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Published: August 8th 2007
The Erechtheion: The Porch of the Maidens
With six draped female figures (caryatids) as supporting columns.We are up early to make the most of our last morning in Athens. Breakfast at the hotel is pathetic, but then, nothing at the Best Western has impressed so far. We head out toward the main street that leads directly to the Acropolis, briskly walking for 20 minutes until we hit the foot of the hill. There, we wonder which way to go, as there aren’t any clear signs, and the few that do exist are covered in graffiti. On the way, we pass at least three sites with ruins encased in glass. If only we had the time to see all of Athens…
Leroy approaches a waiter at a café to ask him which way the path to the Acropolis lies, but before he gets even half his sentence out, the waiter says, “Good morning! Smile! Say good morning! Hello!” I guess we must have been frowning, especially since it has started to rain. We smile and wish him a good morning, and he ensures us that the Acropolis is but 15 minutes away. He then asks us to stop by on our way back for a coffee, to which
Leroy replies, “How about one now?” So we have our cappuccinos and talk baseball and Turkey with the waiter. We also ask him what the party is going to be like for the UEFA Final. It seems the Greeks aren’t quite as excited about it as, say, the Brits or Italians are. So excited are they, that the fans have to enter the city in different ways, so as not to encourage any potentially violent mixing. Cappuccinos finished, we trudge up the hill in the rain. A couple of wrong turns and many ups and downs (funicular anyone? Or maybe even some signs?), and we finally make it to the entrance. This must be the back entrance, because after purchasing tickets, we have to go up and down and up some hills again, before we join the 5,000 other people visiting the Acropolis on this raining morning. Most are cruise tourists, from Princess Cruises, average age 60+ and mostly American. We scurry past them, hurrying up the stairs and trying to avoid the herds that follow each tour guide holding a flag in the air. Past the Theatre of Dionysus, Propylaia, Temple of Athena Nike, and finally, to the one
Reality check
If the Acropolis is up there, and we're down here...we got a ways to go. thing that I’ve been waiting so long to see.
The first time I was introduced to Greek art was in 9th grade art history, as I’ve mentioned before. Our honors course integrated history, literature, and art history, and I recall that we spent a lot of time on Greece and Egypt (and that we never quite got past the 19th century). I did a project on Isadora Duncan, a somewhat dramatic dancer in the early 20th century, and I remember sketching the Parthenon as part of my project. Add to that our experience at the British Museum, and seeing the Parthenon has been a long time coming. So here are some facts… it was commissioned by Pericles as part of his rebuilding plan and work began in 447 BC. The Parthenon is dedicated to the goddess Athena (surprised?). Most of the sculpture is gone - either destroyed in wars or taken to the British Museum. The frieze showed the Panathenaic procession, and the pediments and metopes had other sculpture (like the battle between centaurs and lapiths). I suck in my breath when I see it. It is a grand building, but missing not only its sculpture but some major
sections in the south colonnade. One can only imagine what it looked like in full form, but having been a temple, church, mosque, and arsenal in its 2000 years of existence; it’s amazing it’s even standing. We dodge more groups of tourists, taking photos, and finally making it to the Erechtheion to the north of the Parthenon. Here, the Porch of the Caryatids dazzles us with its columns in the shape of women. But don’t be fooled, as these are replicas; the originals are housed safely in the Acropolis Museum, which we do not have time to visit today. We take what photos we can, and then make our way through the sea of people. I must say, being at overcrowded tourists sites always takes a little bit away from the experience. But what can you do? We’re all lucky to be here to experience this.
Why Do Taxi Drivers Have to Be Like This? If there’s one thing that is universal and that crosses cultures, it’s that taxi drivers will rip you off. Of course this is a stereotype, a sweeping generalization. But why does it ring so true? Especially the ones at the airport. As you said,
Hubert, once you get ripped off by the taxi driver that picks up at the airport, your vacation can finally begin. Well, we got reamed by the Athenian who picked us up at El Venezelos airport, but what can you do at 4am? We struggle trying to find a cab from the Acropolis back to our hotel, and we really only have an hour before we have to start our journey to the airport. Cabbies tell us they can’t take us because they’re waiting for passengers, but they only do this after they ask us which way we’re going. Finally, we flag one down, and the system in Athens is like the colectivo in Chile. They pick up and drop off passengers along the way, as long as we’re all going in a similar direction, so potential passengers yell their destination at passing cabs. Why do I have to pay for the cab standing and waiting for the female passenger, who got in after we did, to find change? Why does he overcharge us by €1, when he was so careful to count out every Euro cent of change for the Greek passengers? Leroy is particular fed up. “Scum of
the earth!” he shouts. The ante has been raised. It isn’t just 20 Philippine pesos anymore!
Sabbas Again for Souvlaki, Off to AIA We do not want to miss our flight and we want to get to the airport with enough time to address any potential problems, since we changed our tickets just last night. A trip to Sabbas fills us up with souvlaki and some fried cheese that I didn’t order (I wanted the eggplant). Ah, language barrier. The worst is when someone pretends to understand you. I was pointing at the menu at the Greek word, but he gave me something totally different. We scarf down the grub while waiting and walking, then pack the rest up while we lug our bags through the busy streets of Athens to Omonia square, where the nearest metro station is. For €10, you can get a two-person metro ticket to the airport, which was 45 minutes away by car when we arrived. This is a much cheaper option, but the walk to Omonia is not particularly easy. I don’t want to say it’s hard, because backpackers all over the world have walked longer and harder. But this is no backpacker
trip, and when compared with jumping into a taxi, it’s no picnic. It reminds me of my Let’s Go days, when I would walk two miles with my backpack just to save 60 cents by not taking the bus (don’t even mention the possibility of a taxi!). I’m kinda glad those days are over. Finally at El Venizelos, we discover that Madrid is considered a domestic destination in the EU, so we have another hour to wait before check-in. We see some news crews and a group of people filing into designated buses. They are Milan fans being escorted on shuttles!
Once checked in and in the Olympic Airways Lounge, we can relax, although their PCs with Internet are as fast as schnail schlime is effective. I get to blogging, and Lee gets to uploading pics. Soon, an older gentleman and I are teasing each other over who took the last individual bottle of red wine (he did, I hadn’t had any). Then we meet an older couple who are on their honeymoon for their second marriages, and they give us advice about marriage and weddings. Amy and Tom are very sweet, and we chit chat through the entire
one hour delay for our flight.
“Eres como una fantasma” Iberia lands almost flawlessly again, despite the pouring rain. It seems that the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plane! (Guffaw, guffaw!). But really, there is a deluge of water outside… and inside! When we get to baggage claim, there are gushes of water coming in through the roof, with the poor custodians trying their best to keep the water under control. Hmm, Barajas airport has some new terminals, but maybe they’re not quite done weatherproofing the place? Because of the rain, the bags are delayed for what seems an eternity (more than half an hour), but once we have them, they let us all take the metro for free. Amy and Tom offer to let us ride in their cab with them, but I tell them it’s okay since all four of us can’t fit in a cab with all our luggage combined. I’m not even sure they’ll fit with all their bags! We make two changes on the metro, and exit in the center of the city at Sevilla station. Our hotel is just across the street - Petit Palace Alcala Torre, one of the High
Tech Hotels in Spain that offer free wireless and a hydro massage shower (what?). That’s what Travelocity tells us, but basically, we chose it because it was the cheapest option and it was available on one day’s notice. The room is achingly small, but the bathroom is roomy. Go figure.
The last time I was in Madrid was in 1998. I was in Spain after that, but not Madrid. I was working for a travel guide and decided to stop by my old school, partly to say hi to professors, but also to search out American students and see if any of them had an apartment where I could stay for cheaper than a hostel. Sound ghetto? Not really. When I had an apartment in the Argüelles-Moncloa neighborhood near the university, more than a handful of Americans would somehow befriend one of my friends, and soon, I’d have random people sleeping on my living room floor. Having been the host to many, I figured I wouldn’t mind being hosted by some kind soul. It worked - some study abroad kids rented an 8-bedroom apartment (former hostel), and six of them were out traveling, so I got my own room
Two Corinthian Columns
And restoration of the Panagia Spiliotissa, a chapel cut into the Acropolis rock itself. and they didn’t even make me pay rent (I paid for some utilities and food, just to show appreciation). Anyway, the apartment search having paid off, I waited to see my poetry and literature professor. When he saw me, we only had a few minutes because class was about to start, but without even saying anything, he looked at me and could tell how different Madrid was for me, without my friends and adventures of the previous year. “Eres como una fantasma” - you are like a ghost, wandering through the streets of Madrid. He was right.
Tapas at La Trucha But this time, I have a new Madrid to experience. The little walking I’ve done already tells me that a lot has changed in Madrid in 10 years. After all, a lot has changed for me in 10 years too - even silly things like cell phones and the Internets and the Google! Since we got to the hotel at about 11pm, we have to hit a nearby spot for tapas. Thankfully, Spaniards eat late, and our hotel is walking distance from La Puerta del Sol, Plaza de Santa Ana, and other late-night hangouts. We go to La
Trucha, known for Andalucían seafood specialties, and order gazpacho (cold tomato-based soup), tortilla española (Spanish potato omelette), and gambas al ajillo (shrimp in olive oil and garlic). Que rico!
Venga, tío, bienvenido a Madrid!
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Eric
non-member comment
Melissa, I can't wait to read the rest of your Madrid blogs. When you mentioned the man in 1998 who said, "Eres como una fantasma" it moved me because I know that's how I would feel if I went back after our awesome 97 trip. Hopefully, you will be able to relive it this time in a new light. I am sure you will, and can't wait to hear all about it!