It is raining atop the rock of the Acropolis, a light drizzle that slicks the marble steps and makes the ancient walls of the Parthenon shimmer. If you were able to get close enough to them, I’m sure the women who support the famous Porch of Maidens would look as if they were weeping.
In some ways, it’s hard to believe that I’m finally standing here, looking at the Parthenon, wreathed as it is in an ever-present net of scaffolding. Restoration efforts, though nothing will ever bring it back to its former glory – that was lost hundreds of years ago when it was used as a gun-powder store, the resulting explosion sent history scattering in all directions. Today archeologists work to put together a constant jigsaw puzzle; you can spot the newest pieces by their bright white colour. Years from now it will be impossible to tell the new marble from the old, but for now they stand out as bright as child’s toys just out of the box.
It’s worth the journey here to stand in this place. Her statue may be long gone, but Athena is still present here, Her spirit lives in the rocks of this place, in the very stone the Parthenon is built on. Like so many places I’ve been fortunate enough to see, like Glastonbury and Stonehenge, I am here partially as a historian and partially as a pilgrim. Looking around me, it is difficult to imagine that this lonely windswept hilltop was once the site of so much festivity.
The rain has rendered the sprawling city desolate looking. Athens is not a colourful place to begin with, not a pretty city. As the graffiti-laden buildings flash by the bus windows, the lanes of bitter-orange trees (the fruit of which is sold overseas for use in marmalade!) I find myself longing for the open air and cherry trees of home. In all my journeys past, and in all my travels yet to come, I often wonder if I will ever find a city quite as beautiful as my own hometown. And no, I’m not just saying that because I live there.
Once we descend the hill and rejoin the present day world, our guide provides us with a fascinating running commentary of the sights and sites of Greece. We pass the towering ruins of the Temple of Zeus, and marvel at the stillness of the honour guard that stands in front of the Tomb of the Unknown soldier, and pause to take photographs of the stadium where the first ever Olympic games were held so many years ago.
Would I come back? I’m not sure. Unlike Santorini, with it’s glowing white plaster and bright colours, there was something about Athens that I found depressing, perhaps it was the weather, though rain has seldom dampened much more than my umbrella, rarely touching my spirits.
Either way, as I made my way back through the souvenir stands and magazine sellers that seem to occupy every terminal in the world, I am extremely pleased to have one more patch to sew on my shoulder bag, one more entry on my “things i have seen” list.