Anarchy and Gentrification in Exarcheia, Athens

Above: Tanks rumbling along on Greek Independence Day.

If you walk into Exarcheia Square at any time of day from any direction you will see fully kitted out riot police standing there. On some streets there is just one lonely police officer whiling away the hours but on some streets there are groups. Resting on their shields and sporting immaculate haircuts, they seem to be unconcerned by the life going on around them. They mainly seem to be trying to catch the eye of passing groups of women. These riot officers seemed to be solely men from what I could see. They are not physically threatening to a passing tourist such as myself but their constant presence is an indication of the undercurrent of confrontation. The square itself is barricaded off and the cafes around the perimeter continue on in their usual way. There are many ironies in Exarcheia. It is a place which has produced genuine anarchist views and seeks to administer all elements of civil society itself and yet the state is so visibly present. Here, they have been administering their own healthcare and societal groups have replaced many of the civil society roles of the state. It is a place with run down buildings coated in graffiti of varying quality. But, as with any cool place the gentrifying middle classes are never too far away. Cafes with expensive but minimalist decor house digital nomads, tapping away on laptops worth thousands of pounds, from across Europe. There will be a jazz night there later and people dripping in Stussy designer wear will be resting their expensive jackets on the wooden chairs. ‘Anarcho-chic’ is the new black this year.

Above: The view over Athens from Strefi Hill in Exarcheia.

I sat at the HBBH Cafe in Exarcheia Square and ordered an espresso freddo whilst the sun shone on my face. The coffee was delicious as I found to be the case in every cafe I went to in Athens. It was always between €2 – €3, which was very reasonable for the quality. This cafe has a lovely set of outdoor seating and the staff were very friendly but it certainly felt more geared towards tourists than locals. Chatting to the people on the table next to me it became clear that this square has changed markedly in the last few years. What was once a convivial meeting place has now become a commercialised centre. Which is probably why I was able to find a table so easily! All around Exarcheia the young artists and musicians amble by sporting mullets and a whole host of other 70s hairstyles. In the daytime I sat thinking that the general hype around this area was probably just pearl clutching. It seemed to be a deeply gentrified place with a few rough looking streets where you had to watch your step to avoid a coating of dog poo. I wandered around the streets and glanced at second hand clothes shops and a few nicely decorated bookshops, sadly, (but understandably) the books were all in Greek so there were only limited browsing opportunities. They were cluttered with all manner of old books. Some piled high on tables and some neatly organised along shelves. These bookshops resembled the cluttered minds of aged Greek intellectuals. Facts and fiction strewn across in a vaguely ordered manner. They were certainly not the characterless chain bookshops we have become accustomed to. I doubt any of the books were written by washed up tv personalities.

As my feet tired I decided to head up to Strefi Hill and find a spot to sit with a view. Weaving past clouds of weed smoke I made my way up the graffitied steps and into this park. Booming Greek rap was coming from the football pitch where a motley mixture of men and boys were playing a lively game. Crowds were nattering away, absentmindedly watching a middle aged man play a one two with a young lad and then send his shot well wide of the goal. It was pretty idyllic. The rocks and walls of the park are covered in graffiti too but as you follow one of the tracks you slowly climb up and away from the shaded bustle of Exarcheia. The Acropolis casts a watchful eye over this disruptive district. 

Above: Wine on Koletti Street.

At both ends of Koletti Street are the best bars in Athens. The lower end is pedestrianised and all the bars flow out onto the street forming a long line of chatter. The candlelit tables, with the backdrop of elaborate graffiti and anti-capitalist posters, create an interesting atmosphere. From around 8pm onwards the tables were pretty much all occupied by twos and threes. Everybody is drinking away but there seemed to be none of the edge which you would expect if this was a British street. The usual chains were nowhere to be seen too which made a nice change in a capital city. The bars are lively and offer reasonably priced beers, around €4 – €5 and they often have an offer for wine by the litre. At Η σκάλα bar there was a deal for red wine at €9 a litre, it was delicious and the accompanying nuts were very welcome. Maybe not as good as French or Italian wine but still very tasty. Inside, it was decorated in a chaotic way but the lights were dim so it was hard to make out much. I wandered around a few of these bars and enjoyed a range of music and later on a range of the tasty snacks on offer. As you walk uphill and leave the pedestrianised street there is a barren patch before you reach the top end of Koletti Street where another collection of bars lie. These bars, along with the people happily drinking outside them, are another example of the varied life of Exarcheia. In Spira Cafe & Bar, it was very basic plastic chairs, cheap drinks and it was packed with the bustle of people. Not self-conscious people, just people who fancied a drink on Saturday night. But, in the Cusco Cafe across the road it was a different story. A nice place serving reasonable drinks whilst playing decent music but inside there was a collection of pretenders. One clearly wealthy young guy had brought his dachshund into the bar as a prop. The poor little thing scurried around nibbling fallen snacks and trying to avoid the swaying, increasingly tipsy, hipsters. I felt like I was in a similar position. 

After being at the top end of Koletti Street and deciding that the time was up on my evening I ambled down towards the Cookoomela Grill which offered up a delicious range of vegan gyros which I have discussed in a separate piece about Athens’ street food. When I arrived at this street I was confronted by smashed glass all over the road and the hanging, cloying smell of tear gas. Further down the street a formation of riot police with helmets on and shields in hand were marching off. Surveying the devastation was the owner of the neighbouring gyros place who I chatted to for a while about what had just happened. He explained that the people are very angry about the metro station as it represents the encroachment of consumerism into their district. When I asked him about how he felt about the military parade which had gone on earlier that day, just a few hundred metres down the road, and about Independence Day as a whole, he simply replied:

“Independence from who?”.

It was clear that the current government is not popular in this district and the paltry showing along the parade route made it clear the general nation felt similarly. Few had made the effort to come and clap the passing soldiers. I was able to find a front row spot after arriving just minutes before the first vehicles rolled past. The smashed glass and tear gas that evening explained why there was little love felt between rulers and ruled. It was another strange contradiction. Here was an expression of the might of the state in the morning and in the evening they scurried around with helmets and shields dodging bottles and polluting the air with noxious gases. Those older members of this district seemed completely impervious to the goings on and after a few minutes the area was full of chatter again. Instantly it was hard to imagine this as anything but an increasingly gentrified district with a punky past.

The process of gentrification is something interesting to witness as an outsider. At this moment in time, the process is still in its infancy. The first luxury hotels stand bravely. Their inhabitants hopping in taxis and enjoying rooftop sunsets. Coffee is an important part of Greek culture and the general day, but a few of the newer looking cafes wouldn’t look out of place in Shoreditch. Exarcheia Square is ripe for commercialisation and the Mayor and President are well aware that here lies profit. Down little side streets there are places which have seen the rise and fall of military dictatorships and sold spanakopita to everyone from Palestinian refugees to American backpackers. Art students from Bavaria and Paris sit alongside digital nomads working on acquisitions for tech startups. Like all of Europe’s rougher corners (think of Lisbon, Berlin or East London), Exarcheia is highly Instagrammable and with this brings the idle rich who want to be seen in leather jackets drinking beer out of plastic glasses with the masses. Yet, those that can truly call this place home are still having street battles with riot police. They still live on top of each other and offer those fleeing war and famine a place to stay. There is still plenty of integrity around. They just need to wait out this flight of fancy. A new destination will be chosen. Perhaps it will be Bucharest or Catania. For their sake I hope that property is not sold off to hotel chains in the meantime.