Part two of the Greek Comedy
May. 28th, 2005 03:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeanvieveAs we slide out of our hotel into the smoky murk of the alley, we determine that it must be a Saturday by the number of lingering crowds of Greek and possibly Turkish or slavic looking lads in the streets filling the air with cheap American cigarette smoke. "Damn you, RJ Reynolds!"
A block or two later on our way to the last sites we wanted to see, mom starts to sing our Athenian anthem again. "I have often walked down this street before.." A little testily I hand over the map as she'd just purchased a new pair of reading glasses from a vendor in the streets two blocks before. "Fine. You navigate this time." In truth, the streets of the philosophers around our hotel are well travelled by us, and not entirely by design. Never have we gone twice the same way, nor found the same internet cafe to send news home. Never twice the same smells, today being the day of the open fish and butcher's market on the way downtown. The smells of warmed fish mingle with the spice and dried fruit and nut stalls, though we walk quickly by the butchers in self defense.
So many pretty young men, marred by cigarettes. The girls are lovely, dressing in a far more flimsy and scandalous fashion than at home. Theo, the 'brother' of the blond bombshell owning the shop that sold me on a carpet yesterday told us that Greek girls are not prettier than girls of other countries, but that they only dressed better. Looking down at my comfy walking sandals and slacks with a shapeless but comfortable blouse I had to agree that they, not I, were dressed to pick up the gleaming eyed Greek men.
This is a land of square toilet seats. My advice to travellers here is to always pack something that can pass as TP in your purse, bag, what have you. There are only three toilets in Athens, outside of hotels, stocked with any regularity. And none at all have any hand towels, nor do any automatic dryers work.
We sit beside the Bath House of the Winds - one of the monuments I wanted most to see. The sign overhead announces that we have arrived at the destination printed in large friendly letters, Greek and English. The arrow on the sign, also bright yellow and friendly, points away from the monument into the wall of a lovely and only slightly decrepit villa. This confirms once and for all that though the greek peoples invented math, philosophy, raised up architecture to an art, that it is not the seat of cartography. Nor are the people any good at giving directions, or printing the locations of their shops even on a map. The modern streets resemble the famed Minoan maze, and we know for a certain fact that this is not the origin of the Mormons with their grid like precision. Mom thinks Hecate is still hard at work here moving the streets around in revenge for not keeping her temple as nicely as Athena's. She's wise about such things, and startlingly open minded for a Presbyterian.
There are small, modestly sized villas in need of adoption and love. Alas that we were sure by then that we didn't want to live in Athens, ever.
Definition of an Athenian parking spot: Does not precisely obstruct traffic when the car is not in motion. Definition of a pedestrian: One who has found a parking spot. TABEPNA = Tavern = Really expensive coffee sold here.
The pigeons are threatened in the labyrinth, but own the areas around the Parliament building and the national gardens. In those areas, they gang up and mob humans, no doubt picking their pockets along with clinging to any surface in search of crumbs and seeds. They inspect quite thoroughly to make sure you're not holding anything back, and having now had a pigeon diving down my cleavage I can say the experience can be skipped.
But the people here don't smile. Most of the smiling faces are the tourists or the more pernicious shopkeepers. Catching them costs 20 Euro to cure. Though a trip to the conservatory yielded no music, nothing at the national theatre or concert halls, we lingered there on a Saturday night hoping to hear somewhere nearby the strains of local music. So far only a solo guitar player loose from the Pearl Street Mall in boulder serenades the cafes.
We have dessert at the most expensive cafe in Athens, something about Dionysus that overlooks the Acropolis. It was a good ending, nice scenery, but we're eager for the next leg of our journey.
A block or two later on our way to the last sites we wanted to see, mom starts to sing our Athenian anthem again. "I have often walked down this street before.." A little testily I hand over the map as she'd just purchased a new pair of reading glasses from a vendor in the streets two blocks before. "Fine. You navigate this time." In truth, the streets of the philosophers around our hotel are well travelled by us, and not entirely by design. Never have we gone twice the same way, nor found the same internet cafe to send news home. Never twice the same smells, today being the day of the open fish and butcher's market on the way downtown. The smells of warmed fish mingle with the spice and dried fruit and nut stalls, though we walk quickly by the butchers in self defense.
So many pretty young men, marred by cigarettes. The girls are lovely, dressing in a far more flimsy and scandalous fashion than at home. Theo, the 'brother' of the blond bombshell owning the shop that sold me on a carpet yesterday told us that Greek girls are not prettier than girls of other countries, but that they only dressed better. Looking down at my comfy walking sandals and slacks with a shapeless but comfortable blouse I had to agree that they, not I, were dressed to pick up the gleaming eyed Greek men.
This is a land of square toilet seats. My advice to travellers here is to always pack something that can pass as TP in your purse, bag, what have you. There are only three toilets in Athens, outside of hotels, stocked with any regularity. And none at all have any hand towels, nor do any automatic dryers work.
We sit beside the Bath House of the Winds - one of the monuments I wanted most to see. The sign overhead announces that we have arrived at the destination printed in large friendly letters, Greek and English. The arrow on the sign, also bright yellow and friendly, points away from the monument into the wall of a lovely and only slightly decrepit villa. This confirms once and for all that though the greek peoples invented math, philosophy, raised up architecture to an art, that it is not the seat of cartography. Nor are the people any good at giving directions, or printing the locations of their shops even on a map. The modern streets resemble the famed Minoan maze, and we know for a certain fact that this is not the origin of the Mormons with their grid like precision. Mom thinks Hecate is still hard at work here moving the streets around in revenge for not keeping her temple as nicely as Athena's. She's wise about such things, and startlingly open minded for a Presbyterian.
There are small, modestly sized villas in need of adoption and love. Alas that we were sure by then that we didn't want to live in Athens, ever.
Definition of an Athenian parking spot: Does not precisely obstruct traffic when the car is not in motion. Definition of a pedestrian: One who has found a parking spot. TABEPNA = Tavern = Really expensive coffee sold here.
The pigeons are threatened in the labyrinth, but own the areas around the Parliament building and the national gardens. In those areas, they gang up and mob humans, no doubt picking their pockets along with clinging to any surface in search of crumbs and seeds. They inspect quite thoroughly to make sure you're not holding anything back, and having now had a pigeon diving down my cleavage I can say the experience can be skipped.
But the people here don't smile. Most of the smiling faces are the tourists or the more pernicious shopkeepers. Catching them costs 20 Euro to cure. Though a trip to the conservatory yielded no music, nothing at the national theatre or concert halls, we lingered there on a Saturday night hoping to hear somewhere nearby the strains of local music. So far only a solo guitar player loose from the Pearl Street Mall in boulder serenades the cafes.
We have dessert at the most expensive cafe in Athens, something about Dionysus that overlooks the Acropolis. It was a good ending, nice scenery, but we're eager for the next leg of our journey.
