Surfing the Luminiferous Ether

I have not sat down to formally add up how long I have spent in various countries, but I know that if I did so, the United Kingdom would come out on top. My first visit to the UK was over fifteen years ago, and in 1999 I spent three separate months on assignment on the outskirts of London near Heathrow. In spite of all of the time I have spent in the UK, though, I have never been to Stonehenge. On my recent trip, I decided to take advantage of my rental car and see the place.

On reflection, I think I was lucky and slipped between two waves of tour buses. As I arrived, a great number of people were leaving the site, and it stayed relatively uncrowded for the duration of my visit. Many of my photos show the crowds; the one below of the main circle is an exception.

English Heritage, the government body that manages Stonehenge, provides free audio guide instead of erecting interpretive signs that clutter the landscape. While generally well done, the audio guide has one particular difficulty versus signs, which is that the ravens that gather at Stonehenge make a great deal of noise. (At the reduced resolution of the photo below, the ravens are not visible as much more than specks, though.)

My departure was hurried by the arrival of dark clouds blotting out the blue sky. By the time I made it to the car, the rain had picked up and was quite heavy. Even though the rain had held off during my visit, the whole experience was still a fairly cold one. Stonehenge is set slightly above the surrounding terrain, and there is a great deal of wind whipping through the monument.

(This is the tenth and final part in a series about my trip to Athens. See parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and nine.)

As I walked around the foot of the Acropolis, there was another “aha!” language moment. Monuments and sacred sites around the Acropolis were connected by a foot path called the Peripatos. Its shared root with the English word “peripatetic” was obvious (in part because that adjective was widely used to describe Rudy Perpich, the governor of Minnesota when I attended elementary school).

Off the Peripatos, the Stoa of Eumenes connects the Theater of Dionysis to the Odeon of Herodes Atticus. This photo was taken facing the Odeon.

At night, the Acropolis is lit beautifully, and stands out against the dark sky. Even at night, the brightly lit Acropolis serves as a beacon while walking around the city.

The same night, I took a photo of myself with the Acropolis as a backdrop. Unlike the previous photo, I had to keep the shutter speed down so my image would remain sharp. Exposing the dimly lit far-off background correctly required an extreme case of dragging the shutter. I mounted the camera on a tripod, exposed the photo for six seconds to collect enough light for the background, and used an on-camera flash to expose myself in the foreground.

On my first night in Athens, I walked from my hotel on Syngrou to the Acropolis. Although entry to the Acropolis was closed by the time I finally arrived near the Acropolis, I was able to set up my camera on the Areopagus and capture my exhausted grin after finally making it through the snowstorms.

(This is part 9 in a series about my trip to Athens. See parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight.)

History is inescapable when visiting Athens. (For me, that’s the major attraction.) On my visit, I made sure to save some time for the National Archaeological Museum. As you might expect, it has one of the best collections of treasures from ancient Greece.

Many of the most famous pieces in the museum are massive imposing marble statues. My favorite piece in the museum was not one of them. In the museum’s prehistoric collection, there is a relatively small gallery with artifacts from the Mycenaean civilization, including some tables with writing in the extremely old Linear B script. Linear B was used over three thousand years ago, and most of the writing that survives is everyday topics. If I recall the signs in the museum correctly, these tablets have livestock inventory and property records. Given the small size and fleeting nature of some of the records, these are probably some of the world’s oldest Post-it notes.

One of the major themes of the museum is the changing nature of funerary markers. Several funerary markers in the shape of lions exist, all of which have detailed, flame-shaped manes.

At a dead end in one of the inner rooms was perhaps the greatest treat of the visit, a small sculpture of Athena Parthenos (Athena the virgin). A massive version graced the interior of Parthenon; contemporary accounts indicate the original in the Parthenon used over a ton of gold. Two replicas believed to be faithful survive to this day, and the only complete one is the statue exhibited in the museum.

Details on the copy are incredible, down to the snakes that serve as a belt and the locks of hair that trail down on to the breastplate. (Reflections from nearby windows are unavoidable; as one of the foremost treasures of the museum, this piece is shown only in a protective case.)

In the center of the museum, a sculpture gallery shows off the height of Hellenistic sculptural achievement. I have always been impressed by the ability of sculpture to show movement. One of my favorite pieces in the Louvre is Diana of Versailles, showing the goddess of the hunt in pursuit of her prey. The original idea would have belonged to Greek sculptors, as shown here.

The gallery also has a striking statue of Aphrodite, holding a richly-detailed drapery.

(This is part 8 in a series about my trip to Athens. See parts one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.)

Contrary to popular belief among people I’ve talked to after returning home from Athens, the tallest point in the city is not the Acropolis. That honor belongs to Λυκαβηττός (Mt. Lycabettus). Lycabettus rises dramaticaly above the rest of the city, as seen here from the Acropolis shortly after moonrise on the evening I arrived:

On the morning of my last day in Athens, I decided to head to the top of Lycabettus for the view. As I left the hotel early, there were still clubbers heading home from the night before, even though daylight was beginning to break. My trip began with a subway ride, but the subway only takes you to the base of Lycabettus. After you alight from the train and get to street level, there are numerous stairs for you to climb. As I looked up one pedestrian street composed entirely of stairs, I certainly felt the resemblance of Athens to my home city of San Francisco.

When I reached the base of Lycabettus, I discovered that the funicular railway doesn’t start running early in the morning. Fortunately, there is a footpath up the side of the hill, so I started climbing. When I reached the top, there was a dramatic reward. This is the view looking south from Lycabettus. The Temple of Olympian Zeus is in the foreground, and the street that runs from the temple towards the upper right is Andrea Syngrou Avenue, one of the major surface streets in Athens. At the right edge of the photo, the imposing building is the New Acropolis museum.

The real treat, however, is the view of the Acropolis itself just after sunrise:

(This is part 7 in a series about my trip to Athens. See parts one, two, three, four, five, and six.)

As I was wandering around the old areas of Athens, I stumbled across the entrance to Hadrian’s Library. All that remains of the library itself is part of the wall that flanked the entry to the library, though the ornate Corinthian columns are well preserved.

On the library site, a succession of churches was built after the Roman Empire split. The earliest church was called the Tetraconch Church because it consisted of four semicircles around the altar. Only a few parts remain in the ruin, including this archway and set of three columns:

More strikingly, a part of the Tetraconch Church’s floor mosaic remains. (Note how the ropes at the right-hand side block foot traffic to protect the mosaic.)

(This is part 6 in a series about my trip to Athens. See parts one, two, three, four, and five.)

Towards the end of my trip in Athens, I started used the beautiful Athens metro to get around. As a word of warning, if you decide to use the metro to get around, be sure to allow time to see the displays and read the signs. Riding the Athens metro is like visiting a museum that happens to have subway tracks through it.

I was fortunate enough to be staying close enough to the historic areas of the Akropolis and the Plaka that I was on foot for the first few days. To see some of the attractions that were farther afield, I had to use the subway.

When you enter the subway, the first thing you notice is that it’s beautiful. Most of the time, the subway is just a way to get around. To be fair, some subway systems are more attractive than others; it is unsurprising that the distinctive art nouveau style of Paris Métropolitain comes to mind. The Athens metro has no advertisements, and even though it has been open for eight years, it is still amazingly clean.

Building the Athens metro was a difficult proposition because of the layers of history in the ground in Athens. Due to the need to protect the antiquities discovered when building the metro, the Greek Ministry of Culture was a key partner in the project. Preservation of artifacts discovered during construction meant that completion was slow as archaeologists did painstaking preservation work.

Many of the artifacts unearthed during construction are on display, and are of uniformly high quality. A guide sign in each station relates the position of the station to where the archeological activities occurred.

It is quite funny to realize that many Athens subway stations have better exhibitions of ancient Greek artifacts than many museums! Here is an excellent example of how the displays are just part of the museum. At the Ακρόπολη (Akropoli) station, there is a large pottery display just beyond the ticket barriers.

When you get down to the platform, the station just gleams. Without advertisements to clutter up the wall, the exhibition continues. On the platform of the Akropoli station, there is a replica of the Parthenon frieze that is currently on display in the British Museum.

In the lobby of the station, another replica, this time of part of the sculptures from the pediment of the Parthenon.

The main transfer point for metro riders is Σύνταγμα (Syntagma, meaning “constitution”), and the station has the largest exhibition. At the lobby level, a wall shows how layers of history accrete over time.

My favorite exhibit was at Ευαγγελισμός (Evangelismos), the station closest to Lycabettus Hill. As I was walking briskly towards the exit, I saw an ancient aqueduct on display. Nearby signs discuss how the aqueduct was built and maintained, and what was learned about the route of the aqueduct building the station.

(This is part 5 in a series about my trip to Athens. See parts one, two, three, and four.)

One of my favorite museums in Athens is the Museum of the Ancient Agora within in the Stoa of Attalos. Within the agora today, the two anchors at the ends of the large open space are the Temple of Hephastios, set up on a hill, and the Stoa of Attalos, a modern 1950s reconstruction of an ancient building. In the language of ancient Greek architecture, a stoa is a covered walkway typically open to the public. Late examples, like the Stoa of Attalos, were usually two stories, with the first story at least partly open to the air. Here’s a view of the portico on the ground level:

Within the stoa, there is a small gem of a museum on the activities in the ancient agora. As the social hub of the Athenian democratic government, the agora would have housed the administration, legal tribunals, religious sites, and the major marketplace of ancient Athens. Artifacts in the museum show just how carefully the Athenian democracy had to manage the flow of its citizens, and the custom-built technology that helped manage the flow.

Artifact #1: the Kleroterion, which was used for sorting and allocating people. In the photo below, there is a fragment of stone with horizontal slots cut into it. When it was in use, the kleroterion pictured would have stood much higher; some evidence exists for versions of this device that were several feet tall. In the foreground of the photo is a collection of identity tokens.

Athenian democracy used randomness to guard against corruption of the jury system. When a jury needed to be assembled, citizens volunteering would hand their tokens to a presiding official. Based on the citizen’s tribe, the token would be placed into one of the columns. When the matrix was full, the randomness came into play.

Along the left side of the kleroterion ran a tube filled with a mixture of black and white balls. One ball was inserted for each row of slots on the kleroterion. When the official extracted a white ball, the people whose tokens appeared in a row were called to jury service. On the other hand, a black ball meant that the people identified by the tokens in a row would be dismissed. By matching the number of white balls to the desired jury pool size, officials could create a pool with the right number of jurors.

Using the kleroterion took advantage of the elegant simplicity of randomness of the ball mixture to draft jury pools. As I stood in front of the display case, I remember watching Flintstones reruns as a child in the days before my family had cable. While working out in my mind how the kleroterion worked, the thought struck me that although the cartoon had depicted many ingenious devices, none of them were as real as this machine from the ancient world.

Artifact #2: Ostrakons. Athenian democracy had a very special type vote that occurred once a year. In the ancient Greek version of Survivor, the citizens could “vote somebody off the island.” Every year, the assembly gathered. Each citizen was allowed to scratch the name of the person they perceived as the greatest threat to the city-state in to a pot shard, or, in the language of ancient Greece, an ostrakon. Provided that 6,000 votes were cast, the person who received the most votes was ostracised, and sent into exile for a decade.

In school, I learned that the secret ballot was invented in Australia in the 1850s to avoid retaliation against voters. I am not sure how secret the ostrakons were, but presumably, the reason for going with a “write-in” vote as opposed to a show of hands was to avoid as much manipulation of the process as possible. (I believe that later manipulation of the process of ostracism resulted in it being dropped in later centuries.)

For fun, feel free to leave a non-anonymous comment with your country and your vote for Public Enemy No. 1.

Across from the Stoa of Attalos on a hill overlooking the agora stands the Temple of Hephaistos, dedicated to the god of metal-working. This photo shows a view looking westward along the southern collonade, away from the agora.

Under the eastern portico, there is a frieze, but no signs explained what it showed.

(This is part 4 in the Athens series. See parts one, two, and three.)

One of the hidden gems in my trip to Athens was the Kerameikos, which is at the edge of ancient Athens. The old city wall runs through the site. This photo here shows a footpath just outside the inner city wall.

The city wall was an important demarcation point. According to ancient Athenian custom, the dead were buried outside the city. In addition to the major markers for the rich and famous, the ancient burial grounds have many smaller cylindrical tomb markers for the less well-off.

Within the historical site of the Keremeikos, the major structure is the Pompeion, an old temple. It’s best seen from the street above (the modern street level is a few meters above the level of the ancient ruins).

The Pompeion is set at an angle to the modern city streets, which surprised me. In many cases, modern streets evolved from ancient layouts. Once I made it down into the archeological site, I realized the reason for the precise layout of the Pompeion. Early in the day, the shadows showed me that the Pompeion was perfectly aligned with the rising sun:

Wandering around the historical site, you will move in and out of the ancient boundary of Athens. One of the major features in the site is a path that goes from the main gate at the Kerameikos to Plato’s Academy, which was located outside the city walls. I followed the foot path to the edge of the site, and wondered how many students had taken the path from ancient Athens to the academy over the centuries.

(This is the third post about my trip to Athens. Read part 1 and part 2.)

Although the top of the Acropolis was the first stop, it is a much larger site than just the well-known temples on the top. At the base of the Acropolis next to the footpath up to the entry gate is the Odeon of Herodes Atticus. Although it originally had a wooden roof, all that remains is the restored stone seating and front wall, shown here with the Parthenon in the background:

The seating area is quite steeply sloped. Towards the top, the seating is high enough that it has a view of Athens. With the position that Athens occupies today as a cradle of western culture, it is hard to imagine that it was a fairly small town throughout much of “modern” European history (to pick a date, from 1650 until today). Many of the buildings in Athens were built in the post-war period, which leads to interesting contrasts between the older structures and the more modern buildings shown in the background here:

A brief walk from the Odeon is the oldest theater in Athens. The Dionysis Theater is dedicated to the god of plays and wine, and hosted drama competitions. As the “original” prototype of a theater in Greece, the structure is possibly the oldest theater everywhere, and the template for every theater I’ve ever been to. Originally, seating was probably wooden benches, but stone benches were put in during the Roman period:

Front-row seats had backs, though, to be quite honest, they are not very comfortable.

The stage itself is a simple affair. Seats are built in a semi-circle around a half-circle stage:

Not far from the Acropolis is the massive Temple of Olympian Zeus. Building the temple was a multi-generational project that took over 600 years. Athenian democrats apparently considered it a flight of hubris to build on such a scale. Hadrian, the Roman emperor, suffered no such illusions, and finally completed the temple. After the fall of the Roman empire, such a high-quality cache of stone was rare, and the temple was plundered for other building works. Several substantial columns remain, as seen here in this view looking towards the Acropolis. (Note the huge crane in the background, which I’ll return to.)

Looking from the west, all that remains is the approximately dozen columns. The collapsed column in the foreground fell in a storm in 1852.

In the background of the first picture, there is a massive crane at the Acropolis. Due to the danger of such a large construction machine, several footpaths on the slope of the Acropolis are closed. The crane is transferring objects from the small Acropolis museum at the top to the new Acropolis museum being built at the foot of the fortress that I described in part 2. Here’s a closer look at the crane, from the wall at the south edge:

(This is the second post about my trip to Athens. Part 1 is here.)

My first stop in Athens was the Acropolis. Before my trip, I’d dreamed of visiting the Parthenon for well over a decade. My family doctor grew up in Athens, and her descriptions of growing up in the shadows of history planted the initial seed. Photos and paintings in my art history class in college sealed the deal.

When I finally made it this February, I was in awe of being present at the “original” building. Echoes of the Parthenon are everywhere in Western society. Nearly every bank built prior to the 1950s owes at least some of its architectural structure to the Athenian ideals, as do many government buildings and museums. Standing in front of the Parthenon, you realize that somebody had to invent the style, even if it is quite old. Furthermore, the the Athenian society that built the Parthenon gave us much more than architecture. I greatly appreciate the right to vote for my leaders, even if the choices may not always be that attractive.

The Acropolis dominates the Athenian skyline, which is convenient in such a walkable city. It is hard to get lost when you have such a handy reference point.

Many travelers think of jet lag as mainly a curse. In a magnificent city like Athens, I consider jet lag to be partly a benefit. Waking up before dawn gives you a chance to explore a quiet city and photograph during the magical light of sunrise. (I did find that when I would leave my hotel at 5:30 am, there were often crowds of clubbers heading home. Athenian streets were much quieter around 6 am.) Arising early also helps beat the crowds. I arrived at the Acropolis when it opened, and until around 9:15 in the morning, there were less than a dozen tourists exploring the site.

The entry to the Acropolis is through a massive gate, seen here early in the day in a waxing sun:

Naturally, most people who visit the Acropolis do so to see the Parthenon. I have many pictures of the Parthenon, but I think this is my favorite, showing the gleaming marble against the blue sky:

It is not obvious from the picture of the south face just how busy the site is. Even early in the morning, the top of the Acropolis was a busy work site. My contemplative walk was punctuated by the sound of hammers, chisels, cranes, and diamond-tipped saws cutting marble blocks for the immense restoration efforts. At the entrance, the Temple of Athena Nike is being completely restored stone by stone and is now only really appreciated as a sign.

Restoration work is proceeding on the Parthenon itself. Columns are being carefully and painstakingly reconstructed. Missing parts of the columns are being carved to fit with the existing remnants. Most of the work is taking place on the north face. This photo shows the scaffholding supporting the restoration. The lighter colored marble in the columns is the marble that has been carved to complete the column blocks. The tight fit of the restoration pieces is clearly shown by the pieces in the foreground.

My previous experience with photographs did not prepare me for finding a building I liked better than the Parthenon on the Acropolis. I was captivated by the Erechtheion, a temple dedicated to Athena, Poseidon, and Erechthus and the other deities of Athens. Pictures I’ve seen focus on the “porch” structure held up by the Caryatids, but rarely put it in context with the rest of the Erechtheion.

In conjunction with the restoration work on the structures of the Parthenon itself, the New Acropolis Museum is taking shape at base of the Acropolis, replacing a much older museum on the summit. At ten times the size of the old museum, I expect that the New Acropolis Museum will provide a far better environment for exhibiting artifacts and telling the story of the Acropolis. Although it is scheduled to open in 2008, the new museum is open for a few hours every day. Strikingly, it is built on a historical site that is actively being excavated. Glass floors allow museum visitors to look down and see an active archaeological site. In this somewhat self-referential photo, I’m looking down through the floor into the work site.

Tourists are not allowed inside any of the temples, which is not particularly surprising. I had expected they would be restricted to prevent them from being loved to death. Ongoing restoration and construction work is also an ever-present danger. Restoration workers were constantly going in and out, and several large cranes were operating throughout most of my half-day visit.

As I wandered around the site, I tried to imagine what it must be like to be working on the Acropolis. It is one of the foremost historical sites of Western civilization, and a towering monument to Greek culture. For an American, the closest comparison I can think of would be the restoration of the Statue of Liberty in the 1980s.