Images: Lady of the Night in Athens; Pickpockets; Sign on the Metro; Poseidon in the Musuem.Talk about culture shock. When one has become accustomed to the idyll of Cycladic life on the islands, it is akin to splashing cold water in one's face to arrive in Athens.
First, there was the ferry ride where it rained. The sun was shining in Sifnos.
Then upon arrival in Pireas, we had to somehow run the guantlet of taxi drivers and "facilitators" who were to help us to our Hotel Moka near Omonia. We were determined to do this ourselves, however, and take the Metro, then walk. We had been warned that our hotel was not in the nicest part of Athens.
The Metro was packed, and as people continued to evince their aspirations as sardines, jamming themselves into smaller and smaller cranies in the tin, I moved two of our bags to allow people to get by, thus getting separated from the sardine I love most, SL. In a new corner of the tin can, with entirely new sardines for company, my antennae began to go off. (I am aware sardines do not have antennae - perhaps there was a bug in the canning process.)
I felt a couple of bumps against "the pouch" - no not THAT pouch for those of you with minds lower than my good friends - the pouch that I carry my wallet in. I turned to look and the sardinette next to me looked away, but then her male counterpart had become crammed up next to me. I pulled my pouch to the front and put my hand over it. Then I felt a feathery touch upon my hand. I looked down and thought I had imagined it. I clutched the pouch tighter, and then felt it again, and when I looked down, there were fingertips lightly exploring the zippers of the pouch.
The Metro was packed, and as people continued to evince their aspirations as sardines, jamming themselves into smaller and smaller cranies in the tin, I moved two of our bags to allow people to get by, thus getting separated from the sardine I love most, SL. In a new corner of the tin can, with entirely new sardines for company, my antennae began to go off. (I am aware sardines do not have antennae - perhaps there was a bug in the canning process.)
I felt a couple of bumps against "the pouch" - no not THAT pouch for those of you with minds lower than my good friends - the pouch that I carry my wallet in. I turned to look and the sardinette next to me looked away, but then her male counterpart had become crammed up next to me. I pulled my pouch to the front and put my hand over it. Then I felt a feathery touch upon my hand. I looked down and thought I had imagined it. I clutched the pouch tighter, and then felt it again, and when I looked down, there were fingertips lightly exploring the zippers of the pouch.
Just then, we arrived in the station, and I pulled away as quickly as possible. I wish I could say that I crushed a fin or two of the transgressors, but I did not. In fact, I was at a bit of a loss, not knowing what to say or how to say it, or whether I would be opening up a can of ... wait for it.... sardines.
As we exited, we ran a another gauntlet - this one of prostitutes and drug addicts. We saw two addicts shooting up in the street. We spent 90 minutes looking for somewhere to get a sandwich or pita.
We were not impressed with Athens.
To cleanse ourselves and give the burg a second chance, we spent most of the day today in the National Archealogical Museum of Athens, to be featured in the next post. It was truly deserving of its claim to be one of the best museums in the world.
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