A Travelling Sprout

A Sprout Strolls through Athens

By Shelley Banks

It was clear from the outset that Greece would offer a different atmosphere compared to Italy. The contrast was noticeable as soon as our flight from Venice to Athens took off. Just minutes after departure, my travelling companion realised he hadn’t fastened his seat belt. Normally, flight attendants would remind passengers, but on this flight, they were too engrossed in their own conversations to bother with such routine checks.

The flight lasted just over two hours, and soon we landed in Athens, ready to embark on our Greek adventure. Our schedule was tight, with only two full days to explore the city before setting off on a Greek Island cruise. However, the time difference, chaotic luggage claim, and the busy transfer pickup area outside, followed by a forty-five-minute drive to our accommodation, meant we didn’t arrive at our apartment until 11.45pm. The idea of exploring the area around us before bed was quickly abandoned.

The following morning, on our first full day in Athens, we had booked a tour of the Acropolis and the Acropolis Museum. Arriving at the meeting point promptly at 9am, we were grateful to have chosen the earliest tour available, as the heat was already becoming noticeable and continued to intensify as we climbed to the ‘high city’, situated 150 metres above Athens. The Acropolis spans about 3 hectares and served as the religious and civic centre of ancient Athens, dedicated to its patron goddess, Athena.

The remaining buildings atop the Acropolis, mostly constructed during the second half of the 5th century BC, include the Parthenon—a Doric temple honouring Athena—the Temple of Athena Nike, which celebrates Athena as the goddess of victory, and the Erechtheion, an Ionic temple devoted to both Athena and Poseidon.

As we wandered among these ancient structures, it was difficult to grasp that they were built approximately 2,500 years ago and completed in about 15 years. Our local guide recounted the history of empires, such as the Persians and Ottomans, who attempted to conquer the Acropolis. She also mentioned that restoration efforts began nearly 200 years ago, yet progress has been very slow.

With the temperature now hitting 32°C, we sought relief in the nearby Acropolis Museum. Opened to the public in 2009, the museum houses artifacts discovered on the rock and its surrounding slopes. From statues to everyday objects like pottery and jugs used by ancient Athenians, we took our time exploring all four floors, enjoying the fascinating glimpse into the past and the much-appreciated air conditioning.

Beneath the Acropolis Museum lie the ruins of an ancient Athenian neighbourhood, including streets, homes, bathhouses, and workshops dating from the 5th century BC to the 12th century AD.

Our guide, who had shared the history of the Acropolis, continued to lead us around the museum and told us about the ongoing frustration among Greeks regarding the treasures from the site, particularly those from the Parthenon, held in the British Museum since the 1800s. When the Greeks were told they couldn’t have their treasures returned due to a lack of suitable housing, they built the Acropolis Museum at a cost of 150 million Euros to counter that argument. However, this effort was unsuccessful as the British Museum has retained the artifacts.

After visiting Athens’ major tourist attraction, we relaxed in a small café, enjoying chicken and pork souvlaki and a cheeky Greek Sauvignon Blanc. Before heading out for further exploration, we took advantage of the café bathrooms, as, like elsewhere in Europe, toilets require payment unless you’re a customer.

Our first stop after lunch was the Panathenaic Stadium—the only stadium in the world built entirely of marble. A stadium was originally constructed on the site in 330 BC, uncovered in the 1830s and excavated in 1870. What stands there now was refurbished for the 1896 Olympic Games, reflects classical Greek architecture with its horse-shoe design, and provides enough seating for 45,000 people. Standing there, it was inspiring to reflect on the athletes, ancient and modern, who had pursued glory and the crowds who cheered them on.

Following a forty-minute walk from lunch to the stadium and another thirty-minute walk back to our apartment, we returned to freshen up before heading to Plaka, a popular neighbourhood, for late afternoon drinks and dinner.

Plaka features lanes lined with neoclassical buildings, Byzantine churches, cafes, restaurants, and souvenir shops. With fantastic views of the Acropolis, there is plenty to see and do—and plenty of tourists to navigate, which adds to the area’s lively atmosphere. We ended our day here, people-watching while enjoying calamari and moussaka.

Our second day began with a walk to the Ancient Agora. I was eager to see it up close, as it had once been the city’s core public space—a marketplace, political centre, and social hub for centuries. Unfortunately, the main entry was closed. Though we saw people inside, there were no signs to another entry, and despite circling the perimeter twice, we couldn’t find another gate. We settled for viewing it from outside, but at least our walk took us past markets where my husband purchased a souvenir he took a liking to.

With just over 400 metres to cover, we moved on to Monastiraki, a main shopping area and home to Athens’ oldest square. Like other areas around the city, Monastiraki Square offers colourful streets and laneways lined with stores, historic buildings, cafes, restaurants, and bars. We found a table at MS Rooftop Garden, enjoying plates of haloumi, dolmades, and olives while gazing across the square and out towards the Acropolis, taking in the view and watching people below.

Our afternoon involved more walking as we headed to Syntagma Square, the most visited square in Athens, to watch the changing of the guards. Located in front of the 19th-century Old Palace, which has been home to Greek Parliament since 1934, Syntagma Square is also the reference point for measuring distances to every town in Greece.

The Changing of the Guard takes place every hour, on the hour, in front of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Members of the Presidential Guard, the Evzones, perform the ceremony with precise movements, including high kicks and traditional uniforms (and embracing what we affectionately called ‘pom pom’ shoes). It was a fitting end to our day’s sightseeing, combining culture and tradition.

By chance, we were in Athens at the same time as some lifelong friends, so we organised to meet in Plaka for dinner. As the sun set over the Acropolis, we shared stories about our travel experiences, grateful for the opportunity to experience a night in Athens together.

Musings

Dinner with Friends

By Shelley Banks

Standing on a corner in the heart of the Plaka, I spotted my friends—a familiar face from school and her husband, whom I met a few years later. This chance encounter was a highlight during our Euro summer adventure, a whirlwind journey through seven countries over eight weeks. Somehow, our paths crossed in the same city, despite the odds, with someone I had been friends with for forty years.

This was not the first time I had stumbled upon someone I knew in foreign places. On past overseas trips, I have run into familiar faces unexpectedly. At Kuala Lumpur Airport, I bumped into someone I used to work with. In America, during a visit to Newport, Rhode Island, I encountered someone I went to university with—both of us surprised to find a familiar face among the grandeur of the Gilded Age mansions. Another time, while walking through Trafalgar Square, my travelling companion crossed paths with a former running club buddy.

These moments always seem so improbable, given the millions of travellers who fill foreign streets every year. Yet here we were—old friends, former students, and ex-colleagues, meeting again as if by some hidden design. Whether it’s a shared love for travel or simply pure luck, these encounters remind us that even across the globe, the world can feel remarkably small. It’s as if the universe conspires to throw us together, prompting laughter and memories as we catch up over a meal or drinks. Every unexpected reunion adds an extra layer to the adventure, turning ordinary trips into stories we’ll retell for years to come. The feeling of running into someone you know, miles from home, never gets old—it always sparks a sense of wonder, making the world seem both vast and intimately connected.

I often find myself reflecting on these chance meetings long after the journeys end, grateful for the reminders of friendship and common ground. There’s something magical about sharing a laugh, swapping stories, and realising how our lives are interwoven, even when we’re wandering distant cities. It leaves me eager for the next adventure, knowing that the possibility of another delightful surprise is never far away.

As we laughed together over dinner in Athens, I marvelled at the odds of such a reunion. Statistically, the chances must be tiny, yet these moments happen often enough to make you wonder. Travel, despite its vastness, seems to have a way of bringing old friends back into the picture, just when you least expect it.

Short Stories

Echoes in the Amphitheatre
By Shelley Banks

The amphitheatre sat above the town like a broken bowl, its stone seats chipped and sun-bleached, weeds threading through the cracks. Most people passed it without looking. Eleni climbed the hill every afternoon.

She liked the way her voice behaved there. Even a whisper returned to her fuller, braver.

She stepped onto the circular stage and opened her notebook. The monologue was from a modern play—angry, sharp, too loud for her apartment. Here, the air swallowed her nerves.

‘Again,’ she told herself, and began.

Halfway through the speech, the echo came back wrong.

Not delayed—interrupted.

‘…and I will not—’

‘No,’ a voice answered softly, from somewhere behind the seats. ‘Say it slower.’

Eleni froze. Her heart thudded loud enough to echo on its own.

‘Hello?’ she called.

Silence. The sea shimmered in the distance.

She laughed once, nervously. Wind, she decided. Or imagination. She reset and started again.

This time, when she reached the final line, a chorus rose around her—dozens of voices layered together, speaking ancient Greek she recognized only from textbooks. The sound wasn’t loud. It was careful, as if afraid of being heard.

Eleni sank onto the warm stone.

‘I—I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know anyone was here.’

A pause. Then a single voice, closer now. ‘No one has been here for a long time.’

‘Who are you?’ Eleni whispered.

‘Actors,’ the voice said. ‘Poets. A flute player who missed his cue.’ A faint, sad laugh. ‘We never finished.’

Images flickered in her mind—painted masks, torchlight, an audience breathing as one. A performance interrupted by war, by fire, by time.

‘You’re echoes,’ Eleni said. ‘Left behind.’

‘Yes,’ the chorus murmured. ‘And you can hear us.’

The sun dipped lower, painting the stones gold. Eleni stood slowly.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.

‘To finish,’ the voices said. ‘Just once.’

She swallowed. Her play felt small suddenly, fragile—but she understood the hunger in it. The need to be heard.

‘Teach me,’ she said.

They did.

They guided her breath, her stance, the way grief should fall heavy and joy should rise light as dust. When she spoke, they spoke through her—not possessing, not controlling, just remembering.

Night settled. The amphitheatre filled again, not with people, but with purpose.

When Eleni delivered the final line—an ending written two thousand years too late—the echoes did not return.

The silence that followed was complete.

Satisfied.

Eleni packed her notebook and walked home under the stars. The amphitheatre remained behind her, empty and quiet.

But her voice, when she practiced afterward, was stronger.

And somewhere in the stone, something finally rested.

Something Light

Selfie Sagas at the Acropolis
By Shelley Banks

Before our European adventure last year, selfies were about as rare for us as rain in the Outback—my husband was even less likely to take one than to ask for directions. Yet, faced with a jam-packed itinerary and the burning urge to prove we’d actually been at all those famous spots (not just downloaded photos off the internet), we decided it was high time we became selfie experts.

Up until then, our “selfies” usually meant getting a brilliant snap—of half a face, a random elbow, or a beautiful close-up of one ear. If we were lucky, we got both noses in shot, massive and looming, with the actual attraction—say, the Eiffel Tower—peeking from the farthest edge, like it was making a cameo appearance.

But that morning in Athens, as the sunrise glinted off the city, we stormed up the Acropolis, phones in hand, determined to capture the Parthenon and—miraculously—both our faces in one frame. We were armed and optimistic, the kind of bravado you only have before your first attempt.

Everywhere we looked, tourists were firing off selfies like they were born with extendable arms. Surely, we thought, if they could do it, so could we. As it turns out, confidence is not the same as coordination.

Our first crack gave us a cracking shot—of the tops of our heads. The Parthenon? Majestic, but the camera was pointed at the sky, so it looked more like ancient ruins floating in space. On round two, we managed to squeeze in a bit more forehead, a bit less ancient history. Third try: jackpot! There we were, beaming in front of the Parthenon, both heads present and accounted for, no nostrils dominating the scene.

We probably drove the other tourists bonkers, blocking the perfect angle and rehearsing our grins like we were auditioning for Australia’s Next Top Model. But we were on a mission: get the photo, or risk having to describe the Acropolis to friends using only interpretive dance. We weren’t budging until we’d nailed it.

Books

If you like my short stories I’ve published eleven books.