Walking across the old Olympic complex in Athens is, indeed, a complex mixture of conflicting emotions.
The site is still impressive both in its scale as well as ambition, with the white (wide) open spaces soaking up and reflecting back the Mediterranean sunshine, a seemingly perfect forum for the crowds to wind there way between buildings.
And yet: since 2004 the site has been in steady structural decline, though much of it remains in regular use (the bridge over Kifissias Avenue that takes me to school and the office still has the “Spirit of the Games” slogan draped across it, just to remind the busy commuters of a much more optimistic and not-that-long-ago era).
On foot (there are only few barriers to an unhindered wander across the expansive area) one is regularly drawn to the weeds coming up between the cracks, flaking paint, rust, graffiti, and a general sense of abandoned former glory. At one end the open spaces hum in the summer heat (with traffic in the background), while at the other the massive water sports facilities resemble a concrete and steel jungle which is partly still very actively in use and partly in a state of complete neglect.
Overall, rich pickings for a photographer, almost like the meal awaiting a vulture getting ready to feast on the aftermath of a large, and rather fatal, battle. And still, the sense that the pictures that were taken 14 years ago had a very different texture and feeling: much time has passed since then, as have locations and the places called home.
Athens 2018 : 151/365