Greece.... The image that goes with the word is that of the Acropolis, with the columns of the Parthenon in all its geometric perfection. So on our very first trip to Athens, Acropolis was predictably on the agenda. But what we did not expect was to be singled out by the Greek gods. We got treated to a proper Greek tragedy. Our ascent to the Acropolis had all the elements of an Aristotelean drama:
Exposition, Rising Action, Climax, Falling Action and Denouement.
Exposition
It was a sunny day, with the promise of clouds and possible rain later on. Using the Lonely Planet guide, we decided to do a walking tour they had mapped through Athens. We started the tour at the festive Syntagma Square, and headed for the Parliament House. With their impressive noses, the guards (Evzones) at the Parliament House looked like masquerading children in black smock, white tights and red cap. But it’s the shoes that defy solemnity: red moccasins with black bobbles at the tip, bigger than cricket balls. In fact, one of the guards could barely suppress his giggles. He must have caught a glimpse of his feet.
When the change of guard arrived, the comic quotient increased. The relieving guards looked like kindergarten children doing a slow motion spoof of a military march. Let me tell you how to do it: lift your left foot up, very slowly, bending your leg at the knee and then stick your leg out parallel to the ground. Your foot should stick up, toes pointing to the sky. Then, move your foot so that your sole is parallel to the ground, lower your leg, very slowly, and put your foot down as far as it will go. Now repeat this. And remember, be dead serious.
After our comic interlude, we headed towards the National Gardens, and went past the ruins of Roman Baths, Hadrian’s Gate and the majestic columns of the temple of Zeus. We should have stopped there for a look, but our plan was to walk up to the Plaka and from there to the Acropolis. The Plaka used to be the old working-class quarter of Athens. It’s a lovely, picturesque maze of winding motor-free streets lined with colourful shops, cafes and tavernas. We stopped at one of the tavernas for lunch. After a brief halt, we started walking towards the hill, along the route plotted for us by the book, and suddenly found we were moving away from the Acropolis. A close look at the map revealed that it completely skirted the ancient monument! It was a walk ‘around’ the city. Frustrated, we abandoned the walk and headed for the Acropolis instead.
Rising action
At the Acropolis we bought tickets for the tour of the monuments. It cost 12 euros per head for a combo tour of Acropolis with six other ancient sites. The ticket was valid for four days. We entered from the South Slope of the monument where the theatre of Dionysus is situated. It was drizzling but that didn’t bother us much. We had two umbrellas and two ‘rainproof’ jackets.
We looked in awe at one of the most ancient theatres of the world, where the works of Sophocles, Aeschylus and Euripides had been performed. We imagined Oedipus Rex and Antigone being performed there, to audiences who later strolled in the stoa (a collonade, whose ruins we could see slightly up the slope).
Meanwhile, the rain began to gather force. We soldiered on until we stood breathless at the fabulous theatre, the Odeon of Herodus Atticus. A more modern (161 AD as opposed to 325 BC) theatre, this has been rebuilt now. The ruins of the ancient Odeon form a backdrop for the plays that are performed there during the Athens festival. Above the theatre was the Acropolis itself: the temple of Athena Nike, the Propylaea — the monumental entrance to the Acropolis, the Erectheion, and then, at last, the Parthenon.
It was pouring as we climbed the slippery steps of the temple. After taking cover under an arch in the Propylaea, we wondered whether we should be satisfied with a glimpse at the Parthenon from here. By now the two of us with rainproof jackets were soaked to the skin. But still we decided to go up. On our way, we saw some South Asian-looking lads hawking umbrellas, but we ignored them in a superior manner, trusting to our two jackets, two umbrellas and our unfounded conviction that the rain would soon stop.
The climax
We stood there awhile, looking at the rain and the Parthenon. Should we make a dash for it? Or should we turn back since we had, after all, officially seen the Parthenon? As we wondered which plot line to follow, the rain seemed to slacken. Very slightly, but it gave us hope. We dashed towards the Parthenon. We saw a child splash happily through the puddles, oblivious of the water squelching into his shoes and the mud splashing his trousers. But we stepped gingerly around them. Same degree of squelchiness and muddiness. Much less fun. And at last, we stood before the Parthenon. The heavens opened up. There was thunder, lightning and rain.
Falling action
We could get no wetter. So we circled the grand structure which is rendered sadly banal by the cranes and scaffoldings surrounding it. This was a quandary we were to address again and again. Is it a good idea to rebuild and reconstruct old ruins? It destroys the sense of antiquity which gives the ruins of the Parthenon greater significance than those of the Purana Qila, for instance. But on the other hand, it probably gives it longevity and restores its aesthetic and grandeur, which we’d otherwise have to struggle to imagine. (The stoa at the ancient Agora only deepened this quandary. It is beautifully reconstructed and gave one a sense of how it must have been in the days when it was populated. But then, its very newness was a bit of a turn-off. After all, an ancient Agora should look ancient.)
We paused at the Erechtheion, then made our way down the slopes from the other side. The rain, as befitted this phase of a well-constructed tragedy, had begun to abate. As we reached the bottom of the slope, we saw our South Asian umbrella-sellers again. This time we were more humble. We stopped,
examined their wares, and bought a bright red polka-dotted umbrella.
Denouement
The moment the thing changed hands, it stopped raining. We chatted with the young boys and found they were from Bangladesh. One of them described his journey to Greece. He had flown to Pakistan, and from there, made five unsuccessful attempts to cross through Iran into Turkey. He was denied entry twice, sent back from Turkey another couple of times, and almost arrested once. Finally he crossed over on a mule. From Turkey, he had made his way to Greece. (Alexander of Macedon must have taken the same route, only in reverse.)
And now, he sold umbrellas to wet tourists at the Acropolis. “Was it worth it?,” I asked him, for which he just shrugged. Maybe his is the real Greek tragedy. Our little watery tragedy was just the backdrop.
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