Whizzing through the whitewashed maze of streets at lightning speed, the creaking of the careening bus competing with the anti-EU commentary of our very own ‘Zorba the Greek’ lookalike tour guide.
“Funny, the Germans are putting us in debt when they stole all that money under the Nazis. What if we asked for that money back? They occupied our homeland and now they think they can tell us what to do!”
Through the windows we see the early morning sun beginning to warm the cool stone pavements around us and we catch glimpses of open shirted men, heavy gold crucifixes catching the light as they resume their positions on flimsy chairs lining the streets. Hands constantly in motion weaving worn, decorative worry beads between their fingers weaving in a rhythmic pattern, these men seem to immediately launch into animated conversations which continue even as the condensation on their iced coffees mark the old wooden tables.
The juxtaposition of the tense political, social and economic climate alongside the almost timeless carefree nature of city life here and was a theme that would echo throughout our very eventful day in Athens.
So many images stand out in my mind when I think back to our day in the homeland of democracy. The peaceful beauty of Athenians taking their morning swim before a day of work, diving into the cool turquoise water right overlooked by their three and four storey city apartments. The whisper of the wind through the pillars of the mighty Parthenon, rising above Athens from its majestic perch on the Acropolis – the sheer genius of its scale, structure and white beauty mesmerizing even the rowdiest tourist crowds. And of course, the huge and impossibly sluggish fans above the restaurants, doing absolutely nothing to cool the perspiring patrons who, despite the heat, do not stop for even one second before tucking into their fresh, steaming spanakoptika. Yes, the only thing that cools you off here is the Mythos beer.
Ah, Athena. The noise, the traffic, the religious knick knacks, the shopping along the Plaka and the smiling Greek Orthodox priests in their flowing black robes. We walked the streets of the city attempting to soak it all up and make the most of our time here. One stop I had to take Gary to was, of course, Syntagma Square and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Years ago on a family holiday my brother had mortally insulted the Greek people by mocking the unique walking style and sheer pom-pom shoeness of the Greek guards at the Evzones. We simply had to return to the scene of the crime! Besides, any tourist worth their weight in salt has to pose with one of said guards in the blazing midday heat.
The changing of the guards was interesting but we sensed something more exciting was in store when an increasingly large number of riot police began erecting temporary barricades. Asking one of the journalists who had suddenly appeared on the scene what was going on, he informed us that Syntagma Square was about to play host to an anti-austerity measure protest by students against cuts in funding for universities. Now, we had mastered the art of free guided tours and it was time to take this up a gear – catching a little history in action, gratis.
The arrival of the protesters was heralded by an eerie quieting of the streets, as weary shopkeepers and newsstands in the vicinity began boarding up their windows and wares. From the bowls of the city raised voices began chanting and the sound of wooden sticks being beaten on cement carried across the square. Now, although I’ve organized a few protests on parliament in my day, when it comes to anti-austerity measure etiquette, I was at a bit of a loss. We didn’t know what to expect and we were met with a little more than we bargained for when the students began descending on Syntagma. These guys were showing up for duty - black balaclavas, gas masks, sticks and poles and raised fists in gloves. No jovial toyi toying and cheering, the anger and frustration was visceral. The riot police were also out in force by this stage and within a few minutes of a water bottle being thrown from the crowd we were met by a short sharp round of rubber bullets as a tear gas canister was lobbied into the masses.
After spending some time amongst the students hearing about their grievances and reading what we could from their banners, and darting across the street to miss any stray rubber bullets, we decided to walk back to the ship and leave unscathed. However, this was not before Gary was asked to hand over his camera by one of the protest organizers. Apparently they were concerned that his photos would be used by the police for identification purposes. Greek charades in a protest gathering under pressure is not easy, but Gary somehow managed to charm his way out of this situation too.
On our way back from the city I was struck by the sight of resigned and dejected shopkeepers slowly coming back to their shop windows after the protestors had passed. With wipers and buckets of soapy water in hand, they seemed to wash off the graffiti as if on autopilot – this spectacle was obviously a regular occurrence. ‘Wanted’ posters of the faces of Greek parliamentarians who had voted for financial bail-out packages lined the intersections, and the feeling one got that day was that this incredible place where the theories of power to the people had emerged was home to a population who now felt marginalized and voiceless.
Some of today’s most current event stories where playing themselves out against the backdrop of ancient ruins belonging to one of the oldest civilizations in the world.
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