Presidential Mansion, Athens

Listen first. Somewhere behind the iron railings, a heavy wooden shoe strikes the pavement. The sound is slow and deliberate, and it echoes off pale stone. Above you, the pines and palms of the National Garden move in the breeze. The traffic of central Athens feels oddly far away. You are standing on Herodes Atticus Street, one of the quietest and most closely guarded streets in the Greek capital. In front of you is the Presidential Mansion, the official home of the President of the Hellenic Republic.

The building was not designed for a president. It was designed for a prince. In the late nineteenth century, Greece was a young kingdom. Its royal family wanted a separate residence for the heir to the throne, Crown Prince Constantine. The result was this palace, built in the 1890s. For many decades Athenians called it the Crown Prince's Palace, or simply the New Palace. That second name helped to separate it from the older royal palace a short walk away on Syntagma Square.

The architect was Ernst Ziller. He was German by birth, but he spent most of his working life in Greece. It is hard to walk through central Athens without passing one of his buildings. He designed mansions, churches, theatres, and public buildings across the country. Ziller worked in the neoclassical style. This style borrows the columns, proportions, and calm symmetry of ancient Greek and Roman temples. In nineteenth-century Athens, the style carried a clear message. The new nation saw itself as the heir of the classical past.

Look at the facade through the railings. Notice how balanced it is, with the left side mirroring the right. Pale stone and clean horizontal lines give the building a cool, ordered look, even on a hot afternoon. There is no gold and no dramatic tower. Compared with many European royal palaces, this one is restrained. That restraint is part of the story. Greece was not a rich kingdom, and its palaces were built to look dignified rather than overwhelming.

Now, here is a detail that many visitors miss. Turn around and look along the street. Herodes Atticus Street is a short avenue, but it holds several centres of Greek political life. Nearby stands the Maximos Mansion, which serves as the office of the Prime Minister. So, within a few minutes' walk, you have the head of state, the head of government, and the Parliament. The Parliament sits in the old royal palace on Syntagma Square. Few capitals pack so much power into such a small, leafy corner.

The older palace on Syntagma Square has its own role in this building's story. In the early twentieth century, a serious fire damaged that older palace. The royal family needed somewhere else to live and to receive guests. Over time, this mansion became the main royal residence in Athens. The building intended for an heir became the home of the kings themselves. Meanwhile, the old palace was later rebuilt and converted into the home of the Greek Parliament.

The twentieth century was turbulent for the Greek monarchy. Kings were exiled and restored more than once. The country went through wars, occupation, civil conflict, and a military dictatorship. Through all of this, the mansion stayed a symbol of state authority. Then, in 1974, after the fall of the dictatorship, Greeks voted in a referendum. They chose to abolish the monarchy. Greece became a parliamentary republic, and the royal palace became the residence of the President.

That change is the second surprise hidden in these walls. The building looks almost the same as it did in royal times. But its meaning changed completely. A house made for a hereditary prince now belongs to an elected office. Presidents in Greece are chosen by Parliament. Their role is largely ceremonial, but it carries real weight. The President receives foreign heads of state here, accepts the credentials of ambassadors, and hosts official receptions. Sometimes, ministers are sworn into office inside these rooms.

Now return your attention to the guards. These soldiers are the Evzones, members of the Presidential Guard. Their uniform is one of the most recognisable sights in Greece. Look for the white kilt-like skirt, called the fustanella, and the dark tasselled cap. Look down at the shoes, called tsarouchia. They are heavy red leather shoes, studded with nails under the sole and topped with a large black pompom. That ringing sound you heard at the start comes from those nails striking stone.

Locals love to share one story about the fustanella. According to a popular tale, the skirt has four hundred pleats, one for each year of Ottoman rule over Greece. It is a moving image, but treat it as tradition rather than precise history. What is certain is that the uniform draws on the clothing of mountain fighters from the Greek War of Independence in the 1820s. The guards still wear it with great pride.

Watch how the Evzones move. When they change position, they use a slow, high-kicking step. Each movement is controlled and exact. Between these movements, they stand completely still, whatever the weather. Please be respectful here. Do not touch the guards, do not block their path, and keep a polite distance for photographs. These are serving soldiers on duty, not performers. The best-known changing of the guard takes place at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier on Syntagma Square, only a few minutes away.

Behind the mansion, out of sight, lie private gardens. They border the National Garden, the large public park you can walk into nearby. The National Garden was once the royal garden. Today it is open to everyone, with shaded paths, ponds, and old trees. After standing on the hot pavement, it is worth stepping inside. It is one of the coolest and quietest places in central Athens on a summer afternoon. You can also follow the edge of the park toward the Zappeion, a grand exhibition hall from the late nineteenth century.

Before you move on, take one last look through the railings. Notice the contrast between the stillness of the guard and the movement of the trees above him. Notice how the pale stone holds the light. This building has seen princes, kings, and presidents pass through its doors. Yet from the street, it stays calm and almost modest. As you walk away along Herodes Atticus Street, listen once more. You may hear the nailed shoes striking stone again... a small, steady sound at the centre of the Greek state.