From time to time, it’s refreshing to go abroad, away from the flagrantly immoral rhetoric that pervades domestic politics and feeds into the current-affairs media to which I have become addicted. Admittedly, there is no real escape, thanks to the internet, but respite can be found in the form of distraction. On our second morning in Athens, I took a stroll around our temporarily adopted locality, Panormou, just to get my bearings, suss out a place to have coffee and relish for a while the sensation of geographical and cultural distance from home.
There’s no shortage of cafés, but I was looking for an outdoor seat in the delicious winter sunshine. For Athenians, December is ‘puffa jacket’ season, whatever the weather. Some women take it to the extreme of ankle-length, thickly-stuffed coats that would pass muster in the severest of Siberian blizzards. But with the temperature at a balmy 13 degrees Celsius, it seems to me ideal basking weather and I soon found a sunny spot to sit and savour the relative foreignness of this south-eastern corner of Europe. Yes, the supermarkets here play Christmas muzak, but the recent pop hits are royalty-free covers – and I’ve heard some very classy jazz versions of familiar old songs. Cultural differences, in general, are not fundamental, which makes for a comfortable co-existence between visitors and natives, while the slight divergences serve as a reminder that accidents of geography and history are all that separate us as humans.
Looking around the tables, I became aware that most of the other customers were old men (like me), some alone, others with pals, but all of us watching the world go by. Later, the myriad cafés fill up with all ages. I speculate that the reason for the ubiquity of cafés and the certainty of custom for all of them is the fact that everyone lives in apartments and there are no gardens to accommodate the urge to get outside. Most of the blocks were built to a similar pattern after WW II, when the housing shortage had to be addressed with both urgency and economy. The result is high-density urban living, but on a low-rise scale that maintains both sociability and a good sightline towards the Acropolis – the latter benefit, at least, being intentional on the part of the city planners, or so I’ve heard. For sure, there are property developers pushing at the limits of height restrictions but, if they succeed, they will surely kill the goose that lays the golden eggs of tourism.
But I am not content with sitting in the sun drinking coffee (and, sometimes, wine). There are serious museums here to be attended and, at this time of year, they are not crowded. Even better, entry is mostly half-price - a concession that may be intended to benefit long-suffering Athenians but from which we off-season tourists are not excluded. There is, however, a downside: half-price can mean half-staffed, so that rooms are roped off at random because, as I was told when I enquired, there are not enough attendants on duty. The closures are random so, if you want particularly to see the collection of vases in the National Archaeological Museum (as I did), you would have to go every day in the hope they might be accessible. A false economy, if ever there was one. And since, for me at least, returning during peak season is out of the question (I would fry in the heat), I have to make do with the stuff that is available. But it’s no hardship, really, since there’s an awful lot of it – even after Lord Elgin made away with some choice examples.
Which reminds me, I must check the Guardian-on-line for the latest political shenanigans.
No comments:
Post a Comment