Acquainting herself with the Acropolis, the local subway and a startling summer heat, Manjula Sen discovers that it is the Greeks who really steal the show, at Athens

We were in Amsterdam watching the televised football finals of Euro 2004. Poland versus Greece. The unfancied Greeks had made it so far and all that the BBC commentator could moan about was: if Greece won, the Greeks would be celebrating for days and all preparation for the Olympics would come to a standstill. Well, as everyone knows, Greece won.

Shortly after, I was in Athens and discovered, as the international media kept up its carping, that if there was anyone who was sure of Greece being ready in time for the Olympics inauguration, it was the host nation. "Greece will be ready for the Olympics. We always do it that way. Getting behind, then hurrying to catch up but always keeping within deadlines. I guess it's kind of the national policy and tradition!" was a smiling comment repeated by my new Hellenic friends. Incomplete stadia, metro line and signages that are still Greek to the international tourist…even as the countdown began, it was hard to believe that Athens would be ready in time.

And then, came the spectacularly imaginative inaugural of the Games that silenced the critics. That night, back in India, I was on the phone with Theodora. "Wasn't it fascinating?" asked the tourism student from Athens, excitedly. There was never any doubt.

There is a church (Greece must have thousands of them) off the fashionable Ermou Street in Athens with a clever palindrome that says no coin has only one side. The letters can be read from left to right or right to left and the words mean the same thing. Every cliché related to Greece is probably true but so is its reverse. "People will smile at you and then rob you," warns Nikolai, a gentle young student, who gives me my best traveller tip - stay near Monastiraki Square. Everything - from the Acropolis to the subway - is within walking distance from this hub.

But then, the other side of the coin keeps popping up. Eight new Greek friends in 11 days, beats any conducted tour meshing. A young girl, Fani, from Thessaloniki, Greece's second largest city, on the bus from the airport to the metro, who

welcomes the first-time visitor (me) to Greece; the three students, including Theodora, I meet on the ferry on my way to the Cycladic island of Santorini, who soon invite me to join them at party island, Ios; the young couple Eleni and Yannis who take it upon themselves to show me the Athens that most tourists never get to see. This includes scenes from everyday life of births, weddings, local schools and grandmothers meeting for their late-night gossip sessions at neighbourhood parks. And there is Krista, who treats me to a huge plate of pork ribs in a VFM eatery in Exarhia, her favourite neighbourhood that constantly reinvents itself from industrial to downtown chic and where I buy her a cappuccino frappe in a charming little by-lane cafe. With Eleni and Yannis, I discover the starlit landscape of Athens spread below the illuminated Acropolis, from the quiet darkness of a nearby rocky ledge where we and many others, sit comfortably talking into the dawn. Yannis has many questions about India, and later, they will call to congratulate me on Rajyavardhan Singh Rathore's shooting silver for India.

The Greeks or the Hellenic people as many of them prefer to be described, are the first to hold a mirror to their warts, be it the alacrity with which hotel prices are apt to skyrocket, maniacally speeding drivers, traffic jams and bureaucratic hurdles of everyday living. They are equally quick to revel in their pride at being Greek. All warts are exasperating but the bottom line is that the Hellenic people are fiercely proud of who they are. The Euro championship celebration was not merely for

football, it was a victory of self-affirmation.

Greece is not what you expect it to be. Athens in particular. It surprises you. Grows on you. More than any place else, it is the people here who make a difference. After the romantic charm of Paris, the moody weather of London and the urbane politeness of Berlin, the brusqueness of the Athenians is discomfiting and the sweltering bustle of this Mediterranean capital initially brings a sense of desi déjà vu. Coming from a country that has so much of its own ancient treasures, the monumental splendour of the city named after the goddess, Athena, is not overpowering, even if theirs are far better kept. If Athens reminds me a lot of India, it must be because of its unique position at the geographical cusp of the east (Asia Minor) and the west (Europe). The pollution, the vegetable market on Athinas Street, the crowds, the sound of their language and music, the food (the famed souvlaki is like sheesh kabab), the clothes - lots of tie-dye kurtas and wrap-around skirts, plenty of cotton embroidered tops and kitschy chappals - the facade of its urban sprawl and of course, the summer heat, almost as unbearable as in Delhi or Mumbai. I even meet Preity Zinta dimpling away, a hennaed hand held up. She is on a giant window poster of 'Bollywood', a nightclub that has nothing to do with Indian cinema and is located in the heart of the 19th century fashionable labyrinth of Plaka, a short walk from the Acropolis.

The similarities end with the attitude and the appearance of the people. It is the way the Greeks dress and enjoy themselves that sets them apart from, say, the Indians. Full-figured women of all ages nonchalantly don form-hugging, skimpy clothes that are both comfortable and fashionable, without being ogled at by Greek men, in a society that still veers towards the patriarchal. In Plaka, Nikolai points to an old man, selling books at a plateia (square). It turns out that he was jailed for stabbing two people who danced to the music he selected at a taverna. According to an old custom,
it's honour-bound for a man to dance to his own tune; someone else dancing to it is a deadly insult. Now free, the man has written his life story.

Compared to Paris, it seems to me that Greece is inclined to be more romantically demonstrative. Be it Athens or the islands, cuddling appears to be a natural expression of affection. Even more striking, is the confidence of almost every young woman I meet. I don't see many living Greek gods and the young men (older men tend to be grumpy and anxious) are more inclined to throw abashed glances at their pretty young female compatriots than leer aggressively. Greeks, men and women, love to sit for hours in the evenings in the zillions of sidewalk cafes of all definitions, discussing their two de facto religions, politics and football.

It was the heat that was a killer though, just like Mumbai's, but without the humidity so I headed for the Cycladic Islands. The hospitality industry in Greece, I discover, is run by a significant number of tourists themselves. Be it in the splendour of the volcanic island of Santorini or its neighbouring yachting island of Paros, or far-flung Rhodes in the Dodecanese. Pensioners, students, workers, they come from all over the world - Canada, Australia, UK, Africa and the rest of Europe and stay back to either open their own B&Bs or take up hotel jobs on a study break.

Back in Athens, the new metro link to the airport is ready in time. I head out. The Lonely Planet says, to really love the city, you need to stay long enough to appreciate and understand its culture and, by that time, most travellers are long gone. Thanks to an overbooked airline, I stayed long enough to be won over by its real wealth. The local people.

Sas Epharisto, Hellas! Thank you, Greece.