Penthesilea's Wish [Vol.2]

Chapter Twelve

Nicasio and Daniela celebrated their first day and night in Greece by a brisk walk to the Plaka district of old Athens, just below the Acropolis. After getting directions in the library to this scenic, albeit touristy community which hugged closely to the citadel's steep walls, the two stopped by their dorm room for a quick shower and a dip into their stash of Euros for dinner. Nicasio changed into a fresh pair of jeans and slipped on a long-sleeved dress shirt. He informed his research partner that while she had spent so many hours looking over the images of Amazons from the ancient world, he had done some fact-finding about a few aggressive women the professor had been concerned about over the telephone.

Daniela quickly dried her hair and slipped on a white cotton pants suit with comfortable shoes for some serious walking. Their conversation continued as they passed out the gates of the American School and headed in the direction of the formidable granite hill central to the old city. It was known since ancient times as the Acropolis. And it was on that steep summit that the incomparable Parthenon had been built in honor of the Greek goddess Athena, some twenty-five hundred years before.

The two foreigners progressed for several blocks with difficulty, across gritty streets and intersections, dodging the demonic traffic which seemed to make no peace with pedestrians. After twenty minutes of defensive walking, they passed by the large Neo-Classical parliament building, well-lit in the evening light. From there they moved out onto the expanse of Syntagma Square. It was the place where, on television back home, they had watched with the rest of the world the violent demonstrations by the Greek public over the nation's austerity sanctions. Now only a few clusters of people, looking to be immigrants of African or Middle Eastern nations huddled together at a distance from the occasional tourist. The majority of people, however, were members of the still economically depressed society itself—ambling peacefully and surprisingly gregariously across the expanse of gray marble tiles in all directions.

Leaving the square and moving southward, the roads began to be cordoned off to traffic and the two detected they were approaching the oldest sector of central Athens. Reaching a long pedestrian promenade called Ermou Street—the "way of Hermes," the two felt the anticipation of knowing that soon, amid this non-aesthetic cluster of apartment buildings, would eventually appear again the astonishing temple.

They soon were not disappointed as a cobblestone roadway began leading upward in elevation, away from the unsightly multi-storied domiciles which all but obscured the hill from the lower street level. And suddenly, there it was! Bathed in the amber glow of spotlights, the incomparable sanctuary to Athena, the Parthenon. In the glory of its day it was a perfection of sacred architecture—temple to the virgin goddess of wisdom and military strategy. An immense statue of her once had been housed inside, depicting the helmeted and spear-bearing patroness of the ancient city. As Nicasio and Daniela passed along the winding streets of Plaka, Athena's columned edifice rested solidly, timelessly, on its rock mountain pedestal, still high above them.

The myriad of quiet walkways contrasted peacefully with the rest of Athens, and flanked on either side were fenced areas where centuries of excavations had been ongoing. It was clear that one only needed to scratch the ground in this region of the world to find remnants of a layered city—perhaps the most ancient in all of Europe. Following the street lights, which defined the narrow passageways, the two followed their instincts to find an intimate restaurant. It would certainly be among the many which had now become the mainstay of the dimly-lit, romantic neighborhood.

"So Nicasio. You were saying? Dr. Simons called you about . . . some women . . . while I was in the Blagen today?"

Daniela was looking with  vague interest into the many curio shops along the street as she spoke. These little stalls ran the gamut of tented affairs to the street front—rooms hinting of a former Neo-Classical past. The shops accented the outside tavernas, and brimmed with stands of travel guidebooks, colorful post cards and bright summer clothing hanging from wires strung along the pathway. The tourist industry—Greece's mainstay of income they were told, had been decimated by the ongoing financial crises, and while many shop owners could be seen seated or standing patiently outside their small stalls, there were but only a few foreigners milling about unhurriedly.