Athens: The Big Goodbye

Let me tell you, it was something of a cold shower to come fresh from to solitude and (relative) luxury of Santorini and Villa Manos, straight back to a six-person dorm in Athens Backpackers that had a broken radiator which ran all the time and sounded like a fishtank.  Ah well, whatever.  Anything after Santorini was going to include some degree of initial disappointment shock.

I feel kind of like I got to see the Ravenloft version of  Santorini.  The mists and rain of my ferry ride from Athens brought me to an island that looked very much like Santorini, just a Santorini mysteriously devoid of people, where the sun set curiously early and dogs roamed the deserted streets.  A large part of me is extremely grateful that I got to see it this way, since I truly do hate crowds and had my fill of heat in Spain and Malta.  But I'm aware that I didn't precisely get to have the true Santorini Experience.  It will be fun to come back someday and see it as it's meant to be seen, a flower opened.  And swarming tourists like a hundred thousand tipsy sunburned bees.

I woke up in Athens Backpackers with a sinking heart.  Today was going to be my last day in Europe.  The last day of my crazy, half-cocked, hedonistic adventure, which if I do say to myself, turned into a smashing success.  But what to do for my last hours?

I flipped through the Athens guidebook I'd picked up previously at the tourist office, and lo and behold I found myself staring at one of the most famous portraits of one of my most favorite poets, ranking right up there with Keats and Shelley.

Lord Byron in Albanian Dress

Byron loved Greece, especially Athens.  So much so that he'd said he wanted to die here.  (I immediately checked because holy hell how cool would it have been if I could have visited his grave, but he's buried in England.)  It made complete sense to me that his most famous portrait should be on display at Athens' National Historical Museum.

I found it very fitting, especially after my pilgrimage in Rome, that my last day in Athens, Greece, and Europe should be spent hunting down one of my literary heroes.  In addition to the portrait, I discovered that Athens had erected a memorial statue to Lord Byron just outside of the National Gardens.  I set out to find these treasures.  Byron Day in Athens!

The Byron statue I miraculously managed to find almost at once, it's actually just outside the Gardens along a main road.

Byron being blessed by Greece (in the form of a woman)

On the way up to the museum, I was fortunate enough to catch the Changing of the Guard at the Greek Tomb of the Unknown Solider.  Typical me, no good photos of the actual change though.  Go look it up on youtube, it's kind of remarkable.

I found the National Historical Museum with no trouble, and asked at the front desk where I could find Byron's portrait.  The very nice lady told me Gallery 7.  I tried to take my time and look through each room in the museum with interest and care, but I was just kidding myself.  I'd paid that ticket price for one reason and one reason only.

Found Gallery 7.  It had... some Byron stuff.  Portraits, miniatures, memorabilia.  But not THE portrait.  Not Lord Byron in Albanian Dress.

I went back to the desk.  I showed the lady the picture in the guidebook.  "Oh no," I was told.  "This one is not here."

But it's in the guidebook, I insisted.  I'm afraid I refused to be turned aside.  She went so far to ask the Museum's Director if it could be in storage, then gave me the museum's wifi password (not for visitors), so I could search for this answer once and for all.

Yeah, the thing's in London.  Bummer and Balls.  Stupid guidebook.

I thanked the staff profusely for their help, kindness, and patience, and then went meekly back into the museum to get a look at it for real.  It was quite interesting. :)

Byron stuff they did have on display, and accidental self-portrait

Very neat exhibit showing historical Greek dress from the many different regions all over the country

After the National Historical Museum, I successfully found a post office to mail my very last set of postcards, had some lunch (probably a gyro), and then did yet more shopping in the Plaka.  I was slowly but surely making my way to the Acropolis Museum, which was to be my last Culture Stop.  Gigantic sad face.

The Acropolis Museum was awesome.  It's brand new, and extremely well done.  They don't let you take photographs though, and they mean this almost as much as in the Pope Crypt.

My one photo.  They were not happy with me.

I risked my personal liberty and happiness for this particular shot because it showed the original statue, called  a Kore (dude statues are kouros), alongside a replica of how it would have looked back when it was first displayed, complete with colorful paint job.  I find it so interesting that Ancient Greece is so often portrayed as this pristine alabaster serenity, when in fact the statues, buildings, and temples were full of color.

Oh, and that guy in a suit you see walking toward me here?  That's me about to get yelled at. :)

There's a lot of info and history to take in at the Acropolis Museum, and I tried to do my best, but I was pretty tired and, in complete honesty, also kind of totally Museumed Out.  Thank goodness there were only three floors and it wasn't very big.  I think I did it justice, if only for pride's sake!

I couldn't help it.  I was just so damn bummed.  My last night in Europe.  It was all so very over.  I walked to the Sports Bar near my hostel (where Beth and I had ended our evenings), which I know doesn't sound very authentic but my second stay at Athens Backpackers had awarded me one more free shot of ouzo there.  Plus the owner/bartender was this friendly old Greek guy who I liked a lot.

I hung out for a while at one of the round high tables, writing my head off and just trying to come to terms with it all.  Hard to believe it had all really happened.  I'd done it.  I had not gotten arrested, or critically injured, or pregnant.  I had gotten a few bedbug bites, and they weren't the end of the world.  I'd carried that freaking bright blue bag of suffering across six countries.  (Seven if you count America?)  I crawled through caves and flew in the sky and stood on top of mountains.

I spent the most incredible three weeks traveling through France with my very own sister, making memories that will make us laugh together for the rest of our lives.  And fate is so weird, because it just so happened that this would turn out to be the very last opportunity we sisters would have to do something like that, for a very long time.

This is the amazing, mind-flooring news I'd received way back in Venice.  My beautiful sister and best friend will be bringing a baby boy into the world in early July!  And I cannot wait to be an aunt.  I've already started the buying of ridiculously cute things.

Every single day of the past three months was nothing more or less than an enormous gift.  Life is strange.  But holy crap, it can be a lot of fun if you let it.

I finished up at the Sports Bar and walked down the street to good old God's Restaurant again.  I don't even remember what I ate, because I'd sort of put a closure on my journaling and didn't feel like writing any more.  I do know it was tasty and involved both beer and dessert.  And likely also ouzo.

And then I went back to the hostel.  To pack, set my alarm for 5:00 AM, get on a plane, and leave.  I nodded my farewells to Athena, and told her I'd be seeing her again.