Of Museums, Ruins and Other Broken Stuff

On Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday we successfully navigated the Acropolis, its small museum, the Parthenon, other temples, both amphitheaters (one Greek and one Roman), the national archeological museum, the Ancient Greek Agora and the Roman Agora. We also saw the Temple of Zeus from across a very busy street in central Athens. Think Clark Griswald for this one as he took in the majesty of the Grand Canyon in National Lampoon’s Family Vacation. By this time we were both completely worn out having been on our feet and constantly standing, walking and or climbing for hours every day. I for one had seen more broken stuff than I could possible comprehend. It’s kind of like when you go to one of those giant outdoor flea markets and you see parts and pieces to things you think you recognize but are never really sure. Seriously, it was incredible, but still exhausting.

Confidentially, on Friday things did begin to unravel just a bit. Everything went fine until we left the museum (after only 4 hours and 30 minutes). Phyllis and I found we could not exactly agree on how to get from where we were to where we wanted to be next, the Plaka. In our wanderings we ended up on the opposite side of the Acropolis and far from where we wanted to be. This literally involved miles of walking up and down narrow streets, back alleys and god knows where. This also involved numerous shopping side trips, with Phyllis trying on stuff, etc., while I stood by staring blankly at walls. I don’t know about Phyllis but after a while the sighing, complaining, whining, bitching and sarcasm was really getting on my nerves. Anyway, I finally stopped, and ever though we were still lost, that singular action seemed to have a dramatic effect on the mood.

Unfortunately yet another situation interrupted our ruins regalia. Phyllis developed a stomachache about 6:00 PM. Her stomach began cramping intensely across the top of her abs. Not that there is necessarily any connection, but earlier we had stopped at a rather touristy taverna in the Plaka to eat something we were promised, was Terropita. Now Terropita is a baked, approximately 6” round cheese pie made with filo pastry dough and feta cheese. What we were proudly served, was exclaimed to be homemade, the same as Terropita and one of their most sought after delicacies. What thye were was several small triangular, very flat filo and feta paddies which had been deep-fried in olive oil. Now I love olive oil, I love filo and I love feta, hell, I really liked this greasy Filo Feta thingy, but what ever it was, it was not Terropita. The oil literally squirted out of each paddy when we cut into them with our forks. Phyllis didn’t even finish hers (so I did). Besides the fried cheese thingies, we also had a poor rendition of a Greek salad, and we chased it all with some bread and water. Phyllis became certain that this much sought after, homemade, delicacy was in some way the root of her problem. At the time, I’m wondering how I could have eaten exactly same thing, actually more and felt right as rain. Trying to set aside personal suspicions as to how much she really wanted to complete our rampage of the Ruins, I set myself to the task of tying to feel empathy and indulge her theory. At this point, I really wanted to make our way to the Temple of Zeus, it was the last thing on our list, and we already had tickets. It became clear that Phyllis’s condition was going to prevent this. So I arranged a stop for rest at a café, but the symptoms only lessened and returned completely as soon as we got up to leave. As I pondered this situation, angel Pete and devil Pete were hard a work. Angel Pete finally won out convincing me that if things were reversed Phyllis would consider my discomfort and cut things short, besides I knew we were going to be spending a lot of time together. So I accepted this was the right thing to do, even though I had spent all that time shopping and being lost because of her; time that could have been spent seeing the Temple of Zeus for example. I mean since it won’t happen anyway I’ll tell you I had a great gag picture planned of me looking like I had just knocked over one of the pillars. It would have been hilarious. Anyway, like I said, we cut our sight seeing short and returned to the hotel. While in no way do I confuse my actions with genuine compassion, it did, basically, accomplish the same results, so I’m taking the credit. Phyllis had fully recovered without further incident by the next morning. As she is fond of saying, “it’s progress not perfection, baby”. A motto I try to live by. At least when it suits me.

P.S.
The next day was Saturday. We visited the Roman and Greek Agora and of course did some more shopping. That afternoon, we made our way by taxi to Piraeus. Signed in and boarded our stately vessel the Star Flyer.