The Bohemian

A notion I learned while studying the minimalist lifestyle cited that one's home should communicate one's values and personality. Our homestay in Athens belonged to a kind, middle-aged lady who was not a minimalist. She was a collector of all things, it seemed, and each small collection was housed in purpose-built shelving and displays. Tobacco tins and matchbooks adorned one corner of the hall, while cassette tapes and vinyl records were forgotten on shelves across a loaded bookcase. The tiny kitchen could be likened to an ancient apothecary; scores of miniature jars and bottles of spices, herbs, teas, and oils cluttered the countertop. Even the bathroom was a perfume parlour where a muddle of scents stood in rows four or five bottles deep. Who was our host? We never asked, nor did we desire to. Instead, we imagined she was a Professor of Architecture and Design who consulted from her large office. The books she owned surely were evidence of that. Or perhaps she was writing a book on the subject herself, as each room seemed decorated intentionally in a quirky, bohemian style. Peeling paint was embraced as a feature, perfectly complementing the original tile design in the hall, patterned floor cushions, and strings of fairy lights. And so, we took our fancies to be true.