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| In the Acropolis Museum, from the top of the Parthenon |
The
train ride from Thessaloniki to Athens was even more amazing than I had
hoped. The beauty of trains is that the tracks are beneath you, so all
you see is the unspoiled mountains and meadows (and in this case, ocean and
snow as well). Somewhere among all those mountains, I figured, was Mount
Olympus. I thought it would be near Athens, but later found out we had passed it closer to Thess.
I
hadn’t intended to rely on the kindness of strangers, but it turned out to be
inevitable and much needed. It was supposed to be the express train, but turned
out not to be. I couldn’t understand anything that was announced, though I did
know to listen for “Athena.” Still, it was 9:00 and dark when we approached
Athens, and I had no idea how to get to the metro station and Syntagma Square.
But a sweet man sitting nearby figured out my puzzlement. He handed me a metro ticket from his own pocket, and said,
“Wait—I will show you.” He helped me and my baggage off the train and showed me
the way into the station (not obvious) and on to the subway and then wished me
a pleasant stay in his home town.
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| First thing I saw emerging from the Metro |
He wasn’t the only one, though.
After the metro ride I emerged in Syntagma Square, and the first thing I
smelled was lingering smoke from the riots several days before. The first thing
I heard was heckling and shouting, and the first thing I saw was a row of
policemen with shields above where I had just stepped out, guarding the way to
what I later found out was the parliament building. Down below, demonstrators
were shouting. Lots of people were watching. Time to move on quickly.
I had a
map, but didn’t know which way was what. A man at a kiosk, an Egyptian, decided
not just to point the way, but to take me there. And I am glad he did, because
I never would have been able to navigate the narrow alleys and turns with the
confidence he showed. When we arrived, the hotel was completely draped in tarps—its
exterior was under renovation—andthere was nothing but a small sign to identify
it. Thanks, strangers!
So my
window view was a tarp, but otherwise the room was charming, as were the
employees, who directed me to a tiny restaurant a block away where the locals
go. The waitress was running efficiently among the two rooms and porch, not
wasting a moment. Later when it slowed down she told me she had lived in Athens
all her life and had never visited the acropolis. I was that way about the LBJ
Library in Austin, but the acropolis?
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| The street where I lived |
The
next morning was a clear and cool Sunday. As I set out to find the acropolis,
masses were going on at the little Greek Orthodox Church of the Metamorphosis
on my street and at all the other churches along the way. Loudspeakers sent the
chanting into the streets, and occasionally church bells rang. It was a
beautiful way to start a day. Other than the churches, all was quiet enough to
ponder what it must be like to attend worship that is one long continuous,
melodious chant of praise, how that might form one’s visions of the world and
of heaven.
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| Caryatids holding up part of the acropolis |
The
approach to the acropolis is a wide brick avenue separated from the rock itself
by a small park of pine trees filled with birds. The acropolis itself is like a
small Masada, a fortified outcropping of rock jutting straight up on all but
one end. There a wide staircase lined with columns once welcomed visitors, and
still does. The little temple of Athena Nike is the first structure one sees,
followed then by the Parthenon and the Erechtheion, a complicated building best
known for its six porch columns in the shape of young women (called Caryatids)
who hold up the roof on their heads. People had been living on the acropolis since
Neolithic times, but it reached its architectural pinnacle only after it was
completely destroyed by Xerxes I of Persia in 480 B.C.E. (This is the same
Xerxes who supposedly makes Esther his queen, though there are some historical
problems with both that story and what happened to Athens). The
temple is dedicated to the virgin god Athena—“Parthenon” means “virgin” in
Greek. I don’t know why I never made this connection before, but there it is.
Down the slope from the acropolis is an ancient theater dedicated to Dionysus.
But this isn’t just any ancient theater—this is where the works of Sophocles,
Aeschylus, Euripides, and Aristophanes first played. Wow.
It’s
hard to describe what it is like to be there, in a place so well known to
western civilization, where democracy first emerged, back when people were
sparse on earth. Israelite civilization developed around the same time, but
somehow didn’t manage to leave quite so many works of literature and records of
their deeds—though what they did leave has enjoyed considerably more
readership. I wondered what it was like to worship a goddess, and what effect
her reputation might have had on the lives of real women. The period of
Athens’s sovereignty was relatively short and often interrupted, but its effect
on the imaginations of peoples since has been overpowering. Even on that Sunday
morning people from all over the world were exploring the temples, pondering
their guidebooks, and looking out across the city below.
Very
close and about half as high, and not anything as spacious, is Mars Hill, or
Areopagus, where Paul delivered his speech against idols according to Acts 17.
From there you can look down to see the Agora, and beyond it the Roman Forum,
built by Julius Caesar, and Hadrian’s library—and then you can go down the path
to find them.
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| How one politician lost his job |
In one of the buildings of the buildings
of the Agora, the two-story Stoa of Attalos, is a wonderful exhibit. One of the
collections that stood out to me had to do with the development of democracy.
Every year citizens had the opportunity to vote for the politician they thought
had done the least for Athens. They used clay potsherds (called “ostraca”) with
names scratched on them as their voting ballots. Whoever got the most votes was
“ostracized”: banned from office for ten years. A great idea! There was one
display of a dozen or more ostraca with the same name on them, looking very
similar, as if ready for handing out to willing citizens. I think it was
Moveon.org’s first organized political action.
That evening I visited the new
Acropolis Museum. Very impressive building. It is built right over an ancient
village that they are in the process of excavating. You can see it below the
courtyard and beneath the glass floor, and eventually (they said 2010, but we
all know how that goes) they will open it to visitors. Inside are many, many of
the statues and works of art that populated the Acropolis. The original
Caryatid ladies are there, with a display showing how they are being restored
by laser (the ones on the actual acropolis are replicas). The remaining pieces
of the pediments and friezes on the Parthenon are there as well, intricate
carvings of figures telling stories of Athena’s birth from Zeus’s forehead, her
contest with Poseidon for the favor of the Athenian people (whoever gave the
best gift won, and unfortunately for him, he wrongly thought salt water might win
over olive trees, but since she was a goddess of wisdom she knew better), a
battle with centaurs, and a procession of Athenians to worship Athena. Amazing museum.
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| Making a jail visit |
The next day was cloudy and
occasionally drizzly. I took a tour bus around town, and then stopped to watch
the changing of the guard at the Parliament, in all its glory. I was going to
head back to the huge National Archaeological Museum, but instead found myself
wandering through the National Garden, which was splendid even in winter. There
weren’t so many people there, but some sat on benches reading the news, and
others were wandering through as I was. Somewhere in the middle I ran into a
miniature zoo, mostly consisting of birds (ducks, geese, peacocks and peahens, parakeets),
rabbits, and goats. Somehow two black cats had gotten in among the birds. It
was a study in how to drive a cat insane—so much game to hunt, and no chance of
success. Somehow also some of the parakeets had gotten out and were hanging
around on the tree just outside the cage, and hanging onto the wire of the
cage. I didn’t know whether they were looking for a way back in or plotting the
escape of their friends. It was a relaxing final day in Athens to wander the
garden.
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| Athens Happy Train. Unlike Arles's Petit Tran, no smoke belching. |
That
evening a theologian friend of Eleni’s picked me up and we had dinner,
discussing theology, Greece, and the economy. She said she had lived in England
for six years and had returned, and when I asked her if she was sorry now that
she was back, she said, “Not at all! My country gave me a good education and
start in life, and now that it is in trouble I want to give back to it.” She
said a lot of people are suffering greatly in the austerity program—many have
lost jobs; home values, pensions, and salaries are cut in half, and taxes are
raised. But she also said, “We’ve been living too large until now, and this
will get our feet back on the ground.”
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| Could be why Greece is in trouble |
That’s an interesting perspective
that I found resonant with my own sense at home, except that here the suffering
seems less widely shared, where there is no medical plan for everyone, and
instead some are going without care, as well as without jobs and homes. She was
asking me for comparisons with the U.S., but I don’t know enough to say where
things are grimmer or how the economic crisis may change us. The returns are
still out. In any case, I have to say it’s hard, having seen ancient places
whose history is filled with promise and tragedy, beauty and violence, and
having visited so many modern places full of both incredible people and
terrific troubles, and take anything for granted anymore. Life is full of
struggle, full of ambiguity, full of unexpected change and making do, full of
challenges to our compassion and our justice—always has been and always will be.
And did I say, full of amazing people, everywhere you can possibly go?
I wish I had the capacity to take
in fully all that was in front of me every day the past seven weeks. There was
so much and my brain and soul are too small. I will be thinking about this—especially
the juxtaposition of so many differing civilizations and so many different ways
of making things work—for years to come. It made me more aware of the deficit
we face in the U.S., geographically so isolated from the rest of the world,
less immediately aware of the ways people beyond our borders live and manage. There
were a thousand things to learn a day, and often I was too tired or distracted
to give full heed to what was right in front of me. But I hope over time to
reflect a great deal more, after I get over the jet lag and the jubilation of
being home again.
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