Η ελληνική περιπέτειά μου

These are my posts for the my Greek Key class. The first is about my walk through Filopappou, a hill by the Acropolis. The second post is from my walk through Kaisariani, a ghetto in Athens. Don't worry Mom and Dad, its nothing like the ghetto in Chicago.


Filopappou - The Journey of My Knees

My trip from the Acropolis to Filopappou was quite different from my first walk, and much more difficult! In the beginning I was surrounded by chaos. Tourists, street vendors, buses and school children all congregated at the base of the monumental Acropolis. It was loud, noisy and a bit unbearable. But my knees were in heaven. The road was smoothly paved, making it easier for those slightly overweight and out-of-shape tourists! But as we walked further down, the slope became harder, the rocks more rough, and the noise slowly slipped away. These factors seemingly discourage many people, for I saw no more than a dozen on the hill. As I walked along, trying to keep my grip on the smooth rocks, my knees were in hell. But I felt as if I was following in the footsteps of the ancients, experiencing the city just as they were. There were no modern devices around and no tourists. I even thought I may be walking on the exact same stones as Plato did! Then, I came upon an open space, too good to be true. The Acropolis lay in plain view, and I quickly took out my camera, snapping many cliche pictures.

As I climbed farther up, my knees began to shake and hurt and as I rested on a rock over-looking the city, I couldn't help but wonder if the ancients saw the same view as me. But, as Jan began to talk, my view of the area quickly disintegrated to disappointment. The seat that I thought was so natural was rather engineered for me to think that way. As I walked down the hill, my knees began to kill more, and I slowly became a little pissed, which somehow led me to keep thinking about my experience. Those rough stones, the natural surroundings, the peace and quiet were all created rather recently in order to invoke exactly what I felt. That view of the Acropolis was indeed too good to be true! I became disappointed, embarrassed and duped! I fell trap to the architects plan! And more importantly, my knees suffered for nothing!

Afterwards, as I laid in my bed giving those knees a well deserved rest, I realized that it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought. So I was duped by an ingenious architect. Who cares if I held a slightly romantic idea that I was walking with the ancients! I may go back and let my imagination run wild again. Go on a journey through the ancient hill of Filopappou! Or I could just dream it. Its much easier on my knees.



A Paradox

Kaisariani is a massive paradox. As one walks through the small, winding streets, dodging the oncoming cars and ducking under the drying laundry, you realize the complexity you stand in. On one side there are brand new complexes, large and imposing with white balconies that I wished I lived in. And across the street there are the small apartments, falling apart complete with bullet holes from the civil war that once served as the ghettos for those forced out of Turkey. A mural stands as a testament to the early foundation of modern Greece, with three citizens holding up an ancient temple in order to achieve the "Great Idea" and build their national pride. But look closer and you see the bullet holes and shell markings from a devastating Nazi occupation. Further along there stands a incredibly large billboard to a modern Cafe. The bright red sign sets off your taste buds until you can almost taste the rich coffee in your mouth. But then look a little bit to the right and see "Φάτε τους πλουσίους" gratified in bright pink on the side of a tiny house. The playground, where you see carefree children running around with their concerned parents watching and seemingly ready to apply band-aids at a moments notice, stands next to a shooting range once used by the Nazis to execute those patriots who struggled for so long to free their country. Teenagers idle around next to a monument honoring the dead. Heroes of the Polytechnic street is neither big nor glorious.

This paradox which the inhabitants live in, is largely ignored. It is their home, their way of life which they see as normal. And as I watched a man with Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses, gelled hair and BMW pull up to his small, run down home, I realized I was in a place I would never understand. But that only makes me love it more.