Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Αθήνα: Travel Writing in Athens, Greece

Me, Kaitlin, modern Athens, and the Parthenon from our balcony.
As I stepped onto the balcony of our temporary home at the Attalos Hotel I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and inhaled a combination of exhaust and street gyros; finally, after a daze of international flights, frozen meals, and sleep deprivation, we had arrived in Athens.
During the summer of 2010, I joined a group of creative writers for a travel writing workshop in Greece where we would taste, live, and write about the ancient, forgotten culture.



Athenian street dogs like the one above have a recognized importance in the city of Athens. Positioned on street corners and along alleyway fences, the dogs exist in loyal packs and have a strategic alarm system: each barks down the line to the next dog until the whole area is warned. The human nature displayed in these dog packs and the independent personalities present in each different dod inspired many of my creative non-fiction pieces. 


One night, an Athenian street dog sauntered sleepily toward a street performer playing the trumpet over a dated recording. The dog stopped beside the man and, as onlookers gathered, began howling to the music in striking harmony. The act was quite a spectacle, drawing the after-dinner crowd, cameras ready, to enjoy the show. A few minutes and many euros later, the dog exited toward the dark plaza, leaving spectators smiling and humbled. Not a bad profit for the performer, either. 

The very first thing I ate: authentic greek salad, with tomatoes that tasted like red, the olives like sun, and feta that melted on my tongue. No dressing, just a drizzle of rich olive oil and sprinkled fresh oregano.
Talk about a balancing act. I'll take the one in the middle. 
The grocers, and most other businesses, were built in cubbies along city streets.

Welcome to the meat market.
 Unfortunately, I could get no closer--the smell of dead animal kept my visit brief. 
Greek sweets were either adorable or absolutely stunning, and all were delicious.
Below you'll see a post-rainstorm rainbow bringing happiness to Athens on our first night.

The year of 2010 was one of deep civil unrest and economic crisis for all of Greece. While mainstream media focused on the parliament's need for a bailout from incredible debt, there was an underlying issue being overlooked and misrepresented: the peoples' protest. International media's efforts to villainize protestors redirected attention away from the issue; I saw first-hand that the protestors fell into no categories other than "Greek" and "fed up." Old and young, free of gender or class, the people awoke from the fatigue that plagues modern society and rose to fight oppression and promote prosperity. Molotov cocktails, rubber bullets, and hand-to-hand brutality were the most extreme of tactics used by both the people and riot police. Walking the streets of Athens during the day, broken windows and expressive graffiti were constant reminders of the ongoing struggle.

Our first dinner as a group of new friends ready to taste and experience Greece together.

There we drank, ate, and slowly began laughing with each other, certain that we would all be great friends with unforgettable memories in a few short months. Dinners were served tapas style, with many small dishes placed along the table, casques of wine to slowly drink, and an abundance of olive oil, tzatziki, and bread. The dishes varied greatly, ranging from slow-cooked mutton or moussaka to fries and balls of canteloupe. Below are my dear friends from home sweet Missouri, friends I already knew but created incredible bonds with during our travels.


Katie and I in our natural state (no, not drinking): laughing and loving life.
Below, sibling duo Kaitlin and Kyle being nothing short of adorable, as usual.

The Parthanon, in all of its lit-up glory from the dark passages of old Athens. 
Night life in Athens is generally safe and filled with wide-eyed, happy people.  
During the day, certain parts of Athens are lined with vibrantly painted antiques. 



Athens is a city built upon itself; generations of growth are represented in the layers of sidewalk that have raised the city foot by foot over time. The Church of Panaghia Kapnikarea (above) was built in the 11th century, around the year 1050, as a pagan cathedral dedicated to the worship of a goddess, likely Athena or Demeter. This church is a beacon of Greek culture amidst a modern Athens and sits on a foundation many feet lower than the sidewalk on which I stood.
Obligatory "girlfriends abroad" stair photo. That I love. 
Yes, this happened. 
Sadly, the pigeon didn't poo on my head. Why is it unfortunate, you ask? 
A bird pooping on your head is a Greek sign of good fortune to come!

The Tomb of the Fallen Soldier rests in front of the Presidential Mansion and, similar to important tombs in many other cultures, is closely guarded by decorated an elite. A few of us happened upon the changing of the guards, a choreographed display of the Evzoni (above). Their traditional attire, direct and unflinching concentration, and precision were astounding; I can't begin to imagine the amount of discipline and training it would take to memorize the incredibly intricate and relatively lengthy routine. 





As I wandered side alleys hosting home-grown businesses and stairways leading to tiny, colorful apartments, I slipped into a magical bookshop that had no sign and no name. The stagnant air inside smelled like old books, many hands having flipped through their pages and passed along the binding. Classic Greek music echoed through the old phonographic record player, and a quiet, elderly Greek man half-stood from his creaky wooden chair to greet me as I entered. I was drawn toward the table visible in the back left corner, to the left of it rests a collection of ancient maps of the old world. 


I grabbed a French book from the shelves above that was dated back to a time long before the Americas were even discovered. I opened the book, holding the weight of centuries of readership and wisdom in the palm of my hands, and flipped to a page only to find a dried and flattened four-leaf clover, the origins of which I have no idea. Could it have been from so long ago? A little girl slipping a surprise into her father's novel? Or maybe a young lover's ode to his sweetheart, collected during an afternoon picnic. Endless romantisized beginnings ran through my head, and I was flooded with humility. 




The Metropolitan Cathedral of Athens, known commonly as the Mētrópolis, was a stunning display of art in architecture. Deep green tile is intricately woven between carved marble and elegant, dangling chandeliers. The walls of this church were built with the marble of 72 demolished Athenian churches in the mid-1800's.

I follow behind Katie as she enters the plaka for a lunch writing session.

Much of our time in Athens was spent as faces in the crowd, observing and interpreting the culture, food, and sights of the city. We sat on bus benches, stood near street vendors, and blended in major epicenters of Athenian culture. After taking ample notes and absorbing the energy of the city, we would rendezvous at an outdoor cafe for a slow, relaxing lunch to exhale our experience through pen and paper. Did I mention bottomless tzatziki and large pints of Mythos beer? That happened, often. 


Sipping and writing. 


A stroll after lunch to meet for creative non-fiction class.


A vibrant Greek flag billows in traditional blue and white fashion atop Mount Lycabettus, the tallest point in Athens at just over 800 feet. A number of us dressed in our Sunday best and headed to the landmark, also referred to as Lykavittos Hill, to witness the panoramic view of ancient and modern Athens as it spills into the gentle Aegean Sea. The 19th century Chapel of St. George, marked by a wise old tree, glows at the Mount's epicenter, a small, vibrantly white building that acts as a beacon for those at sea. 



Despite bad photo quality, the above photo is a favorite from the Athens vault. So incredibly clear is the desire of the Greek culture to grow and modernize, yet preserve and display the profound culture their ancestors had created. The ancient world of Athens stands its ground against a closing wall of modern, bustling city streets and stacked buildings. The openness and lush, green forests represent an ancient time, a time of simplicity, hope, and slow strolls through the olive groves.


The New Acropolis Museum in Athens tickled my inner-anthropologist. The walk from downtown was pleasant under the dry midday sun, eventually leading to an ancient path along olive groves, the very groves through which historical Greek philosophers may have pondered the world. I would imagine I was walking slowly astride Plato, my hands clasped behind my back and head bowed in deep thought, pondering the theory of forms. 

As the museum neared (above) it became clear that the entrance floor was made of thick glass floating above an ancient village. From a bird's eye view, anyone can pear into the long forgotten lives of ancient Athenians. Above left, you'll see my shadow far beneath my feet, my left arm extended over my head. As I searched the ruins below, I could see old stair cases and pathways, food storage rooms, fire pits, and doorways that Athenians meandered through in their every day bustle thousands of years ago. 

Once inside, I viewed marble statues of the gods and great leaders, painted clay pots, and Greek epigraphy chiseled into marble and stone. The energy of the museum was astounding. A thick, quiet appreciation filled the air, radiating from every onlooker, mouth agape in awe or brows furrowed in extreme disbelief. 


Walking the path that thousands of ancient Athenians used to get to the Odeon of Herodes Atticus, an amphitheater built in 161 AD with the capacity to seat 5,000 spectators for a musical production.

The mighty Parthenon, a temple dedicated to Athena, built in 447 BC.

The Erechtheion, built in 421 BC and also dedicated mostly to Athena, defender of the city. 
This iconic temple is best recognized due to unique and intricate architecture. Below, I stand near the very temple, touching the stone once carved away by hardworking Athenians. 

To really be in Athens, you must peel back layers of time with your imagination and watch history breeze by, a fast-moving train without an end. Athens became a fishbowl of non-fictional, memoir prose into which I could dip my fingertips and retrieve a new story; ideas were endless, fresh and inspired by the vibrant culture, saturated with centuries of innovation and change, unrest and prosperity, historical icons and everyday humans. 



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