Category: Week 1

At an English-language book club in the Athens neighborhood of Pangrati, members struggle to separate reality from fiction.

By Vivien Wong

There’s the perfect setup for a bad joke: “Three American college students and fifteen-odd expats walk into a bar…” Except the bartender is a Greek bookseller, and the bar—a full liquor shelf in a room half-closet, half-cavern—is concealed behind a set of sliding bookcases. 

This was the last meeting of the English-language book club at Lexikopoleio, a locally-owned international bookshop in Pangrati, though Diamantis Diamantidis, the events coordinator and bartender for the evening, told me that members have been petitioning him to extend meetings one more month, into July. 

Aside from the three of us, I counted an American sociology professor, an Argentine actor, and a Dutch digital nomad among the readers who’d made it to the Wednesday night gathering. They’ve got a level of dedication that Diamantidis hasn’t seen in the shop’s Greek- and French-language book clubs. He believes it has something to do with the transience of their life in Athens. “These people came five years ago, or three years ago,” Diamantidis told me. “They’re going to go in two years. It’s not very fixed. But they’ve been loyal because they know that this is an anchor for them.” 

The New York Times journalist Judith Newman describes a polarizing divide between book club attendees who prefer to analyze the themes and content of a book and those for whom the reading serves as an entry point for personal divulgences. Serious members agree that the “biggest sin in book clubs,” she writes, “involves the This-Book-Is-About-Me! Crowd—those who examine the author’s intentions entirely through the prism of their own experience.”

But what if the attendees’ lives are the subject of the book? 

Wednesday’s discussion centered around Italian author Vincenzo Latronico’s “Perfection,” translated into English by Sophie Hughes. The novel chronicles a relationship between two expats—digital “creatives”—living in Berlin in the 2010s.

Self-consciousness about the impact of expat professionals on the physical and economic landscape of Athens resurfaced throughout the attendees’ conversation. “What’s the difference between an expat and a refugee?” a dark-haired woman—the digital nomad from Amsterdam—asked. She answered herself: “Someone who comes here voluntarily with money and someone who doesn’t.”

An American professor at the table described herself as one of the “vampires” who have profited by moving to European cities like Berlin and Lisbon when rent and real estate were relatively cheap. “I can have a really nice life that’s very difficult to have for the same amount of money in New York City,” she continued. “It makes me wonder what happens when Athens, all of a sudden, starts to become expensive and inaccessible?” 

A Greek man across the table from her interjected, “Ask the Athenians!” Attempts to describe the problem of gentrification carried a different tense for different readers at the table: future tense for an American professor, past tense for Greeks priced out of gentrified neighborhoods like Pangrati.

The physical architecture of the city makes these tense concrete. The part of Pangrati which surrounds Lexikopoleio was once called Vatrachonisi—meaning “frog island”—a nod to amphibians native to the bed of the Ilissos River. Urban expansion, which dates back to the 19th century but escalated in the 1950s, has all but buried the marshland that marked the site of the ancient riverbed. 

On the corner of Proskopon Square, the Athens café chain Petite Fleur, which features vinyls hanging from the ceiling and stools upholstered with black-and-white prints of Roy Haynes and Billie Holiday, rounds off one travel blog’s description of the Vatrachonisi area as “more like Paris than Athens.” 

Two blocks from Lexikopoleio, the side of an apartment has been spray-painted, in large green letters, “REFUGEES WELCOME / TOURISTS GO HOME.” Someone’s tried to white out the graffiti by scratching lines into the beige coat of the building.

At length, the attendees discussed the helplessness of the expat couple in “Perfection.” Why didn’t they ever learn German? A debate ensued: perhaps technology was to blame, perhaps the characters’ parochialism.

“They didn’t seem to be able to do things differently, did they?” one woman said. A joke about their own inability to speak Greek drew laughter from around the table.  ♦

By Mara DuBois

The combination of the Athens summer heat and his determination to convey his thoughts despite our language barrier had John Gjeleveshi (JELL-eh-veshi) dabbing sweat from his forehead with a napkin he had retrieved from behind the counter at Stadium Cafe. 

Pangrati is the best neighborhood in Athens, and different from others in the city, he told me. “Maybe it’s the people,” he said. 

Gjeleveshi was born in Athens and has lived in the city’s neighborhood of Pangrati for 28 years. He works at Stadium Cafe, the coffee shop I quickly determined would fulfill my coffee fixation during my five-week stay in the neighborhood. After just a few visits to the shop, Gjeleveshi asked my name and introduced himself, immediately making me feel welcome in an unfamiliar city. Judging by the thank-you cards taped to the glass pastry case housing Greek treats, I wasn’t the only customer he had won over. 

With its grounded, local atmosphere, the popular cafe’s spot on Eratosthenous Street sharply contrasts the tourist-filled bustle of nearby Plaka or Monastiraki–neighborhoods characterized by their close proximity to the Acropolis. 

A 2025 article by Dimitris Rigopoulos “Archelaou: One street, many outlooks,” in eKathimerini, the English edition of Greece’s most prominent newspaper, detailed the evolving demographics of Pangrati. Following the economic crisis in 2009, the neighborhood experienced an influx of students and professionals in creative industries, drawn in by more affordable rents. 

In contrast to Plaka’s typical summer vacationers sporting woven straw hats and matching linen sets in an attempt to conform to European fashion standards, Pangrati has a distinctly artsy, hip, quality exuded by its creative and young population. Graffiti-lined walls throughout the neighborhood are indicative of the area’s strong political awareness, frequently exhibiting the messages “Free Palestine” or “Fight Fascism,” in a form of artistic expression. 

As a primarily residential area, much of the conversation that echoes out of the neighborhood’s many lively cafes, bars, and restaurants is noticeably Greek. These spaces, populated by stylish young adults and older men smoking beneath orange trees, are easily intimidating to an outsider. I feared my lack of language skills and an unshakeable American presence would make me stand out in this setting. Yet, my initial worries were quickly assuaged after interactions with locals like Gjeleveshi.

While speaking with me, Gjeleveshi frequently paused to check Google Translate, intent on answering my questions as clearly as possible. He modestly undersold his English skills, which far surpassed my non-existent Greek. Upon the conclusion of our 20-minute conversation, Gjeleveshi mentioned that he had anticipated the interview would take many hours. Having just completed a full work day, his willingness to meet with me despite this assumption and our language barrier was a testament to the character of locals in the neighborhood.

As I got up to leave, Gjeleveshi fist-bumped me and said on my next visit, he would speak to me in Greek. He would help me learn basic phrases while I helped him refine his English. Gjeleveshi embodies what he characterized as Pangrati’s defining quality: its people. 

As an outsider new to Athens, I was surprised by how quickly I grew to prefer Pangrati’s creative and diverse essence to the postcard-worthy steps of Plaka. The rich culture found throughout Pangrati is created by the neighborhood’s people, making them the defining characteristic of this unique area.

Isabella Dail

No matter what street corner you’re stationed on, you’re likely to see graffiti in the Pangrati region of Athens. Some of it’s in English, some Greek. Some of it’s political, some isn’t. All of it–along with the vibrant street murals, bustling cafés, and thriving student population–suggests that Pangrati houses a vivacious artistic, political, and intellectual scene.

As a van carried me from the academic hub to my apartment, I was immediately struck by a sense of community. As the driver rounded a particularly tight corner, he reached out the window to shut the side-view mirror, which gave him the mere centimeters needed to complete the turn without denting a parked car. The quaint roads embodied the intimacy of Pangrati that I have come to love. I’ve seen individuals of all ages donning trendy sunglasses and tote bags bump into one another and say a quick hello. From what I’ve seen, there’s a real sense of connection in Pangrati, and I’ve been able to speak to locals and other students with equal ease.

I was also struck by a sense of juxtaposition. The quiet interactions between older locals co-exists with a flourishing community of young people, including up and coming artists. Sofia Psiridoti recently founded her concept art studio Bok Choy, which focuses on politically and personally motivated art, in Pangrati. When I arrived at her studio, she greeted me in vintage clothes with a pickle jar in hand. As we spoke, she attempted to open her snack with the assistance of a lighter that she held to the rim.

“I want some slow living inside the city, and maybe this part of Athens agrees with my political beliefs, has a lot of art and also has more human connections,” she said.

Her studio’s curation embodies the nuance of the Pangrati that I’ve seen. Kitschy pop art pieces sit beside serious political statements. Sexual innuendos mix with heartbreaking personal stories on the studio’s walls. Eat your vegetables, said one painting, eggplants covering the rest of the canvas. A tarp with poetic messages describing Psiridoti’s recent heartbreak hung nearby.  

Her layered messages mimicked the complexity of voices I’ve encountered while traversing the region’s hilly streets. A comedy bar faces an Orthodox church. “NO BORDERS NO NATIONS” sprawls across a facade in an eye-catching hot pink paint. A formal art institution like the Basil and Elise Goulandris foundation and Bok Choy call the same area home.

Along with the rest of the arts scene in Pangrati, the evolution of Psiridoti’s own work dovetails with shifts in national politics.

“I cannot live my life normally and make art while every day I see people dying. So the problem now is that I cannot make art. I’m just trying to do the pop stuff that the shop sells,” she said about the conflict in Gaza.

From my observations, Pangrati bridges differences, whether that be in age, nationality, or aesthetic style. Yet, suggested by various pockets of graffiti, the region united on one topic: political views. Some of the graffiti, especially messages on the conflict in Gaza, also point to larger national issues.

In 2023, John Psarapoulous wrote that the Greek government’s support for Israel could “rankle” the public, who favor neutrality. While graffiti in Pangrati is far more prominent than other regions of Athens I’ve visited, our temporary home shows signs it aligns itself with Palestine, despite the government backing Israel.

During my first week in Pangrati, I’ve come to both look past and deeply into the graffiti that immediately struck my attention upon arrival. Pangrati, above everything else, is a community, one that holds locals, international students, art, food, nightlife, religion, and politics together. At its heart, I’ve come to appreciate Pangrati as a region that carves its own identity while still engaging in the national conversation.