So I finally got to the Acropolis last week with Jenny and Bruce. All that lovely debris. (Quoting “Ah Paris” always makes me think of my friend Michael, because when we met for the first time at an audition 19 years ago[!!!!] he sang that song. And I know he’ll be reading this so “Hi Michael!”) It was amazing, surreal, and awe-inspiring, even though it’s almost completely covered in scaffolding. It’s odd to think that after its days as a temple to the goddess Athena, it was used as a cathedral and later as a mosque. I guess multi-taking isn’t a 21st century invention.
When my ex RD and I were in New Mexico and walking around the ruins at Chaco Canyon, he said he felt an almost palpable human presence – like we were intruding in someone’s home and any minute, they could walk through the door. That’s what the Acropolis felt like to me. It was very eerie. Even walking up the ancient hillside road, treading along the same path as Athenians had trod thousands of years before me, I almost felt guilty. There were signs everywhere that asked the tourists not to touch the marble. However, I found my right hand inexplicably and without conscious thought leaving the pocket of my Levis 501s (which I bought at a flea market in Civitavecchia for 10 Euros) and reaching out to stroke the ancient walls. I didn’t tell the friends I was with I did this. (Although I guess they’ll know now, if they read this. Besides, we all know those signs don’t apply to me.). And there it was. The connection with Greece that I had been searching for ever since I came. It was almost as if Athena herself had willed my outstretched hand to that wall, knowing the energy and the power I would sense. It was tremendous. However, with about 2000 other interlopers parading around as if it was their God-given right to touch the marble, I soon became angry. Who did these people think they were? This is my sacred place! This is my Goddess-temple/cathedral/mosque/tourist attraction! Begone ye wicked overweight American tourists complaining of your weak dollar and over priced bottled water, else the wrath of Zeus fall on your baseball-capped heads!
I’ve calmed down since. I feel bad that I touched the marble. It was selfish of me, and my acidic oily fingertips have probably now caused that wall to disintegrate. But it allowed me a connection, a window in the soul of an ancient land and people that I have for so long yearned to see and discover.
This marvelous day ended on a very amusing note. We saw the Changing Of The Guard in Syntagma Square in front of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Although I know it is to be a solemn event, I couldn’t help but giggle uncontrollably. It was unmistakably like John Cleese and his Ministry of Funny Walks. It was time to go back to the ship.
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