Spear-like trees protrude from the white metropolis, like a spiky green fence or fortress, grey mist floats above, drifting out of the mountains that enclose the city like a great wall. I am standing in the marble Acropolis looking out at the sprawling sea of white buildings that is Athens. I can see why they call it the “cradle” of civilisation, standing upon this hill and looking out from all sides, the city is very much shaped like a cradle – or a basin, a basin of white buildings within a mountain enclosure. It’s a humble city without much grandeur. I like it a lot.
I wish I could say the same about my closeup of the Parthenon…
The best thing about the Acropolis was this…
These are the Caryatids, otherwise known as the “Daughters of Athens”. The finely sculpted maidens act as pillars holding up the temple of Pallas Athene. I was later disheartened to find out that these are not the real Caryatids. The real Caryatids are housed in the Acropolis museum, with one of the sisters stuck by herself all the way over in the British museum. While they may not be the exact originals, they’re great replicas and give off an aura of mystery and wonder. The most inspiring thing I’ve seen in Athens so far.
I watch as a purple graffiti covered train trundles through a garden of stone ruins – the scattered remains of the ancient Agora. Just one of the dozen sights I need to explore while I’m here. But quite frankly, there’s too much to explore. It’s so overwhelming I have no idea what to do next. Part of me wants to just lay low and eat spanakopita all day.
“Spankopita” I have discovered, is the name given to the spinach pie that you can find just about anywhere in Athens. I had it again for my breakfast this morning, bigger and thicker than the first one I tried. Bloody love them. My dinner was not so exciting. Plain pasta with cauliflower and a sprinkling of garlic… I’m determined to save money at any cost. To my silent anger, after leaving my packet of crushed garlic in the kitchen cupboard for no more than an hour, I returned to find that someone had ripped into it and used up over half its contents. The first clear warning that my hostel inmates cannot be trusted.
Steve the Australian is still tucked up in bed like some dying patient. I thought that after yesterday’s conversation he would be more motivated to do something… it would appear not.
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