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Athens, the third day
Aug. 14th, 2011 02:08 pmI continue to be relatively insomniac, although at least the presence of aircon means I'm not miserably insomniac.
Rose at 1000, and breakfasted on delicious honey melon in the kitchen with an American named David (from Illinois) who's staying in the attic. Wandered down to the Mouseio and caught the bus to Syntagma in time to get a good spot for the Grand Change of the Presidential Guard (flickr video at the link). Their dress uniform is based on the kinds of clothes worn by the kleftes during the Greek War of Independence; their O.C. is fairly resplendant with brocade and trim, marching behind the colour party and the band attended by three adjutants in blue, Ottoman-style daggers at their sashes.
When the fresh guard party changes with the guards at the pillboxes, they stomp their right feet and sort of sweep/kick it out behind them. Point-stomp/sweep-step. Like a bizarre dance step. See?
I've always found formal military parades oddly affecting, in person. The combination of precision, solemnity, and a history of violence is a potent one. (And they all look like boys. I swear to god, even the Corporals of the Change look younger than me.)
When the strains of the Evzones' march had faded away, I caught the metro from Syntagma to Akropoli, and set out to walk Odos Dionysou Areopagitou along behind the south of the acropolis. It was hot as buggery when I turned to cross between the acropolis and the Areopagus rock, and the juicebar kiosk was selling gatorade for 4.50 a bottle. (Nope, I didn't buy it.)
The Areopagus rock is worn smooth in places by generations of tourist feet - although possibly it was smooth already - and decorated with cigarette butts, blown dust, and fragments of a single broken beer bottle. From the top of the rock, one can see the city, the old agora, the Pnyx where the Athenian assembly met, and the east approach to the acropolis.
From here I made my down a narrow path around by the Roman forum, which eventually brought me to Monastiraki and Odos Andrianou, which leads along the east side of the Athenian Agora archaeological park. Andrianou is lined on one side with cafés; the other overlooks the Piraeus metro and the archaeological park. I stopped off in one of these, to order keftedákia (meatballs) and chips. It seems I make friends by attempting to use my pathetic Greek: the waiter, who it turns out is himself from Piraeus, chatted to me in a mix of Greek and English - his English was fluent, but we talked about the weather in Ireland in Greek - and he gave me a free shot of dessert wine the colour of primroses, sweet as honey and rich as mead. I sat there drinking it under a struggling fan, and watched the people walk by in the noon heat. Swaggering municipal police in olive green, with a bullying air; a wizened man pushing a shrine in a three-wheeled barrowed, turning a handle to make music come out; tourists by the dozen and by the score, from pallid Brits to tanned Italians and Japonese - all of whom seem to have pro-quality cameras.
I walked on down Andrianou to Kerameikos afterwards, the cemetary on the Sacred Way where the river Eridanos once ran. Many of the grave stele and monuments - at least, those not in the National Archaeological Museum - are in the small, airconditioned Kerameikos museum - like this bull statue - but there are some stele still standing outside, on both sides of the remains of the Sacred Way which once lay beside the Eridanos.
The Eridanos itself is a tiny, pathetic be-weeded ditch, irretrevably altered by the construction of the metro. A dented tortoise made for the shade at a frantic clip, and cicadas scratched out their tinny music in the grass.
I made another friend on the way out of the cemetary where I asked for Keramikos metro station (in Greek). Directions received, I passed from the environs of the tourist city down the Kerameikos market, where wares of all kinds were strewn on blankets or on cardboard under tattered awnings or umbrellas all the way down to the main road which passes the gasworks. The metro station is on Odos Persefonou, which runs along the northern edge of the municipal gasworks, ten minutes' walk from the cemetary.
By this time I was hot and sticky and more than ready to come home. (Home, as I'm already thinking of the institute.) Metro to Syntagma, and a lengthy wait for the trolley, and now I'm sitting in the living room with the shutters drawn, writing up my adventures of the day.
Nope, I don't plan on more today. Tired now. If I reacquire any energy at all, I might attempt to run. But I doubt it. Too tired. Too hot. Might need an airconditioned lie-down soon.
Rose at 1000, and breakfasted on delicious honey melon in the kitchen with an American named David (from Illinois) who's staying in the attic. Wandered down to the Mouseio and caught the bus to Syntagma in time to get a good spot for the Grand Change of the Presidential Guard (flickr video at the link). Their dress uniform is based on the kinds of clothes worn by the kleftes during the Greek War of Independence; their O.C. is fairly resplendant with brocade and trim, marching behind the colour party and the band attended by three adjutants in blue, Ottoman-style daggers at their sashes.
When the fresh guard party changes with the guards at the pillboxes, they stomp their right feet and sort of sweep/kick it out behind them. Point-stomp/sweep-step. Like a bizarre dance step. See?
I've always found formal military parades oddly affecting, in person. The combination of precision, solemnity, and a history of violence is a potent one. (And they all look like boys. I swear to god, even the Corporals of the Change look younger than me.)
When the strains of the Evzones' march had faded away, I caught the metro from Syntagma to Akropoli, and set out to walk Odos Dionysou Areopagitou along behind the south of the acropolis. It was hot as buggery when I turned to cross between the acropolis and the Areopagus rock, and the juicebar kiosk was selling gatorade for 4.50 a bottle. (Nope, I didn't buy it.)
The Areopagus rock is worn smooth in places by generations of tourist feet - although possibly it was smooth already - and decorated with cigarette butts, blown dust, and fragments of a single broken beer bottle. From the top of the rock, one can see the city, the old agora, the Pnyx where the Athenian assembly met, and the east approach to the acropolis.
From here I made my down a narrow path around by the Roman forum, which eventually brought me to Monastiraki and Odos Andrianou, which leads along the east side of the Athenian Agora archaeological park. Andrianou is lined on one side with cafés; the other overlooks the Piraeus metro and the archaeological park. I stopped off in one of these, to order keftedákia (meatballs) and chips. It seems I make friends by attempting to use my pathetic Greek: the waiter, who it turns out is himself from Piraeus, chatted to me in a mix of Greek and English - his English was fluent, but we talked about the weather in Ireland in Greek - and he gave me a free shot of dessert wine the colour of primroses, sweet as honey and rich as mead. I sat there drinking it under a struggling fan, and watched the people walk by in the noon heat. Swaggering municipal police in olive green, with a bullying air; a wizened man pushing a shrine in a three-wheeled barrowed, turning a handle to make music come out; tourists by the dozen and by the score, from pallid Brits to tanned Italians and Japonese - all of whom seem to have pro-quality cameras.
I walked on down Andrianou to Kerameikos afterwards, the cemetary on the Sacred Way where the river Eridanos once ran. Many of the grave stele and monuments - at least, those not in the National Archaeological Museum - are in the small, airconditioned Kerameikos museum - like this bull statue - but there are some stele still standing outside, on both sides of the remains of the Sacred Way which once lay beside the Eridanos.
The Eridanos itself is a tiny, pathetic be-weeded ditch, irretrevably altered by the construction of the metro. A dented tortoise made for the shade at a frantic clip, and cicadas scratched out their tinny music in the grass.
I made another friend on the way out of the cemetary where I asked for Keramikos metro station (in Greek). Directions received, I passed from the environs of the tourist city down the Kerameikos market, where wares of all kinds were strewn on blankets or on cardboard under tattered awnings or umbrellas all the way down to the main road which passes the gasworks. The metro station is on Odos Persefonou, which runs along the northern edge of the municipal gasworks, ten minutes' walk from the cemetary.
By this time I was hot and sticky and more than ready to come home. (Home, as I'm already thinking of the institute.) Metro to Syntagma, and a lengthy wait for the trolley, and now I'm sitting in the living room with the shutters drawn, writing up my adventures of the day.
Nope, I don't plan on more today. Tired now. If I reacquire any energy at all, I might attempt to run. But I doubt it. Too tired. Too hot. Might need an airconditioned lie-down soon.
