Do Buildings Speak?

We live in a time when everyone is fascinated by the ability of machines to generate speech, which is why I was particularly intrigued by a walk through the city’s center that focused on what it called “the historical memory” of buildings. It was an activity along Amalias Avenue organized by Heritagent, an initiative that aims to connect citizens with Athens’ architectural history and enhance their engagement with buildings that serve as sites of memory.

If buildings could speak, what stories would they tell? For Konstantina Markoglou, who designed this walk, the architectural traces we encounter in the city are material testimonies to narratives. This idea resonates with me, particularly because materiality has been increasingly overshadowed by digitalization. If I can touch something, it feels more alive to me – even if it isn’t.

We met at the café Oasis, at the entrance of Zappeion towards Amalias Avenue. Our walk began where another kind of gathering had once ended – the informal “bride market” that used to take place outside the Hotel Grande Bretagne in the late 19th century. Every afternoon, this promenade was the site of a social rendezvous, a “universal gossip hub, an eternal exchange of glances, and an unceasing chatter about both acquaintances and strangers,” according to journalist Timos Moraitinis. The avenue, once known to Athenians as Pepper Tree Avenue, was later renamed Amalias Avenue. Many prominent Greeks invested in this area, believing that the royal palace would be built there and hoping to secure a place near to that structure.

What Purpose Does Each Building Serve?

Our first stop was at No. 42. This modernist interwar building features neoclassical and Art Deco elements, as well as many bullet holes. If you drive by, you’re unlikely to notice the holes, and even as a pedestrian, it’s easy to overlook the marks in the façade – remnants of gunfire from the violent clashes of December 1944. (The stories behind these holes speak of scars much deeper than the marks themselves.)

Designed by architect Emmanuel Lazaridis, a proponent of rationalized modern classicism, this building also showcases an interesting architectural element: bay windows. Some Athenian bay windows could extend as much as 1.40 meters outward from the façade. On this building, however, they protruded only 40 centimeters. It seems a 1937 regulation limited that aspect of their size. As Konstantina Markoglou explained, it’s important when looking at a building to ask questions: “Where is it located? When was it built, who built it and why? What was its purpose? What construction techniques were used? What role did it play over the years?”

We continued uphill along Amalias Avenue, stopping at No. 38, outside the Historic Weaving School of the Society for the Education of Young Women. Built in 1901 with a donation from Andreas Syngros and designed by architect Nikolaos Lyssippos, the school, which still offers weaving lessons today, had as its original purpose a social agenda; upper-class women of the time once provided similar training to “impoverished girls.” Back then, the focus was on domestic education. Today, students exhibit their works in a shop on Kolokotroni Street.

Next door, at No. 36, stands the Lykiardopoulos Mansion, a building designed by Konstantinos Kyriakidis. Located at the corner of Amalias Avenue and Spyrou Tsagkari Street, it is one of the first (and most recognizable) Art Deco buildings in Athens. We learned that it also stirred controversy: a five-story building at a time when surrounding structures were much shorter, it was widely criticized. Many saw it as an arrogant symbol of superiority, while some local residents lamented the loss of their unobstructed view of the eastern side of the Acropolis.

“We’ll Keep Our Donkeys There”

After wandering through the narrow streets of Plaka, we arrived at the Anglican Church of St. Paul, a rare example of neo-Gothic architecture at the corner of Amalias Avenue and Filellinon Street. This building represents the new cultural influences introduced to Greece in the mid-19th century: a blend of Bavarian and other elements. However, at the time, it was not warmly received by the Greeks.

Markoglou read to us from the diary of Christiane Lüth (A Danish Woman at King Otto’s Court), who wrote on November 25, 1844: “The locals say, let them build their church – we’ll keep our donkeys and sheep inside it.” Just as I let my thoughts go back to that time, however, I noticed something that pulled me right back to the present: a memorial plaque on the church floor dedicated to Stephen Saunders, the British military attaché assassinated by the terrorist group November 17 in 2000. Saunders had been a classmate of Father Gerry, the clergyman who welcomed us inside.

Today, St. Paul’s is perhaps the most outward-facing building we visited. It frequently hosts cultural events, primarily musical performances, which the space enhances with its unique sense of solemnity.

Buildings Don’t Just Speak – They Sing

Our walk concluded at the home of Angelos and Leto Katakouzenos, on the fifth floor of No. 4. The neurologist-psychiatrist and his writer wife were prominent figures in Greece’s literary and artistic circles, and their home became Athens’ foremost literary and artistic salon.

Now a museum, the apartment reflects the depth and brilliance of modern Greek art. Its rooms feature works by renowned artists such as Hadjikyriakos-Ghikas, Gounaropoulos, Vasiliou, and Flora-Karavia – even a watercolor by Marc Chagall. These were gifts from the artists themselves, tokens of gratitude for the hospitality and support they received from the couple, as museum curator Sofia Peloponnisiou-Vasilakou explained.

The owners’ refined aesthetic sense, combined with the artistic interventions of Yannis Tsarouchis, make this apartment an enduring tribute to urban elegance, but it has other claims to fame as well. Many important events that took place within its walls. It was here that the famous “Photograph of the Generation of the ’30s” was taken. It was also here that a reception was held to celebrate Odysseas Elytis’ Nobel Prize, and it was here, too, that Andreas Embirikos read excerpts from his novel “The Great Eastern,” and where Manos Hadjidakis played parts of his “The Great Erotic” song cycle for the first time.

As it turns out, it seems that buildings don’t just speak – they sing.