My exercise in apathy done for the day (Monday will come soon enough), I head off for Luton Airport, a tiny airfield 40 minutes out of London, for my flight to Athens. I'm flying Easyjet, a bargain basement airline lots of us po' folk use, and I find out just how smalltime it is when I get there and see that it doesn't even have a walkway to the plane. It does have steps leading up to the plane, which is cool, but for some reason we have to run out of the terminal one at a time to get to the plane. It's like some deranged military drill without the military or the threat of war. I feel like a hostage being rescued under heavy fire from the enemy.
Once you get on the plane, you get to pick your own seat (Easyjet is too laid back for assigned seats) so of course all the window seats are gone by the time I get evacuated and onto the plane, but I luck out and get an aisle seat, plop into it, and sleep intermittently for the next four hours.
We touch down in Athens at 4:40AM and I promptly get in line for the bus to the center of town. It's thirty minutes late and it takes another forty to get into town. After yet another bad batch of directions (does anybody on this fucking planet know where they are or where they're going? After all my travels, I seriously don't think so...) and a short train ride (it's not even 6AM yet and I've already braved the town bus and Metro system -- I rock...) and I'm sitting on a bench overlooking the grass covered Metro tracks taking a short catnap, the birds tweeting away overhead and soothing me to sleep.
I awake a little later, all body parts and valuables still intact, and then get up to walk around a bit. It's still dark, so I have some time to kill, and I decide to buy some breakfast -- a sesame seed covered ring of bread and a sugar covered donut (this is the softest donut I've ever had -- I seriously contemplate using it for a pillow. It's amazing.) -- and I eat them while sitting on a cardboard box I found, watching the sun rise over the Acropolis. Very cool.
Next, I decide to try to catch a bus tour of the islands and so I start walking to various travel agencies in the area. Some problems occur: A) none speak any English, so I'm forced to act out words like "bus" and "tour" and "the Greek Isles in the South" by combining various arm flaps and sound effects, both to no good in this horrible game of charades. B) Some have never seemed to hear of buses or people wanting to tour the islands, so they keep telling me to "go see someone else. Right round corner, right round corner." (This I carefully translate and hear repeated over and over a dozen times -- but guess what? No one around the fucking corner knows what they're talking about either. So I just keep walking around in ever-widening circles to no avail.)
Fed up with my inability to communicate (no language barrier my ass, you stupid guide book. "English is spoken virtually everywhere in Athens, the heart of Greece." So apparently my luck has stuck again -- just as I manage to find all the places in Spain where they don't speak Spanish, so too do I manage to find the only non-English speaking portion of Athens. Good thing luck really isn't a lady or I'd have cold cocked that woman ages ago...) I decide just to chill in Athens the whole time.
So I start by hitting a few churches that I pass along the way -- they look more like what I expected from Spain -- round domes, tall, narrow windows -- and I notice how startlingly small all of them are -- basically just an altar, a bunch of icons, and a bunch of chairs (I notice an interesting thing about the icons -- they're all covered with glass. I find out why after two minutes when in that span of time over a dozen people have come in, crossed themselves in front of the pictures, and then kissed the icon. It's pretty neat to see and everyone does it, and thus the glass is covered with oil smudges from people's noses and lips.)
After hitting a couple more of these (and having a strange encounter with a group of young Greek kids -- I was sitting there eating some peanuts and raisins when they came up, asked me who I was, and then sat down and started eating my food while chatting me up. They then left, smiling and shouting my name, waving and saluting me. Kinda funny. The first people I've met who actually like Americans...) I head up to the top of the town, slowly winding my way up Lycabettus Hill, a giant mound that takes forever to climb, but once you're at the top you are paid off with the visage of the city spread out below you and a lovely whitewashed chapel at your back.
The view is great -- you can see for miles, the sea of tiny houses nestled in between the surrounding mountains -- but you can also see how bad the pollution is, for a thick gray cloud blankets the entire city, drastically blurring the view in the distance (and this dirt and smog then trickles down as dust and dirt covering the entire city -- cars, sidewalks, windows -- with a thin film of dirt. I can feel it on my skin and it reminds me of Spain again, the other dustbowl nation where the dirt was as plentiful as old people.)
The church that looms behind me is the Church of St. George and has to be the smallest church I've ever seen (a title that will continually be usurped as the day continues) -- you walk in and bam! You're at the altar. Still, it's peaceful and quite a quaint little place (the elderly woman walking around tidying up and polishing the chairs only adding to its charm).
I soak up the view some more and then slowly make my way down the hill and back to a normal altitude only to leave it and climb right back up again, this time scaling the hill that holds the Acropolis. This is the trademark of Athens and is quite beautiful. You get another great view of the city, you get to walk around the Parthenon, the most recognizable aspect of the hill, the theater of Dionysus (an old style circular amphitheater now in pretty bad shape), the Odeon of Hyrod Atticus (a similar amphitheater that's in great shape and is still in use today,) heck, I even find turtles. (I kept hearing this rustling in the bushes behind me while I was off roading getting a better angle for a picture and I'm thinking, "Oh crap -- dingos!" But it turns out to be a pair of turtles. One, about the size of a grapefruit, is trying to crawl down the hill, but his path is blocked by one the size of a basketball, so he just tries to climb over him, without much success.)
I watch my new friends for a little bit, take a quick spin through the Acropolis museum on top of the hill (not really a museum, but just a tiny gallery of the ruins and statues they unearthed or took off the structures to avoid pollution) before making my way back down the hill.
On my way out, I pass by the ticket booth I didn't see before and realize that I got in for free (I'm a slippery devil) and then stop for lunch in a lovely little cafe in the neighboring park. It's all outside and has an ivy canopy, roses in big troughs, and giant shade trees to dazzle you while you eat (I have another ham and cheese sandwich and fresh squeezed orange juice, and again I'm confronted with a memory of Spain -- not only by the cuisine, but also by the cats that are wandering around and come to help me eat. I've passed dozens of them walking the streets and twice as many dogs, all without owners. Kind of a strange similarity, and also kind of sad.) I fall asleep again, the shade, birds, and ability to finally sit lulling me into another siesta (See? Spain again! This is getting eerie...)
I wake up again and continue my walk through the park, and wind my way up to the top of Philopappos Hills, which means I've now been to the three highest points in town. I check out the Philopappos monument atop the hill, a crumbling (surprised?) arrangement of marble, and sit down for a few minutes to soak up some rays -- it's a beautiful day, sunny and hot -- and the view of the city (still high, still smoggy.)
Then it's off to see Hadrian's Arch and the Temple of Olympian Zeus. The former is just what it sounds like, a great stone archway, and the latter is a series of Corinthian columns, but not much else. It's cool to look at, but then I realize something quite funny -- the best things to look at in this city are all ruins, things practically falling to the ground. How's that for irony?
I continue traipsing around town and run into some Yanks from Seattle who hook me up with a cheap hostel in the area, and after ditching my bags, I head back out to Syntagma Square, a big plaza full of shops and stuff, similar to Piccadilly Circus in London or the Plaza Mayor in Madrid. Crossing the street, I get to the Parliament building and watch the changing of the guard (this is pretty cool. It's only two guys being replaced -- they have red hats with big black tassels, cream knee-high socks, and bright red shoes with big, fluffy, black balls on them. The bottom of the shoes have tiny steel knobs on them, sort of like golf spikes, and when the walk around they make a great racket. The men are guarding the tomb of the unknown soldier, a simple tomb with a backdrop of a relief carving of a prostrate Spartan knight. Very cool.)
Ravenous from all my walking, I decide to stop for an authentic Greek meal, the lucky place of choice being Diro's off of the square. I start with a bowl of fish soup (a fish flavored broth with potatoes, rice, and vegetables, but no fish, strangely enough), and a bottle of Heineken (I couldn't find any Greek beer on the menu, so I'm forced to improvise.) This is delicious, and then I move onto the main course -- moussaka with eggplant (this is a square dish with a layer of eggplant, minced lamb, and eggplant all covered with melted Parmesan cheese.) This nearly blows my mind it's so good, and then for dessert I get baklava -- a flaky pastry with cinnamon and finely chopped almonds covered with a honey / sugar sauce. I'm just floored at how good it all was, and I leave with a huge grin on my face to wander around some more.
I spy a rather cool looking pizza place on my walk -- Brooklyn Pizza -- done up just like in NY with red and white checkerboard tablecloths, pictures of American stars on the walls, etc. I keep wandering, eventually making my way back up to the Acropolis to sit on a big pile of rocks there. I relax, let my dinner digest, and watch the sun go down over the town (I thought this would be a nice way to bring closure to the day -- start it watching the sun rise over the Acropolis, and end it with the sun setting behind it. I'm so corny...)
Daylight fades behind horizon and the cloud of smog, and when darkness replaces it, I make my way back to the hostel. I pass a Wendy's delivery man on a motorcycle and get a laugh (since when does Wendy's deliver?), I pass street signs that read like mathematical equations (S DX PW -- one of them I actually knew the answer to. I was like, "Hey! That place reduces to the square root of the change in Y. I'll call it "root delta Y." (They have good ice cream, by the way...)) And I pass all the restaurant owners outside their respective shops, stopping you and inviting you to partake in their establishments rather incessantly. I acquiesce to all the berating and make a quick stop at one of them to listen to the authentic, live Greek music they had.
The harassment starting again (apparently it isn't enough to just come inside these places, they actually want you to buy things) I leave and check out the changing of the guards one more time, this time in the darkness, and then arrive at the hostel to enjoy some much needed rest.
Saturday, April 1 ---
--- I wake up after sleeping to 10:30 (a first!) and head out. I pick up another sugar O (not nearly as good as yesterday's) and go watch the changing of the guard again (I know it's my third time, but it's really cool. The way they march, raising one leg all the way up in front, then pointing their toe down and then smacking the ground with it (or sometimes they raise it, bend their knee like the muscles there were all cut, letting their foot dangle, and then bring it back up and the smack it down). It's just very cool.)
After this, it's back onto the Metro system to go to the newer Olympic Stadium. As the train pulls up to the platform, I notice how strange it looks -- like a true box car. It's just a big square on wheels. Seriously, this thing must have the aerodynamics of a Cadillac with the hook and doors all open. As I look at it, I wonder if it's someone's idea of a joke -- it's just so old and outdated. It seems like the signs I've seen plastered all over the station heralding the 30 year anniversary of the Metro system have prompted them to bring the original trains out and put them back in regular rotation. But once you actually get on them, though, they're not much different than any of the other ones I've ridden -- it's got the wide open tunnels of Paris, the car style of Barcelona, and a speed that would make the Roadrunner envious (which makes me more than a little worried due to the state of the cars. I also worry because it has doors that slam tighter than Ebenezer's wallet when someone asks for a raise. If you get anything stuck in between these bad boys, don't expect to get it back -- it's been severed.)
I ride the train through parts of town which remind me of the South side of Chicago (aw, home...) -- rundown buildings, older, cheaper cars (some with just rusted frames or smashed out windows) and loads of graffiti. I hop off and walk to the stadium, a long walk which takes me around the complexes of arenas which, despite being noon on a Saturday, are completely devoid of tourists or of any humans at all -- it's like a ghost town (I expect to see tumbleweeds blowing by in the dusty wind...) The only sign of inhabitation is the cacophony of chirping that fills the air, one so complete and full it's almost deafening, courtesy of the birds hiding under the eaves of the arenas.
I keep walking around and finally get to an open gate, one which leads me right out onto the track of the main stadium. It's beautiful and completely deserted, so I decide to follow in the footsteps of heroes and take a victory lap around the track. I'm going good, having a blast, when I spot two ladies sweeping the aisles of an upper row. So rather than stop (hey, I'm having fun here) I turn up the Ham Factor by waving to them and the rest of my imaginary fans, blowing kisses to them all, the strains of Chariots of Fire spewing from my mouth. I sprint the last 100m and then start taking my bows, along with more kissing and waving.
As I leave, I'm laughing to myself like a lunatic wondering what they thought of my performance. I wander around the village some more, sneaking behind one of the gates and running around covertly to check out the different buildings. They're all locked, but by looking in the windows (covered in dust, of course) I can make out the basketball arena, the indoor swimming pool (which is in use at the moment. Some kids are having a meet...) and its outdoor counterpart, and I even stop by the cycling ring (also in use for a competition) to watch them bike, but it's rather boring (what do you want? It's cycling...) so I take of and head back into town.
It's late in the after noon, so I stop for lunch -- a weak gyro (which is tantamount to sacrilege. It's like getting bad sausages in Germany or bad hamburgers at McDonald's. (Well, I don't know about the latter...)) -- but I fix things by buying a bag of roasted chestnuts from one of the umpteen so vendors in the Plaka, the main shopping area (they're pretty good -- warm, soft, and sweet. Yummy...)
I make my way to Monastiraki to kill some more time, passing the big recycling bins (just like Paris and Spain (again) except they're gray or yellow and covered with graffiti (just like the rest of the town) and fighting off endless bugs, both of the insect and automotive variety (seriously, this place has more of the latter than the parking lot of a Volkswagen plant)
Arriving at Monastiraki, I begin to browse the shops and aimlessly wander the streets. This area on the weekends is just like Portobello Road in London, one giant string of shops and vendors hawking everything from antiques to jewelry to coconut slices. It's fun to look and revel in the insanity (just like last night, the shop owners are out front, beckoning you to come inside) and the endless sea of people.
Exhausted and it getting late in the day, I hop on the busy, head to the airport, and after a dinner of cheese pie (a hot flaky pastry with melted Feta cheese inside) and cream pie (not like ours -- this is another flaky pastry covered in powdered sugar with a strange cream in the middle) and a purchase of a bottle of ouzo for the trip home (a Greek liquor that tastes like black licorice. Kinda good.) I hop on the plane and head back to London.