As soon as the first cold hits, the city smells of roasted chestnuts. You don’t see them everywhere like you used to, but if you come across a chestnut vendor in Thessaloniki, in central Athens, or on Ermou Street, the smell wraps around you instantly. It’s like it’s saying, “Hey, it’s all good, winter is here.” And in the middle of the hustle and bustle, with footsteps and cars all around, you suddenly feel a strange sense of calm.
Chestnut vendors used to be everywhere. On street corners, in squares, with their little stoves smoking in the cold. They stayed there all winter, selling their warm chestnuts, helping their families back in the villages. And when the season was over, they packed up and left. Since the 19th century, they’ve been a familiar sight, a small, warm tradition that repeated itself every year.
And there’s something magical about it. The chestnuts pop over the fire, the stove smokes, and the paper cones warm your hands. Smoke rises like a little cloud, the shop lights reflect off the cart, and suddenly, in the grey of winter, there’s a tiny corner of warmth. You hear the little “tsk tsk” of the chestnuts, smell the smoke, see the vendor’s smile—and for a moment, the city seems to stop.
Every winter, these people bring a little nostalgia into the air. And as you watch them there, with the fire, the cones, and their smiles, you feel that a part of Greece never changes. It insists, against the passing of time, on reminding us that the little joys are still here...
