Everywhere I turn in Athens, my past rises up to meet me.

That café was once a pastry shop where our babysitter would buy us treats when I lived here as a child-pain au chocolat for my brother, lemon-filled doughnut for me. We moved to the US when I was seven, but I've returned to Greece nearly every summer since I was 14. This square is where I scored scalped tickets to the 2004 Olympics. That church is where I lit candles every year on my annual trip, in hope or gratitude: Let me do well on that exam, find a job, get pregnant.

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When I was single, my trips always included a stop in Athens to see friends and museums and drink in open-air bars under the illuminated Acropolis. But then I had children, and the city, with its cobbled walkways and hectic streets, proved challenging to navigate with strollers in tow. On top of that, it was hit hard by the international financial crisis of 2008, followed by a decade of austerity; restaurants I'd been visiting for 20 years shuttered, friends moved abroad, storefronts stood empty. I couldn't justify dragging the kids away from our family's village in the mountains to stand on baking marble, waiting to see the Acropolis.

Then, slowly, things changed again. My children grew up and became obsessed with Greek mythology. (Thank you, Percy Jackson.) During the pandemic, several Greek American friends moved to Athens, where life could be lived outdoors and strict controls kept the virus in check. By the time the world reopened, even people I knew who weren't Greek were hitching their fortunes to the city. Foreign investment and tourists are pouring in-with 30 million visitors, 2022 almost reached 2019's record of 33 million-and, after decades of financial instability, both are welcome. The hope is that the newcomers lead to an evolution of the city, not an erasure of it. In the summer of 2022, before things changed too much, I decided it was time to show the kids where Mama spent her preschool years.