Darcie Imbert

People say Athens is becoming a creative hotspot, but Athens always was – and always will be – a cultural capital.

City dwellers are surrounded by people whose lives fold neatly into the compact apartments above and below them; they share their small slice of the city with housemates and overlook neighbours in the absence of space. After years of building up and pushing nature out, architectural trends are shifting and cities are slowly rewilding. Across the globe, biophilic design is punctuating the cityscape with 

 – offices with hydroponic farms, high rises studded with plant life in the form of living walls, rooftop parks with mini allotments – creating everyday encounters with nature and reconnecting urban communities.

The reedition of the Cloudaway – designed by On for the modern explorer – led us to Athens to uncover 

, part of the global move towards reviving traditional ways of living with nature, using non-traditional architecture. When it comes to social values, being close to nature now scores much higher, and changing urban environments reflect that. From above, the concrete architecture of Athens crisscrosses around ancient ruins and pockets of green. Long before becoming a sprawling metropolis packed with towering apartment blocks, Ancient Greece was built to uphold its resident’s penchant for outdoor living; houses were for sleeping and public spaces were for living. As part of the city’s revival, architects are looking to the past to create a more sustainable future, and despite its density, the city has started to breathe again.

People say Athens is becoming a creative hotspot, but Athens always was – and always will be – a cultural capital. The city’s architecture has been shaped over twenty-five centuries, its time-warped facade crumbling under the weight of too many civilisations. Athens is where democracy was born along with a catalogue of other big ideas about human life and minds that have been borrowed (and bent) by the rest of the world. This is a city that is constantly reinventing itself, its culture being pushed forward by a cohort of creatives in art, design, architecture and philosophy. Athens is a creative cornucopia that reveals itself to the adventurers who look hard enough in search of new landscapes, cultures and experiences. Athens isn’t the new Berlin, Athens is the new Athens.

Most of the year is temperate, but summer in Athens is hot; the city sweats in forty-degree temperatures and everyone flocks to nearby islands or in search of greener spaces that are less stifling. In the place of abandoned lots that morphed into makeshift landfills over time, now stand pocket-sized-parks packed with flora and fauna, the Government’s response to rising pollution, designed to prop up living standards, cultivate communities and support the city’s ecosystems. Over the past decade, pocket parks have popped up in major cities across the world like Paris, London and New York, to offer locals a place to breathe and reconnect with nature. Follow the marble-paved streets of Kypseli, Kolonos and Pangrati and you’ll find them in their verdant glory, normally filled with locals chatting on upcycled benches. Athens’ pocket parks are small but smart; durable trees and plants were chosen for their long bloom yet low maintenance, and sustainable materials have been used where possible, think solar panel systems that provide light after dark and footpaths paved with innovative concrete.

From almost any point in the city, you can see Lycabettus Hill, a limestone mound that reaches beyond the concrete labyrinth up into the sky; an urban anomaly where locals and visitors drink beers with a backdrop of the city and watch the sun sink into the landscape. According to Greek mythology, the Goddess of Athena dropped a rock whilst trying to help build her grand temple, the Parthenon, and so Lycabettus Hill was formed. Start walking up the pine-clad foothills in the well-heeled neighbourhood of Kolonaki and continue zig-zagging until you reach the top; the Cloudaway was designed for wandering the streets as soon as day breaks, and hiking up hills for a 360-degree sunset – or sunrise.

Most streets lead to something unexpected in Athens; walk down a basement (and back a hundred years) into a tiny taverna or turn a corner into an urban oasis filled with classical sculptures. Take Latraac, which sits on a semi-derelict, post-industrial street in Karameikos – an iron shutter opens onto a 19th-century courtyard, reimagined into a community space focused around a skate bowl designed by architect Zachos Varfis.

 “Large empty downtown plots were wasting away and it seemed cool to put all this together, plant trees and build a cafe and the bowl, bringing together a wider creative community.” 

Latraac is a cafe by day and bar by night with a revolving roster of DJs serving up genre-bending sets well into the early hours. Latraac is about community and creating space for subcultures to thrive; bigger names like Larry Gus and multi-disciplinary record label PAN play alongside new faces, and in between day-to-night specials and art shows, they host skate classes for young refugees. All of Zachos’ projects are tied together by the intangible sense of intimacy they create, between communities and with nature; the space itself was created using repurposed materials and although rewilding wasn’t their initial intention, plants now climb around the plywood skate bowl and create a shaded canopy overhead. Similarly, the natural world provides the starting point for most of On’s designs; made from sustainable materials and futuristic technology, the Cloudaway has a wave-like sidewall in the shape of a mountain and leaves a sustainable footprint with a 3D map of the brand’s native Engadine Valley embossed onto the sole.

A staple silhouette for unconventional city breaks, the Cloudaway is designed to explore a new urban architecture that 

, taking you from sunrise to sunset, and making sure you look good while doing it.

See Collection Here

Greece

Athens

Uncovering Spaces to Breathe in Athens with the Cloudaway

Once a political prison housing 6,000 inmates, Dzaleka is now a refugee camp, home to over 40,000 refugees from the nearby Democratic Republic of Congo, Rwanda, Burundi, Ethiopia, and Somalia, fleeing genocide, violence and conflict. In the face of adversity, comes creativity; the community of Dzaleka are using dance as a vehicle for change, redrawing the parameters of what it means to be a refugee.

Dance is the oldest form of storytelling, it gives expression to thoughts, ideas and emotions, and has long been used in African societies to express the nuances of cultural identity. During the period of enslavement, families were separated to prevent communication and different nationalities were often mixed in an attempt to disassociate the enslaved from their homeland. Despite language barriers, music and dance prevailed as the uniting force that bonded communities together. Congolese born brothers Toussaint and Fredy Farini recognised the power of dance to incite hope, and established Salma Africa in 2014, a dance group and intercultural youth centre that set in motion a new vision for the future. In their native Congo, dance culture is rooted in ancestral community spirit, an act of solidarity that enables tribes to tell their unique story, creating a language of their own through movement. This same sense of solidarity ripples through the community at Dzaleka, redrawing the parameters of what is possible for young refugees.


‘This is not a prison, it’s a waiting room. These people are not here to waste their future, they are here to think about their next step’.

Having spent years amidst the cruel, cyclical patterns of Dzaleka, Toussaint Farini and his collaborators founded Salama Africa to bring hope and incite change, empowering young refugees to take charge of their future through creative means. The dance community encourages movement as a vehicle for rehabilitation, allowing the dancers and their audiences to reconnect with their surroundings in a positive way. What started as one dance group has grown to inspire an entire generation at Dzaleka and beyond, leading to the emergence of more groups that share the same premise and enable young individuals to use dance as a tool to share their language and recultivate their identity. The interconnected nature of conflict within the Horn of Africa often means that different groups residing in the camp were once at war with each other prior to their arrival. Hutu and Tutsi, the opposing tribes at the centre of the Rwandan Genocide of 1994, both exist within the camp; and the involvement of Rwandans in the political unrest in Congo add another layer to he tangled politics of the region, contributing to a history of tension at Dzaleka. Salama Africa and the community of dancers at Dzaleka represent an alternative vision for the future, advocating creativity over conflict, celebrating identity, diversity and difference in order to dissolve tension along ethnic lines.

Overcrowded and underfunded, the lack of employment opportunities and absence of education in Dzaleka makes refugees susceptible to the cyclical patterns that prevent upward mobility. Many of the dancers were born in the camp, which often means no formal education and fewer work opportunities as a result; eclipsing an entire generation into a poverty trap. As one of the least developed countries in the world with more than half of the population living on less than one dollar per day, Malawians are often forced to compete for a finite amount of food, land, and jobs, and as a result the country has adopted strict encampment policies aimed at curbing the competition. For the refugees at Dzaleka, this means little freedom of movement without permission, and limited work opportunities beyond the camp boundaries. Many become reliant on UNHCR rations for food and other external assistance for survival; unable to earn a living and build the pillars that constitute a stable life, refugees often turn to drugs and alcohol, which serves to perpetuate the negative cycles of encampment. The dance scene of Dzaleka represents a new direction; a source of ambition, dedication, and positivity for dancers and the wider refugee community.

Having travelled to Malawi to experience first-hand the power of dance to change lives, Director Lily Colfox and her team are raising funds to finish their film, ‘Dance For Change’, to help the dance community of Dzaleka gain global recognition for their talent, and achieve their long term goal to inspire the growth of similar organisations worldwide, breaking the cycle of poverty. The funds will be allocated to developing the cultural centre for the different dance groups to grow, offering essential tools for rehearsal and equipment to further their careers. Your donations will offer hope for the future, at Dzaleka and beyond.

South Africa

Malawi

The Dance Crew’s of Dzaleka Refugee Camp

“The way a movement emerges is through sharing, you have to share." - Gilles Peterson

Over the past decade British festivals have planted their seed across the globe, swapping out fields for more paradisiacal landscapes and glinting sea views. Making the voyage away from home towards the sun, sea and great music creates nothing short of magic.

Taking cues from Dimensions and Outlook in Croatia, and spurred on by the success of Worldwide Festival in the south of France, sonic genius Gilles Peterson brings the unencumbered spirit of UK-festivals-abroad back home with We Out Here festival. We took some time out of the second edition of We Out Here to chat with Gilles Peterson about sharing knowledge to spark new movements.

Unfolding on the grassy pastures of Cambridgeshire, Peterson invites you to be a part of his community, creating an environment ripe for discovery. Having started out installing illicit radio transmitters and hosting shows for pirate radio stations, before heading up several pioneering record labels, Peterson’s community stretches far and wide from the obscure to the familiar, the common denominator being greatness. In many ways We Out Here is an extension of Gilles Peterson himself, a showcase of his abundant repertoire of sound ranging from much loved music heroes to new and exciting talent.

Having mentored the minds behind Boiler Room and NTS, for Peterson, music is about sharing knowledge to spark new movements, “I’m not saying I want to take credit for those people but the way a movement emerges is through sharing, you have to share. It’s like how jazz works in America, the legends didn’t just become legends, they still went and taught and did their bit. It’s like Tomorrow’s Warriors: Nubya was taught for free and now she’s teaching for free, it’s about handing over. Talking about ego and success, it’s easy to forget your role in this cycle and get caught up in the hype of yourself. There’s a really fine balance between ego, success and giving back.”

Emerging from a pandemic in an era marked by individuality, We Out Here is a celebration of the collective; coming together to enjoy music and contribute towards a shared experience. This feeling of togetherness is finely tuned by the organisers who strip the festival back to its bones, forgoing the unnecessary add-ons that distract from the main ethos which is the exchange of good music; no VIP or backstage, just musical dexterity.

Peterson’s genre bending programme seamlessly connects live performances to DJ sets whilst diffusing any sense of hierarchy, “I don’t think anyone really gets the combination of live music and DJ’s right...I wanted to create a festival where I could invite Anderson Paak, Shabaka or Orchestra Poly Remote, followed by Antal, Hunee, Floating Points or Joy Orbison, and they're all going to get an amazing experience”. In the spirit of ‘equality over exclusivity’, South London community-cum-sound system Lemon Lounge (founded by Worldwide FM alumni), curated their own taste-making stage shining light on new talent at the forefront of the UK scene, garnering equal amounts of buzz as Californian artist and Grammy-winner Thundercat who performed as a special guest.

We Out Here is a destination for both enjoying what you love and discovering new sounds; an entire career's worth of sonic expertise and knowledge packaged into a weekend. After a seemingly infinite hiatus, live music is returning as a more thoughtful yet bolder and braver version of its former self with industry pioneers like Gilles Peterson at the helm. Legends make more legends, and there is no better way to experience the good that comes from sharing knowledge than at We Out Here. Add this to your summer 2022 list.


Check out Gilles' Favourite Spots in London Here

We Out Here Festival: Sharing knowledge & Sparking New Movements

Creative direction: Kesang Ball and Sophie Jones

Set Builder: Maria Shrigley
Set Assistant: Edwin Javier Garcia Curay

1st Photographer's Assistant: Harry Burner

2nd Photographer's Assistant: Christoph Langenberg
Videographer: Charlie Williams

There was a devil at the gates of the spirits. Everyone gathered to discuss how to overcome the crisis, since nobody could move through the kingdom. One by one, the spirits were defeated and devoured by the devil, until the Ibeyis, “twins” in Yoruba culture. One twin challenged the devil to outdance them, agreeing that whoever tired first would have to meet the terms of the other. The devil agreed, the music started and they started dancing to the rhythm of the drums. Unknown to the Devil, the second twin was hiding closeby, and they were continuously swapping places with each other when they tired. This went on for days until the devil became exhausted and surrendered; the twins told him their terms and he left the town in peace. The Ibeyis entered the town to announce the end of the siege, and the spirits made the twins their leader.

In Yoruba culture, Ibeyi translates to twins but it also means magic. Naomi Diaz and Lisa Kainde – who together make up Ibeyi – told this ritual narrative to show the spiritual significance of twins in Yoruba culture;  without the creativity and impulse of the twins the fate of the people could have been very different. Lisa explains that the full power and potency of twins is unleashed when they’re together, that’s when they both make most sense, “People just come up to us know, we don’t need to go to readings, they say, ‘one cup, four hands’, which means that we need to be together to hold this huge thing that we’re creating together.” 

The cup that Ibeyi are carrying is brimming with originality – a blend of different cultures from Benin to Cuba, Paris to London – a tincture that leaks out of the boxes we are conditioned to try and put it in. Their sound is familiar with its  soul-stirring jazz and meditative chanting, but at the same time, it’s new and unrecognisable.  Naomi explains that, up until this point, they have felt the need to apologise “because people didn’t know what box to put us in”. For their third album, released at the beginning of May, Ibeyi step into their power, and celebrate the new, unique language they have created together.

“People just come up to us now, we don’t need to go to readings, they say, ‘one cup, four hands’, which means that we need to be together to hold this huge thing that we’re creating together.” - Naomi

We wanted to shoot Ibeyi in a way that shows the depth of their cultural identity, the same way that their music does, so we asked the duo to bring a piece of art that would normally adorn their walls to help unlock their cultural heritage. Lisa brought an Elegua (the God that owns the pathways between the earth and divine realms); the image pictures a small white child sitting on a chair similar to the one their late father had on his altar when they were growing up. 

When Yoruba people were forcibly transported to the Americas from their ancestral homeland stretching from Benin across to Nigeria, slave owners prevented them from praying to their own Gods, so they swapped out Yoruba Gods with Catholic saints to give the illusion of religious assimilation whilst preserving their own culture, but over time these Catholic icons 

 their Yoruba counterparts and still exist as religious figures today.  

“One of those things happened, a sign of the Universe. We were in Texas which has 

 to do with Yoruba people, we stopped at a gas station and I saw it, next to loads of Virgin Marys. I thought, ‘that’s Dad’ and I took it.” - Lisa

Lisa came across the small saint sitting on a chair whilst travelling through the depths of Texas on tour, “One of those things happened, a sign of the Universe. We were in Texas which has 

 to do with Yoruba people, we stopped at a gas station and I saw it, next to loads of Virgin Marys. I thought, ‘that’s Dad’ and I took it.” A conversation with Naomi and Lisa about their journey so far is punctuated with enough serendipity to persuade anyone that they’re following a pre-destined path to exactly where they’re meant to be. When talking about memorable trips, Lisa remembers travelling through Bennin to visit the Door of No Return, where slaves were shipped to Cuba, as well as Brazil, America and beyond. They pulled over for water, the man who served them realised they were twins and told them they had unknowingly stopped in The Land of Twins, and they held a ceremony together.


Making music has taken Ibeyi around the world, from the small jazz cafes of Tokyo to sold-out venues in Rio where fans were hanging from the ceiling singing Yoruba songs word-for-word. Work means travel, and home seems to be a fluid concept with no fixed destination. When I asked them what tastes and smells reminded them of home, Lisa replied, “it depends what home”.  Aside from the smell of garlic cooking in their Grandmother’s Parisian kitchen,  and the hot petrol-tainted air of Havana, music seems to feel a lot like home for them. When talking about their connection to Yoruba songs, Naomi uses the word 

 to describe the feeling, “It’s a connection with our Dad who passed away when we were 11, it’s a connection to Cuba, to ourselves, to our Mum who taught us them.” Lisa finished her train of thought, “It’s family. Every time I’m alone and I open my book to start singing them, I go through every single song and I can still hear the harmonies of my mum and sister. I’m never singing them alone. When we’re on stage we sing them with every single person that ever sang those songs.” As well as singing Yoruba prayer songs, they both use French, Spanish and English to express the nuances of their identity,

 “There are things I can’t say in English, things I can’t say in French, and things I can’t say in Spanish. There are phrases that are so much more poetic in Spanish than in English, it’s the same in each language. The weight each carries is also different for us….There are places we can only go in one certain language.”

Our conversation shifted to the upcoming album, and the new(ish) world they’re releasing it to, one that seems more informed, open and curious. We talk about their upcoming release Sister 2 Sister, and they both chant the lyrics “here’s how you say Ibeyi”, Lisa says,  “It’s time for us as a band to say it’s not that difficult to say Ibeyi, you know, it’s time for the rest of the world to say it back to people too. The world is ready to accept that there are different cultures and we need to be gentler to each other and make a little effort to do the work.” Their third studio album, Spell 31, is layered with stories about magic, love, growth and relationships; in another act of fate, the album will feature collaborations with a host of other artists-cum-friends they have have met on their journey, including 

 who features on their upcoming single ‘Lavender & Red Roses’, a song about feeling the need to save the people you love, even though they’re pulling you into darkness.