+1000000 XP
If I've been pretty quiet, it's because I spent the last week travelling alone...in Greece! Apparently I couldn't stand feeling like I was going nowhere, so of course I went far back into the past...
Day 0 - Arrival
An inauspicious flying off. Guy asks for my credit card and clacks away for ages before issuing a new ticket - apparently the old one was cancelled because I am, to quote the official letterhead, 'FRAUD CASE 4957'. Nice.
One flight and bus ride later and I’m walking through Athens at half past three in the morning. At four I reach Athenstyle hostel and collapse into a four-bed dorm.
Day 1 - The Acropolis
Greece is a land of slopes. Especially the southern half of Athens, where everything is at a gently increasing angle in relation to the Acropolis. In fact almost anywhere in this part of the city you can look up and see - well, usually the wall of someone's house, but if not then the Acropolis, where the Parthenon looms out of antiquity. Amazing how anyone stays Christian.
I make my way slowly, ambling first through the ruins of the Roman Agora. It's like religious foreplay. Slow - slow - up - up - past one of the best-preserved temples, dedicated to Hephaistos, to the Areopagus, or Mars Hill, a giant marble pimple near the face of the Acropolis.
Some American teen drawls to another tourist that he's here with his church group - the Areopagus is famous for being the site of Paul's sermon on an Unknown God (Acts 17:24 apparently). Sadly nothing left of the temple to the Furies though.
More people around the Acropolis, especially near the entrance, the Propylaia. It’s technically the last week of winter (so most places still shut at 3 pm), though at a sunny 21C the weather’s fine enough now to draw crowds.
And then, almost anti-climactically...the Parthenon.
Named after Athena Parthenos ('The Virgin Athena'). Sheila Murnaghan has an interesting discussion of the significance of Athena's virginity - the potential threat she poses to Zeus’s reign is nullified twice over, firstly by her sex, and secondly by her lack of sexuality, which basically makes her an eternal daddy's girl. Those ancient Greek men knew how to have their cake and eat it.
Secretly, I’m geekily more excited over the olive tree by the Erechtheion. It’s supposed to have been Athena’s gift to Athens in her competition against Poseidon to win the city’s favour.
Then - finally - to cap two years of A-level Greek tragedy, the Theatre of Dionysus. A bit overshadowed by the Odeon of Herodes Atticus nearby though.
The afternoon’s spent peering at sculptures and friezes in the Acropolis Museum. The highlight of the evening, though, is a Greek walnut cake with cinnamon and syrup, and chancing across the changing of guard at Parliament.
This ritual consists of men in uniform walking very stiffly and occasionally raising one arm and one leg. The reasons aren’t apparent but I suspect it’s an attempt to disarm terrorists. Possibly through laughter.
Day 2 - Delphi
7.25 am and I've found my way to the ticket counters of KTEL Bus Terminal B (Liossion St), wearing the half-bemused, half-lost, completely clueless expression of the professional tourist. A woman takes one look at me and says, 'Delphi?' then bundles me onto the bus. Good thing too, since we leave 2 minutes later.
Delphi is threeish hours away from Athens, with the town being just a couple of streets along a mountain ledge and the archaeological site ten minutes’ walk away, in the middle of beautiful, beautiful scenery.
I remember my theatre teacher once said how, performing out in the open, between sky and mountain, the Greeks could really feel the divine. I know what he means now. Out here, where the hills undulate in the sun, with corners everywhere, green nooks and gnarls and open slopes curving just to the other side of human sight - it’s easy to see gods.
Parnassus itself, where the archaeological site lies, is craggy and barren. In the Homeric Hymns Apollo initially wants to build his oracle at the sacred springs of Telphusa, but unwilling to share herself with the god, Telphusa coaxes him into building in Parnassus instead, ie the stony arse end of nowhere. Still, it was the most famous oracle then and even now, even in the low season, tour buses keep lurching up and hacking out tourists.
That’s one of the treasuries where they kept votives, one of the better-preserved buildings on site. And this is what’s left of the temple to Apollo.
Being terminally romantic and utterly wet, I've brought along the Homeric Hymns and proceed to read the Hymn to Apollo. Very inspiring, except for the bit where forty-odd Greek teens on a school trip come by snapping pictures, and another tour group comes along with a guide who provides melodic accompaniment in German.
Next to the site is the museum, with particularly famous sculptures of the Charioteer, and Antinoos, who was Emperor Hadrian's lover but died at around 19 and was deified.
Beautiful, though the cauldron and tripod are even more interesting. Apparently the Pythia of the oracle used to sit in one while she prophesized.
Further from the site is also a sanctuary of Athena Pronoia, less grand but far more peaceful. And mountain goats!
Back in Athens, the vegetarian restaurant I’m looking for seems to have shut down, so I have grilled squid. As I understand it, Greek cuisine is basically oil. You chop something up, heat it and dunk it in half a gallon of olive oil. And if the fat doesn’t come in liquid form, it comes as a solid - cheese. No complaints about desserts though, where the fat is either cream, honey or syrup. I munch on a baklava, which, as a fried pastry, combines oil and syrup. Marvellous.
Day 3 - 'Free Day'
I decide against Epidaurus, and spend the morning in Athens instead blitzing past Hadrian's Library, the Tower of the Four Winds, Hadrian's Arch, the Temple of Olympian Zeus, the Mitropoli Cathedral and Mikri Mitropoli. After a while it gets difficult to tell ruins apart, although the museum at the ancient cemetery, the Keramikos, sticks in mind.
There’s a sanctuary of Hekate somewhere, but it’s not clearly marked. Away from the cemetery and the southern half of the city, with its light yellow, orange, pink and white Mediterranean houses, the city takes on a more metropolitan feel.
Unfortunately the museums I want to visit in the northern half either don’t seem to exist anymore (Theatre Museum), are shut (Benaki Museum) or are too far to reach before three (National Archaeological Museum). Plan B is to idle in the National Gardens, but the entrances are blocked by military-looking people due to some protest down the street.
I end up at a cafe with a view of the Acropolis, eating Greek yoghurt and honey and drinking a small cup of sweetened sludge, otherwise known as Greek coffee. Relaxing in a cafe seems like a very Greek thing to do. Relaxing in general, in fact. Everyone strolls, whereas in London and even (especially?) Oxford, everyone scurries. In Malaysia and Singapore, everyone swarms.
Nobody reads though. I think I see a woman leaning over something to read but it turns out to be a menu. I don't order anything else. To save money I skip dinner and snack on a delicious chocolate sesame bread ring.
Day 4 - Agios Stefanos
Five hours away from Athens lies Kalampaka, and from there a fairly steep and narrow uphill trek leads up to the six Meteora monasteries, perched on sandstone pinnacles: Agia Triada, Agios Stefanos, Roussanou, Varlaam, Megalo Meteoron and Agios Nikolaos Anapafsas.
Today is the only damp, cloudy day on the trip - and it’s perfect. No one else on the path, only wildflowers and birdsong and a fine, cold mist pouring from the top of the rocks like breath.
Agia Triada is shut, so I head for Agios Stephanos nunnery instead. Two Euros lets you wander around, blend in with the package tourists, peer at the various gory frescoes martyrs separated from their haloed heads - all the monasteries are dedicated to martyrs - and rifle through the little souvenir shop with its tidy assortment of bookmarks and icons and guidebooks in six European languages.
There's a terrible tension, I think, between opening up places of worship to seekers and pandering to sight-seers. Not many people betray a sense of reverence. When I am a monk, I will be far more isolated and shall strive for a biodegradable diet to avoid cluttering the front of my monastery with garbage bins.
Too late to visit the other monasteries, so I head back to Kalampaka for a plateful of traditional green beans, and also saganaki, or fried cheese. I practise miming in the local bakery for a bit, since speaking English in Greece is usually more miss than hit, but am rewarded with a brownie lathered in chocolate icing and syrup.
Spend the night reading and watching telly in my single room - bliss - at Alsos House. Slightly disturbed by a commercial for Shake Weight, which appears to be the lovechild of a dumbbell and vibrator (and whose website is, Firefox tells me, 'unsecure'). Sleep brings nightmares of being a Clarice Starling-like figure thrown in with Hannibal Lecter. Damn beans.
Day 5 - Roussanou, Megalo Meteoron
Common sense trumps maps. Especially maps that allege the existence of another footpath which begin by being suspiciously rocky and end with me half-clambering, half-sliding up and down a near-vertical dirt surface before realising my dangerous stupidity.
There isn't really any other way to reach the other monasteries on foot other than to walk a few miles along the road at the top of the plateau, and enjoy the rush of the occasional car and tour bus whizzing past three inches away.
Greek motorists have a rather casual attitude to speed limits, road lanes and red lights, especially at pedestrian crossings. You can usually spot little boxes by the roadside with an icon of Jesus or Mary and an extinguished candle to mark the spot where someone's crashed or been run over or otherwise died.
Still, the views are gorgeous. Would be even more gorgeous if I dare walk further out on some of the cliffs. I do try at one point, though my acrophobia peaks (hurhur) and I back away, unlike this fearless pair of picnickers.
Varlaam is shut and Agios Nikolaos Anapafsas too far, so I visit Roussanou and Megalo Meteoron. Megalo Meteoron is especially worth a visit, being the oldest and largest monastery, with the usual frescoes and manuscripts but also some very martial, patriotic exhibitions of old weapons and armour from the 19th and early 20th centuries.
Another bus, to Thessaloniki. It’s Independence Day and the shops are dead, but I find some fried calamari at a local fast food chain, Goody's. Then back to my room, this time at Hotel Atlantis. It’s small and clean and sparse, with a non-functioning TV, and a ledge pretending to be a balcony that looks over a dark, narrow alley, over to a dilapidated high-rise with pitch-black, broken windows.
I leave the light on.
Day 6 - Thessaloniki
First stop is the Byzantine Culture Museum - the only museum in the world dedicated to the Byzantine empire. Heavily tied to Orthodox Christianity, with roots in Rome but gradually shifting its focus to the Balkans. The early period had some beautiful mosaics and monuments.
Never thought I'd say this, but - I love the ceramics. They’re made in the sgraffito style, all pretty designs and glaze.
And some icons. I think this one of Mary looks a little cheerier than normal. The others are Saints Dimitrios and Nikolaos.
Byzantine churches occupy the rest of the day. The Panagia Chalkeon’s shut, as is Agios Nikolaos Orfanos by the time I navigate through the maze of streets in the northern, old part of town. But I do get to visit Agios Giorgios, or the Rotunda (4th century), which is basically a giant round thing historically confused between paganism, Christianity and Islam. I can relate.
And the Agia Sophia, a slightly younger (8th century) counterpart to the more famous Hagia Sophia in Turkey. The huge dome still has the original mosaic of the Ascension, and apparently an inscription from an angel speaking in Acts 1:11, 'Men of Galilee, why do you stand here looking into the sky?'
A Greek woman is snapping away with her cameraphone, so I figure I can too.
Across from the Agia Sophia you can find an outlet of Terkenlis, famous for its patisseries. Something chocolatey goes down well with Greek coffee, though I’d venture it tastes about the same as a good patisserie anywhere else. The selection is humongous, though. The manager gets a bit shirty when I try taking a picture. From this we can infer that in Greece, the arrangement of pastries is a national secret.
Walking along the seafront on Friday night, you can hear the buzz of crowds sitting and chatting while music pumps out of cafes. Especially around Aristoteles Square, which overflows with chic youngsters (I’m carrying a copy of the Blackwell Companion to Greek Religion, so I don't count).
Agora, an ouzeri down Kapodistriou, is thankfully more secluded and peaceful. I have seafood risotto and half a glass of ouzo. After sipping it I can understand why they only gave half a glass - ouzo is essentially mint-flavoured disinfectant.
There should, ideally, be a sentimental or at least tidily thoughtful way of signing off my last night in Greece. Instead, I almost set fire to my room. Good thing the smell of smoke woke me up.
Day 7 - The Airports
And on the seventh day I fly from Thessaloniki to Athens, and Athens to London Heathrow, and have Greek spinach pie in between, and think about the work ahead, and think about Hesiod in Works and Days nagging people to work, and wonder if I’ll ever get to come back and explore Attica and the islands. And I rest.
Day 0 - Arrival
An inauspicious flying off. Guy asks for my credit card and clacks away for ages before issuing a new ticket - apparently the old one was cancelled because I am, to quote the official letterhead, 'FRAUD CASE 4957'. Nice.
One flight and bus ride later and I’m walking through Athens at half past three in the morning. At four I reach Athenstyle hostel and collapse into a four-bed dorm.
Day 1 - The Acropolis
Greece is a land of slopes. Especially the southern half of Athens, where everything is at a gently increasing angle in relation to the Acropolis. In fact almost anywhere in this part of the city you can look up and see - well, usually the wall of someone's house, but if not then the Acropolis, where the Parthenon looms out of antiquity. Amazing how anyone stays Christian.
I make my way slowly, ambling first through the ruins of the Roman Agora. It's like religious foreplay. Slow - slow - up - up - past one of the best-preserved temples, dedicated to Hephaistos, to the Areopagus, or Mars Hill, a giant marble pimple near the face of the Acropolis.
Some American teen drawls to another tourist that he's here with his church group - the Areopagus is famous for being the site of Paul's sermon on an Unknown God (Acts 17:24 apparently). Sadly nothing left of the temple to the Furies though.
More people around the Acropolis, especially near the entrance, the Propylaia. It’s technically the last week of winter (so most places still shut at 3 pm), though at a sunny 21C the weather’s fine enough now to draw crowds.
And then, almost anti-climactically...the Parthenon.
Named after Athena Parthenos ('The Virgin Athena'). Sheila Murnaghan has an interesting discussion of the significance of Athena's virginity - the potential threat she poses to Zeus’s reign is nullified twice over, firstly by her sex, and secondly by her lack of sexuality, which basically makes her an eternal daddy's girl. Those ancient Greek men knew how to have their cake and eat it.
Secretly, I’m geekily more excited over the olive tree by the Erechtheion. It’s supposed to have been Athena’s gift to Athens in her competition against Poseidon to win the city’s favour.
Then - finally - to cap two years of A-level Greek tragedy, the Theatre of Dionysus. A bit overshadowed by the Odeon of Herodes Atticus nearby though.
The afternoon’s spent peering at sculptures and friezes in the Acropolis Museum. The highlight of the evening, though, is a Greek walnut cake with cinnamon and syrup, and chancing across the changing of guard at Parliament.
This ritual consists of men in uniform walking very stiffly and occasionally raising one arm and one leg. The reasons aren’t apparent but I suspect it’s an attempt to disarm terrorists. Possibly through laughter.
Day 2 - Delphi
7.25 am and I've found my way to the ticket counters of KTEL Bus Terminal B (Liossion St), wearing the half-bemused, half-lost, completely clueless expression of the professional tourist. A woman takes one look at me and says, 'Delphi?' then bundles me onto the bus. Good thing too, since we leave 2 minutes later.
Delphi is threeish hours away from Athens, with the town being just a couple of streets along a mountain ledge and the archaeological site ten minutes’ walk away, in the middle of beautiful, beautiful scenery.
I remember my theatre teacher once said how, performing out in the open, between sky and mountain, the Greeks could really feel the divine. I know what he means now. Out here, where the hills undulate in the sun, with corners everywhere, green nooks and gnarls and open slopes curving just to the other side of human sight - it’s easy to see gods.
Parnassus itself, where the archaeological site lies, is craggy and barren. In the Homeric Hymns Apollo initially wants to build his oracle at the sacred springs of Telphusa, but unwilling to share herself with the god, Telphusa coaxes him into building in Parnassus instead, ie the stony arse end of nowhere. Still, it was the most famous oracle then and even now, even in the low season, tour buses keep lurching up and hacking out tourists.
That’s one of the treasuries where they kept votives, one of the better-preserved buildings on site. And this is what’s left of the temple to Apollo.
Being terminally romantic and utterly wet, I've brought along the Homeric Hymns and proceed to read the Hymn to Apollo. Very inspiring, except for the bit where forty-odd Greek teens on a school trip come by snapping pictures, and another tour group comes along with a guide who provides melodic accompaniment in German.
Next to the site is the museum, with particularly famous sculptures of the Charioteer, and Antinoos, who was Emperor Hadrian's lover but died at around 19 and was deified.
Beautiful, though the cauldron and tripod are even more interesting. Apparently the Pythia of the oracle used to sit in one while she prophesized.
Further from the site is also a sanctuary of Athena Pronoia, less grand but far more peaceful. And mountain goats!
Back in Athens, the vegetarian restaurant I’m looking for seems to have shut down, so I have grilled squid. As I understand it, Greek cuisine is basically oil. You chop something up, heat it and dunk it in half a gallon of olive oil. And if the fat doesn’t come in liquid form, it comes as a solid - cheese. No complaints about desserts though, where the fat is either cream, honey or syrup. I munch on a baklava, which, as a fried pastry, combines oil and syrup. Marvellous.
Day 3 - 'Free Day'
I decide against Epidaurus, and spend the morning in Athens instead blitzing past Hadrian's Library, the Tower of the Four Winds, Hadrian's Arch, the Temple of Olympian Zeus, the Mitropoli Cathedral and Mikri Mitropoli. After a while it gets difficult to tell ruins apart, although the museum at the ancient cemetery, the Keramikos, sticks in mind.
There’s a sanctuary of Hekate somewhere, but it’s not clearly marked. Away from the cemetery and the southern half of the city, with its light yellow, orange, pink and white Mediterranean houses, the city takes on a more metropolitan feel.
Unfortunately the museums I want to visit in the northern half either don’t seem to exist anymore (Theatre Museum), are shut (Benaki Museum) or are too far to reach before three (National Archaeological Museum). Plan B is to idle in the National Gardens, but the entrances are blocked by military-looking people due to some protest down the street.
I end up at a cafe with a view of the Acropolis, eating Greek yoghurt and honey and drinking a small cup of sweetened sludge, otherwise known as Greek coffee. Relaxing in a cafe seems like a very Greek thing to do. Relaxing in general, in fact. Everyone strolls, whereas in London and even (especially?) Oxford, everyone scurries. In Malaysia and Singapore, everyone swarms.
Nobody reads though. I think I see a woman leaning over something to read but it turns out to be a menu. I don't order anything else. To save money I skip dinner and snack on a delicious chocolate sesame bread ring.
Day 4 - Agios Stefanos
Five hours away from Athens lies Kalampaka, and from there a fairly steep and narrow uphill trek leads up to the six Meteora monasteries, perched on sandstone pinnacles: Agia Triada, Agios Stefanos, Roussanou, Varlaam, Megalo Meteoron and Agios Nikolaos Anapafsas.
Today is the only damp, cloudy day on the trip - and it’s perfect. No one else on the path, only wildflowers and birdsong and a fine, cold mist pouring from the top of the rocks like breath.
Agia Triada is shut, so I head for Agios Stephanos nunnery instead. Two Euros lets you wander around, blend in with the package tourists, peer at the various gory frescoes martyrs separated from their haloed heads - all the monasteries are dedicated to martyrs - and rifle through the little souvenir shop with its tidy assortment of bookmarks and icons and guidebooks in six European languages.
There's a terrible tension, I think, between opening up places of worship to seekers and pandering to sight-seers. Not many people betray a sense of reverence. When I am a monk, I will be far more isolated and shall strive for a biodegradable diet to avoid cluttering the front of my monastery with garbage bins.
Too late to visit the other monasteries, so I head back to Kalampaka for a plateful of traditional green beans, and also saganaki, or fried cheese. I practise miming in the local bakery for a bit, since speaking English in Greece is usually more miss than hit, but am rewarded with a brownie lathered in chocolate icing and syrup.
Spend the night reading and watching telly in my single room - bliss - at Alsos House. Slightly disturbed by a commercial for Shake Weight, which appears to be the lovechild of a dumbbell and vibrator (and whose website is, Firefox tells me, 'unsecure'). Sleep brings nightmares of being a Clarice Starling-like figure thrown in with Hannibal Lecter. Damn beans.
Day 5 - Roussanou, Megalo Meteoron
Common sense trumps maps. Especially maps that allege the existence of another footpath which begin by being suspiciously rocky and end with me half-clambering, half-sliding up and down a near-vertical dirt surface before realising my dangerous stupidity.
There isn't really any other way to reach the other monasteries on foot other than to walk a few miles along the road at the top of the plateau, and enjoy the rush of the occasional car and tour bus whizzing past three inches away.
Greek motorists have a rather casual attitude to speed limits, road lanes and red lights, especially at pedestrian crossings. You can usually spot little boxes by the roadside with an icon of Jesus or Mary and an extinguished candle to mark the spot where someone's crashed or been run over or otherwise died.
Still, the views are gorgeous. Would be even more gorgeous if I dare walk further out on some of the cliffs. I do try at one point, though my acrophobia peaks (hurhur) and I back away, unlike this fearless pair of picnickers.
Varlaam is shut and Agios Nikolaos Anapafsas too far, so I visit Roussanou and Megalo Meteoron. Megalo Meteoron is especially worth a visit, being the oldest and largest monastery, with the usual frescoes and manuscripts but also some very martial, patriotic exhibitions of old weapons and armour from the 19th and early 20th centuries.
Another bus, to Thessaloniki. It’s Independence Day and the shops are dead, but I find some fried calamari at a local fast food chain, Goody's. Then back to my room, this time at Hotel Atlantis. It’s small and clean and sparse, with a non-functioning TV, and a ledge pretending to be a balcony that looks over a dark, narrow alley, over to a dilapidated high-rise with pitch-black, broken windows.
I leave the light on.
Day 6 - Thessaloniki
First stop is the Byzantine Culture Museum - the only museum in the world dedicated to the Byzantine empire. Heavily tied to Orthodox Christianity, with roots in Rome but gradually shifting its focus to the Balkans. The early period had some beautiful mosaics and monuments.
Never thought I'd say this, but - I love the ceramics. They’re made in the sgraffito style, all pretty designs and glaze.
And some icons. I think this one of Mary looks a little cheerier than normal. The others are Saints Dimitrios and Nikolaos.
Byzantine churches occupy the rest of the day. The Panagia Chalkeon’s shut, as is Agios Nikolaos Orfanos by the time I navigate through the maze of streets in the northern, old part of town. But I do get to visit Agios Giorgios, or the Rotunda (4th century), which is basically a giant round thing historically confused between paganism, Christianity and Islam. I can relate.
And the Agia Sophia, a slightly younger (8th century) counterpart to the more famous Hagia Sophia in Turkey. The huge dome still has the original mosaic of the Ascension, and apparently an inscription from an angel speaking in Acts 1:11, 'Men of Galilee, why do you stand here looking into the sky?'
A Greek woman is snapping away with her cameraphone, so I figure I can too.
Across from the Agia Sophia you can find an outlet of Terkenlis, famous for its patisseries. Something chocolatey goes down well with Greek coffee, though I’d venture it tastes about the same as a good patisserie anywhere else. The selection is humongous, though. The manager gets a bit shirty when I try taking a picture. From this we can infer that in Greece, the arrangement of pastries is a national secret.
Walking along the seafront on Friday night, you can hear the buzz of crowds sitting and chatting while music pumps out of cafes. Especially around Aristoteles Square, which overflows with chic youngsters (I’m carrying a copy of the Blackwell Companion to Greek Religion, so I don't count).
Agora, an ouzeri down Kapodistriou, is thankfully more secluded and peaceful. I have seafood risotto and half a glass of ouzo. After sipping it I can understand why they only gave half a glass - ouzo is essentially mint-flavoured disinfectant.
There should, ideally, be a sentimental or at least tidily thoughtful way of signing off my last night in Greece. Instead, I almost set fire to my room. Good thing the smell of smoke woke me up.
Day 7 - The Airports
And on the seventh day I fly from Thessaloniki to Athens, and Athens to London Heathrow, and have Greek spinach pie in between, and think about the work ahead, and think about Hesiod in Works and Days nagging people to work, and wonder if I’ll ever get to come back and explore Attica and the islands. And I rest.