Archive | November 2008

The Saatchi Gallery and a Farce in Hampstead

Nov12

November 12, 2008
London

Just this morning, I said that I ought to go out and seek the Cenotaph that becomes the focus of Remembrance Day ceremonies in London. Well, guess what? Today, Llew and I were riding the Route Number 11 bus (upper deck, front seats), when we passed by the monument at Whitehall. Just past the Horse Guards, we saw an obelisk covered with scarlet poppies and I said, “Oh my God! There it is”. And sure enough. A group of people were examining the many poppy wreaths scattered around the base of the monument and as our bus sailed by, we resolved to stop there later in the day.

And that was exactly what we did on our random rambles in London today. We had breakfast at Paul’s Patisserie on High Holborn which has the best almond croissants and the best hot chocolate in the city. But because their confections are pricey and calorie rich, I save the treat for times when Llew is with me in London.

Then, crossing Chancery Lane towards Fleet Street, we found the great medieval door open–the one that leads into Middle Temple, where Gandhi was once a barrister. It was inevitable that I led Llew into the quiet dignity of those leaf-strewn pathways, past ancient buildings whose stone and brickwork never fail to entrance me. There, in the empty late-autumn gardens, we came upon the round Temple Church created in 1185 by the Knights Templar who were entrusted with the task of guarding pilgrims on their way to the Holy Land during the Middle Ages. The only round church in the country and built in imitation of the Temple in Jerusalem, Temple Church featured dominantly during the bloody Crusades and, more recently, in Dan Brown’s fascinating novel The Da Vinci Code where the secrets of the Holy Grail are concealed in the faces of the many gargoyles and effigies of knights that encircle the old stone walls. The church was closed but we discovered that there was a free organ recital later than afternoon and we decided to return to enjoy it and to allow Llew to survey the historic place of worship which I had examined on a previous visit to London a few years ago.

So we got on the bus and reached Chelsea instead in order to see the Saatchi Gallery of which I had heard so much but had never visited. It was a particularly glorious day. Though winter has arrived in London, we were warm as toast in the layers that we had thoughtfully piled on to combat the cold. The bus stopped on the King’s Road right in front of the gallery and we were pleased to have it almost entirely to ourselves but for a rather enthusiastic group of high school art students.

I discovered that the gallery has no permanent collection–its exhibits change periodically so that there is almost always something interesting to see. Today, we walked through six galleries devoted to New Art from China–exhibits that took us through paintings, sculpture, collage, models in resin and silica gel. Most of them were deeply disturbing and stark in their presentation of life in modern-day China though there were a couple of black and white oil paintings of Chairman Mao that brought a smile to my face–such as the one of Mao on the terrace of Peggy Guggenheim’s pallazzo in Venice that I had visited with my friend Amy Tobin earlier this year in March. There was Peggy Guggenheim sprawled on one of her deck chairs with her signature pekingese on her lap with a smiling Mao looking on indulgently. Another one featured Mao in the Royal Coach with the late Queen Mother–sometime in the 60s, perhaps. But for these occasional canvases, however, the show was uniformly depressing and we gladly left the precincts to emerge into the bright sunlit morning as we went out in search of edible goodies at Waitrose.

On the bus back, we hopped off at Westminster Abbey whose lawns were covered with small pine wood crosses and poppies, each inscribed with the name of a relative who had died in the many wars in which Great Britain has been involved. So many people passed reverentially by, pausing to lay a small poppy wreath by a special cross or to whisper a prayer in front of one of the giant poppy wreaths that were adorned with the crests of the regiments to which these brave men and women belonged. It was an extremely moving scene, indeed, and the next best thing to being present yesterday at the ceremonies themselves. At the Cenotaph further down the road on Whitehall, Llew and I joined the few visitors who paused to contemplate the flags and the wreaths that commemorate the fallen dead and to take photographs by which to remember these peculiarly moving British traditions.

By the time we got back on the bus home, we missed the organ recital–in fact, we arrived at the very last minute; but Llew did get a chance to tour the church and read a bit of its thousand year history. Then, we got back home for lunch and a nap.

I had discovered by this point that NYU did have an extra ticket for Llew to a play entitled In The Balance that was to be performed in the evening at the New End Theater in Hampstead. I had signed up to attend this event weeks ago but was not sure that Llew would be able to accompany me. When Alice from NYU got back and told me that Llew was welcome to join us at the play and for dinner at Tinseltown, a neat restaurant near by, we decided to ride the Tube to Hampstead for a very entertaining evening in the midst of many of my students and some of my British colleagues.

Tinseltown served us a typically American meal that included hamburgers and milk shakes–and ooohhh, what delicious shakes those were! Llew chose to have Chocolate Hobnobs, I chose a Ferrero Rocher–yummmm! We sat down in the midst of my loquacious students who were still jubilant about the Obama victory and couldn’t stop talking about it. In fact, Jessy, one of our students from Kentucky, is actually going to be at the Inauguration and at the Inaugural Ball in February and we were just so excited for her!

Then, we were trooping into the theater to watch a hysterically funny farce on the American family, its idiosyncrasies and its follies in the midst of election fever. No production could have been more timely, what with the excitement of the election that we just went through and the anticipation as a new historic President enters the White House. What was marvelous about this play was that the British playwrights had managed to enter into the American psyche so perfectly and that the British actors who played the parts did such a fine job at portraying those characters on stage. I am certain they were nervous about the authenticity of their American accents in the company of a theater full of critical American university students. Luckily for the entire cast and crew, the audience seemed to love the exaggerated antics of the characters and the rough and tumble that accompanied the highly stereotypical characters and situations created by Ray Kilby and John Steinberg. Llew and I laughed non-stop through the evening and on our way back on the Tube thought how fortunate we were to have enjoyed such a lovely day together in London.

Earlier in the day, I had called my parents in Bombay to wish my mother on her birthday and to tell them how much we had enjoyed our travels in Greece. Naturally, they wondered how my feet had survived the endless stomps through classical history and my dad, being the God-fearing man he is, reminded me to thank God for allowing me to enjoy such a demanding trip despite my affliction. I told him that I couldn’t agree more and that I had said my thank-yous many times over on the flight back to England.

And so at the end of our first day together after our return from a marvelous holiday, I am deeply appreciative of the opportunity to have this time to share London with Llew doing some of the things that we most love.

A Word About Poppies

Nov12

November 11, 2008
Athens-London

At the stupendous, breathtaking Olympic Stadium in Athens, as so often happens on vacation, a young man came up and requested us to take his picture against the five world rings that dominate the spectator stands. He happened to be Bolivian, on holiday in Athens from Paris where he is posted for a year on work–talk about globalization! There I was in Athens, originally from India, now based in the USA, on holiday in Athens from London where I am posted for a year on work. The similarities were striking!

He told us he was out and about on a long weekend in France where the nation is celebrating Armistice Day–November 11, 1918 was when the First World War ended. And I am reminded of the ceremonies in London that I have seen year after year on TV during the BBC World News in commemoration of Remembrance Day (as it is in known in the UK). For years I wondered why the BBC reporters and its guests wore a brilliant red favor in their lapels for a couple of weeks in November. Then, at the Cenotaph, a monument in London that I have yet to seek out and find, Tony Blair would lay a red poppy wreath as war veterans hobbled forward or were wheeled in their chairs to the front, all decked out in their military regalia. We have no such ceremonies in the States to mark this date–probably because we were not involved in the intrigues of World War I.

However, a few years ago, when my mother Edith was visiting the USA, I had taken her to the traditional parade to mark Memorial Day (last weekend in May). There, on the cheering streets of our local home town, Southport, Connecticut, she watched fascinated as people waved the star-spangled banner and floats laden with vivid red poppies passed by to the enthusiastic waves of elderly men and women whose clothing was covered with poppies fashioned out of red construction paper. My mother was enthralled, indeed almost teary-eyed, as she watched. “Look at all those poppies”, she said. “That takes me back to my childhood. When we were children in school, we celebrated the end of the War with these poppies that were sold as favors in Bombay. In fact, we used to make these poppies ourselves, out of red crepe paper! Everyone bought a poppy and wore them in their lapels. I haven’t seen anything like this in so many years”, she marvelled.

So it was in my mother’s honor that I bought a poppy, two weeks ago, while I was with Dorothy Dady in Richmond. It was with pride that I wore it in my lapel for a couple of days before Llew arrived and we left for our Greek Odyssey. Karen, my colleague at NYU, saw me walk into our office with the poppy on my coat pocket and asked me, “What’s with this thing? I see so many people wearing it here.” I explained the significance of the Poppy Appeal about which I had heard on BBC TV only two days previously. Every single BBC reporter and guest had worn the poppy and I was so delighted to be a part of this tradition during my year in London.

So many thoughts coalesced as we crossed Western Europe last night–albeit at thirty thousand feet above sea level–en route to the UK. It was Armistice Day in Europe–Poppy Day in London–and my mother Edith, in whose honor I purchased and wore a poppy, turns 77 tomorrow in Bombay. I cannot wait to call her and tell her about my small tribute to the many nameless brave and courageous men and women whose contribution to the War Effort continues to be recalled here in the UK on Remembrance Day. I was only sorry that I missed the ceremonies in London as I would dearly have loved to be a part of the rituals of the day in person on English soil.

There’s More to Athens Than The Acropolis

Nov12

Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Athens, Greece

To read this text with accompanying pictures, please click on the following link in my website: http://rochellesroost.googlepages.com/greece_athens

And so we finally arrived at our last day in Greece. It had been such a blissful ten days that Llew and are were loath to return to routine, even though, comfortingly, that routine would be for me at least, in London.

Though friends had told us that Athens can be covered in a day and a half, we so loved the city and its many varied quarters, some of which we had yet to explore, that we had several places lined up to see before we returned home. However, I woke up feeling awful and for some inexplicable reason, had no appetite or energy to tackle anything. Llew breakfasted alone while I took a rest and it was only after he had checked out, an hour later, that I stirred and found the enthusiasm to go ahead with our plans.

Our first stop was Hadrian’s Arch and the Temple of Olympian Zeus in “Roman Athens”. These remnants of Rome’s occupation of Greece take the form of large monuments in rather dismal shape. While the Arch is quite impressive, it is the few standing columns of the Temple that catch the eye–mainly because they are so tall. This temple was once the largest in Greece and though today only 17 columns remain, they do give an idea of how stupendous a sight it might have presented to contemporary Athenians.

Then, we found ourselves skirting the Temple’s precincts and making our way towards the National Gardens to see the Zappeion, at the suggestion of Ted Francis, a corporate attorney in the States, who was once Llew’s colleague and is now a good friend. Ted has Greek heritage and Llew had made sure to ask him for his travel tips before he left the States. One of the places that Ted thought we should see was the Zappeion and I am very grateful he suggested this, not just because it allowed us to explore the interior of a very unique and very imposing Neo-Classical Building in the middle of the city, but because we also had the opportunity to explore the ‘lungs’ of Athens in the huge and very well-maintained garden. Inside the building–which is odd because it appears like a rectangular structure on the outside but is really circular within–that was used as the press center for the Athens Olympics in 2004, there was a publicity event on for the forthcoming Special Olympics and the press was busy setting up cameras and lights.

Having viewed the Zappaeion, we went in search of the Athens Olympic Stadium of 2004 and though finding it on foot following a map was something of a challenge, we were quite overwhelmed when we did see it. For the stadium is massive and entirely constructed of marble. The five international Olympic rings dominate the structure and make a marvelous backdrop for the pictures that visitors feel compelled to take. This was the stadium into which the finalists of the marathon entered at the end of their long run and we could just imagine what it might have been like–thousands of cheering fans greeting the winners and screaming during their victory lap.

Walking through the lovely flower-beds of the garden, we arrived at the main thoroughfare, in time to take in the rituals of the 12 noon “Changing of the Guards” ceremony at Syntagma Square. This is very similar to the ceremony in London except that instead of wearing funny bear-skin hats, these Greek guards wear funny frilly skirts and large pom-pom shoes and march in the fashion that is distinctly reminiscent of John Cleese in Fawlty Towers in the episode in which he attempts to be a Nazi soldier. Needless to say, the moves of these guards brought a great deal of laughter–some of it suppressed, much of it not–and photo opportunities for the assembled tourists who arrive at the tolling of each hour. The handsome Parliament Building makes a very fitting backdrop to this ceremony which is performed on a platform that contains the Tomb of an Unknown Soldier. It is meant to be a solemn and dignified ritual and I was sorry that so many young tourists found it amusing.

After resting for a bit, we walked along the main avenue towards the three Neo-Classical Buildings that one cannot fail to notice as one rides in the city’s trolley buses. These comprise the Athens Academy, the University of Athens and the Central Library. Each building is more beautiful than the other, the Academy fronted by the statues of Socrates and Aristotle and crowned by those of Apollo and Artemis. At the University, we were delighted to have strayed into the midst of a graduation ceremony where lovely young ladies all decked out in summer floral dresses and chiffony frills with either improbably high heeled boots or delicate stilettos, bore large bouquets of flowers in their hands and posed for pictures with their loving relatives. It was a lovely sight to see and we were so glad to receive this spontaneous glimpse into contemporary Athenian culture.

A few moments later, having covered Roman Athens and Neo-Classical Athens, we crossed the street and went in search of Byzantine Athens represented by the ancient churches that dot its oldest quarters. Llew was especially keen that I visit the 11th century Church of Kapnikarea that stands smack in the middle of Ermou, one of the city’s busiest shopping areas and which he had seen earlier on one of his solo rambles. This tiny church is so old that when you enter it, you almost expect its walls to crumble in your hands.

It was time for lunch and we hurried again to Thannasis which was doing roaring business at midday. It was our last chance to enjoy a really good meal and we opted for a Greek Salad and the moussaka, which was served in the terracotta pot in which it had been baked and was easily one of the best we have ever tasted. Over Mythos beer, this meal went down like a dream and we were so glad that we would take back superb memories of Greek food through the many varied restaurants we had visited on the recommendation of Lonely Planet.

On the way back to our hotel to pick up our bags, we did have a chance to see one more old church, the large Cathedral which stands right next to the smaller 12th century Church of Agios Eleftherios. All Byzantine churches have a similar design inside and exude an air of religious formality through the use of swinging incense-burners and glass chandeliers.

It was, sadly, time for us to think of returning to our hotel as our flight left at 8pm. We wanted to arrive at the airport by 6 pm, which meant that we needed to get on the metro by 5 pm. A last stroll through Monastriki allowed us to pick up some inexpensive souvenirs trinkets for relatives and a scarf for me depicting the glory of classical Greek architecture, before we arrived at Acropolis House and picked up our baggage. En route to the metro stop, we could not resist stopping at Syntagma Square to pick up some edible goodies to carry back home–Greek pistachios, mixed nut brittle studded with sesame seeds, and some more sokolatina (chocolate mousse pastry) from our favorite confectionery at the corner.

On the metro back to the airport, we ran into the group of four Asians–two couples from Hongkong–whom we had seen repeatedly on our travels. Together, we entered the train that spirited us away to the airport and on to our Easyjet flight which landed at Luton airport at about 11 am. Because there wasn’t much traffic on the motorways at that time of night, we did manage to get to the Baker Street Tube stop before the last train left and the system closed for the night. We were home twenty minutes later, holding close to our hearts, some indelible memories of the ten blissful days we had spent in Greece–the cradle of Western civilization.

A Blissfully Lazy Day on Kamari Beach, Santorini

Nov12

Monday, November 10, 2008
Santorini-Athens, Greece

To read this text with accompanying pictures, please click on the following link in my website: http://rochellesroost.googlepages.com/greece_santorini

We had almost a half day to explore Santorini on our own before we boarded our ferry back to Pireaus Port. I would have loved to have visited “Ancient Thira” (as Santorini was once known), but the archeological site had closed for the season. I had no regrets, however, as we had already examined the lovely frescoes from Akroteri, the site that dates from 3,000 BC and has preserved wonderful Cretan frescoes on its walls. These have been excavated and are now preserved in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens where we had seen them.

Instead, we decided to take a bus to Kamari Beach and enjoy a quiet, uneventful day on the sands. Or so we wished! As it turned out, we had a nice little adventure en route. In attempting to hop into a bus, we had spent more than a half hour waiting and finally opted to hitchhike again. Only no one seemed to be going in the direction of Kamari. In frustration, we stood on the opposite side of the road intending to hitchhike back to Fira. We were luckier this time round, for a nice man stopped and took us in and just a few meters on the road to Fira, we saw the Fira-Kamari bus go sailing by. The driver was so amused, he laughed heartily at our dismay. Then, suddenly hit by a brainwave, he asked us if we still wanted to get to Kamari. If we can, we said. Well, let’s try to follow that bus, he said, and catch up with it at a town ahead. So, before we could say “Aristotle Onassis”, he U-turned his car around and began following the public bus! As expected, the bus soon arrived at the little town of Messaria, where a number of passengers waited in a queue to board it. This gave us a few seconds to thank him profusely, dash out of his car and hop into the bus. We laughed at our little adventure and settled down into our seats to arrive at Kamari Beach about ten minutes later.

Kamari Village seemed abandoned of all humanity when we arrived there. Not a human being was a sight though the local ‘supermarket’ was open. Equipping ourselves with freshly-baked spanakopita and chocolate croissants and chestnut yogurt, we walked along the silent streets towards the beach that beckoned insistently at the end of the road.

“Let’s sit somewhere in the sun”, Llew said, “and enjoy our meal”.

“I’m heading towards the sun”, I responded. “Let’s eat our breakfast on the beach”.

And that indeed was exactly what we did. Llew was stunned by his first sight of Kamari Beach which lay devoid of any human traffic. The sand was black–the famous volcanic black sand beach of Greece similar to the one we had seen on Hawaii’s Big Island. I spied a small deserted boat on the water’s edge and suggested to Llew that we should climb into it and enjoy our breakfast right in there, while gazing over the ocean. And that was exactly what we did! On our right, the volcanic cliffs loomed forbiddingly, their folds like giant elephant’s legs. On our right, the land curved around charmingly and behind us lay the promenade with its low buildings. The color of the waters of the Aegean seemed particularly striking that morning as the sun gleamed upon its crystal-clear surface and gilded the waves. We stuck our fingers into the waves to test the temperature and found it to be deceptively welcoming. Truly, we could have stayed there all day, but after a couple of hours, when Llew had been a beach comber, literally combing the beach of its assorted litter and bagging it for the garbage bins, we decided to go and explore the village.

There were still few signs of life. Some fancy boutiques were open but nothing enticed us. We sat for a long while awaiting the arrival of the bus that eventually took us back to our villa at Karterados where we napped for a couple of hours, in keeping with the Mediterranean custom of taking leisurely siestas.

Then, it was time for us to board our ferry, The Blue Star Itaki and cruise on the ink-dark Aegean for the last time. At promptly 3. 30 pm, our ferry left Santorini offering us our last glimpses of its salmon-pink houses perched on charcoal-dark cliffs. Out on the deck, we took pictures of the swiftly slipping sights, then settled down inside to enjoy the long sail to Pireaus Port in Athens, where we arrived close to midnight.

Without any further delay, we boarded the last metro for the night that took us to Monastiraki, where we walked, with newly-gained assurance, to the souvlaki place called Thannasis, then carried our dinner back to Acropolis House which seemed like an old friend and made us feel as if we had arrived home.

Sensational Santorini

Nov12

Sunday, November 9, 2008
Santorini, Greece

To read this text with accompanying pictures, please click on the following link in my website: http://rochellesroost.googlepages.com/greece_santorini

Santorini is reputed to be the most beautiful of the Greek Islands, so it is not surprising that almost all cruise ships plying the Mediterranean make a mandatory stop here. This has also bestowed a peculiarly snazzy aura to the island that belies the simplicity and authenticity of its native people. Of course, when spared the madding tourist crowd, the island offers pure delights of natural scenery and spectacular sunsets and it was in search of those that Llew and I included it in our itinerary.

We had snatched a few zzzs on the Romilda as it made its way around the Cyclades by night stopping at Argos and Tinos and Ios and a number of smaller islands before deposting us before daylight at Athonios Port where Agapi, our landlady from Villa Agapi, awaited us with a placard proclaiming the name of her establishment. Depsite the fact that dawn had not yet broken over the island, I could discern the steep rocky cliffs that loomed above us giving Santorini its distinctive profile.

As we wound our way by car over the mountain roads with Agapi at the wheel, we took in the strangeness of these new environs–large expanses of virgin land lay waiting to be discovered. Frenetic construction activity all over the island proclaimed the new economic boom that has led to its recent prosperity. When we did arrive at the white and turquoise blue highlighed building that is Villa Agapi, we were enchanted by the kidney shaped pool and its matching blue and white striped deckchairs and umbrellas. The repetitive colors of blue and white made me wonder if the Greeks pay tribute to their blue and white striped flag that is ubiquitous or whether these colors reflect the azure-blue Agean waters and the white washed houses and churches that dominate its landscape.

Half past six was no time to contemplate these possibilites and so we settled for a snooze in our lovely comfortable rooms whose balconies provided unbridled views of the sea. At 9 am, we made our way to the Reception area for a hearty Continental breakfast of toast and Lurpak butter (I have developed a huge liking for Lurpak) and strawberry jam, strong coffee and a chocolate marbled cake with orange juice.

Well fortified against the rigours of the sightseeing that lay ahead, we took bus directions from Agapi to get to Fira, the nearest and largest town on the island. But despite waiting for a quarter of an hour, we were not rewarded with the sight of a bus and my weak feet prompted me to do something I haven’t done in years–stick out my thumb and hitch a ride. How delighted we were when a car stopped within a few minutes and a lovely young lady named Angela, en route to her job as a salesgirl in an expensive jewelry store, told us to hop in.

Footloose in Fira:

Angela also proved to be a worthy tour guide and, at her suggestion, we began our exploration of the town at the pale peach and blue Dominican Monastery perched at the very top end of the town. This extremely evocative space presented to us the uniqueness of Byzantine Church design–a central dome covered with mosaics or paintings and one or a pair of steeples that flank it. The atmosphere in these environs was quaint and spoke of ancient worlds and it was quite enchanting to explore these quarters.

What I found most interesting about Santorini and what makes it different from Mykonnos was the streets–while those in Mykonnos are composed of large flag stones cemented together with white mortar, the ones in Santorini feature tiny black volcanic cobbles held together by cement paste. The effect is very pretty indeed and since the entire town is covered with this flooring, it brings a kind of uniformity to the space.

Fira’s town center is composed basically of three main streets that sit in tiers, one on top of the other, on the volcanic mountain sides. These mountains rise tall along the water’s edge, the result of volcanic activity, centuries ago, that have left huge craters on the island’s surface and have created hot springs on the neighboring isles that lie just across the port. We passed by a number of shops and cafes, bars and tavernas–some sold high-end merchandise such as crystal by Baccarat and Lalique and gold jewelry. Clearly targetted at the cruise crowd, these stores were so different from the little souvenir stalls that exuded local color.

Following signs that led towards the cable car, we ran into Angela again at her store. It was she who pointed out the mule paths to us–the one that allows visitors to climb the mountain side on the backs of these sturdy animals if they prefer not to take the cable car, the island’s newest nod to technology. This vantage point offered stunning vistas as far as the eye could see and we posed for many pictures before we decided to explore the smaller shops. Along the coastal path were a variety of restaurants such as Franco’s of Fira which offer startling views and must be hugely popular in the summer. Most of them were closed for the season but we had no regrets at all as we enjoying wandering through the narrow streets without having to elbow our way through frenzied tourist hordes. At the northern tip of the island, we arrived at the pure white Byzantine Cathedral, unfortunately closed, but, nevertheless, creating a distinctive addition to the landscape with its dome and tiered walls.

It ws then time to go out in search of lunch and having read up a lot on the native ingredients of Santorini, we decided to find a place that would serve us the local delicacies. These include the “waterless” tomatoes, a variety that is never watered but receives its water only from the precipitation in the atmosphere. There are also fava beans that are made into a mash and served with red onions. Saganaki is a cheese that is batter clad and deep fried in the style of Italian mozarella sticks. Fortunately, a restaurant called Ceasar’s that served both Italian and typical Greek food was open and we seated outselves at a table and ordered the traditional Greek medzes platter–an idea that allows for casual ‘grazing’ and a taste of several preparations at the same time. So we were thrilled when we were presented a variety of nibbles–those famous tomatoes, the fava bean mash, tzakiki (cucumber-yoghurt dip flavored with garlic), taramasalata (fish roe dip–far more yummy than it sounds!), olives, feta cheese, aubergine mash, cucumbers and capers, served with lovely toasted garlic bread. We also asked for the Saganaki cheese and enjoyed the whole thing with the local Greek beer called Mythos which was extremely refreshing when served cold. Everywhere we went we loved the food. Not for nothing does the Mediterranean Diet have such a fine international reputation. We found ourseles eating healthy and very reasonably priced meals and resolved to include some aspects of this cuisine into our daily eating habits.

Sunset at Ia:

Replete with our lunch, we were able to go out in search of the local bus station to take a ride to Ia, the village that sits perched high up on the volcanic cliffs and promises some of the most stunning sunsets in the Cyclades. Several other tourists had the same idea and we were soon off on a ride that offered turquoise views of the Aegean at every turn–literally–for the bus snaked around the mountain roads, twisting and turning precariously as it confronted hairpin bends.

Soon, we were at Ia, walking along its charming cobbled streets and passing by its houses and shops, most slumbering softly in the bright sunshine as it was siesta-time! Few signs of life presented themselves to us and but for the innumerable stray cats and dogs that populate every one of the Greek islands, there was no life in sight. We did, however, run into two middle-aged American women from Birmingham, Alabama, who expressed the opinion that were most unhappy with America’s new President Elect and told us that they were en route to “Is-tin-bul”. We also met another American couple from Louisiana, on their honeymoon in Greece, who unable to find a ferry to Crete which they intended to explore, were stranded on Santorini for a week–well, I can think of worse places to spend a honeymoon! They were relentless explorers and the lady complained to me of aching calves from all the walking they had done in the past few days. I told her to make sure she supports her arches with really good walking shoes!

Ia is not much diffferent from Fira. The structures hug the sides of the cliff and seem to hang precariously over the steep precipice at every curve. However, they have charming and very unique architectural details that give the Grecian islands their own ambience. A vast number of churches are sprinkled over the cliffs, their domes painted in vivid turquoise. Gates and doorways are painted in bold primary colors while the walls of these structures are washed in pale ice-cream shades of pink and peach. Most houses are arched and there is rarely a straight line on a structure. This gives the entire town the sense of flowing along the mountains on tiered waves. Onward we pressed towards the northern-most tip of the island in the hope of finding the spot from which the grand sunsets are spied.

When we did get there, we found it to be a castle-like stone structure mounted on the promontory for the particular pleasure of watching the sun sink over the Aegean horizon. A few of the tourists who had boarded our bus had beaten us to it and they were taking pictures against every angle and curve of the island. Llew and I settled down to watch the drama of the scenery spread out before us–the glimmering sea beneath us, the unique urban landscape of Greece around us–and discovered that on the opposite side of Ia, the colors are different–or are completley absent. Indeed, the other side of Ia is a plain dazzling white, created by painting sides, domes and walls of structures in a uniform white. But this is far from bland–in fact, it is startling because when streaks of color do occasionally appear–in the base of windmills, for instance, or against the dome of a church–it is so enlivening and so charming.

Darkness comes early to Greece in the autumn and we expected the sun to set at about 5. 30 pm. However, the last bus returning to Fira was schedueld to leave at 5 pm. Deciding that it was not worth missing the bus, since low monsoon clouds had amassed thmsevles at the horizon and would have obscured our views of the sinking sun, we decided to get a move on and walk towards the bus stop. As the bus wound its way downhill, we could see the golden lining on the grey clouds at the horizon and felt comforted for we had not made an unwise decision to leave.

Back in Fira, we found a souvlaki stall and decided to buy ourselves take-out kebas. We had missed the last bus to Karterados where our Villa Agapi was located, so took a cab for five euros to our doorstep. We ate our takeaway dinner in our hotel after which Llew watched Greek TV to obtain some snatches of Obama’s victory while I spent time reading up on Greece’s history.

Santorini was indeed sensational and undoubtedly deserves its reputation. We were glad that we would have the next morning to continue to enjoy this corner of the earth that seemed somehow so far removed from Time.

The Marvels of Mykonnos and A Stop in Syros

Nov12

Saturday, November 8, 2008
Mykonnos, Greece

To read this text with accompanying pictures, please click on the following link in my website: http://rochellesroost.googlepages.com/greece_mykonnos

We had the sort of day in Greece of which lazy memories are made. Both Llew and I have become addicted to the chocolate croissants from the corner shop and after showering, we dressed and went out to meet a most gorgeous day on Mykonnos. With our croissants all bagged up, we chose a deserted restaurant on the waterfront to have our coffee while overlooking the port and the ferries that sailed in desultory fashion disgorging their passengers upon the quays.

When we had enough of such idle perusal, we began making our way towards the curve of the island and the little Greek church that sits on the edge of the waves in stark white-washed glory, its stone walls bathed in golden sunshine. A few feet below us, gentle waves frilled with white foam churned the jade, turquoise and aquamarine waters, filling me, once again, with wonder at the simple beauty of the sight. Because I became obsessed with capturing these scenes for keeps on my camera, I took many pictures. It amazed me that we had this little piece of paradise entirely to ourselves. The silence, but for the sound of the breaking waves on shore, was complete and it felt as if we were on our own private island. How heavenly it was!

Reluctantly, we tore ourselves away from the scene and made our way towards “Little Venice”, that part of Mykonnos that has one-storey balconied structures that jut out into the water, seemingly like the houses that hang above the canals of Venice–hence the quaint name. People were just beginning to stir by this time along the cafes that line the water front. But right ahead of us loomed Mykonnos’ famous four windmills and we decided that we simply should climb up the hill on which they are perched for a better look. Picturesquely, we passed by Zorba’s Auto Works en route and, of course, our minds were taken back to that lovely film with the most haunting of signature tunes, Zorba The Greek. At the windmills, the light was clear and true and perfect for some more photo ops. These remain some of my happiest memories of Mykonnos. Far from the party crazed tourists who throng its beaches in the summer and turn the island into a glitzy cabaret, this is the Mykonnos of my heart’s fondest desires. We were so grateful that we chose to come in the ‘off-season’, indeed at a time when most businesses are closing shop for the winter, for we truly had a chance to experience the true flavor of island life and culture.

Indeed, being in Mykonnos during the off-season worked to our advantage. Back on the beach, we chanced to enter a gelateria where the owner was closing for the season and offered us gigantic helpings of free gelato! We were as pleased as Punch! Taking our cups of Snickers and Double Chocolate and Rum and Raisin, we walked to the beach and there on the sands, with the seagulls screaming raucously around us and the ferries lying in the harbor, we relished our ice-cream. By this point, we had run into Vince again–he kept turning up like the proverbial bad penny–hahaha–and I volunteered to lend him by novel The Memory Keeper’s Daughter which I had finished and enjoyed and because he was desperate for some English material to read on his long return ferry ride to Athens. Vince came along with Llew and me to Pension Stelios where he hung out with us for an hour as we sat on the balcony overlooking the azure waters of the port and the white curve of the Chora. This too, will remain one of my favorite memories of Mykonnos–a day devoted to aimless rambles and pointless chatter.

A Stop in Syros:

Then, Stelios was dropping us to the port for our ferry ride to Santorini. Our boat, the Blue Star Ferries Superferry II, took us to Syros where we had a five hour layover. Syros is another quite beautiful Cycladic island but decidedly different to both Mykonnos and Santorini in flavor.The port town is called Ermoupolis and it is larger, for one thing, more impressive and extremely elegant. All the streets are paved with white marble–the roads too. Structures along the streets front are painted in the softest pastel shades of peaches and cream.

Our first stop was the large main square called Plateia Miaouli which as Lonely Planet puts it, is indeed “worthy of Athens”. An imposing Neo-Classical Town Hall sits in a square ringed with fashionable cafes and stores, all of which, unfortunately, were closed for the weekend. After we rested our feet for a while–for the gentle climb had taken its toll on mine– we continued wending our way up the hillside to arrive at the lovely Church of Saint Nicholas that dates from the 1840s. Since neither Llew nor I had visited any of the famous Greek Orthodox churches until this point in the trip, we resolved to enter the church and check it out. And how grateful we were that we did!

In the church, a Christening service was in progress and the baby lay quietly in the arms of its parents with its god parents in tow. The church was ornate in the extreme with paintings coverings its wall, crystal chandeliers in bright colors pouring light upon the marble floors and the fragrance of incense filling every crevice. The ceremony, in Greek, of course, was lengthy and very ritualistic, involving a great deal of song and movement and offering us Greek theatrical pageantry for which we had not bargained. We enjoyed it enormously and having watched for almost an hour, decided to go outside again.

Darkness had fallen over Syros and our attempt to find a suitable restaurant for dinner began. How lucky we felt to find a small eatery open that served us a fantastic Greek Salad and huge Meatballs in Lemon Sauce. This was truly the taste of the Mediterranean and we feasted heartily over a bottle of Mythos beer. Earlier in the evening, we had visitied one of the many confectionery shops that line the water front and had picked up some of Syros’ famous treats–nougat and clove and orange flavored marzipan and some more sokolatina (chocolate mousse pastry). With these treats in our possession, we boarded the ferry Romilda at 9 pm for the long overnight sail to Santorini.

It had been a terrific day–easily one of the best in our Greek Odyssey and one I know I will long remember.

Dallying on Sacred Delos

Nov12

Friday, November 7, 2006
Delos, Greece

To read this text with accompanying pictures, please click on the following link in my website: http://rochellesroost.googlepages.com/greece_delos

The day we spent in Delos was easily for me one of the highlights of our trip to Greece. In the morning, we ran into my student Vince Libasci again–a feat not improbable considering how few tourists were on the island. We had invited Vince to join us on the day trip to Delos and to share our breakfast–a rather good one based on delicious packaged chocolate croissants from the local ‘supermarket’, really not much more than a corner shop.

To our great good fortune, the local boat had decided to ply that day, but only at 11 am. This left us a good hour to explore Mykonnos some more–an island whose magic spell quite enchanted me. Llew, Vince and I rambled in the Chora (pronounced ‘hora’), the main village with its maze of narrow streets and vividly painted balconies–red, blue, green–that were filled with late season geraniums and giant cactii in pots. Bougainvillea climbed walls in lush profusion and the entire effect was just lovely. It was hard to stop taking pictures as I wanted to capture it all on celluloid.

At 11 am, we were back on the jetty looking for the “Delos Express” , a boat with a rather grandiose name, which we boarded with a handful of other visitors. The sea rocked somewhat disturbingly for me, but I closed my eyes and was grateful for the fact that Delos was only a half hour away. Soon, we were rounding its contours and taking in the stones and columns that were strewn all over its shores.

It is entirely thanks to my Oxford classmate and close friend Dr. Firdaus Gandavia, that we landed on Delos. When he had visited me in London from Bombay, about a month ago, he had recommended a trip to Delos which, he told me, “is archaeologically deeply significant”. And now I cannot thank him enough for making me aware of this island’s magic. Delos is the most sacred of the islands in the Cyclades and is surrounded by the other larger islands–Mykonnos, Tinos, Argos, Siros, Naxos, Paros. It is believed to be the birthpace of the Gods Apollo and Artemis and every attempt was made to preserve this island as a tribute to their powers. Hence, by decree, no one was allowed to be born or to die on Delos. The bones of those once buried on the island were dug up and transported to another site and from then on, no one was ever allowed to spend a night on the island. To date, the Greek government honors the ancient conventions and the island remains uninhabited. Every single passenger that disembarks from the ferry boats are carefully counted and the exact same number is returned at night fall to Mykonnos. It is somewhat eerie to imagine what the island of Delos must be like at night–what ghosts walk around its ruined homes and fallen columns, I wondered?

Once ashore, we purchased tickets (five euros each) to take a self-guided archeological tour of the island. By following the clearly-marked arrows, one could see the most important monuments–a perfectly semi-circular seat here, Naxian marble columns, there. A Temple to Apollo, another to Dionysus. All signs were in Greek and, for some inexplicable reason, in French. It was only later in the museum that I discovered that the excavations on Delos, at the turn of the 20th century (1901-1911 to be exact), were led by a French archoeologist belonging to the University of Athens. His findings led to the unearthing of an entire city that, like Pompeii, lay buried beneath the rubble. Hence, what the visitor really does on Delos, is walk in a former settlement that thrived and was once the most important port in Greece. In fact, it was only more recently that Pireaus in Athens upstaged Delos’ importance. Bankers, seamen, financiers, made their homes on one side of Delos and their ruined mansions can still be visited, complete with their mosaic flooring and frescoed walls.

Many of the treasures found in these homes have been moved to the National Archeological Museum in Athens, but a small museum can be visited on Delos itself. In it, one can see a vast number of archeological artifacts such as jewelery, statues, tables, urns, etc. It is a mind-blowing experience, especially since I had visited Pompeii only in March and been completely fascinated by this buried city that dates from 69 BC. Well, here I was on Delos, walking on the remains of a history that dates back over the last 3,000 years!

This is cearly evident at the Terrace of the Lions where about six life sized lions made of Naxian marble and presented to Delos by the islanders of Naxos give the area its name. These are large, fierce, commanding, their presence giving the island its own peculiar character. These lions were placed outside for a century after being excavated and the elements took their toll on their features so that their faces and manes are stripped of all detail. Today, they are placed inside the museum with plaster replicas adorning the terrace. I was so stunned by all these sights that I was often speechless, unable quite fully to take in the mysteries of the classical world that were being revealed to us as I trod those ruined pathways. Further down the hill, the amphitheater was in rather bad shape and will require a lot of reconstruction before it is restored to its former glory…but we were impressed by the underground cistern that ran below the amphitheater and supplied the island with water. Even as I tried to take it all in, I watched as workers strove to put together, stone upon stone, those crumbled walls. It was especially wonderful for me to be able to see the connection between Delos and Pompeii and it was especially moving for Llew to make the connection between Delos and Mohenjo-Daro and Harrappa in modern-day Pakistan, remnants of the cities of the Indus Valley Civilization that he had the good fortune of visiting many years ago.

At 2 pm, when I was quite tired from all our exploration and seeing our boat puff quietly in the port, I was reminded of Tennyson’s poem “Ulysses” in which the restless hero of the Odyssey decides to set sail once again after a short visit to his wife and son Telemachus, as he cannot rest from travel and must drink life to the lees. This has always been one of my favorite of poems from English Literatrue and to see the boat lying in the harbor against the background of the bright blue Aegean Sea was deeply evocative for me. Llew had resovled that we should return to the British Museum to see the Parthenon Marbles, having visited the monument while in Athens. I decided to review the poem once again having spent so much time on the inky waters of the Aegean.

By 3 pm, we were back in our hotel room for a long siesta. I spent time reading while Llew snoozed. At 7 pm, we stirred having made plans to join Vince for dinner. We chose a wayside restaurant called Madoupas on the waterfront which was filled with locals–always a good sign when one is traveling. In this place, we ate one of the most memorable of our Greek meals–The Mykonnian Salad was huge and consisted of rocket (mesclun greens), red louza sausage that is a speciality of Mykonnos, black eyed beans, tomatoes, olives and a Mykonnian cheese that was far more flavorful than feta cheese. The light dressing of olive oil and vinegar made for a totally filling meal with the Greek bread served alongside and it was with difficulty that Llew and I shared our second course–Mykonnian Sausage with Fries. The sausage was spicey and went well with the blandness of the fries. Portions were enormous and we had enough for our next day’s meal in the doggy bag we carried back with us.

By the time we returned to the beach, the few folk in the town had disappeared altogether and a ghostliness descended down upon the island. We wondered why the shops closed down, only to discover that Friday evenings are when business comes to a standstill for the weekend. Since the thick of the tourist season was over, Mykonnos was in farewell mode and the stores and hotels were preparing themselves for the long and quiet winter months ahead when no cruise loads of tourists would hurry along its shores.

Cruising Upon the Ink-Blue Aegean Sea

Nov12

Thursday, November 6, 2008
On the Ink-Blue Aegean Seas

To read this text with the accompanying pictures, please click on the following link in my website:
http://rochellesroost.googlepages.com/greece_mykonnos

Blue Star Ferries Superferry II was our mode of transport from Pireasus Port in Athens to Mykonnos. As we rolled our pull-along bags on the streets of Syntagma Square at dawn, long before any other signs of life became visible, I was so excited. Here we were at last–setting sail upon the ink-blue Aegean Seas as Ulysses had done so poetically in the stories of Homer and as Jason had done with his faithful Argonauts–we were launching upon a journey, as Tennyson put it, “not unbecoming men who strove with Gods”.

Pireaus Port, by contrast, did show signs of life. Lots of them. Men ran back and forth between giant ‘ferries’ that lay brightly-lit in the gently rocking waters. Travelers pulling suitcases, ran bewildered, trying to find the right boarding ramp for their destinations. Llew and I joined the few dawn-risers and found our boat, stashed our cases in the luggage hold, then stepped out on the deck to enjoy the launch-off and to bid a temporary goodbye to Athens.

For the most part, our cruise was uneventful. There was only a small smattering of passengers on a ferry that seemed huge by comparison. Deck after deck was absolutely empty. A few TV sets played programs in a desultory fashion–it was, of course, all Greek to us! We looked desperately for English coverage of the historic US elections but we got only a few snatches of Obama’s acceptance speech. But because all we heard on Greek TV was “Obama, Obama, Obama”, we got the general gist of the jubilation that surrounded the nation. I sat reading. Chriselle’s recommendation The Memory Keeper’s Daughter by Kim Edwards served me well on the long sail for soon the novelty of watching the harbor fade in the distance failed and we needed to sink down and find useful occupation until we arrived in Mykonnos.

The ferry stopped at Siros, en route, allowing us to enjoy the harbor-side views of a bustling port and the pastel shades of the low buildings of the island. Two structures towered above the rest–a campanile (bell-towers) of sorts and the distant steeples and dome of a church (which we discovered to be the Church of St. Nicholas on our return visit to Siros). Then, we were sailing again, passing only occasionally a group of islands or one massive one, some adorned with snow-white light houses, others barren, rising majestically from the waters in apparent volcanic crags. It was all beautiful and very haunting but nothing had prepared me for the vivid blue of the waters–none of the Homeric adventures, as far as I can remember, had ever mentioned the startling ink-blue seas and I was repeatedly struck by the color. We took our rest on this quiet day, enjoying each other company when we were not snoozing off as the ferry rocked gently.

When the next island arrived, at least an hour ahead of schedule, we disembarked, delighted to have come upon Mykonnos. On land again, we looked out eagerly for Stelios, the man in whose pension I had made online arrangements to stay. There was no sign of him as most other passengers found their onward means of transport. I whipped out my phone to inform Stelios that we had arrived earlier than expected. At this point, a Greek woman came up to me and said, “Tinos, Mykonnos?” I responded, “Yes, Mykonnos”. She looked dismayed. “This Tinos, no Myko…”. Llew and I did not even wait for her to complete the last syllable. We were racing back to the passenger embarkation ramp which even as we looked at it had been raised. Luckily, the larger ramp, the one that boards vehicles on the ferry was still in place, and we rushed on to it. Both of us were thinking of a similar escapade we had at the port of Tangiers in Morocco, a few years ago, when we actually had our feet on the ramp for our return sail to Gibraltar, but were not allowed to board as we hadn’t gone through ticketing formalities. This time, board we did, and as the conductor checked our tickets, we heaved a huge sigh of relief, together with our suitcases, and made our way back to the window seats for the last leg of our journey. So, while we may not have encountered any Cyclops or gone in search of the Golden Fleece, boy, did we have our own hair-raising adventure!

Less than an hour later, we alighted on Mykonnos, an island whose structures gleamed in the bright afternoon sunshine. Stelios was there, as promised, holding up a placard with the words Pension Stelios on it. Five minutes later, literally, we were gazing out at the waters from the balcony of our double room, watching the ferry’s chimneys puff smoke into the clean, unpolluted air. The town seemed to be in deep slumber, however, for there was not a sight of any one stirring. We realized later that Greeks take a long siesta in the afternoon, when life comes to a full-stop, only to start again at 5 pm.

We decided to follow suit and had a lovely long and leisurely nap before we stirred out again at 4pm and walked along the five minute stretch of sand on the beach that took us directly to the Chora (pronounced “hora”), the village of narrow streets whose brightly-painted balconies seem to reach out to kiss each other over black and white streets composed of large black flagstones bonded together with pure white mortar. All shops were still firmly shut, though a lone souvlaki stand offered delicious sustenance in the form of those roasted kebabs served in pita bread with slatherings of tzaziki–the cucumber yoghurt. We found an internet cafe and were able, finally to catch up with The New York Times online and become a part of the election euphoria which, unfortunately, we had completely missed in Greece having severely lacked English TV coverage.

An hour later, when we emerged from the cafe where we also took a coffee break, the entire village had been transformed. A cruise ship had arrived in the harbor bringing with it hordes of Japanese tourists with heavy wallets who walked briskly through the tangle of tiny streets in search of Mykonnos’ pricey treasures. Lights had been switched on in the stores and artificial light flooded the streets to take the place of the day’s bright sunshine for night had fallen suddenly over the island. Just a little earlier, we had run into Vince Libasci, my NYU student who was also in Mykonnos for a week of “uninterrupted chilling” and we hung out with him for the next couple of days.

Mykonnos was just lovely and I found myself connecting immediately with this fabled island whose visitors return year after year for its combination of sun, sea, salt air and sand. We were glad we had made plans to visit the sacred island of Delos, the next day, and hoped very much that the local boat would ply to carry us to the Birthplace of Apollo.

The Acropolis and the Agora in Ancient Athens

Nov12

Wednesday, November 5, 2008:
Athens, Greece

http://rochellesroost.googlepages.com/greece_athens

On one of America’s most historic days–the election of our first African-American President–Llew and I awoke in the very cradle of Democracy–Athens, Greece–and rejoiced. “He did it, Babe”, Llew shouted to me through the bathroom door in our hotel in Athens. We high-fived each other, then joined a jubilant band of local Athenians at breakfast, all of whom were celebrating the great win of Barack Obama and, hopefully, the beginning of Change in America.

We were at the base of the Acropolis is ten minutes, strolling in leisurely fashion through Plaka, the area that looks completely different by daylight. Through the quaintest little Greek village we passed and joined the bus loads of late-season tourists trooping towards the towering monuments at the top of the world’s most famous urban mountain. Twelve euros covered entry into a number of attractions and Lonely Planet made it very easy for us to tour the complex without the need of a pricey personal guide. We passed by the awesome Theater of Herodes Atticus where we have seen so many famous performers (Yanni, Charlotte Church, etc.) wow audiences in recent years. It must be a stunning venue at night when the lights are turned on and the rest of Athens sleeps quietly just beyond the stage walls.

Next we advanced towards the Prophylea and the Temple of Athena Nike with its high steps and its endless scaffolding, for conservation is an on-going process at these ancient sites. Through the arches and into the main courtyard, the Parthenon finally came into sight. Of course, we spent ages examining it in loving detail, noting the acquisitiveness that led to the hacking of sculpture from the central frieze by Lord Elgin in what has become an endless controversy. It became clear to me then that he did not ‘rescue’ these sculptures in any way. They were not buried hundreds of feet beneath the earth as the treasures of Tutankhamen were, for instance, or the city of Pompeii. These marbles were just cut clean off the pediment and transported to England to the best of my knowledge on a bare whim. I realized that I ought to read more to educate myself on why and how the Elgin Marbles are now in the British Museum. At any rate, the two remaining sculptures–one on each end, of a seated youth, and a horse’s head–that are still on the structure are deeply stirring and I simply couldn’t take enough pictures of these works “in situ”.

We then made our way towards the Erechtheion, another beautiful temple of Poseidon that features the Karyatids, a series of six sculpted women that are charmingly graceful. Here again, five of the originals can be seen in the Acropolis Museum while the fifth original is in the British Museum in London. Plaster of Paris replicas of the five that are in Athens are placed on the building and they make a striking backdrop for pictures. Greece must be so enormously proud of these visions of Pericles that have allowed so many such buildings to survive, albeit in ruined form.

Just at the foot of the Acropolis is the Theater of Dionysus, an enormous complex that is now in the process of refurbishment. Here it is possible to see the original venue on which the plays of the Greek tragedians, Aeschyles, Sophocles and Euripedes were performed with the works of Aristophanes providing comic relief. Here were created the classical principles of dramatic composition upon which playwrights the world over have depended. The lion-footed throne on which the high priest sat to watch the shows is still in place and I was deeply stirred by my rambles through the Pentellic marble spectator stands of this strangely atmospheric place.

The original Acropolis Museum which was a part of the Parthenon has been shut down and a superb new and very modern building has taken its place a few blocks away. Llew and I walked quickly there to see the original Karyatids only to discover that they were not yet in place as only part of the museum has been opened to the public. Instead, we were treated to a special exhibit containing the items that were acquired fraudulently by such great international museums as the Metropolitan in New York and the J. Paul Getty in Malibu, California, that have now been returned to Italy. These pieces, which include the famous Euphronious Krater about which I had learned while training at the Met, were on loan to the Athens Museum and were on display for a limited period before they find a permanent home in Italy. I was so thrilled to see the Euphronius Krater again–it was like running into an old friend! Indeed, I had wanted to visit the Met and bid goodbye to it at the time that the newspapers in New York were full of the news of its departure to Italy but had not been able to find the time–and little did I expect that I would see it again on foreign shores! That is the beauty of travel too, isn’t it? You never know what or who you will run into when you set sail for distant lands. I cannot wait to tell my fellow docents at the Met about my serendipitous discovery.

After a delicious Greek Salad lunch on one of the wayside restaurants that line Adrianou just outside the gates of the Ancient Agora, Llew and I launched on to the next phase of our sight seeing–an examination of the Temple of Hephthasos, a classical Greek temple that stands almost intact on the great grounds that once constituted the most important part of official Athens. It was in the Agora (marketplace) that St. Paul disputed with his critics endlessly while trying to find converts to Catholicism; it was here that Socrates was imprisoned and accepted the cup of hemlock that led to his heroic death; it was here that merchants, bankers and financiers created the economic glory that was Greece. Only three buildings are in a good state–the Stoa of Attalos, the Church of the Holy Apostles built in honor of St. Paul and full of lovely Byzantine mosaics and the Temple of Hephthasos. The rest of the Agora is in dismal condition, most of it lying in ruins in the shape of columns and blocks and red terracotta tiles–somewhat like the Roman Forum in Rome, only in worse condition.

By this point in our day, my feet were fatigued and I needed to return to our hotel for a long rest. Upon awaking from a siesta, we went out in search of dinner and chanced upon Thannasis, a wayside restaurant at Monastiraki, which Lonely Planet had extolled as having the best kebabs in the city. And they were quite correct indeed. Our meal was simple–lamb kebabs with roasted tomato and onions wrapped in pita bread, but so delicious and so laughably cheap we actually spent less that three euros for the lot. For dessert, we picked up Sokolatina, a chocolate mousse pastry that had been recommended to us by Llew’s former Greek colleague Ted Francis. And it was simply fabulous!

After a day that had been both historic and deeply fascinating, we packed up our few belongings and get ready for our early morning departure, the next day, for the ferry cruise to Mykonnos. Athens are just amazing and we were glad that our itinerary included one more day in the city on our way back when we hoped to explore those bits of it that we had yet to traverse.

Communion with the Delphic Oracle

Nov12

Tuesday, November 4, 2008:
Delphi, Greece

To read this text with accompanying pictures, please click on the following link in my website:
http://rochellesroost.googlepages.com/greece_delphi

Annalisa Oboe, my Italian professor friend told me that while there wasn’t need to spend too much time in Athens, “Delphi was amazing”. So we asked for a wake up call at the crack of dawn (6.00 am to be exact) and got into our cab at 6.30 am to drive to Athens’ central bus station from where we were told to take a bus to Delphi. Our bus left promptly at 7. 30 am (12. 50 euros for the one way trip) and within an hour, Llew and I were dozing off as the Peloponese swept by outside our window.

We passed by towns with historic names–Thebes and Arahova–quiet, practically deserted. At exactly 10.30 am, we arrived at Delphi, a town whose location is so unique–it is actually perched on a mountain ridge that overlooks the Biblical Gulf of Corinth which lay asleep in the autumn sunshine, the village of Kira spreadeagled on its shores. We purchased return tickets on the 4 pm. bus to Athens and without wasting any further time, decided to climb up the hill towards the Archeological site.

Because my feet were not performing at their best, I had to take the climb very slolwy, stopping for frequent breaks as we made our way along the Sacred Road towards the Temple of Apollo. The weather could not have been nicer–gorgeous blue skies draped the green hillside and as we gazed upon Mount Parnassos right opposite, we felt as if we were at the mythical Mount Olympus with the Gods themselves! We had the site almost entirely to ourselves. Occasionally, a group passed us by–serious travellers all, not casual tourists. Equipped with guide books and cameras, they studied each ruined remain, carefully, lovingly, awash in the colorful history of what was once a thriving city.

Along the Sacred Way, the Temple of Apollo is intact, small but containing great “spirit of place”. All around stony mountains towered above us, their sides seemingly hacked out to make the stone blocks that fashioned the temples, the streets, the houses. Everything is “in situ”, just as it was centuries ago and I was repeatedly reminded of the glory of Pompeii, except that instead of reading inscriptions in Latin, I was reading them in Greek here. As we climbed the mountain, ever highter, the ruins gained perspective until we finally reached the amazing amphitheater where plays by the great Greek tragediens, Eschyles, Sophocles and Euripedes were performed together with the comedic work of Aristophanes. I had to pinch myself because I could not believe that I was right there–in the exact venue where these greatest of dramatic works first made their presence known to the world. In a superb state of preservation, this amphitheater gave us such a vivid sense of what it must have been like to watch dramatic works while overlooking the majesty of a mountain range.

Then, we arrived at the stadium, also in a fine state of preservation. Though we weren’t allowed to walk upon the field, we did see the starting blocks inscribed with the initials of the athletes who used them. My feet carried me up courageously to this point and I felt almost as stoic as those Greek gods as I dealt with the challenging terrain in my effort to see it all.

Getting down the mountain was less strenuous, of course, but no less demanding on the tendons of my feet still recovering from recent inflammation. Still, I soldiered on, until we were back on the main road again, heading towards the ancient Castillian Springs whose cool water still flows out of the mouth of a stone lion. Llew bent down to fill our water bottle only to be confronted by a Greek man who took a look at his cap that said “Americares” and pronounced, “Obama, Obama”. Llew gazed at him bewildered, expecting him to be speaking Greek and not making the connection between the American elections that were only a day away. At this point, I turned to the man and said, “Yes, yes, we too would like to see Obama win”. Only then did it dawn upon Llew that he wasn’t speaking Greek at all!

When we had refreshed ourselves at these ancient waters, we headed towards the gymnasium where a large basin dominated the scene. This was used as a cooling pool used by wrestlers who practised their feats of strength and endurance in the open mountain air. Just ahead a path led to Delphi’s most significant monument–the Tholos or Rotunda, where the famous Oracle made her onimous predictions at the Sanctuary of Athena.

As we gazed upon the marble columns of the monument, now almost entirely in ruins, so many scenes from history and literature passed through my mind. I thought of Socrates who was told by the Delphic Oracle, “Philosopher, Know Thyself”. Uoon that one pronouncement is based the entire philosophy of the Socratic Method. Then, there was poor ill-fated Oedipus who was told by the Delphic Oracle that he would kill his father and marry his mother and oh my god, how awful that that prediction came to pass and led to the gouging out of his eyes! And then there was Alexander the Great who sought out the Oracle with the hope of being informed that he would conquer the world–only to receive vague infuriating answers that caused him to drag the Oracle by her hair until she cried, “Stop! You are the most invincible man in the world”. And with thatm he let her go, stating “I have just received my answer”. Whew! Talk about egomaniacs!

So Llew and I posed for pictures around the Tholos, still incredulous at the thought that we were in the presence of the ancient world’s most sacred sites, the Sanctuary of Athena, where prophecies were made and brought to pass. When we had our fill of the classical fervour of the site, we set out in search of lunch for my feet were almost killing me by this point. They led me to do something I haven’t done in a long time–hitchhike with Llew remaining out of sight until a kindly motorist stopped to give us a ride back to the village. There, we gratefully sank down into the bent chairs at Taverna Gargadouas where we ordered a Greek Salad and the house specaility, Provotina–Grilled Lamb. Over red wine (a huge glass for fifty cents made no sense at all), we relaxed completely and feasted our eyes upon the scene that lay ahead–Mount Parnassos and the Gulf of Corinth. Llew left me on a wayside bench to rest my feet while he wandered around the village. A few souvenir stores were still open but the lack of activity clearly proclaimed the fact that the tourist season had passed for the year.

Back on the bus at 4 pm, we slept soundly for the most part. We had by then made friends with Anya Brug, an art historian from Germany and her boyfriend Andrea, an art historian from Italy, who suggested that we get off at Thissou to catch our first glimpse of the Parthenon illuminated at night. It was a very sensisible suggestion indeed. A few minutes later, we were on the Metro (the underground railway network) that took us to the very foot of the Acropolis and allowed us to feast our eyes upon a truly breathtaking sight. We did not linger long, though, much as we wanted to, as I simply did not have the foot stamina to do any more walking.

Instead, we hopped on to the metro again, got off at Monastiraki to enter the old crowded quarter of Plaka that is chockful of souvenir shops, bars, cafes and resturants. It was at one of these that we enjoyed one of our most memorable meals–medzes (mized appetisers) at Cafe Konstantin, where we tasted the most delectable preparations–some natural, others cooked only slightly. We savored the most succulent tomatoes and cucumbers, grilled zuchhini and green peppers, tzakiki and spanakopita, fresh feta cheese and dolmades (rice stuffed vine leaves), broad beans in a spicey tomato sauce, olives and cheese pie. With a glass of red wine and the simplest of desserts–just Greek yoghurt bathed in thyme honey–we had oursevles a memorable meal. At the end of the evening, with the lights of the Acropolis following us almost back to our doorstep, we entered our hotel past midnight and slept the sleep of the dead, though Llew woke up in the middle of the night to discover that Obama had just taken Pennsylvania. With the near certainty that we’d have a historic Black Preisdent in the White House, he turned over and went soundly back to sleep.