Rocky Athens
By Terje Raa
 The Athens Acropolis - on the Holy Rock - is a
money-spinner. The entrance fee has reached 12 Euro, while an improved
infrastructure allows busses to unload an increasing number of visitors. Gladly,
they proceed to the entrance on comfortable paths under shady trees, just to be
crammed into a temple area designed for an occasional procession, not for
endless hordes.
Everybody is advised to get there early. However, the Acropolis is
practically all yours if you arrive Sunday morning at eight o'clock. You may be
rewarded with free entry and a clear view all the way to Piraeus, undisturbed by
creaking cranes and hammering workers; only met by musicians in white uniforms,
followed by Evzones from the Presidential Guard, on their way out after a
flag-hoisting ceremony. In white skirts and red clogs, part of their full dress
uniform, the Evzones are ready for a Sunday parade on Syntagma Square at the
Unknown Soldier's Tomb.
 The soldiers and musicians lead your thoughts to other
colorful processions, those of the ancient Acropolis, when the Athenians
approached the temples to honor Athena, a goddess of many trades. A mini version
of these processions remains; that's the wedding couples coming to have their
photo taken at the temple of Parthenon. Its size and beauty outshine the other
temples, even now where Athena in gold and ivory has been replaced by metal
scaffolding. Bossy lady guards, without any sense of romance, reprimand couples
trying to steal a snapshot on the wrong side of the Parthenon cordon.
 Propylaea, the entrance area, is a bottleneck pouring
with new visitors, many of whom immediately form groups to be enlightened by a
tourist guide, imitating little processions the way they move about to find the
next strategic position among barriers, marble blocks and competing groups. One
guide picks Piraeus as a starting point, another expounds on the term acropolis,
while a third makes her followers prick up their ears over Pericles; a young
statesman who initiated an ambitious temple rebuilding after the Persians had
burnt down the old ones in 480 BC.
Anafiotika
 A black dog has heard it all before and is bored. It
doesn't care about the Elgin Marbles or the British Museum, nor about the weight
of marble slabs. It does react, though, when a middle-aged lady falls down on
all fours. A small group of Japanese tourists are all dressed up, the ladies
sporting umbrellas as sun protection. A Greek lady has trimmed her umbrella with
white lace. This inspires the Caryatids over at Erechtheion to have their copy
dresses neatened. The victorious Nike is back, all smartened up, after her
little temple was transported elsewhere to be thoroughly restored.
The closest you come a retreat, to rest and see things in perspective, is the
eastern flank of the Holy Rock, where the flag is hoisted. Captivated by the
apparent simplicity of the Parthenon, you may be skeptical of those guides who
claim the columns to be leaning slightly inward, with varying space between
them, and that horizontal lines are actually convex, possibly the reason why the
Parthenon hypnotizes you. Looking out and away, the Lycabettus Hill catches your
attention, immediately motivating you for overall views of the Acropolis. Before
setting out, cast a glance over the wall, at one of Athens' best kept secrets:
the village of Anafiotika - in Cycladic style.
 An island village stranded on the northeastern slope of
the Holy Rock. Such a great mystery raises questions, too often resulting in
vague, low-voiced answers as were it a delicate subject requiring considerable
diplomacy. The story goes that King Otto, the first king after Greek
independence, was on the outlook for skilled craftsmen to build him a palace and
other suitable monuments, in the middle of the 19th century. He found them in
the Cycladic island of Anafi. In the dark of the night, two of the workers built
themselves primitive houses - island style - below the Rock, and others
followed. Hesitating authorities were soon faced with a complete village.
 Apart from the missing sea, Anafiotika has everything:
cubic white houses, small and partly atop each other to make use of limited
space, an abundance of flowers and alleys so white, narrow and quiet that you
feel like an intruder. A local lady, busy painting her house, reveals they are
some 65 residents in total. Her neighbors, hammering and sawing, modernize
according to a multitude of prohibitive rules. Anafiotika has always been a
sensitive subject on the political agenda; for being out of place, occupying one
of Athens' best locations, sought by investors and archeologists alike.
Politicians appear reluctant to deal with Anafiotika, except through subtle
discrimination.
Plan of Pericles
 Democracy was different in the golden days of Pericles,
2500 years ago. He was the foremost citizen of the democratic Athens, rich and
high-born. Pericles is still around, erect on his plinth at the City Hall in
Athinas Street, bearded and helmeted as always. His location is perfect, amidst
today's local and national decision makers, the latter based in the Parliament,
King Otto's previous palace, on Syntagma Square. The document in his hand is
perhaps the blueprint of a coming building project.
Pericles was an experienced builder. He knew how to substantiate a new
project, but he had to argue especially hard for his most ambitious masterpiece,
the Parthenon, a project evaluated by a body of 500 men before reaching the
decision level: an assembly of all free men, thus excluding women and slaves.
Five men, chosen by lot, were in charge of the work and produced meticulous
accounts, which at the end of the year were presented to the people and cut in
stone for public display. The Parthenon was completed in a sensational 15 years.
 A funicular can take you to the top of Lycabettus,
otherwise there are steps among pines and giant agaves. Upper class Kolonaki,
unfolding at your feet, gradually loses itself in the enormous patchwork of
Athens. Some compare the Acropolis, in the middle, with a lion surrounded by
greenery. Athena, the goddess, wanted to put another rock atop it, but she
dropped it too early, and this was the birth of Lycabettus Hill, once frequented
by wolves. It could be practical with more such viewpoints on the way to the
Acropolis, which is possibly what Pericles' latest project was about.
If you enter the white chapel to say a prayer, Pericles might give you
insight into his plans. Should that fail, then let the movements of the seagulls
inspire you - cable cars, of course! Four-seated cabins gliding quietly through
space, between Lycabettus and the Holy Rock, one way or round trip, boasting
constantly changing views. The effect would be happy tourists, soaring incomes,
less pressure on the Acropolis, and with the charms of Anafiotika eventually
integrated into the image of Athens - yet another feather in the helmet of
Pericles.
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