What do you mean that our yearly summer excursions at one of Greece’s most famous mountain range would not become a staple of my adult life? No way!
The sky, bursting with red and orange hues, would greet us the moment we stepped out of the car and on to the hard stone patio of my grandparents home.
There are few things in life more punishing than government funded roadwork and those last thirty minutes where nothing sort of hellish for someone with a stomach as weak as mine.
Inertia enveloped me in her sickly grasp, pulling and tugging and not letting go. Every sudden turn sent a jolt through my body and my eyes where trained, fixated, on the horizon that unravelled above the distant mountaintops.
That’s what i was told to do and that’s what i did. It did not help me feel any less wretched or any less miserable, but as long as i reached our village without being sick then everything would be alright.
I used to believe that every group of relatives was populated by at least one member inclined on changing the trajectory of a normal conversation, grabbing it by the collar of it’s shirt and plunging it in icy depths riddled with conspiracy theories, alternate realities and stories which would make formally educated historians turn in their graves.
Did you know that the Earth is a vacant sphere? or how the Moon that graces our skies is a mechanical contraption and how the Ancient Greeks where technologically advanced to the point of building spaceships which would allow for space exploration? No? Then my uncle has probably never invited you over for lunch.
But it is time to share something of my own.
And for those who are concerned that i am writing this post sublimely influenced by the questionable shows the History Channel tends to broadcast as soon as the clock strikes midnight...relax. For better or for worse...i take full ownership of the theory which i am about to present.
Now...I am not saying that every city in the world should be as graphic as Edinburgh’s Old Town, or that they should be as equally picturesque as Bruges or as aesthetically appeasing as Cambridge or Vienna.
But i am starting to feel that there is something malevolent lurking in the construction plans of every modern city.
This theory stems out of my refusal to believe that the result was purely accidental, that the manifestation of so much grey... numbing, boring, monotone grey... had been an honest mistake.
Much like a rash... it’s just a few odd specks, so you put on a long-sleeve shirt and hope that it will just go away.
Billions of people live their lives in soul sucking structural abominations... by accident? That’s what i am not buying.
But who is there to blame?
I am not really sure. It’s a conspiracy theory so i guess that bestows my accusations with a certain degree of flexibility. How about the wealthy contractors? Gleefully rubbing their hands together while observing the installation of yet another eight story slab of cement.
Of course it’s not them. If your conspiracy is to be worth it’s salt then the real culprits must be hidden in the shadows, far away from any primitive, unsuspecting city-dwellers.
Picture butlers, dungeons, champagne trolleys and massive carved fireplaces.