A Myth Come True

Back to Athens.

Sunday dawned bright and warm, the promise of an 80-degree day under perfectly blue skies. Our hostel, located in an area of Athens called Monastiraki (which might be my new favorite word) was only a street away from the entrance to the Acropolis. And, fortunately for us, the Acropolis workers were striking for higher pay, so there was no one to collect the entrance fee and we got in for free. (Why they started striking now, after 20 months of unpaid work, is beyond me.)

As we ascended the stone path to the City of the Gods, we had to tread carefully; the marble steps were slippery from centuries of feet scuffing, marching, and dragging their way to the top. The view from the hill was incredible. Staying true to its architectural history, almost all of Athens is composed of white buildings, mostly marble; they spread out cleanly and invitingly before us, like a lace cloth on a grand dining room table. Stone, sky, and sea in the distance made a beautiful feast for the eyes, bright and cheerful. It's no wonder the Greek flag is blue and white; the country wears its natural colors proudly.

At the top of the Acropolis is the famous parthenon, a many-columned and perfectly symmetrical temple whose image has become an almost cliche representation of Greece. To be honest, I wasn't expecting to be very impressed by this ruined giant, but once again, Athens exceeded my expectations. The stone of the temple, a perfect creamy white that entranced me; the perfect symmetry of the columns left me awe-struck. I learned later that the reason for the Acropolis' half-destruction was a Venetian bomber in the 1600s. Until that point, the temple had been almost perfectly preserved for almost 2000 years, and still would be today but for a primitive gunpowder explosive. Despite this destruction, the part that remains is beautiful in its detailed construction, as are the other statues on the hill: the Shrine to Nike Athena, with its goddess statue-columns, the epic outdoor Theatre of Dionysus, and the mammoth Temple of Zeus. The mixture of excellent craftmanship, mild Greek weather, and reverence for art has kept these masterpieces amazingly intact.

The next day we took a two-hour bus ride to the coast to see the Temple of Poseidon, another marvel of columns, this time overlooking the glittering Aegean from a sheer cliff. (The temple really wasn't that far from Athens, but the questionable efficiency of the Greek bus system, combined with winding roads up the hills, made for another adventurous, if not comfortable, journey.) According to legend, King Aegeas watched for the return of his son Theseus' ship from this very cliff. He was looking desperately for a ship with white sails, the signal that would indicate his son's victory and safe return. While Theseus was indeed successful in his battle with the Minotaur, in his celebratory state he forgot to put up the white sails on his ship. Aegeas, seeing black sails approaching in the distance, thought all was lost and threw himself off the cliff in despair.

A dramatic story, but given the scenery, anything seemed possible. My bare arms rejoiced in the hot sunlight and the refreshing ocean breeze, summer remnants that I did not expect to see again before next June. We just sat on the cliff and drank in the view. Unfortunately, photographs just cannot do justice to the scene; the stark definition between land and sea, the vivid colors, the scents and sounds are lost in the transmission. Only words can come close to recreating it, and even those fall short. Suffice it to say that it was stunning. Even better was the secluded inlet next to the cliff, where we dove into the water (yes, in underwear) and let the coolness cleanse the dust and sweat away.

Exhausted, hungry, and soaked, we boarded the bus for the trip home, which I semi-dozed through, having those surreal half-dreams where you can't separate the day's real events and the ones your brain tries to make you believe. Ships and waves and salt, sky and dust and legends. A whim adventure with excellent results. I think I'm too anxious to be a free spirit, but on that day I felt like dropping everything and running barefoot over the hills in the most cliche act imaginable. Now, on a rainy and cold Sunday in London, it almost seems like it never happened. But even if Aegeas never jumped into the sea, I did, and it was beautiful.