteion (pastry cafe) frequented by Old Money. Athenians love to make an occasion of everything, especially dining out. Once, souvlakia was the staple diet and moussaka - was on every menu. Fashion-hungry Athenians have since - acquired α taste for foreign fare, and a rash of designer eateries-White Elephant, Κίkυ, Boschetto-has broken out across - town. Right now, though, Ι am craving some honest Greek grub. It is 3 p.m.-not an unreasonable hour for lunch in Athens. Ι have a date at Το Diporto, a bastion of culinary authenticity hidden below the food market, with my friend, Yianni's, an eisodimatias-man of independent means-who- is free to indulge his twin passions for food and art. Ι sidestep a crumpled crone hawking beets on the roadside and slip down into Dίporto's basement. Everything is reassuringly, wonderfully familiar. Smoke, garlic, and snatches of a song hover in the air. Ensconced beneath the casks of retsina - are a motley crew of vendors and gallery owners. We all stew - in the same blackened pot down here. Yianni's has already made friends; he shouts introductions above the clattering saucepans and scurrilous banter. Α barrel-bellied waiter slams a tin pitcher of wine onto our grease-proof paper tablecloth. Wedges of - grilled bread drizzled in olive oil and oregano, a lemony salad of wild weeds and a hunk of feta appear and disappear. Then we pounce on a platter of char-grilled fish, tearing at the soft white flesh with sticky fingers. Α naturally messy eater, Ι have always loved bare-bones mageiria (literally "cook houses") like Dίporto because you can get as messy as you like. Dipping your bread in the olive oil and sucking your fish bones clean is de rigueur. You can also get absolutely drunk without causing the least offence. This is the kind of joint where a stranger might send over a carafe of wine or grab one of your meatballs. Yianni's and I drink another cheery toast-to the camaraderie that miraculously survives in this manic metropolis. We sober up with a stroll through one of my favorite neighborhoods, Psirri, near the city center. Ι hardly recognize my old stamping ground. Traditionally the domain of tanners and coppersmiths, who had their workshops here, the area has been taken over by rustically deco red music-and-meze appetizer bars. The streets smell less of leather, sweat, and wood shavings, more of ouzo, octopus, and insouciance. Ι am glad to see Athenians still take their leisure seriously but surprised how gentrified cafe society has become. All the hipsters have moved to Gazi. "The old gasworks has been converted into a cultural center," explains Yiannis. Gazi is an intriguing blend of bohemian ghetto and industrial chic. Street urchins run riot in the squares while the stylishly savvy hang loose in experimental theaters and side walk bars. Like so much of Athens, it feels both urbane and provincial. For old time's sake Ι drag Yiannis into a kafeneion for α glass of sludgy Greek coffee and a vanilla submarine spoonful of vanilla-flavored sugar paste served in α glass of ice-cold water. The slam of backgammon and click-clack of worry beads beat their own, slow time. Neighborhood kafeneίa- nicotine-stained coffeehouses where cards and tavli (backgammon) are played, and political grievances loudly aired-remain almost exclusively α male domain. It is astonishing that they remain at all, given their rock-bottom prices and the relentless pace of modernization in the metropolis. But haste is anathema to the Athenian way of life. It's easy to idle away an afternoon over a 50-cent coffee, slouched in a chair worn smooth by countless armchair philosophers. "Hello, daaarling!" No wonder locals fondly refer to Athens as "the big village"; wherever Ι go, Ι bump into someone I know but then, artist and man-about-town Dimitrίs Andonitsis is one of those Athenians who seem to do nothing but socialize. He knows everyone and everything worth knowing in Athens. "Darling, where have you been? And what are you doing tonight?" Ι shrug and start to-"Perfect! Darling, I'm taking you out! "This is my cue to go and sleep off lunch. If Ι plan to stay the pace, I'll have to take a siesta-in Athens a night on the town begins around midnight and ends with tripe soup at sunrise. Andonitsis kicks off the evening highbrow; applying his networking magic, he has secured front-row seats at the Herodes Atticos Theater, for my money the best of concert halls. While Electra's tragic fate is played out before a backdrop of broken columns, shooting stars arc like silver tears across the sky. The city's glorious past suddenly dwarfs the present. Athens was the birthplace not only of drama, but of democracy and philosophy-as any Athenian will volubly inform you. Athens By Night