Roberto, from Venice, and I drank are shitty drinks. He had the “red” wine and I had a Mythos beer. About this point I began to almost trust Roberto. But, then he said to me:
“Bryan Adams, this is why I love American music; isn’t this great?”
There were all sorts of things I had against that statement, “Well, Roberto, first it’s not Bryan Adams, and I don’t think he’s any good anyway. But Bryan Adams is Canadien.”
This digressed into an uncomfortable semi-argument. That’s when one of the women who worked at the bar sat down next to me. This seemed a bit odd. She asked if I was on vacation. She said I seemed stressed for being on vacation. I wondered what was going on with this idle chit-chat, when she lowered the boom. “Can I have a drink with you?”
Here it was the tourist trap. Fortunately a friend of a friend had this happen to him in Budapest. (Fortunately for me, that is.) Jeff was taken into this bar in Budapest. The women asked if they could have a drink with him. Jeff, being logical, said “of course.” A few drinks later, he gets an astronomical bill. At about 20 dollars a pop for the women’s drinks, he’d racked up a 100,000 forint bill (around $500.00).
With Jeff’s Hungarian misadventure in mind, I had to get the fuck out of there. “I got to go.”
“Why? You just got here!”
“I have to meet my cousin at the airport.”
“He can take the subway.”
“No, he’s from Idaho and is afraid of riding subways by himself!”
“Where’s Idaho?”
As I was paying way too much for my shitty Mythos beer (10 euros), Roberto went back to his trip to Sacramento and how he ate Idaho potatoes. I ran out of the New York Café as quick as possible and out into the Plaka.
* * * *
After my adventure in the back roads of Attika, I was in the city. I hopped out of the shower and sought to wander the city. Wandering the city downtown almost immediately draws to one place throughout Athens, however. Up on a high hill you see an ancient building – hmm, that must the Akropolis.
I found out how long the site was open. I had plenty of time, so I bought a ticket. Perhaps the best deal in Europe, for 12 euros you get 7 tickets, the Akropolis and 6 other sites. I dashed up the hill to the site.
From the city centre you wander up winding narrow roads. It is odd that you come from the financial district which is the newer part of the city. In Charlestown, MA, you walk up the hill to the Bunker Hill Monument and the streets get nicer and nicer with more and more expensive houses. This is also true at Federal Hill in Baltimore, as well. Based on this one might expect the town to get nicer and nicer approaching a 2500 year old temple. But you would be wrong. It is the inverse. The houses get shittier and shittier.
There is more and more graffiti on the walls. What the Greeks lack in proficiency of graffiti they make up for in being prolific. Everything that is not policed all the time – like the Akropolis – is tagged. And none of it is either creative or interesting (for the most part).
You find one gate to the Akropolis on this random tiny road without a sign. As I wondered if I had wandered into somebody’s garden on this dirt path, I came across a more likely path, wide and paved. It kept going up, figuring eventually I’d make it to the Parthenon if I just kept going up.
This is when I met Roberto. He told me he was a tourist and we should go to a bar where they have music and wine from the local villages. (I knew he was up to something.) He was nice enough to show me the way to the entrance.
The Akropolis is an amazing site. The temple of Athena Nike is what you walk through first – up ancient marble steps that just fill the American whose oldest thing is the Paul Revere’s House with wonder. Each stone is a piece of history dating back 26 centuries.
You are lost in the marble of the temple staring at the beauty of the individual columns as you walk through. Then out the other side there it is – the Parthenon! The size and majesty of the structure is not something you can properly describe. Even after being destroyed by the Turks (“Parthenon go BOOM!”), it still holds its scale and beauty.
Walking up I saw a Vietnamese family standing before it. Without the language you would think I wouldn’t know what they were saying. However, the father’s gestures and body language showed what he was lecturing. He was using his hands as he described how the pillars are not straight but have a natural bulge in the middle to show the heft of the building. He was then pointing to the top of the structure and dipping his hand to show that the building didn’t have the allusion of a sag that a straight line would have shown.
After my misadventure with Roberto, I grabbed a gyro went back to my hostel and slept for the next 14 hours.
The next day I went out and used my other 6 tickets visiting more ancient sites. I also climbed Lykavitos, leaving 2 euro at the church atop for a prayer to Mel.
“Bryan Adams, this is why I love American music; isn’t this great?”
There were all sorts of things I had against that statement, “Well, Roberto, first it’s not Bryan Adams, and I don’t think he’s any good anyway. But Bryan Adams is Canadien.”
This digressed into an uncomfortable semi-argument. That’s when one of the women who worked at the bar sat down next to me. This seemed a bit odd. She asked if I was on vacation. She said I seemed stressed for being on vacation. I wondered what was going on with this idle chit-chat, when she lowered the boom. “Can I have a drink with you?”
Here it was the tourist trap. Fortunately a friend of a friend had this happen to him in Budapest. (Fortunately for me, that is.) Jeff was taken into this bar in Budapest. The women asked if they could have a drink with him. Jeff, being logical, said “of course.” A few drinks later, he gets an astronomical bill. At about 20 dollars a pop for the women’s drinks, he’d racked up a 100,000 forint bill (around $500.00).
With Jeff’s Hungarian misadventure in mind, I had to get the fuck out of there. “I got to go.”
“Why? You just got here!”
“I have to meet my cousin at the airport.”
“He can take the subway.”
“No, he’s from Idaho and is afraid of riding subways by himself!”
“Where’s Idaho?”
As I was paying way too much for my shitty Mythos beer (10 euros), Roberto went back to his trip to Sacramento and how he ate Idaho potatoes. I ran out of the New York Café as quick as possible and out into the Plaka.
* * * *
After my adventure in the back roads of Attika, I was in the city. I hopped out of the shower and sought to wander the city. Wandering the city downtown almost immediately draws to one place throughout Athens, however. Up on a high hill you see an ancient building – hmm, that must the Akropolis.
I found out how long the site was open. I had plenty of time, so I bought a ticket. Perhaps the best deal in Europe, for 12 euros you get 7 tickets, the Akropolis and 6 other sites. I dashed up the hill to the site.
From the city centre you wander up winding narrow roads. It is odd that you come from the financial district which is the newer part of the city. In Charlestown, MA, you walk up the hill to the Bunker Hill Monument and the streets get nicer and nicer with more and more expensive houses. This is also true at Federal Hill in Baltimore, as well. Based on this one might expect the town to get nicer and nicer approaching a 2500 year old temple. But you would be wrong. It is the inverse. The houses get shittier and shittier.
There is more and more graffiti on the walls. What the Greeks lack in proficiency of graffiti they make up for in being prolific. Everything that is not policed all the time – like the Akropolis – is tagged. And none of it is either creative or interesting (for the most part).
You find one gate to the Akropolis on this random tiny road without a sign. As I wondered if I had wandered into somebody’s garden on this dirt path, I came across a more likely path, wide and paved. It kept going up, figuring eventually I’d make it to the Parthenon if I just kept going up.
This is when I met Roberto. He told me he was a tourist and we should go to a bar where they have music and wine from the local villages. (I knew he was up to something.) He was nice enough to show me the way to the entrance.
The Akropolis is an amazing site. The temple of Athena Nike is what you walk through first – up ancient marble steps that just fill the American whose oldest thing is the Paul Revere’s House with wonder. Each stone is a piece of history dating back 26 centuries.
You are lost in the marble of the temple staring at the beauty of the individual columns as you walk through. Then out the other side there it is – the Parthenon! The size and majesty of the structure is not something you can properly describe. Even after being destroyed by the Turks (“Parthenon go BOOM!”), it still holds its scale and beauty.
Walking up I saw a Vietnamese family standing before it. Without the language you would think I wouldn’t know what they were saying. However, the father’s gestures and body language showed what he was lecturing. He was using his hands as he described how the pillars are not straight but have a natural bulge in the middle to show the heft of the building. He was then pointing to the top of the structure and dipping his hand to show that the building didn’t have the allusion of a sag that a straight line would have shown.
After my misadventure with Roberto, I grabbed a gyro went back to my hostel and slept for the next 14 hours.
The next day I went out and used my other 6 tickets visiting more ancient sites. I also climbed Lykavitos, leaving 2 euro at the church atop for a prayer to Mel.
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