That Night in Athens
A few days ago, I saw a bus full of teenagers on a school trip. Some were singing, others sleeping, others reading something. Tired but happy.
And it brought a smile to my face, carried by a distant memory. It was 1998, my last year of high school, and we were on a school trip to Greece. That April evening, we were in Athens, staying in a huge hotel that also hosted school groups from other countries.
Four of us – friends, classmates – had been placed in one room. That evening, our last one, we had agreed to meet back in the room by midnight, aiming to get enough sleep for the journey home the next day. No cell phones – roaming costs were prohibitive, and we were used to being without them – so we made plans in advance and tried to stick to them. We couldn't leave the hotel, but inside, we could meet up with other friends and hang out together – peacefully.
One of my roommates and I left our room and headed towards the room of some other friends. On the way, we bumped into a group of Spanish guys and girls. We had seen them briefly before. They asked us (in Spanish – they didn't speak English, but Italians and Spaniards tend to understand each other) if we wanted to join them for a party in their friends' room. We thought about it for a second and followed them.
There were about fifteen people there. They welcomed us with typical Spanish warmth, friendly and inviting. Discovering we were Italian, they immediately started asking us to sing Eros Ramazzotti songs with them. Then we saw a large pot and gathered they were making sangria. As soon as it was ready, they offered us some. I've always drunk very little, so even on this occasion, I mostly took it not to offend them.
We all started singing together. They mangled the Italian lyrics of Eros Ramazzotti, we butchered the Spanish ones of "Hijo de la Luna," but it hardly mattered: the laughter, the fun, the sheer lightheartedness in a room of a slightly run-down Greek hotel, together with a group of Spaniards we had just met. Two of the girls were particularly friendly, trying to speak a pseudo-Italian with us. We understood some of it, guessed the rest, and had great laughs.
We got back to our room at 5. The girls, incidentally, had the room next to ours. Our roommates were worried, then suddenly incredulous, watching us return at 5 with these girls, who said goodbye with an innocent kiss before going back into their own room.
That night, for the first time in my life, I felt free. I had been myself, sharing wonderful moments with people I had just met and would likely never see again. Outside my world, my usual patterns, free from what others expected of me.
That night I understood who I wanted to be, how I wanted to live, what living truly meant. I will never forget that night for the feelings I experienced, for the very first time. That night laid the foundations for who I am today.
We exchanged phone numbers with everyone in the group, promising to send a few texts and keep in touch. A promise we all knew we wouldn't keep, perhaps except for a quick message just to say we'd arrived home safely a few days later.
That night in Athens, nothing extraordinary happened, and yet, everything changed.
That night in Athens, I became me.