Old Cars of Athens
Anastasia Georgousis
At first, I thought they were parked up, scraps forever abandoned to the ravages of the Athenian heat. Immobile, stopped. They have bits stuck on with cellotape. Cardboard windows. Blistered leather seats with stuffing bursting out.
Then I started to notice they were moving. Like the work of poltergeists - I’m sure that one was on the main road yesterday? Didn’t I see that blue one by the square?
Until one day I catch one in motion. A smart elderly couple - wife’s hair freshly coiffured, husband in his Sunday best. Driving in full daylight, the whole front bumper of their car dangling by tape, swinging as they turn the corner.
I’ve never seen so many old cars in a city. Cars that I haven’t seen elsewhere for a decade at least - all straight lines and boxes. Cars that should have been scrapped a long time ago.Their presence here tells a jumbled story of recession, of MOT bribes, lax attitudes to road safety and a willingness to make do and mend. There would be no point in having a shiny car in this neighbourhood, where people drive like they’re having a go on the bumper cars.
These vehicles contribute to this city’s pollution, spewing out poison into the air. I think of ULEZ in London and the fight for clean air. I’m told there’s a system here where odd registration numbers can enter the city centre on one day, even registrations the next. I am still to fathom how this works in practice.
And yet, like much here, I have to fight not to romanticise them. If I’m walking down the street, with my sepia-tinted sunglasses on, I can almost convince myself that I’m walking the streets of Athens in the 60s, 70s, 80s. Imagine it then, the grand polikatikia buildings, the art nouveau mansions. The excitement of a city on the up, a new middle class with shiny new automobiles, the latest appliances and smart clothes. These cars are the dreams of the past.
