The Eurobank next to my favorite Starbucks in Athens is a building with a tawdry history. And we all know that those are the best kind. It looks out onto six lines of traffic, then the tramline, and then, finally, a stretch of brilliantly blue sea. In the mornings the nearby water shimmers and there is no distinguishing the blue of the sky from the sea as the two sort of meld together, the perfect picture of what the Mediterranean is supposed to be, like the face of a postcard. What I’m trying to say is that this is a Eurobank with a view like no other.
It was a brothel, first. At least that’s what my dad calls it in Greek. I don’t know if I’m translating the word correctly. Maybe the word “brothel” is too crude or maybe it’s just not at all politically correct. The point is that this building was not always a bank. Apparently, later on in its history, the Mormons took it over and used it as a base from which to convert the local populace who turned out to be decidedly un-convertible. The Mormon enterprise soon became widely regarded as a failed venture, and the building remained empty for a while. Today it is a Eurobank beside a Starbucks that overlooks highway, tramway, and the sea. Mostly, it overlooks a kiosk and newspaper stand that is permanently situated exactly in front of it. But let’s pretend I haven’t mentioned that part. It’s more poetic this way.
Or maybe the word “brothel” isn’t so accurate after all. Perhaps the word “sex hotel” works better here. In any case, the building was once called “Phryne” after the fourth-century BC Athenian courtesan. Her birth name was originally Mnesarete, meaning “commemorating virtue,” which I think indicates her parents had a sense of humor. Her nickname became “Phryne,” meaning “toad,” apparently, for her “yellowish complexion,” whatever that means. She was very good at what she did. She served as a muse for great sculptors and orators alike. And–get this–she is most famous for her trial where she was accused of… impiety. Between the year three hundred and the year two thousand and fourteen very little has changed. Because I find that the best most interesting sort of people are the ones with a tawdry history.
The best part of this story is that I don’t know if any of it is true. I am about as gullible as they come and a real sucker for tall tales, and my dad, well, he’s a storyteller. He can get away with convincing me of just about anything. He was born and raised in Athens. He lives and breathes the life of the city–it’s in his blood, and he is as much a part of its history as it is a part of his. I’m not concerned about whether or not the story true, anyway. I know that his story, the story of this city, is. And these tall tales capture part of the city’s charm, its charisma. Besides, it’s a nice story regardless, the story of the building that is at least a century old and the Eurobank that inhabits it.
It’s a perfectly inconspicuous-looking place. You won’t even notice it’s there.
–Marie-Irene
badpoetree 