336 hours in Athens

The Agora, where Socrates and Aristotle held forth, where the Apostle Paul preached and the terms of democracy were hammered out, is a grassy park and pleasant place to wander around. For the visitor on a tight schedule it can seem to be a confusing hodgepodge of ruins. I suggest setting the details aside and chilling in the shade of its olive, cypress and poplar trees.  It was also the site of a busy marketplace. In a discussion of phobias in his book "On Kissing, Tickling and Being Bored," Adam Phillips scrapes away at the roots of the word "agoraphobia." The agora was "that ancient place where words and goods and money were exchanged," he writes. Confronted with open space, "the agoraphobic fears that something nasty will be exchanged." That's a big ten-four. I made my stroll with a young Brit who had arrived the day before. Her phone and credit cards were stolen at the airport's metro platform, where this travelog began . Luckily she

I have the rooftop to myself. Anybody in the 7-story building can come up here, but nobody does. I am fortunate ― a different apartment or neighborhood, a vindictive landlord (they exist) , could have made this a very different trip. Watching the rain come down on a cool evening knowing that I can pop out and get a dark Fix beer and chicken souvlaki at the same place, be back home in less than 5 minutes and unwrap the sandwich while it's still hot has made this the perfect getaway. Urban density at its best.    Previous Next

I came to Athens' busiest square only to find out where the X95 bus left for the airport. While I was here, a changing of the guard broke out in front of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at the Parliament building.  I had a passing familiarity with the evzone soldiers' fustanella skirts (400 pleats ― one for each year under Turkish rule) and pompommed shoes, but the slow high-kick choreography? No, I was not prepared for this level of Balkan/oriental strangeness. Two and half weeks ago this was the site of a pitched battle as police dodged firebombs during a protest over soaring energy costs. Greek politics are wild. Check out Costa-Gavras' 1969 movie "Z" if you haven't already. It's in French for some reason. Anyway, if you have an early flight, here's where to catch the bus. (The metro doesn't start running till 5 a.m. and a taxi ride before then will cost $70.) A guy in this kiosk will sell you a ticket for 6E or so. It's in front of the Chin

My thought after visiting any taverna or ouzeri in Athens (aside from wow, my stomach is really distended) is that the cookery exudes a mature confidence. The menus tend to look similar, with kitchen staffs more interested in honing than experimenting.  I can't remember ever eating this well in Europe. Granted, in the more expensive northern cities I tend to throw together quick meals on the stovetop ... but still. There's something about the intersection of sun and sea: vine-ripened vegetables, fish just pulled from the Mediterranean, and always these damned flaky cheese pastries leading me to my destruction. While I dine, I jot down observations in a notebook ― the old habit of a newspaperman. I have caught chefs and servers noticing this; it seems to gratify them. Maybe they are just amused. In a Thanksgiving act of solidarity with my countrymen, I went in search of something resembling a turkey dinner. The closest thing I could find was this slowly braised rooster in a fr

One axiom of urban living is that the more graffiti there is, the less you notice it. If I lived behind these shutters, I could not bear to be without it. I used to think Brussels was the most-heavily graffitied capital in Europe, but I think we have new frontrunner. Non-demeaning political messages expressed in spray paint are an indication of social health, imo.  Are there bright-line provisos? Sure, and if you can't tell the difference between "Kill the Jews" and "Fuck Cops" we have nothing to talk about. Most people have a slightly rebellious streak when it comes to prevailing notions about high culture. If we did not, everything Banksy touches would not be worth its weight in gold bricks. This is Athens' hard-left neighborhood of Exarcheia, where calls for "mobilization" and "resistance" are everywhere. You know what else is everywhere? Cops. With riot shields. With those weird shoulder-pad thingies that make them look like a robot P