Day 2, Tuesday - Frankfurt Germany to Athens Greece, Acropolis View Hotel, Plaka
While waiting for the flight to Greece at the Frankfurt Airport, I heard people speaking Greek for the first time in years. I hadn’t heard Greek in a while, but I could understand what they were saying. I started getting excited. If I was hearing Greek, I must be getting close!
This The Boeing 737 to Athens was a much smaller plane. On board, I shaved and had a sandwich. At about 5:30 p.m., we arrived in Athens. It was 80 degrees, humid, but still comfortable. Several people thought I was a native, and started asking me for directions in Greek. I understood what they asked, but I couldn't respond because: 1) I didn't know where anything was and 2) I don't speak Greek. Suddenly I felt guilty for not paying more attention to my Grandmother's Greek lessons.
There was a line of people waiting for cabs, but a taxi driver with chains hanging down from his unbuttoned shirt came up to us right away from another direction and offered his services. He smiled and played Greek music. As we sped off to our hotel, Pam noticed the meter was running too high. We had read in the guide book that the fare should be only 345 dr, but the meter read over 2000 dr. There is a number to indicate the rate. It was covered so we couldn't read it, but I told him to uncover it. It should have been set at 1, but it was set at 4! In broken Greek, I told him it was the wrong amount. He got upset. I got upset. He left us at the cross street, half a block from our hotel door. When we got out, Pam copied down his license plate number. That really scared him. We gave him what we considered a reasonable fare (which later we found had been generous), but he got hysterical and threw the money out his window. Pam threw the money into the rear seat as he gunned the engine and drove off. Wearily we lugged our baggage by ourselves to the hotel.
We thought that episode was over, when the taxi driver suddenly came up to the front desk as we were registering. He started heatedly explaining his side of the story in Greek to the desk clerk. I guess he was afraid we would call the police and get his license revoked. He complained he hadn't even been paid. We explained that the money was in his rear seat. Of course, he had already pocketed it. The desk clerk listened to the whole story calmly and silently. After another five minutes of heated explanation in Greek, the driver left.
The desk clerk said nothing at all about the incident, but was very polite and friendly as he showed us to our room. On the way, I noticed several of the hallway lights were burned out. This was our first indication that not everything in Greek hotels is in perfect working order. The hot water was really only luke warm and available only for an hour in the early morning and early afternoon. The shower had no curtain. None of this seemed to bother the desk clerk. It was just accepted as the status quo.
This was our first lesson in Greek culture. Greeks do not care if everything works exactly right all of the time. As long as one is able to make do, that is sufficient. There is no point wasting time and perspiration to perfect the adequate. Greeks would much rather spend their time talking or relaxing rather than keeping obsessively busy making sure everything is in top condition. This contrasted sharply with the hard working image of Greeks I had grown up with. However, it all made perfect sense when put in perspective. Greeks were always grateful for the opportunity America offered to get ahead by working hard. Hard work in Greece is wasted because no matter how hard you work, the country is too poor to yield results. It seems all the hard working Greeks emigrate elsewhere where hard work can do some good. The rest reconcile themselves to the circumstances at hand and make the most out of what they have (sunshine) rather than try to change it.
The name of our hotel was the Acropolis View, and sure enough, we could see the acropolis from our window, several blocks away. It looks very impressive towering above Athens. Immediately in front of our window was a large burnt orange (harvest ?) moon whose glow was reflected on orange clay tiled roof tops throughout the city.
It was still early, so we left the hotel and walked up the acropolis. At the foot of the hill which leads to the acropolis, we passed a group of teenage boys playing soccer and ask for directions. I was reminded that my father told me he played here too as a boy.
At the entrance to the acropolis sanctuary, we looked down to see a rehearsal for Verdi’s opera, Otello in an ancient theater built by Herrod Atticus, a Hellenistic king of Asia Minor. The sign at the acropolis entrance said it was closed for the night, so we decided to stand there a while and watch. We were amazed it was still a working theater As the sun began to set we walked down from the entrance stairs and went around the hillside opposite from our hotel where we looked down on the ancient agora where Pericles, Socrates, and Plato once meandered. The marble ridge from which we gazed, was polished smooth as glass by countless tourist who for the past 2,500 years have chosen this ideal spot to view the ancient agora and all Athens below especially the best preserved temple in Greece, the Thesion, several blocks beyond the agora. The setting sun reflected on the polished marble like glistening water. Stray dogs stood motionless, silently gazing at this scene as if in a solemn ritual practiced daily.
The classical Greek agora was only rediscovered in the 1880's when a railroad was being built on its perimeter. To the right of the ancient agora, was the Roman agora. You can still see the remains of Hadrian's library and what is believed to have been some sort of clock, now known as the Tower of the Winds. The Roman agora leads to the "modern" plaka. The plaka, directly below the acropolis, consists of many narrow unpainted buildings from the 1800s, whose plaster facades have weathered to a golden brown. Many have balconies reflecting a Venetian influence.
Until the late 1800's, the plaka was the entire city and the population was about 5000. At that time, a decision was made to move the capital of the newly independent Hellas from Naplion to Athens. My paternal grandfather also moved to Athens from Patra as a consequence of that decision. Now Athens has a population of over 4 million, approximately half the entire population of Greece. Grandfather took advantage of this huge growth by opening a chain of bakeries. He made lots of money, but I didn't inherit any of it.
The plaka is full of old weathered concrete buildings of hues which vary from gray to sandy brown. Half of them appear uninhabitable. There were many outdoor restaurants. We sat outside and ate. Little children come to the tables to sell flowers and lottery tickets. An old man played the violin badly and begged for money. Stray starving cats as thin as cartoon characters roamed the tables looking for scraps. Pam was concerned about fleas. The plaka is also full of souvenir shops and as the night grew darker, singing and dancing could be heard in all directions. We strolled down the streets.
It is easy to relax here. There is a very peaceful feeling here. The air feels heavy, perhaps due to the barometric pressure, or the humidity from the Mediterranean Sea. Everyone comments on how relaxed they feel in the plaka. You just want to stare into deep space with a blank mind. Somehow precision and organization seem out of place in an environment accented with ruins. People visit Greece just to experience that feeling.
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