Destination: Athens

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I just returned from several days in Athens, and I enjoyed the city more on this trip than ever before. Part of my enjoyment was seeing a place that’s getting its act together, as I believe Athens is. I had a great experience even though I was there at the worst time of year. It was sweltering — well over 100 degrees — and in mid-August, much of the town was gone, enjoying a vacation and finding relief on the beach. Still, there was an energy in Athens that made me want to come back and linger…in the winter.

Right off, I noticed women’s toes. I did a study of feet on my subway ride through town. While sandals and painted toes, of course, are routine whereever it’s really hot, for some reason toes caught my attention in Athens. Surveying hundreds of Greek feet (actually doing a counting tally), I found over 90 percent wore open-toed shoes, and there was a huge emphasis on beautifully painted toes. Women I talked to later affirmed that pedicures are a particulary big in Athens.

Munching a tomato reminded me of my backpacker days here. Back then, tomatoes cost literally pennies each (or drachma, in those days), and that was all I could afford. I ate them like apples at a Huck Finn fest. I grew up thinking vegetables were the pulp of filling the tank — not very flavorful. With my upbringing, broccoli grew in cubes, and cherries came off the tree filled with red dye. I ate mandarin orange sections for years before I ever actually peeled one. Then, when I hit Europe as a teen, I found tomatoes splashed with flavor. My first mushroom was in Germany. My first yogurt was in Yugoslavia. And my first quiche, crêpe, and pâté were all in France. Back in the 1970s, Europe did to my personal food world what color did to my TV.

The oppressive heat was a big topic of conversation on this trip to Athens. My guide pulled a bottle of water from her purse, took a guzzle, and offered me some, saying, “It’s hot enough to shave with.” The day before, she had gone to the departure point for her company’s walking tour, and the heat drove five of the twelve tourists (who had prepaid plenty of money to take the tour) not to show up.

After talking with Athenians about the brutal heat, it occurred to me that even people who live in hot places don’t get used to the heat. When considering the impact of global climate change on our planet, it’s easy for people in temperate climates (like me) to imagine that people in the tropics just get acclimated to the blistering heat. But I don’t think they do — they just suffer through it. That would make me pretty miserable. Like my experience in Athens, they just have no alternative. For most of the people on this planet, summer is as hot as Fargo in the winter is cold.

Athens was still shaken by its recent riots and violence. At the Changing of the Guard in front of the parliament building, we saw the “riot dog” — a stray dog that has hung out around the palace for years. She smells trouble and always sides with the people against the police. Locals look for and usually see her in all the TV coverage.

At lunch, I asked my guide if she felt endangered by the street violence. Putting the last bite of moussaka in her mouth, she told me her grandma’s words of wisdom: “When you see food, eat it. When you see a fight, go away” — advice that has worked very well for her.

I’ll talk more about those riots — and Greece’s much-touted “economic crisis” — in my next entry.

We just finished filming two great shows on Greece. Any careful observer knows I haven’t been that hot on Greece compared to other European destinations. I’m happy to admit, after these last two weeks, I am warming up. And I’m appreciating the uniquely Greek charms (food, people, history, pace of life, love of life) that explain why it is such a popular destination. But let me offer some frank observations (and open myself up to some enthusiastic criticism).

The Greek countryside has been depopulated in the last few generations. About one out of every three Greeks — roughly four of 12 million — live in Athens now. This leaves the towns feeling gutted of youthful energy. Granted, towns on the islands have that impossible-not-to-love iconic and exotic white-washed beauty. But driving through small towns on the mainland is like catching a tired culture with its pants down.

Sure, there are some cute towns. But, if you’ve been anywhere else in the Mediterranean you have to wonder, where’s the paseo…the passeggiata…where are the people? And I generally wondered what happened to the sublime sense of aesthetics that characterized the Golden Age — so inspirational that the best the ancient Romans could do would be to copy it. I find more classical Greek heritage of aesthetics is apparent in Paris or Florence than on mainland Greece. I don’t think money is an excuse. There seems to be plenty of money.

I asked myself, “Aren’t you being harsh?” But I compared the surface beauty of non-descript work-a-day towns in Germany, France, Ireland, and even Sicily, and I concluded it’s fair to say the Greeks channel their concern for tidiness and beauty to things other than fixing up their towns.

Except for some fine town centers, it’s a makeshift world with barely a hint of building codes or planning requirements. For example, next to the front door of an old church a rope dangled from the bell tower, as if strung up by a grade-schooler. I thought, this must be a temporary fix. With my eyes I followed the rope up to the cornerstone just below the bell and saw the groove worn by generations of pulling that rope. Stepping inside I just cleared electric wires strung across the nave. They were jerry-rigged, just tall enough to clear people’s heads, to light a bare bulb lashed to an old oil lantern that no longer worked and had been collecting dust for years. I find the rinky-dink stuff charming and photogenic. But if I went to church there, I’d fix it.

Driving in Greece is like Italy used to be. Parking is chaotic. Sidewalks and curbs are broken. And when there is an intact sidewalk, it’s been interrupted by a strip of ridges to guide the canes of people who can’t see. A compassionate sentiment…but these are rendered unusable by parked motorbikes, flower pots, and sales racks spilling out from kiosks. I’ve never seen a blind person try to use this sidewalk aid and if they did, it would only be frustrating. The result…smooth sidewalks are a rarity.

Ironically, amidst what I’d call the most littered country in Europe, I found two heroic attempts at hygiene that I’ve encountered nowhere else. Restaurants serve napkins in sanitized plastic wrappers. And I was actually startled in a men’s room when, as I passed a garbage can, its lid opened. It was equipped with a well-meaning motion sensor. But merely entering the space caused it to give me the trash-can body-language equivalent of, “Feed me.”

Athens is hugely improved and filled with the youthful energy I found missing elsewhere. An even-number, odd-number license plate system allows people to drive into town only on alternate days. That, along with a marvelous underground system, have made the city less congested. While it used to turn my hanky black in a day, the air now seems much cleaner. And it’s much more people-friendly with welcoming pedestrian boulevards and squares filled with benches, shade-giving trees, and inviting cafés rather than parked cars.

Forgive my harshness. Grecophiles will be up in arms I’m sure. (I’d welcome comments.) I’ve spent a month out of the last year in Greece and am really enthusiastic about our upcoming book on Athens and side-trips. It was strange to be in a country where travelers had no option for a Rick Steves guidebook. With the help of my Grecophile collaborators, our book will be a winner and I am enthusiastic about heading off ASAP with the first edition of this book (due out in early 2009) to update it and learn more about Greece.

All over the world (whether in Mexico City, Dublin, Turkey or Egypt), before heading into the hinterland, it’s important to stop by the big museum in the capital city to see the art treasures dug up in the rural sights you’re heading out to see. The National Museum in Athens is no exception.

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There’s a new rule. Only in Greek museums is “posing with the art” explicitly forbidden. Tourists just can’t resist getting personally involved with the gods. Goofy as it is, I didn’t know how much I’d miss not being able to “pose” with Adonis or Aphrodite. Actually being a participant in one of our tours, I’m reminded of how a well-organized tour takes all the time inefficiency out of travel. I’m also reminded of the value of connecting with great local guides. Our guide in Athens was a wealth of insights mixed with attitude: “Fay — like Faye Dunaway” explained, “We Greeks smoke, hate breakfast and just can’t get along with each other. But give us a common enemy and we become tight as a fist.” Fay reminded me how a Greek trait is to think of things in terms of word history and analyze word origins: “Sanctuary” is a holy enclosure. “Democracy” is literally “people power.” She asked me if I — “so tall and blond” — was Scandinavian? I said yes and she responded “Then why are you Steves. You should be Nelson or something like that.” Referring to the Acropolis and Agora (ancient market place) as uptown and downtown, she made the hot and dusty visit a delight, bringing meaning to the rubble with clever insights. Greek architecture is made of stone; Roman of stone, clay and brick; early Christian of only clay and brick. While ancient Egyptian wood survives, the wood of ancient Greek buildings is gone because of the humidity here. Greeks designed on a human scale…appropriate for their democracy. When the Romans came, they added gigantism. As Romans didn’t have democracy, their leaders had a taste for grandeur — putting an “un-Greek” veneer of power on the Agora with pompous staircases, fancy pavement and oversized temples and statues. You can tell Roman statues from Greek ones by knowing that Roman ones are bigger-than-life, not freestanding (always propped on something), with “too much robe” and they come with inter-changeable heads. Masters of both imperial ego and efficiency, they reused stone bodies, economically replacing just the head with each new emperor. That’s why lots of Roman statues are headless with necks “scooped out.” As usual, a local guide lets me affirm or shoot down my favorite lines. While I’ve done a lot of affirming during the first two days of our tour, I’ve had to humbly debunk myself too. For twenty years I’ve said, “The Treasury of Delos was so important that all the other islands were called the Cycladic Islands because they make a cycle or circle around that pivotal island of Delos.” Now I learn that while the word “Cycladic” does describe the circle of islands, the name predates the treasury by centuries. I always held that the origin of the word barbarian was from ancient Romans who considered everyone who didn’t speak Latin or Greek to be babbling like animals — you know…bar bar bar barians. Now I learn that, rather than Roman ethnocentricity, the word “barbarian” originated with ethnocentric Greeks (who, when hearing non-Greek speakers, labeled them barbarians for their crude-sounding language…bar bar bar). I’ve always said that Greek architects understood that a long straight base line on a building creates the illusion of sagging, therefore they bowed their temple floors up just a tad in the middle. Fay explained that was true — but only for the Parthenon in Athens. The Greeks remain pissed-off at the British for swiping their Parthenon statues. In 1803, the Ottoman Turks, who controlled Greece, could care less about Greek cultural treasures. They were happy to take a bribe from Englishman Lord Elgin to let him make off with the finest of ancient Greek statuary.

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Athens’ massive new Museum of the Acropolis being built today at the foot of the Acropolis hill has a big and plush section designed to house the Elgin marbles now held in London’s British Museum. This will likely remain empty and the vision will likely never amount to more than wishful thinking because the British Museum knows if it returned the Greek treasures, every culture with treasures held hostage in London would be emboldened to make similar demands. The guides who lead tours for me know I’m a sucker for touristic folk-dance shows. Last night, more than half our group joined me and Anne at a theater under the Acropolis and under that stars to see Medieval Greek flirting set to music. Just like male peacocks need to try harder to get a date, the male dancers — with pompoms on their slippers — seemed to do all the high kicking. The sweet girls just enjoyed the show — clucking in masse while checking out the guys like you’d look at horses’ teeth at a cattle market. I found myself staring with my ears at the folk music — with its squawky flutes, crude fiddle, pipes and drums — hearing it as a kind of ethno trance music. Then, staring with my eyes at the bagpiper, I imagined the first time a Greek shepherd lashed a double reed flute to a goat skin, filled it with his breath and squeezed out a crude tune.

Flying from Seattle to Athens, we changed planes in bleak and rainy Amsterdam. I realized that miserable weather at a transfer city makes me wickedly happy. Let it rain in Holland…we’re flying to Greece for two weeks of virtually certain sunshine.

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On the plane, people asked, “Where are you going this time?” It was fun to answer, “I’m taking one of them Rick Steves’ tours.” I’m always impressed when planning to make a meeting halfway around the world with 15 minutes to spare, and I get there just as planned. Anne and I checked into Hotel Hera and joined our tour group on the rooftop — a view of the Acropolis and welcome drinks in hand. Last time I was on this rooftop, it was bare concrete with rickety plastic furniture. I was the driver/guide of a minibus tour…a true adventure, with the blind leading the blind. Now, it’s a different Greece. Like the city itself, the hotel has enjoyed a complete makeover. It was still a Rick Steves’ tour…but with a plush and shady rooftop, a scholar guide (Colin Clement) and me on vacation with Anne. I joked with Colin that it’s easy to be an impressive guide in Greece, because brilliance is relative and rare is the American tourists who has a clue about Greek history. Colin was worried I’d be bored. I was wondering what it would be like to be off-duty, with no real agenda other than to enjoy myself. My mom could never sit down and relax with company, and I struggle with my “mother-guide complex” (e.g., audio concerns when Colin was giving his intro talk). Colin stressed punctuality, and how we will actually leave people behind who are late for the bus. Someone cracked, “What’s the difference between a tour member and a hitchhiker?” The answer: “Five minutes.” Colin prepped us for the experience. If you ask for a “no smoking” section, they’ll sit you anywhere and remove the ashtray. Someone asked for a doggie bag on his last tour, and the waiter took the remains of their meal away, and brought it back in a sack, proudly announcing that he put other people’s leftovers in as well, so that the dog would have a real feast.

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Talking with members from our group, it was clear: retired people want longer trips, working people need shorter trips. Two retired couples were fresh off of our Turkey tour, combining that and our Greece tour for a month-long visit. And, for many, this two-week itinerary was a stretch. The delightful pedestrian lane that now circles the Acropolis hill is symbolic of the great changes in Athens from the last decade or so. We strolled it with the local paseo crowd. They just had an election yesterday. I asked a local the results, and he said, “Good for owners, bad for workers.” Wandering through the city, you still feel the heritage from the 2004 Olympic Games. And even from the Para-Olympics. A small industrial elevator riveted to the face of the Acropolis’ cliff now makes that ultimate historic hilltop accessible to all. While that’s great, I have to admit I have a problem with the grooved inlay cut into every sidewalk. In hopes of enabling people who can’t see to get around the city with their white canes, they cut up every sidewalk and inlaid grooves to guide the canes. In practice, crazy obstructions make following the grooves impossible. The result: a city painfully in need of charm has new sidewalks which happen to be the ugliest in Europe. Athens, once so congested and polluted, has made huge strides. But it’s still intense and congested. It seems there’s about one blade of grass for each of the city’s 3 million cars. For a taste-version of “pinch me I’m in Greece,” I needed two things: a souvlaki pita and a local yogurt. Wandering the old town under a floodlit Acropolis, munching my souvlaki rolled in greasy pita bread, is like a ritual for me. And to cap that, I drop by a dessert place for a yogurt, and patiently drizzle honey on it as if I’m scribbling “Yes, I’m in Greece!”