Suddenly, the other guard turned to me and said clearly, “Paul Alexander Casper.” I almost swallowed my cigarette. “Yes, yes,” I pleaded. They just kept arguing.
Finally, the three secret police guys threw up their hands, turned abruptly and walked away. There was some faint applause from the audience; apparently, this was a win for the old regime. I’d like to think the station passengers were on our side and understood we weren’t spies or bandits.
We entered the station and sat down, waiting while an officer filled out numerous multicolored forms. The phone rang and another officer answered, smiling occasionally during the ensuing lengthy conversation. A general feeling of victory in the station confirmed that this was an encouraging triumph of old over new.
The officer returned my passport and they took Doug and me to a different office to get first aid for our wounds. While they patched us up another officer was having a fine old time talking to some guy taking notes. The two of them laughed and gossiped like old friends, and I guessed the guy with the notepad was a reporter. Later we learned that the whole story was going to be in the local newspapers the following day. I hope they spelled my name right.
By the time we got back to our correct train, we had become minor celebrities. Our fellow passengers asked about our health and my passport, and you could see from the small waves and constant looks our way that our train-jump-and-roll had become the top subject of conversation. Everyone was kind, treating us with equal amounts of concern and pity as they discussed the two Americans’ physical and mental health and lack of common sense.
We arrived in Athens at about 8:00 a.m. Wednesday morning and found a great hotel with a reasonable daily fee that included two meals. After much-needed baths, we enjoyed a late lunch at a charming outdoor café with a view of the Acropolis. This will undoubtedly be remembered as one of the greatest outdoor cafes I’ll ever eat in with on one side the beautiful shimmering Aegean and the other side the magnificent Parthenon high on the hill.
Doug and I baked in the warmth of the Greek sun and reminisced about the night before. Imagining all the terrifying things that could have happened, we congratulated ourselves on our good luck There were numerous tracks entering and leaving that huge train station, but few abutted any platforms before they took off into the night. I still cringe at the thought of what might have been our fate.
We rose early the next morning, grabbed a quick breakfast and got directions to the Acropolis from the concierge. Then we walked. And walked some more. We not only walked endlessly, we walked up, on and on. Exhausted, we needed a good rest when we finally reached the Acropolis plateau. In retrospect, it felt like part of the plan, as if God wanted all who set foot on the Acropolis to stop and take in the magnificence of this ancient structure before entering. The hilltop on which the Acropolis was built is one of the most remarkable settings in the world. There are multiple buildings on the site, with the Parthenon as the centerpiece. When at the top looking to the north you see modern Athens. Look to the south, you see the shimmering blue Aegean Sea and the harbor.
The flagship building of the Acropolis of Athens, the Parthenon served as a temple to Athena and was built about 440 B.C. In Athens, the fifth century B.C. was called the Golden Age or The Age of Pericles. Pericles (494-429) was a brilliant orator, statesman, and general who ruled Athens from 443 to the end of his life. Other famous structures on the Acropolis include the Erechtheum, a temple dedicated to Athena and Poseidon; the Propylaea, which was the gateway entrance to the Acropolis; and the sanctuaries of Pandion and Zeus. The Acropolis served as the preeminent sanctuary of the ancient city of Athens; according to the Hellenic Ministry of Culture. Its primary purpose was to provide sacred grounds dedicated to Athena, the city’s matron deity. The Acropolis played host to festivals, cults, and historically significant events during the peak of Athens’ power. Today, it serves as an architectural masterpiece and source of national pride: it is the most famous site in Greece.
Doug and I explored all the buildings on the Acropolis, filled with awe as we tried to imagine 450 BC. With every step I took, I felt like I was walking in history. No place I have visited since has been as inspiring; it was magical. I spent hours sitting in one location after another, trying to savor the rich history. There were many tourists on the site, and I was saddened by watching these tourists, regardless of nationality, rushing around taking endless pictures of each other by this statue or that pillar. Sad for those who had come but, in reality, were never there.
I was enjoying a stunning view from the cliff going down to the Aegean Sea when I saw an American or European girl approached by two young Greek boys on the make. Within a few seconds, they had positioned themselves at the very edge of the cliff, ready to make their introductions.
“Senora,” one said, “You are the most beautiful woman. I never see an angel before; now I do. They should have one more of these statues here, a statue of you,” he said longingly in broken English. She stopped to look at them and he continued: “Please take me; I live for you…I will fall down there only for you.” He pointed to the bottom of the 200-foot cliff. He picked a flower. “This is for you because you are the beauty of Spring.”
I wish I could remember more. The boy had the patter down; he had done this before. The scene was classic, out of a novel or a European film, but the heroine didn’t know her part, I guess. The young woman walked away without a word and within a few steps she dropped the flower onto that ancient soil. The boys shook their heads in silent defeat and walked away. What a shame; it appeared that I, the observer, was the only one to find pleasure in the exchange.
Doug returned from his exploring, tired and ready to go back to the hotel. I stayed, not ready to leave, and was finally kicked off the Acropolis at 7:30 p.m. On my walk back to the hotel, I found a little hole-in-the-wall café and had lamb for dinner, washed down with three or four beers. What a long day; what a great day.
Two days later, I was back up on the Acropolis; history called to me. My favorite subject in grade school was history. Whether studying the Vikings, Rome, the Spanish Conquistadors or the warring cities of Sparta and Athens, there was magic for me in those ancient times. I always read more than was expected. I also loved to draw and had talent, I was told. I was always sketching something or getting compliments about my coloring in coloring books of different kinds. My mother saw that and wanted to fan the flame. When I was in grade school, she would enroll me in art classes where my classmates were all adults at the local YMCA. They pretended to like me and fuss over me a bit, but even then, I got the feeling they were jealous and hoped I’d go and play ball rather than come to the next class. So with my budding art talent, my love of history and drawing eventually came together, and I began to draw interesting people and things of days past.
Another day flew by. I continued to be drawn to the Acropolis. Walking inside the Parthenon during yet another return visit, I met a Japanese husband and wife. We talked about the inspiration we found there, and they urged me to visit Japan; home to some of the oldest and most significant historical monuments and sites. We parted, both saying Αντίο, good-bye in Greek. I walked down the steps of the Parthenon and thought, yes, maybe I will go to Japan someday, perhaps adventure awaits me there.
I drew and drew all I saw on the Acropolis, then went down another level of the plateau where I sketched an ancient outdoor theater not far from the beginning of the Agora, the main center of old Athens. I was gone all day, drawing and writing, the writing inspired by the history all around.
Doug and I spent our last couple of days in Athens enjoying the rich pageantry of the Greek Easter celebrations. I had thoroughly experienced the history of ancient Athens, loving every minute of it. Unfortunately, I had yet to come up with a brilliant idea to extend my stay in Europe. Doug, who didn’t have the same money concerns, had loved the idea of starting a business selling sheepskin coats, but now that plan had failed, and I sensed him trying to decide what his next move was. He was tired of me complaining about my dwindling bankroll and the prospect of having to give up and go home.
I knew a plane ticket to the USA from Luxembourg was probably somewhere between $180-$250, depending on the country and the difference between European currency and the US dollar. It had cost me just shy of $200