Ancient Voices in Motion

One of my missions in Greece was to take my father back to Nemea, a village near Corinth where his parents were born. They passed away when he was a teen, and he'd never been to Greece. It was one of those important-must-do activities. So the day finally arrived...

We rent a car. Map out the route several times. Just about a two hour drive to Nemea--no problem. Ha! Let's just say it wasn't such a pleasant drive out of the city. Actually a hour-and-a-half-we-can't-find-our-way-out-of-Athens drive. Greek people are so nice. We stop. Ask directions. With my broken Greek and their broken English--we are told to go straight, turn left or right. But, they say, "ask someone else when you get there." AHHH! Where is "there?" It would have been nice if: a.) I spoke fluent Greek. b.) We read Greek (English translations on the map don't match up to Greek street names c.) We had a GPS. But alas, we didn't and we continue on--hearts pumping. I try to laugh. Make jokes of our predicament. Not a good idea. Just focus on the road. Get brother, son and father to Nemea.

Well, we do. Once out of the city, the drive is cake. Beautiful coastline. We cross the Corinth Canal from mainland Greece into Peloponnese. We wind through green, hilly country. First stop: Ancient Nemea, fomerly named Iraklion. Famous in Greek mythology and with Homer, this Nemea was the home of the Nemean Lion killed by Heracles. The Nemean Games were started by the famous "seven," (The Seven of Thebes,) to honor the infant Opheltes who was killed by a serpent while lying on a bed of parsley . The games began somewhere around 570 BC at Nemea's Temple of Zeus. Winners earned a crown of parsley, and the judges wore black in mourning.

Today, several temple columns have been re-erected. We climb all around the ruins--marveling at their stature and grace.We admire the column pieces on the ground. Massive, circular parts, once stacked together toward the sky. We visit the great alter and the ancient baths, pass skeletal remains of ancient Nemean citizens. I'm reminded of the heat on my skin. The chirp of the cicadas. We're alone at this ancient place. A place of mythology. A place of my origins. And it's magical.

Run near the stadium. Imagine the athletes bursting through the entrance tunnel. We hear voices. Ancient voices in motion. We move with them.

In the town of Nemea--it's quiet. Too quiet. Siesta time (3-5pm.) We're lucky to find a taverna open. We're starving so we gorge on Greek salad, potatoes, and enjoy a lovely Nemean red wine. Famous for its krasi (wine,) Homer called this place Ampelóessa, or "full of vines." We buy ice-cream bites from the sweet shop across the street. Other than the guy snoozing in front of his open air pet shop (really?) we don't see a single soul. We try to ask for a city hall to find records of my grandparents (Peter Polydoros or Mary Lazopolous) or any distant relative still here. But there is none. A cemetery maybe? We are told no. Much of Nemea was destroyed in WWII and we assume that these records disappeared along with it. We're down-trodden. Unable to grasp something concrete of our past. But we push forward. Visit a cemetery near Ancient Nemea. Beautiful tombstones--adorned with photos of the deceased. Lanterns. Flowers. (More on Greek cemeteries and burials later...)

On the way home, we stop at a Nemean winery. Rose and white. Light and fruity. We buy local pine honey as well. Yum. The drive back into Athens is just as fun as the way out. (Did I forget to mention that Greeks don't really follow any kind of driving rules? And motorcycles can appear magically just about anywhere on the road in a fraction of a second?) It takes us another hour just to get back into the city. We all get out at one point, ask different people directions and come up with the same answer. Our car rental office is just about 1/2 mile to our left. But... we can't turn around. So we take Syngrou Ave. for TEN miles down to the port before we can U-turn it. We're tired and cranky and completely delirious about driving in Athens. Wanting the hotel. Wanting dinner. Wanting some sanity.

It's easy to feel like a failure sometimes. Goals not reached. Inadequacies revealed.

But even though I can't find my way home. Even though we didn't find the birth records or gravestones of great-great-grandparents I realize then--surrounded by my dad, brother, my son--that we've created our own memories here in the place we began. We've made our own laughter. Our own footprints. And for that, I'm grateful.

Stillness, Strength and Honor

Athens. The sweet dogs. Over abundance of pigeons. Taxis. Cars. People zooming through the business district. The stoic guards at Parliament. Signs that speak of the recent protests. The Running Man statue, all made of massive plates of glass.

Then there's the amazing food. I fell madly in love with a pastry called a bougatsa while strolling through along the street near the Plaka. So enraptured by the flakey, phyllo crust and custard filling, I hadn't even noticed the waterfall of powdered sugar cascading down my shirt. Total tourist moment.

Italian food at a beautiful restaurant completely hidden in a dark Athens neighborhood, covered with pines and drenched with grape vines. Owned by an Italian man who lived in LA and then came to Athens. A very slow cooked meal. Battered and fried olives. Tapenade & freshly baked bread. Spinach ravioli. My beautiful family + laughs + food= a little bit of heaven.

I can't forget the interesting people. I remember the guy who picked up six or seven flats of eggs every morning from the small grocery store across the street. He'd pack them on the back of his moped and speed off through the insanity of downtown. Now that's talent. Or there laundry day (desperately needed after about 14 days of the same clothes.) We trek through the mysterious city in search of the laundromat. Tucked away next to a bar run by a Scotsman and filled with Europeans. It's happy hour, of course, so Dan, Steve, and a great American girl we'd just met (who'd just finished college--last semester in England and now off traveling for three months!) enjoy pizza and drinks while waiting for our spin cycle. The barkeep/laundry master keeps our machines running and our spirits high. It's one of those moments when everything just seems right in the world. The inspiration of those you love and clean clothes...

Ah, the history--where to begin? The Temple of Zeus. Unfinished until the Roman Emperor Hadrian completed it in 131 AD, seven hundred years after its beginning. Only 15 out of the 104 columns still stand today. Gold and ivory statues of Zeus and Hadrian have long disappeared, along with most of the temple believed destroyed in a medieval earthquake. Across from the temple is Hadrian's Arch--another iconic symbol of Athens. A breathtaking mixture of old and new. I feel a stillness here. A remnant of strength and honor swirling around in the air.

The old Olympic stadium. A naturally hollow bit of ground transformed into a stadium around 330 BC for the athletic Panathinaea Festivities. Found in the 1870 excavation, the stadium is 204,07 meters long and 33,35 meters wide and believed to hold up to 50,000 spectators. Used for arena competition in Roman times, and then restored for the 1st modern Olympics of 1896. Dan and Grayson race around (13 year old boy advantage) and emerge victorious.

The 3 layered Acropolis Museum--built right on top of ruins, and structured with transparent glass floors all the way up. So many artifacts. So much beauty and artistic design--luckily, recovered and there for us to witness. Everything built on ruins-- life underneath us--thousands of years of families, technology, love and loss--joy and pain--all in crumbled pieces beneath our feet. It strikes me so profoundly today, standing over these three transparent layers--An ascending, glass-floored gallery holds artifacts from the slopes of the Acropolis. The floor gives visitors a view of the excavation, its upward slope paralleling the ascent to the Acropolis. Thousands upon thousands of artifacts--stories and tragedies from a lost civilization. It's overwhelming and I'm not sure what questions to ask. Where to focus. I am taken in by the tales told in sculpture--the Greek gods fighting amazons--giants--titans. The attention to detail and perseverance in getting the story told and preserved for us to see so many years later.

It's that crazy mix of old and new that I love so much. The city presses on through difficult times, and 'm overcome. Treasures uncovered. Mysteries to be solved. Amazing food to be eaten.

(Thank you Jeremy, for the photos of: the guards, pigeons & protest sign. Your photos ROCK!)

The Acropolis. I know it's So.

The Acropolis (which translates to hilltop.) Crowned by the Parthenon. Stands high above Athens, visible from almost every point in the city. It became my landmark--a way to find my way in the crazy busy city of winding streets and racing cars. And even in the heat, or in the midst of being totally lost, I look up and the Acropolis takes my breath away.

This amazing ancient monument, built by architect Pericles in the Mycenaean period, was dedicated to the goddess Athena. Walking through its grandeur, I'm reminded of the continuous struggle here in Greece. Reduced to ashes by the Persians in 480 BC, Pericles rebuilt, transforming the Acropolis into an iconic city of temples. Destroyed again in the 17th century when Venetians attacked the Turks. The Turks opened fire onto the Parthenon, which is where they stored their gunpowder. A massive explosion, of course, followed by a two-day blaze.

Now, as I walk through this amazing site--we still see the effects of foreign occupation, pilfering, earthquakes, and the black stains upon marble caused from industrial and car pollution. There's scaffolding everywhere. Part of me feels that these reminders take me out of the experience, they pull me out of mystic ancient Greece. But the reconstruction and dedication to preserving this World Heritage site reminds me of how Greece continues to rebuild and overcome.

The strength and perseverance of the Greek people stands tall in the Iconic columns of the Temple of Athena Nike. It surrounds the arena and theater (where Dudamel actually conducted on night we were there, and I could hear the orchestra and cheers filtering through the streets.) This power shines through the Parthenon, the largest Doric temple ever built. And within the 12 meter- high statue of Athena that once stood there. A breast of gold, a small statue of Nike (goddess of victory) in one hand and a spear in the other. When I think Athena, I think of today's Greece-and even in economic struggle, and I believe her wisdom, grace and beauty will go forth. Here, I stand at the top of the world. With pink parasols, cuddly street dogs, and over a hundred steps.

The Acropolis. And I know it's so.

(thank you Jeremy for your Acropolis at sunrise shots)

Speeding cars, ancient ruins & saganaki

June 21^st

LA to Heathrow. Heathrow to Athens. Wonderfully uneventful. Love British Air and the personalized screens. Movies and conversation with a wonderful couple from New Zealand.

To hotel—ride through the Athens. Should have been my first clue as to the craziness of the city—speeding cars, zig-zagging motorcycles, lack of street signs (all which will almost make me insane later when I myself first drive through Athens!) But I don’t pay attention to the chaos—I’m mesmerized by the ancient ruins that shoot out of the city buildings. Hadrian’s Arch. Zeus Temple. The Parthenon and Acropolis. It's unreal. The ancient and modern coexisting. The stories I've heard for so long. All alive right in front of me.

We're here! A family adventure. My amazing husband and kids. My father, brother and extended family (Linda, Sherri, Jeremy, Jacob & Josh!) And I am so grateful.

Finding our way in the dark. Up and down cobblestone streets. Dinner at a beautiful, yet hidden, restaurant measures up to all I imagine. Saganaki (fried cheese,) eggplant, spinach zucchini balls, Greek salad. The Ouzo I can do without! But the view of the Acropolis at night is breathtaking. Mix that with the amazing flavors and a family’s laughter. A perfect first night in Athens. Perfect.