Geography Lession – Greece

If you divide mainland Greece into three geographic regions, you will see the northern part which borders Bulgaria, the central area washed by two seas (Ionion and the Aegean), and a southern peninsula, lapped by three (Ionion, Aegean, and Mediterranean).

Almost looking like a fat four-fingered hand, this peninsula — the Peloponnese — consists of 21,549 square miles, featuring a mountainous interior and glorious beaches. Its four points of land jutting southward include the Messenia, the Mani peninsula, Cape Malea, and the Argolid.

Named after the legendary hero, Pelops, the Pelopos Nisos (Island of Pelops) is a rugged body of land joined by the rest of Greece by the Isthus of Corinth. Korinthos (Corinth), the first town encountered as you enter the peninsula from nearby Athens, is often called “The Gateway to the Peloponnesos.” Modern Korinthos rubs shoulders with the site of Ancient Korinthos, the first of many ancient archaeological sites peppering this magical land.

September 12 – Arrival in Athens

Athens: balmy, busy, and refreshingly fresh. From the airport, a lengthy metro ride into the city zoomed us to the Monastiraki stop, just a few blocks from Hotel Tempi, our home for the next couple of days. My friend, Nicoletta, had stayed there over 20 years ago and laughed when I told her we had reservations. She remembers a funky little place with cots for beds. Not so now. It is still a bargain, but with real rooms and real beds — even our own modern bathroom with a shower that showers the whole of the bathroom along with you. A tiny balcony offered a view down onto the street teeming with pedestrians and tables. Looking right, over the hotel’s sign, you could catch a glimpse of the Parthenon, especially pretty at night.

Crystal clear Athens in the famous Greek light — our view from the Belvedere on top of the Acropolis.

Back in Athens for the first time since our very first trip to Europe in 1996, we were eager to see the city post-Olympics. The efficient and sparkling subway system had only been in the beginnings of construction 11 years ago. The city now has a sense of order, but still maintains its cultural color. Even the air seems less polluted.

I’m sure you have noticed we are not nappers. Why waste daylight when the world is a few steps out your door? So we walked, absorbing the sights: a mechanic and his tools spilling his work space out into a busy street, the ubiquitous “Bagabonds” (selling purses and sunglasses) stalking tourists on the sidewalk, old men perched on wicker chairs flipping worry beads, wheeled carts heaped with nuts and mounds of sesame-covered pretzels, street-side braziers brimming with roasting corn.

This cute little cart was parked outside our hotel. I don’t know what it says, but it would be fun to take a twirl around the town in this!

One stout-hearted man wheeled a dolly groaning under the weight of a huge dresser down the middle of a busy street, cars coming at him. Two people rode one motorcyle balancing a chair between them. Someone was washing the front of his car, while at the same time, two guys were struggling to shove a fridge into its seatless back.

Spectacular views of the Parthenon flashed in and out of sight as we wandered the Plaka district, nosing into its various shops. Buzzing with activity at the foot of the Acropolis, this quarter is indisputably the most interesting and vibrant in all of Athens.

Gino, pressing his video camera through the fence protecting the Gate of Athena Archegetis. Built in 11 B.C. with donations from Julius Caesar and Augustus, the gate features four Doric columns and a marble base.

As we walked, named and unnamed ruins sprouted here and there between the “newer” constructions of the neighborhood. No doubt, an entire ancient city sleeps beneath modern Athens, waking now and then to poke a creamy column up between the later buildings.

Reflecting its history, the Plaka’s tangle of mostly pedestrian-only streets boasts a blend of Turkish and Greek architecture as well as a lively bazaar atmosphere. Souvenir shops abound. Almost out of place, a small antique shop appeared on a corner, filled to the rafters with objects from all over the world, including shelves of Nazi memorabilia. I was tempted to buy a small piece, but hesitated at carting that dubious energy around with me for the rest of the trip. Best to leave it tucked away in the shadows.

This was a shopper’s paradise, and we indulged in a souvenir hunting frenzy for a few friends and kids back home.

Someone had asked if we’d bring back a pair of Greek sandals, the kind that lace up the leg. Finding a little shop stacked with sandals of every style, I whipped out a drawn outline of her foot that she had made for me to insure the right size. The clerks found that quite amusing and set about helping me find just the right pair.

Trinkets of every description filled the shop windows, and I indulged in a key chain dangling the blue eye which wards off evil spirits. It now hangs in my office, keeping undesirables at bay.

Random Sights on the First Athens Afternoon

From our lofty lookout at Hotel Tempi, the shifting show below was a people-watcher’s paradise. Our balcony was very similar to the one you see here on the other side of Eolou Street.

Smack in the middle of bustling Ermou Street, Panagia Kapnikarea (aka the Church of Saint Mary) has claimed this spot since 1050 A.D. Now dwarfed by surrounding modern buildings, this Byzantine place of worship squats over the ruins of an ancient temple thought to have been dedicated to Athena or Demeter.

Hadrian’s Library — 132 A.D. Wanting to provide the city with a peaceful retreat from the frenzy of the bordering bazaar, Emperor Hadrian built not only a library but included a garden with water features, artwork, and lecture halls.

According to the partially obliterated sign, this decrepitly distinctive building was once home to the Folk Art Museum “Mainland Tools.” Even though it doesn’t appear to house anything anymore, I found it particularly picturesque.

Dinner With Finnish Friends

Arranged by email a few weeks prior, the plan was to meet my Finnish friend, Jan and family, in front of Hotel Tempi at 9:00 p.m. Knowing we had hours before dinner, Gino and I indulged in a tasty gyro from one of the corner souvlaki stands. A gyro (pronounced hee-roh), in case you have never been lucky enough to have one, is the Greek’s answer to fast food, but so much better. Rotisseries pierced with huge slabs of pork, chicken, or lamb, stand like vertical cones, dripping juices as the chef shaves curls of meat for stuffing into a flat round of pita bread, then adding tomatoes, onion, fresh french fries, and a dollop of tzatziki sauce. Heavenly!

At the appointed hour, Jan strode up pushing his new grandbaby, Mio, in a stroller. With him were his wife, Liisa, daughter (and mother to Mio) Tuulia, and Liisa’s sister and her fiance’. Jan and I recognized each other immediately, even though it was the first time we’d met face to face. (See “A Greek Song Started It” to learn the story behind this meeting.) Feeling as if we’d known each other for years (which essentially we had!), we all sauntered off towards the heart of the Plaka.

Jan explained that the taverna they had originally picked for dinner had changed hands and no longer seemed good, but they had found a replacement that also featured live Greek music. Chatting and meandering along, we arrived. The taverna was outside, of course, and we had a long table reserved for us in the middle of the space. A small stage with three musicians sat at one end: a bouzouki player, guitarist, and singer.

The world disappeared but for this little corner of Greece as we shared tales and traded toasts to commemorate Jan’s recent 60th birthday. Local white wine flowed as we laughed and talked, the music setting the mood.

Jan and Liisa

Suddenly, the strains of THE song cut through the evening chatter — this was the very one that had initiated Jan’s and my friendship. I stopped and looked at Jan, exclaiming, “This is the song!”. Ceremoniously, he announced in a loud voice, “This song is the reason why we are all together at this table tonight!” Rapturously, we listened.

After dinner, we strolled through the streets, stopping at an outdoor bar called Ydria (EE-dree-a). I ordered Tsipouro, very strong and similar to grappa, and which I would unexpectedly meet again later in the trip. Gino had a Mojito and we ribbed him about drinking Cuban drinks in heart of Greece. When I couldn’t remember what day of the week it was (although that had nothing to do with the drink), Jan teased that I was “still under the spell of Sicily.”

After goodbyes for the night, Gino and I weren’t ready to return to the hotel, so we wandered up towards the Acropolis, a magnificent glowing beacon in the night. Falling upon a rocky out crop jutting at the side of the road, we hiked to the top of it to stand with others already there, gazing silently in awe at the lights of the city twinkling below.