The Gods Were Ever in Our Favor
Nov 1st, 2017, 02:03 AM
#1
The Gods Were Ever in Our Favor
Travelers: I; a hobbling DH (undergoing ankle/knee therapy); and our DD (16) traveled to Athens for part of the autumn school break.
Who Knew Olive Oil is a “Dangerous Good?”
We flew on Aegean Airlines, Vienna to/from Athens. Our first experience with Aegean was about 18 months ago en route to Cairo, and we fell in love. Legroom! Delicious Food! (No, really!) Gorgeous Greek scenery on the monitors to inspire and entertain us! In fact, we were so inspired that DH and I booked a short getaway to Corfu a couple of months later, albeit on the horrible and thankfully now-defunct NIKI.
But the romance was short-lived. Rather than the delicious, almost-business class quality food we recalled, the outbound delicacy was a lukewarm Tiropita and a Fitness granola bar. And all we had for entertainment was the map on the monitor, ticking away the kilometers the plane had flown. But we had legroom, the key to travel happiness for my 2-meters tall DH and DD.
On the inbound we encountered the third of three Greek people who were far, far and away the exception to Xenia; the other two will feature later in the story. For this trip we decided to use one large hardshell case. At check-in the case weighed 22 kg, and I innocently, or so I thought, joked, “Guess I could have purchased more olive oil!” Apparently, buried three-clicks deep on Aegean Airlines’ website under “Dangerous Goods” is the warning:
“Foodstuffs in semi-solid or liquid form, and especially olive oil, must be suitably packed in wooden boxes with absorbent material to prevent leaks which may cause damage to the property of others.”
At first the ground crew member said she would not check our bag. After explaining that I had only two 250ml tins of oil (maybe I rounded down) wrapped in plastic and inside of plastic bags, further inside of a hardshell case, the staffer relented. As long as I had the case shrink-wrapped in plastic. Funny enough, I’ve long thought it amusing that travelers wrap their cases in plastic, and now I had occasion to have the same fun!
With the dangerous goods shrink-wrapped, I wheeled the case back to our staffer. Suddenly the case weighed 23.7kg? “Your bag is overweight. Take it to bulk luggage drop-off.” After confirming that she had tagged the bag for VIE and not Vietnam, I gave her an epic eye roll and delivered the bag.
The inbound meal was by name, Soutzoukakia; by taste, barely warm squishy meatballs and dried out potato wedges. But not eating was wise: the equivalent of an American Nor’easter storm (just wind, no snow) was barreling across Central Europe with winds up to 110 km/hr and causing havoc. Our departure from Athens was delayed by an hour, thankfully; even so, the final 30 minutes of the descent into VIE was straight out of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. During touchdown a wind gust slapped the plane, and we landed first on two wheels, with a hard bounce to all three. Everyone applauded the Captain when we hit terra firma!
The olive oil, and the two bottles of Greek wine survived intact. Must have been the shrink-wrap.
Who Knew Olive Oil is a “Dangerous Good?”
We flew on Aegean Airlines, Vienna to/from Athens. Our first experience with Aegean was about 18 months ago en route to Cairo, and we fell in love. Legroom! Delicious Food! (No, really!) Gorgeous Greek scenery on the monitors to inspire and entertain us! In fact, we were so inspired that DH and I booked a short getaway to Corfu a couple of months later, albeit on the horrible and thankfully now-defunct NIKI.
But the romance was short-lived. Rather than the delicious, almost-business class quality food we recalled, the outbound delicacy was a lukewarm Tiropita and a Fitness granola bar. And all we had for entertainment was the map on the monitor, ticking away the kilometers the plane had flown. But we had legroom, the key to travel happiness for my 2-meters tall DH and DD.
On the inbound we encountered the third of three Greek people who were far, far and away the exception to Xenia; the other two will feature later in the story. For this trip we decided to use one large hardshell case. At check-in the case weighed 22 kg, and I innocently, or so I thought, joked, “Guess I could have purchased more olive oil!” Apparently, buried three-clicks deep on Aegean Airlines’ website under “Dangerous Goods” is the warning:
“Foodstuffs in semi-solid or liquid form, and especially olive oil, must be suitably packed in wooden boxes with absorbent material to prevent leaks which may cause damage to the property of others.”
At first the ground crew member said she would not check our bag. After explaining that I had only two 250ml tins of oil (maybe I rounded down) wrapped in plastic and inside of plastic bags, further inside of a hardshell case, the staffer relented. As long as I had the case shrink-wrapped in plastic. Funny enough, I’ve long thought it amusing that travelers wrap their cases in plastic, and now I had occasion to have the same fun!
With the dangerous goods shrink-wrapped, I wheeled the case back to our staffer. Suddenly the case weighed 23.7kg? “Your bag is overweight. Take it to bulk luggage drop-off.” After confirming that she had tagged the bag for VIE and not Vietnam, I gave her an epic eye roll and delivered the bag.
The inbound meal was by name, Soutzoukakia; by taste, barely warm squishy meatballs and dried out potato wedges. But not eating was wise: the equivalent of an American Nor’easter storm (just wind, no snow) was barreling across Central Europe with winds up to 110 km/hr and causing havoc. Our departure from Athens was delayed by an hour, thankfully; even so, the final 30 minutes of the descent into VIE was straight out of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. During touchdown a wind gust slapped the plane, and we landed first on two wheels, with a hard bounce to all three. Everyone applauded the Captain when we hit terra firma!
The olive oil, and the two bottles of Greek wine survived intact. Must have been the shrink-wrap.
Nov 1st, 2017, 07:13 AM
#4
That’s funny about Aegean. For some reason we were expecting a dump of a plane between Athens and Istanbul. Instead we got the most spacious, cleanest, friendliest flight we have ever been on. With a cool mist coming out from just under the windows. I hope that was intentional.
Nov 1st, 2017, 07:36 AM
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We had the mist thing on all our Air Asia flights and it terrified me, especially as on one of the planes it didn't go off even when we were taxiing. I kept trying to get Tommy to ask the flight attendents if it was meant to be doing that but he wouldn't.
Nov 1st, 2017, 10:40 AM
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Until almost the middle of the 20th century, olive oil was used in much of southern Europe as a fuel oil, because it is flammable. It's not unreasonable for airlines to insist it be packed in leak-proof containers in the hold, for safety reasons. It's a mess to clean up once leaked into anything, and stays flammable for a long time, so even just one suitcase-related mishap can pose multiple risks to multiple flights.
Nov 1st, 2017, 10:48 AM
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A few days ago a plane in Salzburg didn't manage land in Austrian storm -- ame as yours?
http://www.euronews.com/2017/10/30/p...-austria-storm
Wouldn't want to have traveled with unsecured oils on that plane. I am not upset ground crews enforce safety rules no matter how many epic eye rolls they get in return. Ha ha!
http://www.euronews.com/2017/10/30/p...-austria-storm
Wouldn't want to have traveled with unsecured oils on that plane. I am not upset ground crews enforce safety rules no matter how many epic eye rolls they get in return. Ha ha!
Nov 1st, 2017, 10:51 PM
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Ironically, you can buy olive oil at my favourite Greek specialties shop in International Departures at Athens Airport. It is placed in a sealed bag with the duty-free receipt, and passes through security without question. I always carry to the cabin a bottle of extra virgin Greek olive oil on Aegean Airlines flights to London, and have never been stopped.
If flammability were the issue, bottles of whisky, brandy, etc would be banned as well, because alcohol has a much lower flash point than olive oil.
I know what the Aegean Airlines T&Cs say, but have never heard of anyone hassled over small bottles of olive oil in carry-on bags. My guess is the rule is to stop people bringing large quantities of olive oil on airplanes without proper packaging, which would create a mess if it started leaking in the hold.
If flammability were the issue, bottles of whisky, brandy, etc would be banned as well, because alcohol has a much lower flash point than olive oil.
I know what the Aegean Airlines T&Cs say, but have never heard of anyone hassled over small bottles of olive oil in carry-on bags. My guess is the rule is to stop people bringing large quantities of olive oil on airplanes without proper packaging, which would create a mess if it started leaking in the hold.
Nov 1st, 2017, 11:59 PM
#11
Thank you, everyone for the comments. The three of us dissected the oil odyssey over lunch at the airport, as well. Many people who visit Greece (or other olive oil-producing countries) purchase said product to bring home. If olive oil spillage is a substantial issue (and does it spill because of how baggage is handled?), why bury the wooden-box requirement three clicks deep, and under "Dangerous Goods?" The entire case could have been filled with olive oil, and had I not commented as I had the bag would have been tossed on the conveyor with nary a consideration. But again, the gods were ever in our favor. 
Nov 2nd, 2017, 12:03 AM
#12
Let the Games Begin!
The driver waiting for us in Athens could have been Gus Portokalos from “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.” Upon our greeting he inquired politely as to where we were from, and when DH replied, “We are Americans,” the floodgates opened; for almost the entire ride to our rental apartment Andreos shared with us the pronunciations of basic greetings and pleasantries alongside Greek trivia. Had our journey lasted longer, we joked later, he would have requested, “Give me a word, any word, and I show you that the root of that word is Greek,” Andreos was that charming.
With but 2.75 days to sightsee, and a gimping DH, lodging in Plaka was a priority. I found a lovely two-bedroom apartment through Plaka Elegant Apartments, on a quiet street steps from the tourist hub. The apartment had a small balcony upon which DH and I enjoyed our morning coffee; and the three of us had plenty of personal space to unwind at the end of each day. Within 90 minutes of landing we were warmly welcomed by the apartment manager; had deposited the case and freshened up; and were ready to conquer the first 6 of what would be 32 kilometers around Athens. This was not the “not at breakneck pace” itinerary I so carefully crafted.
Playing safe, DH decided to use his hiking poles for the entire holiday and not just for the Acropolis summit. Now, a person walking about Vienna with hiking poles is de rigueur and barely receives a passing glance. In Athens, though, the poles afforded DH a god-like status (much to his embarrassment); fellow tourists gave way along the uneven sidewalks, and even restaurant owners wriggled tables around to accommodate him. Such consideration!
And this is where my careful planning went to Hades, barely two hours into the holiday. On this first afternoon the “plan” was to have a brief meal at one of the carefully researched restaurants; procure the special Ministry of Culture ticket that afforded four days’ worth of sightseeing and allow us to avoid queues at the Acropolis; and then gently explore Plaka before collecting a few provisions for breakfast. But then, DD spied a just-out-of-the-oven baked feta dish (Bouyiourdi) being delivered to diners at a random taverna’s sidewalk table along the main street in Plaka. This glorious dish would become her muse for the holiday.
One hour; one half-litre of house wine; a shared Bouyiourdi and a baked eggplant dish later we realized we had missed this day’s opportunity to purchase the special Acropolis ticket. But it was so worth it, for at this sitting we all discovered that eggplant is actually edible! We are global eaters or foodies or whatever the new descriptive is, but until our tastebuds touched the fire-roasted deliciousness we had been a family of aubergine avoiders. Now the pressure is on to recreate this ambrosia at home.
Perhaps the Greek table wine had gone to DH’s head, for he announced that he wanted to see, “something ancient” even though the sun was beginning to set. We found two piles of rocks nearby, Hadrian’s Arch and the Temple to Olympic Zeus
and in the fading afternoon light this first exposure to ancient Greece was striking. Our appetite for the morning and “Acropolis Day” had been thoroughly whetted.
Speaking of appetites, though only a few hours had passed our inner Dionysus’ called to us, and so we sat at a lively taverna somewhere in Plaka for Souvlaki (with house wine and Bouyiourdi, of course), found an open market (at 2130! A luxury to us, as the markets close by 2000 in Austria.) for breakfast items, and called it a night.
The driver waiting for us in Athens could have been Gus Portokalos from “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.” Upon our greeting he inquired politely as to where we were from, and when DH replied, “We are Americans,” the floodgates opened; for almost the entire ride to our rental apartment Andreos shared with us the pronunciations of basic greetings and pleasantries alongside Greek trivia. Had our journey lasted longer, we joked later, he would have requested, “Give me a word, any word, and I show you that the root of that word is Greek,” Andreos was that charming.
With but 2.75 days to sightsee, and a gimping DH, lodging in Plaka was a priority. I found a lovely two-bedroom apartment through Plaka Elegant Apartments, on a quiet street steps from the tourist hub. The apartment had a small balcony upon which DH and I enjoyed our morning coffee; and the three of us had plenty of personal space to unwind at the end of each day. Within 90 minutes of landing we were warmly welcomed by the apartment manager; had deposited the case and freshened up; and were ready to conquer the first 6 of what would be 32 kilometers around Athens. This was not the “not at breakneck pace” itinerary I so carefully crafted.
Playing safe, DH decided to use his hiking poles for the entire holiday and not just for the Acropolis summit. Now, a person walking about Vienna with hiking poles is de rigueur and barely receives a passing glance. In Athens, though, the poles afforded DH a god-like status (much to his embarrassment); fellow tourists gave way along the uneven sidewalks, and even restaurant owners wriggled tables around to accommodate him. Such consideration!
And this is where my careful planning went to Hades, barely two hours into the holiday. On this first afternoon the “plan” was to have a brief meal at one of the carefully researched restaurants; procure the special Ministry of Culture ticket that afforded four days’ worth of sightseeing and allow us to avoid queues at the Acropolis; and then gently explore Plaka before collecting a few provisions for breakfast. But then, DD spied a just-out-of-the-oven baked feta dish (Bouyiourdi) being delivered to diners at a random taverna’s sidewalk table along the main street in Plaka. This glorious dish would become her muse for the holiday.
One hour; one half-litre of house wine; a shared Bouyiourdi and a baked eggplant dish later we realized we had missed this day’s opportunity to purchase the special Acropolis ticket. But it was so worth it, for at this sitting we all discovered that eggplant is actually edible! We are global eaters or foodies or whatever the new descriptive is, but until our tastebuds touched the fire-roasted deliciousness we had been a family of aubergine avoiders. Now the pressure is on to recreate this ambrosia at home.
Perhaps the Greek table wine had gone to DH’s head, for he announced that he wanted to see, “something ancient” even though the sun was beginning to set. We found two piles of rocks nearby, Hadrian’s Arch and the Temple to Olympic Zeus
and in the fading afternoon light this first exposure to ancient Greece was striking. Our appetite for the morning and “Acropolis Day” had been thoroughly whetted.Speaking of appetites, though only a few hours had passed our inner Dionysus’ called to us, and so we sat at a lively taverna somewhere in Plaka for Souvlaki (with house wine and Bouyiourdi, of course), found an open market (at 2130! A luxury to us, as the markets close by 2000 in Austria.) for breakfast items, and called it a night.
Nov 2nd, 2017, 12:13 AM
#13
"Until almost the middle of the 20th century, olive oil was used in much of southern Europe as a fuel oil..."
massimop, haha! Last year DH and I were on Corfu, and were totally convinced that some of the older cars in the tiny villages were still powered by olive oil! ��
massimop, haha! Last year DH and I were on Corfu, and were totally convinced that some of the older cars in the tiny villages were still powered by olive oil! ��
Nov 2nd, 2017, 01:04 AM
#14
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Loving your trip report!
I suspect many of the travellers who buy large quantities of olive oil to bring home are Greeks who live abroad, and can't resist stocking up when they return to their native country. Greek olive oil is among the best in the world. Likewise, my South African SIL stocks up on biltong and droewors whenever he goes back to SA.
I wouldn't be surprised if some diesel vehicles on the islands <i>are</i> powered partly by olive oil. A few people in the UK have tried running their older diesel cars on discarded vegetable oil from fish & chips shops:
https://www.theguardian.com/money/20...savings-diesel
I suspect many of the travellers who buy large quantities of olive oil to bring home are Greeks who live abroad, and can't resist stocking up when they return to their native country. Greek olive oil is among the best in the world. Likewise, my South African SIL stocks up on biltong and droewors whenever he goes back to SA.
I wouldn't be surprised if some diesel vehicles on the islands <i>are</i> powered partly by olive oil. A few people in the UK have tried running their older diesel cars on discarded vegetable oil from fish & chips shops:
https://www.theguardian.com/money/20...savings-diesel
Nov 2nd, 2017, 02:48 AM
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well, you're a longtime poster so you'll probably get spared the piling on about how it is YOUR responsibility to know the rules when you travel, or at least comply with safety requirements when made aware of them. I really don't envy service staff on airlines these days who are subjected to so much hostility for doing their jobs. I couldn't live with myself if I waived safety rules for an insistent passenger -- and then something happens to everyone else?
Greece has been undergoing criminal austerity programs at the behest of the banking interests of northern Europe for about 10 years now, creating a deeper recession than what happened in American in the 1930s, with no end in sight. (The gods are definitely with you, not with them.) One of the few things they resist under extreme pressure to "reform" from the EU is adulterating their olive oil. Because of extreme hunger in the country, I doubt they are using anything edible for domestic fuel.
It's a beautiful now tragic country. The Greeks throughout history have shown an outstanding ability to survive the worst. I admire them beyond all measure.
Greece has been undergoing criminal austerity programs at the behest of the banking interests of northern Europe for about 10 years now, creating a deeper recession than what happened in American in the 1930s, with no end in sight. (The gods are definitely with you, not with them.) One of the few things they resist under extreme pressure to "reform" from the EU is adulterating their olive oil. Because of extreme hunger in the country, I doubt they are using anything edible for domestic fuel.
It's a beautiful now tragic country. The Greeks throughout history have shown an outstanding ability to survive the worst. I admire them beyond all measure.
Nov 2nd, 2017, 03:29 AM
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Massimop, the people in the UK who were using vegetable oil in their diesel cars were getting oil from fish & chips shops when it was no longer usable for cooking, and would otherwise have been discarded. Cooking oil has to be changed regularly. That was a win-win: free fuel for the driver, taking a waste product off the hands of the shop owner.
No one would use "anything edible for domestic fuel" in Greece, I'm sure, but it wouldn't surprise me if oil that was no longer usable for frying, and would otherwise be dumped, would be added to a diesel tank. Why dump it when you can use it for something else? It wouldn't work in modern diesel engines, though.
No one would use "anything edible for domestic fuel" in Greece, I'm sure, but it wouldn't surprise me if oil that was no longer usable for frying, and would otherwise be dumped, would be added to a diesel tank. Why dump it when you can use it for something else? It wouldn't work in modern diesel engines, though.
Nov 3rd, 2017, 12:35 AM
#18
Old Stuff on a Hill*
(*’Tis a running joke in our family whenever we are out and about here in Europe and spy a castle/ruins/cathedral on a hill to announce, “Look! Old stuff on a hill!”)
Here’s the thing. Up until DD decided she could spare a few days of her autumn break on holiday (heavy IB load), I could never find the love for Athens, and I do not know why. There are other places I feel similarly about, as well, like Lisbon and Iceland. Yet, Athens kept coming up as an autumn city break destination, and so the flights were purchased. By the time I had skipped past all “epic” and “ultimate” trip reports and blogs I came across during travel research to concentrate on the remaining writings by travelers with vocabularies, I was smitten. Funny how these things happen.
Excited, I suppose, I woke DH at 0530 to make coffee on Acropolis Day (he has a magic touch with our morning elixir). I also wanted to linger over our Greek yogurt with honey and fruit breakfast and still have time to head off any ticket queues that I had hoped to avoid by purchasing our ticket the day before. (See, plan going to Hades). I was much kinder to DD, though, waking her at 0730 with, “Rise and shine! Here’s an apple. We’re leaving in 15.”
Plaka was quiet, its many kitties padding about while restaurants staff prepped the cheery checkered-cloth tables for the lunch and dinner crowds. Helios smiled upon us, too, on this day and mostly throughout the holiday, with sunshine and wonderfully mild temperatures. In good time we reached the ticket booth at the South Slope to find…not one person queued! Our tickets purchased, we walked over to the Acropolis entrance to find…no crowds! DH confidently navigated the paths, the rocks, and the stairs, and then before us was the Parthenon, the morning sun in just the position to make my photographs a bit enviable, if I do say so. DD proceeded on ahead, as she had brought along her LOMO and wanted to find the best spots for her snaps, plus, she had visited previously with her school group; DH and I walked about and read notes and our guide book, and took snap after snap after snap.
After two hours in awe of the birthplace of democracy and of the “ancientness” of it all, we began our descent down the north slope, deftly maneuvering around no fewer than seven tour groups schlumping about and crowding pathways; included among the masses, a couple wearing flip-flops and a loud person who exclaimed, “Whoa! Look! There’s Mountains!” that made us laugh. The shrill sound of the docent whistles, whenever someone touched the Parthenon, however, did not make us laugh and we hurried as fast as DH could to remove ourselves from the visual and audible clutter.
From the Parthenon we walked to the Ancient Agora, also to our delight void of tourist crush. The reconstructed Stoa of Attalos helped shape our perspective, physically and mentally. We paused in the Museum of Ancient Agora long enough to appreciate the Kleroterion, and then to view the statue of Winged Nike in the arcade, devoting the rest of our time to imagining ancient Greek market life. Climbing the “stairs” to and from the Temple of Hephaestus gave DH pause (and me, panic), but again, kind people offered assistance, making our touring a little less stressful.
As it had been more than 12 hours since DD savored Bouyiourdi, and her lone apple for breakfast had long since waned, the lunch gods called to all of us. With restaurant Atlantikos and its seafood in the near-ish, we set our sights. Alas, though our iPhones displayed the hour as nearly 1300, the restaurant was not quite open for customers. Sadness befell us, and we settled on a perfectly flavorful non-seafood lunch, with street kitties galore, at a touristy restaurant in Monastiraki and with views of Hadrian’s Library as company. I think perhaps it was more Souvlaki and Bouyiourdi; I was preoccupied with the people watching and forgot to note what we enjoyed.
The time we spent lingering over lunch was ideal for DH to rest his ankle, and afterwards he felt up to walking along the ancient potter’s way, or “Ceramic” path to Kerameikos Cemetery. As we walked this path I discovered a quiet memorial to Holocaust victims in a tree-shaded area. To my dismay, I approached the memorial (a grouping of large, mostly flat boulders) to find a trio of Athenian youth laughing, drinking, smoking and taking photos while posing on the rocks. I paused, hoping the group would disband, but instead found them accusing me of being in their space! These 20-somethings had, apparently, decided this shaded memorial grove was an ideal spot for a photo shoot, and I was an unwelcome photobomber. I gently reminded them that the site was a memorial to those murdered, and suggested perhaps they were being disrespectful. The retort? “Well, that is your opinion.”
It being that this discussion would go nowhere, I continued along with DH and DD to the cemetery. With imaginations at optimal strength we mentally reconstructed some of the cemetery’s ancient stories (leaving out the gaggle of prostitutes at the Dipylon Gate during the Panathenaic Procession for DD’s sake); watched several tortoises amble over the dry and brown landscape; and otherwise appreciated the breadth of history before us. As we passed the memorial again on the return I was at first pleased that the trio had left, only to observe their place being taken by a couple making out on one of the boulders. Sigh.
Needing a change of pace, the Athens Central Market was our next destination. Vienna’s local markets intrigue me. I have entire photo essays of these microcosms; on a day I visited one market I was wearing my khaki trenchcoat, and with my camera slung around my shoulder a vendor mistook me for a reporter! But I digress. We did a slow wander through the meat and fish sections, partly out of necessity to avoid slipping on the wet floors. I love markets that are genuine, and there’s little that is more genuine than the meat aisles looking like galleries from “Bodies…The Exhibition.” If I lived in Athens, my camera and I (and my shopping trolley) would be frequent visitors.
Not sure if we had the mental energy for more than idle wandering until dinner, we told ourselves, “Let’s have refreshments at the Acropolis Museum, and see if we change our minds.” Guess what. A sunny terrace and a round of sour-cherry lemonades, with the Parthenon against a Pantone blue sky as our backdrop changed our minds, and into the museum we went. The museum we declared extraordinary for its design (principally how the timeline flows throughout the building and weaves a story) and collections, but were more divided on the caryatids having been tucked into a space without natural light.
Our long day officially over, I was the one drawn this time to a restaurant (in Plaka, of course) announcing “varieties of fresh fish.” At one of the pretty checkered tablecloths we sat for whole grilled snapper that I selected myself; roast lamb knuckle (DH); and an exquisitely fresh Greek salad (DD). Prefaced by a shared Bouyiourdi, naturally.
On this evening, the time it took for our eyes to close after hitting the pillows no doubt set an Olympic record.
(*’Tis a running joke in our family whenever we are out and about here in Europe and spy a castle/ruins/cathedral on a hill to announce, “Look! Old stuff on a hill!”)
Here’s the thing. Up until DD decided she could spare a few days of her autumn break on holiday (heavy IB load), I could never find the love for Athens, and I do not know why. There are other places I feel similarly about, as well, like Lisbon and Iceland. Yet, Athens kept coming up as an autumn city break destination, and so the flights were purchased. By the time I had skipped past all “epic” and “ultimate” trip reports and blogs I came across during travel research to concentrate on the remaining writings by travelers with vocabularies, I was smitten. Funny how these things happen.
Excited, I suppose, I woke DH at 0530 to make coffee on Acropolis Day (he has a magic touch with our morning elixir). I also wanted to linger over our Greek yogurt with honey and fruit breakfast and still have time to head off any ticket queues that I had hoped to avoid by purchasing our ticket the day before. (See, plan going to Hades). I was much kinder to DD, though, waking her at 0730 with, “Rise and shine! Here’s an apple. We’re leaving in 15.”
Plaka was quiet, its many kitties padding about while restaurants staff prepped the cheery checkered-cloth tables for the lunch and dinner crowds. Helios smiled upon us, too, on this day and mostly throughout the holiday, with sunshine and wonderfully mild temperatures. In good time we reached the ticket booth at the South Slope to find…not one person queued! Our tickets purchased, we walked over to the Acropolis entrance to find…no crowds! DH confidently navigated the paths, the rocks, and the stairs, and then before us was the Parthenon, the morning sun in just the position to make my photographs a bit enviable, if I do say so. DD proceeded on ahead, as she had brought along her LOMO and wanted to find the best spots for her snaps, plus, she had visited previously with her school group; DH and I walked about and read notes and our guide book, and took snap after snap after snap.
After two hours in awe of the birthplace of democracy and of the “ancientness” of it all, we began our descent down the north slope, deftly maneuvering around no fewer than seven tour groups schlumping about and crowding pathways; included among the masses, a couple wearing flip-flops and a loud person who exclaimed, “Whoa! Look! There’s Mountains!” that made us laugh. The shrill sound of the docent whistles, whenever someone touched the Parthenon, however, did not make us laugh and we hurried as fast as DH could to remove ourselves from the visual and audible clutter.
From the Parthenon we walked to the Ancient Agora, also to our delight void of tourist crush. The reconstructed Stoa of Attalos helped shape our perspective, physically and mentally. We paused in the Museum of Ancient Agora long enough to appreciate the Kleroterion, and then to view the statue of Winged Nike in the arcade, devoting the rest of our time to imagining ancient Greek market life. Climbing the “stairs” to and from the Temple of Hephaestus gave DH pause (and me, panic), but again, kind people offered assistance, making our touring a little less stressful.
As it had been more than 12 hours since DD savored Bouyiourdi, and her lone apple for breakfast had long since waned, the lunch gods called to all of us. With restaurant Atlantikos and its seafood in the near-ish, we set our sights. Alas, though our iPhones displayed the hour as nearly 1300, the restaurant was not quite open for customers. Sadness befell us, and we settled on a perfectly flavorful non-seafood lunch, with street kitties galore, at a touristy restaurant in Monastiraki and with views of Hadrian’s Library as company. I think perhaps it was more Souvlaki and Bouyiourdi; I was preoccupied with the people watching and forgot to note what we enjoyed.
The time we spent lingering over lunch was ideal for DH to rest his ankle, and afterwards he felt up to walking along the ancient potter’s way, or “Ceramic” path to Kerameikos Cemetery. As we walked this path I discovered a quiet memorial to Holocaust victims in a tree-shaded area. To my dismay, I approached the memorial (a grouping of large, mostly flat boulders) to find a trio of Athenian youth laughing, drinking, smoking and taking photos while posing on the rocks. I paused, hoping the group would disband, but instead found them accusing me of being in their space! These 20-somethings had, apparently, decided this shaded memorial grove was an ideal spot for a photo shoot, and I was an unwelcome photobomber. I gently reminded them that the site was a memorial to those murdered, and suggested perhaps they were being disrespectful. The retort? “Well, that is your opinion.”
It being that this discussion would go nowhere, I continued along with DH and DD to the cemetery. With imaginations at optimal strength we mentally reconstructed some of the cemetery’s ancient stories (leaving out the gaggle of prostitutes at the Dipylon Gate during the Panathenaic Procession for DD’s sake); watched several tortoises amble over the dry and brown landscape; and otherwise appreciated the breadth of history before us. As we passed the memorial again on the return I was at first pleased that the trio had left, only to observe their place being taken by a couple making out on one of the boulders. Sigh.
Needing a change of pace, the Athens Central Market was our next destination. Vienna’s local markets intrigue me. I have entire photo essays of these microcosms; on a day I visited one market I was wearing my khaki trenchcoat, and with my camera slung around my shoulder a vendor mistook me for a reporter! But I digress. We did a slow wander through the meat and fish sections, partly out of necessity to avoid slipping on the wet floors. I love markets that are genuine, and there’s little that is more genuine than the meat aisles looking like galleries from “Bodies…The Exhibition.” If I lived in Athens, my camera and I (and my shopping trolley) would be frequent visitors.
Not sure if we had the mental energy for more than idle wandering until dinner, we told ourselves, “Let’s have refreshments at the Acropolis Museum, and see if we change our minds.” Guess what. A sunny terrace and a round of sour-cherry lemonades, with the Parthenon against a Pantone blue sky as our backdrop changed our minds, and into the museum we went. The museum we declared extraordinary for its design (principally how the timeline flows throughout the building and weaves a story) and collections, but were more divided on the caryatids having been tucked into a space without natural light.
Our long day officially over, I was the one drawn this time to a restaurant (in Plaka, of course) announcing “varieties of fresh fish.” At one of the pretty checkered tablecloths we sat for whole grilled snapper that I selected myself; roast lamb knuckle (DH); and an exquisitely fresh Greek salad (DD). Prefaced by a shared Bouyiourdi, naturally.
On this evening, the time it took for our eyes to close after hitting the pillows no doubt set an Olympic record.
Nov 7th, 2017, 01:36 AM
#20
Our last full day upon us, we rose with Helios and began with Dionysus’ Theater at the Acropolis. This was Ohi Day, the Greek National Day with free entrance to the Acropolis and several other sites, and we feared queues yet again. To our relief, no queues, just a rude ticket person at the South Slope. At every sight on the Ministry of Culture Acropolis ticket the ticket-person would stamp our entrance on the ticket; DD was looking forward to collecting all of the Greek-letter stamps. But no, the person refused to stamp her ticket and even shouted at her, “No stamps!”
The sunlight was barely rising over the mountains and cast muted lighting across the theater; only if one left the lens cap on their camera would photos not be enviable. And that’s exactly what DD did, accidentally forgetting to remove the lens cap on her LOMO! Luckily I had taken enough photos to share, and our morning was humorously underway.
Back over to the Temple to Olympic Zeus for the up-close examination and a few trademark terrible family selfies, then a longer-than-expected walk to the world’s only all-marble Panathenaic Stadium, now atop the original stadium from 374 A.D. Rather conveniently as we paused to rest half way along, the guards were changing at the Presidential Palace with nary a tourist in sight; their fustanella, traditional costumes adding the pomp to the circumstance.
Visiting the old Olympic stadium was an add-on requested by DD, an avid track and field competitor, and was a surprise hit with us. Those passing by on the sightseeing buses missed out. With the ticket an audio guide is included; DH and I followed along while DD climbed to the top of the stadium to take Polaroids. At the end of the tour is the Olympic Museum and its collections of both torches and Olympic posters. Did you know this is the stadium from where the Olympic Torch begins its journey?
Peer pressure, and Fodorites’ suggestions put the Byzantine Museum next on our agenda. Our attempt to hail a taxi for the kilometer between foiled by road closures for Ohi Day parades, the walk was a little miserable for DH and a lot boring for all of us, none of which would quell our simmering disinterest in the museum.
Did we gain a newfound appreciation for Byzantine and Christian art? Truth be told, we respected the expansiveness of the collections, but enjoyed much more the chronological narrative of the Byzantine and post-Byzantine world. Or as DD put it, “At least the museum was free.”
Lunch was not according to the long-scrapped plan, but the photos remind me that it included a sunny table, house wine, bread, olives, and Bouyiourdi—the Mediterranean Diet! Also, a platter of fresh grilled sardines and an extravagant Souvlaki presentation.
A tour of Anafiotika and some shopping was the game plan for the waning hours of the afternoon. At this point, however, the weather had dramatically turned; dark clouds had begun swirling around the Parthenon, inspiring us to weave our way into Plaka to shop first and hope the clouds would keep on moving. But the gods, this once, were not in our favor; we ducked between the raindrops to collect our souvenirs and then walked our drippy selves back to the apartment.
By dinner, the now lightly falling rain outside was not exactly compelling us to head out. But out we had to go, to a cozy wine cellar tavern, the barrels perched above our heads, and from where the proprietor would open the tap to fill the pitcher with our house wine. The tables were few and the menu Spartan; one final Bouyiourdi and the recommended roast lamb platter to share, with the quiet buzz of conversations around the room was a most pleasant way to end our day.
With the Benaki Museum the only agenda, a later start to our final half day should have been in order, but thanks to Kronos (the god of daylight savings) we were awake before Helios. Just more time to enjoy coffee on our balcony, right? A little later, a lovely stroll through the National Garden brought us to the museum.
We loved everything about the Benaki, I’ll just put that out there. The building architecture; the collections; and even the special exhibit on the Rhodes ceramic factory. And it would seem others shared our enthusiasm, for the museum was the most crowded of any sight we had visited on this holiday. DD and I returned to the apartment for the case while DH watched the last of the Parliament Changing of the Guards; from there we caught the Metro to the airport for the turbulent flight home.
At the Panathenaic Stadium visitors can have their photos taken on an Olympic Medal podium. We could not resist, and captioned the snap, “A Medal Sweep in Marathon Sightseeing.” And so it was.
Thank you for reading.
The sunlight was barely rising over the mountains and cast muted lighting across the theater; only if one left the lens cap on their camera would photos not be enviable. And that’s exactly what DD did, accidentally forgetting to remove the lens cap on her LOMO! Luckily I had taken enough photos to share, and our morning was humorously underway.
Back over to the Temple to Olympic Zeus for the up-close examination and a few trademark terrible family selfies, then a longer-than-expected walk to the world’s only all-marble Panathenaic Stadium, now atop the original stadium from 374 A.D. Rather conveniently as we paused to rest half way along, the guards were changing at the Presidential Palace with nary a tourist in sight; their fustanella, traditional costumes adding the pomp to the circumstance.
Visiting the old Olympic stadium was an add-on requested by DD, an avid track and field competitor, and was a surprise hit with us. Those passing by on the sightseeing buses missed out. With the ticket an audio guide is included; DH and I followed along while DD climbed to the top of the stadium to take Polaroids. At the end of the tour is the Olympic Museum and its collections of both torches and Olympic posters. Did you know this is the stadium from where the Olympic Torch begins its journey?
Peer pressure, and Fodorites’ suggestions put the Byzantine Museum next on our agenda. Our attempt to hail a taxi for the kilometer between foiled by road closures for Ohi Day parades, the walk was a little miserable for DH and a lot boring for all of us, none of which would quell our simmering disinterest in the museum.
Did we gain a newfound appreciation for Byzantine and Christian art? Truth be told, we respected the expansiveness of the collections, but enjoyed much more the chronological narrative of the Byzantine and post-Byzantine world. Or as DD put it, “At least the museum was free.”
Lunch was not according to the long-scrapped plan, but the photos remind me that it included a sunny table, house wine, bread, olives, and Bouyiourdi—the Mediterranean Diet! Also, a platter of fresh grilled sardines and an extravagant Souvlaki presentation.
A tour of Anafiotika and some shopping was the game plan for the waning hours of the afternoon. At this point, however, the weather had dramatically turned; dark clouds had begun swirling around the Parthenon, inspiring us to weave our way into Plaka to shop first and hope the clouds would keep on moving. But the gods, this once, were not in our favor; we ducked between the raindrops to collect our souvenirs and then walked our drippy selves back to the apartment.
By dinner, the now lightly falling rain outside was not exactly compelling us to head out. But out we had to go, to a cozy wine cellar tavern, the barrels perched above our heads, and from where the proprietor would open the tap to fill the pitcher with our house wine. The tables were few and the menu Spartan; one final Bouyiourdi and the recommended roast lamb platter to share, with the quiet buzz of conversations around the room was a most pleasant way to end our day.
With the Benaki Museum the only agenda, a later start to our final half day should have been in order, but thanks to Kronos (the god of daylight savings) we were awake before Helios. Just more time to enjoy coffee on our balcony, right? A little later, a lovely stroll through the National Garden brought us to the museum.
We loved everything about the Benaki, I’ll just put that out there. The building architecture; the collections; and even the special exhibit on the Rhodes ceramic factory. And it would seem others shared our enthusiasm, for the museum was the most crowded of any sight we had visited on this holiday. DD and I returned to the apartment for the case while DH watched the last of the Parliament Changing of the Guards; from there we caught the Metro to the airport for the turbulent flight home.
At the Panathenaic Stadium visitors can have their photos taken on an Olympic Medal podium. We could not resist, and captioned the snap, “A Medal Sweep in Marathon Sightseeing.” And so it was.
Thank you for reading.
