Clutching hard onto the metal rail for just a moment longer, I braced myself for another punch from the far too furious sea. The taste of salt had crept into my tightly pursed lips and stung my nostrils despite the fresh water relief efforts from the rain. With squinted eyes and a wet face, I watched silently as ominously dark shapes passed not far from deck, veiled by the mist of the storm, turning islands into mythological monsters. Soon an unseen voice would rise from the speakers above the clash of the thunder, ushering us overly audacious travelers back indoors, and I would walk back to my seat, being thrown by the weight of the boat every few steps into voyagers whose stomachs were less fortunate than mine. But for just a moment longer I had to grip onto that rusty bar and fight through the watery war that raged without sympathy.
Though rainclouds had replaced the Israeli sun here in Greece (perhaps an unsung blessing for my sun burn), my week was filled with all that it could physically hold. After hauling my too heavy backpack to a flat somewhere south of the wonders of white marble I made my way towards the Acropolis. Athens is, simply, a labyrinth of urban jungle teeming with tourists at its core and slowly diluting the fanypacks and baseball hats as its spidery veins spread across the valley. The grime and grit of modernity is spotted every so often with the majestic beauty of time gone by, both as a memento of its extraordinary origins and as a reminder of how much industrialization and urbanization has changed this once sacred ground. Graffiti covers every conceivable inch of concrete, metal, and glass screaming personal tags, political slogans, and hurtful signs of the economic crisis. Walking towards the white columned beacon above, glancing from souvenir shop to Starbucks, I realized just how far a leap Europe is from where I’ve been.
Leaving the graffiti and anarchist posters behind, I hiked up the plateau towards the contemporary jewel of ancient civilization. The Acropolis is truly an awe-inspiring place. Overlooking expanse of our time’s Athens I wandered through the crowds to gaze upon the aesthetic might of eternally rawring lion heads and perfectly sculpted caryatids. The historical weight hangs heavy in the air on the archeological grounds as one sits in the amphitheatre of Dionysus or strolls along fluted columns fallen from grace. I think of how such minute fragments of ancient Greece have the immense power to inspire such emotion and can only fathom what the reaction would be if I could experience these temples in all their glory millennia ago.
Hoping to capture some of that lost magic I made my way to the Acropolis Museum, which housed replicas of what the buildings looked like before the disastrous bombing in 1687 or the centuries at the mercy of the elements. Leaving the statues of mythology and ceramics of everyday life behind I then ventured to the History of Athens Museum and the National History Museum to trace the progression of civilization here from the phidian drapery of maidens to the velvet military costumes of the fight for independence. Through corroded pistols and discolored maps I learned all about this great nation through Byzantium, Ottoman rule, the struggle for independence and unification, and the folk culture that survived throughout all the turmoil. Perchance the most alluring exhibition of both museums was of historical paintings documenting the Acropolis throughout its history- as it became a church, a mosque, was bombed, fallen into disarray, and the first efforts of restoration. My final day led me to a jewelry museum that connected contemporary designers to their ancient inspirations by displaying works created thousands of years ago with pieces designed in two thousand ten.
Taking the first boat of many I voyaged from the ports of the mainland to Mykonos, and though drizzling, I was immediately taken by its splendor. The crystal clear water rushed against the sandy shores illuminated by what little sunlight my trip afforded, acting as a window into the depths of the sea. The isle rose above the deep blue in fits of mountains dense with just greening trees and raw, earthy rocks. The buildings, all with curved lines as if taken from a late le Courbusier design, of the main city (and all of the houses and buildings throughout the land) were painted an impossible white dotted with richly blue shutters and doorways- in earnest the scene looked as if it was a paradise taken from some Hollywood movie set. Due to the off-season, I was luckily able to enjoy getting lost in the winding alleyways of white walls and blue staircases without pressing against a crowd of Frenchmen fresh from a tour bus. Letting my hair toss in the wind as I motorcycled through the countryside or dangled my feet off the dock Mykonos felt dreamlike and very real all at once. While there, I took a day trip to Delos, the birthplace of Apollo, to visit the archeological site and museum of a once vibrant city before the burning by pirates. The site was magnificent. A row of lions stood somberly as bright red, purple, and yellow wildflowers danced in the breeze at its clawed feet to the music of distant waves. The history of the island, from hallowed sanctuary to the premier commercial center of the Aegean made me long to take an ancients course next semester. The site told both of private life through tiny stones of still in situ mosaics and of the public sphere through temples and monuments erected by Romans, Athenians, and Nexians to show the power and wealth of their states. Though much was lost in the plundering and smoldering, the enchantment of the isle is still very much alive.
My final stop in Greece was on the island Samos, the birthplace of Pythagoras. Though the natural terrain was reminiscent of Mykonos, the towns couldn’t be more different. The buildings lined the port in pastel blues, yellows, and pinks topped with red tiled roofs and twisting ornate metal balconies. Overhanging streetlamps reflected in the water below illuminated the stoned pathway, as if it yearned to be swept up and placed down on the French Riviera. Though I only had time for street wandering, an attempted (and failed) visit to the archeological museum, and a large helping of Greek food (yes Nina, I have eaten spinach pies, Greek yogurt, gyros, and everything else on your list of vicarious living and fully expect you to pay my gym bill this summer), the mild reprise from the storm on this beautiful island was pleasantly spent.
In truth, my first days in Athens were filled with a twitch of disappointment. My travels in Georgia and the Caucasus were absent of factory made magnets and snowglobes, and I nearly forgot what it was like to be in a tourist destination where people don’t look at you like medusa if you ask a question in English. I felt almost suffocated by a warped sense of what Athens was, seemingly more a gimmick for foreigners instead of the birthplace of civilization. But past the American fastfood stands and ‘I <3 Greece’ tee-shirts I was still able to quench my appetite for adventure. Discussing the philosophy of life and toil with my Sudanese host in a dimly lit café on a side street far removed from four star hotels I felt the presence of all those ancient philosophers from here we sat that paved the way for this conversation centuries into the future. Discovering an abandoned boat tied to a long forgotten port in Delos over a mountain and through an unmarked cave path I wondered how many, if any, had stumbled through the bramble to pause here before me. As I travel westward, I know that the number of tourists and grande frappichinos will increase exponentially, but that fleeting feeling of dissatisfaction from Athens has disappeared. Traveling, like anything else, is what you make of it, whether that be eating McDonalds French fries in Tbilisi or taking a chance and trying a doughy pouch of some unlabeled local filling. Just because more of my friends have heard of Athens compared to Tbilisi does not make it any more culturally enthralling or exotically delicious, and though my appetite for the path less traveled my prove to be a more difficult journey in the countries to come, I know that will make the venture all the more rewarding. And so, for just a moment longer as my fellow passengers closed their blinds and shielded their site from the storm, I slipped along the deck boards, watching my hair fall lose from my hood and fall victim to the waves, until I caught my first glimpse of the Turkish shore in the distance.
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