Yesterday, after visiting the Acropolis and Acropolis Museum, I rode the bike I'd rented to the sea.
Technically, that's true. But not in the way I anticipated.
Manos, the co-owner of Athens by Bike, gave me a paper and "app" version of a route to ride to the Saronic Gulf, a.k.a. the Gulf of Aegina, which is part of the Aegean Sea. I am sure he has taken that ride in the recent past. But, as a New Yorker, I know that road conditions can change on any given day, without notice. So I don't blame him for my ride not turning out quite as I'd planned.
I did indeed get to the Saronic/Aegean, more or less the way I'd planned. But I didn't quite see the coast in the way I'd expected.
Following Manos' directions, I followed one of the few bike paths in Athens. For most of its length, it parallels a line of the city's Metro system to Piraeus, the port that serves much of the area. From what Manos showed and told me, the path goes underneath a highway before reaching the shoreline and, at the shoreline, there's a bike/pedestrian path that follows the highway and sea.
Once I got to that highway, though, it seemed that there was no way to cross--except through an underpass with a side lane barely wide enough for most people's feet. I took it, and found myself at the Athens Marina. While it's not meant for folks like me, there is an area where couples stroll and (I assume) poor Athenians and immigrants fish. I rode out to it. The views from it, I must say, were pleasant enough.
As I returned to the path along the tracks, another delightful young Athenian woman called out to me. "Excuse me, do you know how to get to the sea?"
Turns out, her nearly-flawless English came from her study augmented by a trip to the United States. I guess I shouldn't find that so unusual. What struck me, though, was that she was, in essence, asking me for directions--only two days after arriving in this city, and country.
She was trying to do exactly what I'd wanted to do--get to, and ride along, the sea on her bike. She said she'd found the lane blocked. Hmm...Maybe I'm not such a rube, or so hopeless at navigation, after all!
So, having been stymied, we decided to ride back together. In another odd coincidence, she lives in the same neighborhood where I'm staying. En route--about 12 kilometers--we shared a bit about our lives. While she is an esteemed professional here in Athens, she shares many of the same struggles as other people in her native city and country--and of her age and gender.
Since I was a somewhat-chauvinistic guy in my previous life, I promised to help her. At least, I'd promised to help her in one specific way she requested. When I told her I planned to take a trip to Delphi, I promised to ask the oracle what she should do about a particular dilemma she faces.
How could I do otherwise? This might not be the best cycling country or city--at least, not yet. But my limited cycling experience here has brought me into contact with two very intelligent women with whom I enjoyed riding and conversing. I am perfectly willing to return the favors, however imperfectly!
Oh, and her name is Virginia--as it happens, the name of my beloved maternal grandmother.
I can honestly say that I'm not inclined to boasting. (If I were, would I know it?) Even if I were, I'd have no need for it in Athens, at least when it comes to cycling: If you ride at all, people--even other cyclists--are impressed, if they don't think you're crazy.
So I didn't have to claim that I ride up the hill of the Acropolis. I rode a bit before I arrived, mainly to try out the bike I'm renting. It's actually rather nice: a hybrid with wide 700C tires. I had never seen the brand--Ideal--before, but it's apparently sold in a few other European countries. If anything, it--or, at least, this particular bike--seems much like similar offerings from Trek or Specialized or Giant. It wouldn't surprise me if Ideal bikes were made in the same factories as those other brands.
I rode another bike just like it yesterday morning with Sappho as my guide. Both bikes came from Athens by bike, Today, though, I had the advice of Manos, the co-owner of Athens by Bike (good on all counts) and my own instincts (sometimes good) to guide me.
So I rode a bit around the Plaka, the central area of the city and home to the Acropolis as well as other well-known sites. I stopped just before noon, as most any Greek might have done, when the temperature rose noticeably. Instead of ducking into an air-conditioned building or a well-shaded cafe terrace, I took the hike up to the Acropolis and wandered among its ruins.
Contrary to what many people think, "Acropolis" refers to the site, not to any of the structures on it. And, neither the Parthenon nor any of the other buildings are the "original" monuments built there. Other things had been built there before, mainly because of its springs, which were said to be created by Poseidon himself.
I am amazed at how quickly (at least relatively speaking) the Parthenon or, for that matter, the Angkor Wat (which I visited last year) were constructed, let alone how accurate and intricate were the work that went into them, especially when one considers that the designers and builders did not have the technology we have today. The funny thing is that it took less than a decade to build but has been in one stage or another of repair or reconstruction almost since Greece gained its independence from the Ottoman Empire---nearly two centuries ago!
To be fair, it's astounding that any part of the building is still standing, given how it was used and abused, not to mention damaged (and nearly destroyed altogether) by natural and human-caused disasters. Also, I would imagine that it might be more difficult to figure out how something was conceived, created or constructed when records are sketchy, damaged or nonexistent, than it was to actually build something from scratch.
Still, I told the director of operations--who saw me riding to the site--that I might be able to help speed things up a bit. Hmm...Maybe that person believed that if I was strong or persistent, or simply crazy, enough to ride on Athens streets, I could be of help.
So, instead of doing a job that involves no heavy lifting in New York for a salary that sounds good until you have to pay New York prices, I am going to do some heavy lifting in Athens. The rents are much lower here--but so are the salaries.
All right: I made up that story about getting a job here. But, really, my time on the Acropolis--and in its museum afterward--was some of the best I've spent. And the late-day ride I took afterward was a reward, even if part of it didn't go as planned. More about that later.
Last night, I arrived in the place where I'm starting the epic (sort of) journey I mentioned in yesterday's post.
At least one epic is related to the trip I'm on now. Think of the Odyssey.
Now, I hope I don't have to be like Odysseus and spend twenty years trying to get home. For one thing, I still want to be a Major League Baseball player. Hey, if I were to sign with, say, the Mets at this point in my life, I'd be the first known transgender player in history.
All right, that was a bad joke. But no less than Bart Giamatti, a former MLB Commissioner and Yale literature professor, suggested that part of the game's appeal is that its goal is to reach home.
Where I am now, I don't think very many people know much about baseball--unless, of course, they've spent time in America, or have relatives there. The funny thing is that in the little bit of time I've been here, I've talked to a few residents and all have heard of the neighborhood in which I live: Astoria. If you're familiar with my "nabe," that might be a clue as to where I am: Astoria, until recently, was home to more of this country's natives or their descendants than any other place outside of this country.
I am talking, of course, about Greece. I arrived late yesterday and fell asleep almost immediately afterward. When I awoke, it was well into the night, but people were out and about.
Such scenes were pretty common in the New York of my youth: People would gather in parks and other public places to chat, eat, drink or just hang out. That sort of public life is quickly disappearing from the Big Apple and is all but nonexistent among the young people who've moved in during the past fifteen or so years.
As soon as I got back to the apartment where I'm staying, I booked myself on to a "Good Morning Athens" bike tour that starts, literally, just a few pedal strokes from the Acropolis Museum. It's a very easy, slow-paced ride done on hybrid/comfort or flat-bar road/city bikes. (I chose the latter.) But for me, the point of such a ride was not speed or distance or any other sort of physical challenge. Instead, it was a way to introduce myself, and be introduced to, a city and culture I have previously seen only in books and images.
The entirely flat ride--something that seems impossible in this hilly city--was led by a delightful young woman named Sappho. Really: Even with my penchant for storytelling (if I do say so myself!), I could never make up such a detail. Or, if I could, I would never use it because readers or listeners would never believe it.
All right, her name is spelled Sapfo. Still, you can't come up with a better name for a tour guide in Greece.
Our tour group consisted of, in addition to myself, a family from Atlanta, a couple who are about my age and live in the Washington DC area and a younger German couple. Our ride spanned about ten kilometers and included a number of stops. We didn't go into museums or the Acropolis, but we did see that symbol of world history and culture just about everywhere we turned. We did, however go to the Cathedral of the Annunciation of the Virgin Mary, where all sorts of official ceremonies--and the marriages of wealthy and well-connected people--are conducted.
Next to it stands a Byzantine church constructed on the site of an ancient Greek temple.
We also stopped at the Roman Agora and the "original" Olympic stadium. At least, it's the first stadium built for the modern revival of the Olympic games, in 1896.
That's about as close as I'll come to being an Olympic athlete. Even if I were to become one, at this stage in my life, I'd have nothing on these guys:
We got to the Presidential Palace just in time for the changing of the guards. While not as impressive as the ceremony at Buckingham Palace, it is a sight nonetheless, if for no other reason that those guys are performing their moves clad in heavy wool uniforms and shoes that weigh 2 kilograms in 34C (92F) weather.
Sapfo pointed out that the "goose step" differs from others in that the soldiers bend their legs to make the number "4", commemorating the four centuries of oppressive Ottoman rule (I couldn't help pointing out another kind of oppression that went on for 400 years in America) that ended with the War of Independence in the 1820s.
For their troubles, the guards--who are chosen for their height and abilities with weapons--are paid the princely sum of 8.5 Euros a month. Granted, they are given housing, food and everything else they need when they're on duty, but on their days off (four a month), what can they do? Most of them come from the countryside and, although a good meal and drink can be had for a good deal less than in New York or Paris, those young men still can't do much. Even if they could "go out on the town," most would want (or be expected) to send money to their families, but the cost of doing so wouldn't leave much left to send.
It's no wonder, Sapfo said, that she and others refer to those young men, and everyone else in the military, as "victims." Greece is one of the few European countries that still demands military service from all men, and all who end up on special assignments (such as the Presidential guard) are chosen them. Oh, and everyone is paid that same princely sum every month.
(At least I wouldn't have to worry about being drafted if I were to move here: I'm over 35 and, oh, only males are required to serve!)
Now, just as I don't want you to think our ride was a race, I also don't want to give you the impression that we only concerned with such high-minded things as Hadrian trying to turn Athens into the cultural capital of the Roman Empire or the debates of Socrates. We also partook of another important aspect of Greek culture: food. Across from the Agora, a group of people was leaving a church. One of them had brought in a traditional ginger cake that's offered after a mass for a loss--of a person or any thing of importance in one's life. That cake, which I liked, is a symbol of hope that the person or thing will return, or that there will be a new beginning.
What I (and probably everyone else) in the group liked even better was served at a cafe where we stopped. It's the best ice cream sundae I've eaten in my life. At least, it looks like vanilla ice cream with red sauce. Greeks, however, don't call it "ice cream" and, technically, it isn't: It's made from yogurt. But it--kaimaki -- is just as creamy, if almost chewy, and has the most enjoyable, complex combination of flavors I've ever tasted in a dessert.
Kaimaki is perfumed with mastiha, a spice that comes from a tree that grows only in one area of Greece, and is served with the most delectably sweet-tart cherry sauce I've ever savored.
If today's ride were only about riding, I'd wince that I rode ten flat kilometers, with stops, and consumed as many calories as I did. Then again, the kaimaki and even the cake may not have as many as I might expect. Even if they do, well, I am not on a journey to count calories, or kilometers (or miles).
