Remember, Remember, the 17th of November

According to an email from the US Embassy to students abroad in Greece, tomorrow is a day to exercise caution. Being someone who really knows nothing about contemporary Greek politics, I did a little wikipedia research and found out the following:

November 17th, 1973 was the culmination of a three-day student uprising at Athens Polytechnic that resulted in the death of 24 civilians, including one five-year-old boy caught in the crossfire. The protest was waged against the tyrannical rule of seven Greek military generals, who came to power in 1967. The Seven Years, as 1967-1974 is called, refers to the years of rule under the Χούντα, as the Greeks call it, and entails the imprisonment and exile of citizens based on political belief, as well as the stripping of all civil rights. The precursors to this uprising date back to 1960, in which a young Greek student, Kostas Georgakis, set himself on fire in Genoa, Italy to protest dictatorial rule.

The role that the US plays in all this dates back to the Truman Doctrine, which was set out to prevent countries such as Greece, Turkey and Iran from following under Soviet rule. American support of authoritarian rule in Greece led to the expulsion of the Greek communist party, with help from the Greek military. So while there is no direct evidence linking the US with the military coup, the US government seems to have been informed of the coup in advance. Hence, the warning from the US Embassy for all American students in Greece.

Nowadays, November 17th is a commemorative day honored by all educational institutions, and includes a demonstration that begins at Polytechnic and ends at the US Embassy.

Police in Kolonaki Square.



Protesters on Ermou.

Photos courtesy of Hannah McKnight!

My Trip to KLM Transfer Line #4

Dear KLM Customer Care:

I left Athens at 2pm on Thursday to make my 4:45pm flight to Schipol, to transfer at 9pm to Edinburgh. Being an admirer of clogs and Heineken, I was rather excited by the idea of flying through such a hub as Amsterdam.

But as the adage goes, be careful of what you wish for. I spent more than 24 hours in Schiphol, and had more than just my toes stepped on by the deceivingly cheery-blue uniforms of the KLM attendants. And so after a succession of "DELAYED" statuses, repeated on the hour, every hour until 8pm the following day, KLM realized that they wouldn't be able to get me to Edinburgh in time to allow me even a 24 hour stay. So, they sent me home.

Airports, especially the gray metal of Schiphol, usually represent cold and austere receptacles to me, built merely to house planes for passengers that say nary a word during three hour flights. But this relationship with Schiphol, thrust upon me like one receives lumpy baked beans in a middle school cafeteria, exposed me to the plethora of life in the underbelly.

The aggression of the nicest mothers, the kindness of the most-tattooed boy in the room, the shoeless old woman being berated by the 6'5", possibly 6'6" if you count the vertical of perfectly-fashioned hair, Dutch attendant. The chain smokers congregated in the glass room, simultaneously separating them and exposing them to judgment, the babies sound asleep in the stroller than inches forward with each digit change on the LCD, the hesitant smiles exchanged by the Japanese grandmother and German man as they bump shoulder and elbow, respectively. (In case that was too subtle, Germans are tall, whereas Asians are not. I'd never felt so miniature before!)

I met two women whose friendship will outlast those mere 24 hours we spent together however. An Iranian-born-German-raised museum curator, a Sudanese-born-Scottish-raised grandmother and a Chinese-born-American-raised college student all sat in a Starbucks, drinking gingerbread lattes for four hours. I hope you can somewhat envision it.

And so this post, ironically enough (in light of my last post), again reminds me how glad I am to be home. But also, how much happier I'd be if I'd made it to Scotland.

Sincerely,
Disgruntled & Disheveled

The Road More Traveled

Since my last post, we've been to Olympia, Sparta and Delphi and Rome. Needless to say, there's a lot to say.

While I will never be a true Athenian, I will admit that the comfortable rhythm of Kolonaki Square and patterned weekly conversations with the local supermarket cashier had started to pull the wool over my eyes. But the last two weeks of traveling has thrown me back into that small but notable niche of the American tourist. In my Nike sneakers, I could only run from it for so long.

With that behind me, I fully embraced all the sites to see, foods to eat, and pictures to take on our Peloponnese trip and in Rome.

Facts that you may not find on your typical tourist brochures however:

1) Mycenaens suffered from megalomania. There was no fathomable reason for them to build such monumental architecture as the Lion's Gate. Perhaps they anticipated visitors.


Lion's Gate

2) Off-center doorways often indicate ritual dining halls because Greeks ate while reclined, thus requiring couches lined at an angle.

3) Henry Miller believed Epidaurus to be the healing center of nature. I see no reason to disagree.

Epidaurus

5) Phidias, the famous sculptor of the Parthenon, likely retreated to work in Olympia because auditors removed the gold off a statue that he created and found it to weigh less than what he claimed to have used.


Phidias' Workshop

6) Delphi was considered by the Greeks to be the literal bellybutton of the universe. Thus, home to the Oracle.


View from the upper site of Delphi

And for some statistical data of the week. When in Rome...

Food vs. # of Times Consumed
Gelato: 3
Pizza: 4
Cannoli: 2
Coffee: 5
Pasta: 2


Cannoli (literally the size of my palm)

The sites of Rome were a sight for sore-eyes after seeing only repeated piles of rocks, as some might grumble, in Greece. The decadence of the basilicas, the colors of the frescoes, the gleam of the sculptures. It was love at first sight if I ever were to believe in it. Maybe it was the coin I threw in the Trevi Fountain that cast its spell on me.




Yet, somehow despite the eponymous firework, Rome just doesn't seem to hold a candle to Athens. As noted even by the breastplate of Hadrian, Athena stands on top of the she-wolf of Romulus and Remus. Roman culture and Athenian culture are inexplicably tied. Maybe I'm biased. Somehow that little American tourist in me is dwindling even as I run amok with my Polaroid.

It's good to be home.