The Acropolis

The Acropolis of Athens has been a recognizable and important landmark for thousands of years.  Surrounded by a massive stone wall during the Myceanean civilization, this widely known rock most likely began as a strategic citadel to protect its citizens.  Through the centuries, it evolved into a religious center and, more particularly, a sactuary for the Goddess of Athena, deity of Athens.  The temples visible today stand as proud symbols of the cultural and political achievements of Greek civilization.  

As it was in 1996, much of the Parthenon is covered in scaffolding, the ruins in a constant state of repair. The museum was closed in anticipation of relocating its 4500 artifacts, many from the sixth and fifth centuries B.C., to a brand new museum just down the hill. (This move began shortly after we returned to California. Having just been there, we were enthralled to hear about the crowds watching the gigantic cranes painstakingly move the precious antiquities down the hill.) But the Parthenon itself was as breathtaking as the first time. Awed, as before, we took our time in seeing everything from all angles.

A side view of the Parthenon, built in the fifth century B.C. in dedication to the Goddess Athena. The temple embodies the epitome of Doric architecture, a mathematic masterpiece revered for its harmonic figuration.

Claiming a choice seat at the Theater of Dionysos, I contemplate the Greek tragedies performed here in 330 B.C. and beyond. Had I been around then, I could have enjoyed dramas performed by the great Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, or Aristophanes, who all performed in this very spot.

Reliefs decorate the rear of the stage at the Theater of Dionysos, depicting scenes from the life of Dionysos himself, God of the Vine and Drunken Revelry (one of my favorite Gods).

The south slope of the Acropolis provides a perfect setting for the Odeion of Herodes Atticus, the semi-circle theater built in 161 A.D. by Herodes Atticus of Marathon in memory of his wife, Regilla. In modern, as in ancient times, the theater hosts musical and theatrical productions.

My favorite corner of the Acropolis. To the north of the Parthenon stands the Erechtheion, built in the early 400’s B.C over ancient sanctuaries, which were, in turn, built over a Mycenaean palace. The most sacred site on the Acropolis, this temple was where Athena Polias and Poseidon-Erechtheus were worshipped.

The Porch of the Caryatids — my favorite part the Erechtheion. Some believe these six tunic-clad maidens represent the Arrephoroi, young, elite women dedicated in service to the Goddess Athena. Effortlessly supporting the porch roof with their heads, these six are marble casts of the five originals which are housed in the Acropolis Museum, away from the destructive pollution of Athens. The sixth original was stolen by Lord Elgin and sold to the British Museum in 1816.

Six decorative Ionic columns of the Erechtheion contrast with the impressive, but less ornate Doric columns of the nearby Parthenon.

Majestic architectural detail on the Erechtheion, worthy of the Goddess Athena.

With the Parthenon at our backs and Acropolis dust coating our shoes, these intrepid travelers are very happy to be back in Athens!

Readying ourselves to leave this magical spot, we stood on the Belvedere, gazing out over the city as the flag of Greece waved overhead. Not a wisp of pollution clouded the sky and Athens stretched out before us in crystal-clear focus.

Street Musicians

Reluctantly, we finally drifted down towards the Plaka. As we plodded along an out-of-the-way street, beating drums and a melancholy voice led us to two smiling African men sitting on a heavy stone. Heads bobbing, we listened appreciatively to this percussive and sonorous serenade before giving them a tip and heading on our way.

A clump of trees on another off-street served as a homeless man’s fort. Set up as if he were indoors, his space among the tree trunks held a bed, a stereo, and a number of other comforts right out in the open.

Our wanderings took us past a little shop on a steep narrow street and we said hello to the owner, hanging out in front. Initially mistaking us for Italians (which happened several times during our stay in Greece), he introduced himself as Peter. We chatted a few minutes before he invited us to come in to look around. Since by now we were in earnest search of dinner, we promised we would return. (We did — when we returned to Athens for our last day before heading back to the U.S.)

Offering a recommendation for a good taverna, he directed us to a wonderful little spot filled with mostly Greeks. It turned out to be an exceptional dinner.

September 14 – Subway Snafu

The next morning found us once again struggling with our packs, trudging towards the Monastiraki metro station. No one was at the ticket counter, so we had to buy our tickets from a machine, remembering that on the way from the airport to the city, the tickets had cost 8 Euro apiece. This morning, as we bought one-way tickets back to the airport, the cost was only 1.20. Something wasn’t quite right — why would the price be so different? But since no one was about to ask, we simply got on the next train.

Three different times it stopped and the lights went out. Everyone had to get off and wait for another train to come along. One zoomed up, crammed with people, so we stood, holding on while keeping our packs tucked underfoot.

At the last stop just before the airport, a group of ticket-checkers got on. Dressed in her official-looking uniform, a dour-faced woman went to each rider, one-by-one, asking to see tickets. She approached us and I produced ours. Twisting her face in scrutiny, she informed us these were not the right tickets. The price to ride the metro to the airport was 8 Euro. I explained our story of not finding anyone at the window to assist in our purchase and so we had simply obtained these, indicating one-way, from a machine.

Informing us that we were supposed to have pushed the button for “Airport,” she was now going to fine us 60 Euro apiece for our inadvertent blunder. Politely beseeching her forgiveness for our misunderstanding did not waver her resolve to extract a total of 120 Euro from us that morning. As I peeled off the cash, I told her it was unfair and not right to unsuspecting tourists who did not know or understand the system, especially when there had been no one about to ask. Coldly, she replied that hundreds of tourists ride the metro every day and we were not special. Seething, we watched as she picked her way through the rest of riders. In our car alone, she extorted 60 Euro fines from no less than eight other tourists. Now I know how some of that snazzy new subway system is being paid for!

This event did not set the mood well for the day. Already a bit nervous about navigating the roads of Greece with little familiarity of its alphabet, we settled into our rented Chevy Matiz with more than a little trepidation. The friendly clerk at the EuropeCar counter (called Auto Europe in the States) had at least armed us with basic directions for getting out of the city and on our way towards the Peloponnese. After dubbing our shiny turquoise car “Aggie” after the Aegean Sea, we merged into an ocean of cars and watched for the designated signs.

Corinth Lost

Successfully navigating away from the city, we buzzed down the autostrada, approaching Corinth. Our intention was to stop at Ancient Korinthos on our way to Naplion, where we would spend the next three nights. As we approached modern Corinth, the exits became confusing and we missed the turn-off. After a couple of back-and-forths, I turned down a side road hoping to get oriented. We seemed to be heading into deserted countryside, so I pulled into a little feed store at the side of the road, not knowing how long it would be before finding anything else. Two wizened Greek men stood outside, looking at us curiously.

Although very friendly, they did not speak a word of English, so we all used our hands to discuss how best to get to the road to Ancient Corinth. They had at least put us back in the right direction, but the site still eluded us. Disheartened, I pulled off just as we crossed the famous Corinth Canal. Best to take advantage of this unexpected find and regain perspective.

Grabbing cameras, we peered down into the narrow cleft which slices through earth and stone like a multi-layered cake. A thin turquoise ribbon of sea courses through the bottom. First conceived in the seventh century B.C., the idea for this aquatic shortcut was abandoned after fears that Poisedon, God of the Sea, opposed a joining of the Adriatic and Aegean. Flying in the face of this belief, Emperor Nero bravely broke ground in 67 A.D., initiating the excavation with his silver shovel. The project was not completed until 1893. At four miles long, 82′ wide, and 26′ deep, the canal shaves 185 nautical miles off the seaward journey from Patras to Piraeus.

Desperately wanting our Peloponnese adventure to commence auspiciously, we walked into a nearby shop offering bungee jumping thrills, pulled out the map, and begged assistance in getting from here to Ancient Corinth. After patiently explaining the way, the clerk also suggested we take the longer, but much more scenic route to Epidauros, rather than sticking to the efficient, but boring highway. Thanking him profusely, we started out again, pointing ourselves in his indicated direction. But once again, the phantom turnoff eluded us — we were obviously missing something. Utterly frustrated by now, I began to seriously doubt our wisdom in attempting to drive for several days through a country where not even the letters on the road signs were recognizable.

Indulging in a brief, but cathartic meltdown, I suddenly spied the exit for the coastal route to Epidauros. Waving a mental adio to Ancient Korinthos, I resolutely peeled away from the swirl of cars and confusing highway signs. Ancient Corinth would have to wait for another trip.