Hello, Athens!

Leaving Lavrio and St. Paul's behind, we high-tailed it up to Athens, only stopping for a quick bite to eat along the way. We had fair directions to the rental car office, however when the main road split into three and instead of street names the signs indicated far away towns or the city center, I made a wrong decision. We ended up going 90 degrees wrong for quite some time, miraculously finding the parks and hospitals along the missed road also on this one. Wishful thinking is a powerful thing.

At any rate, after some awful traffic jams, and maneuvering my way through the very heart of Athens in a car, even around Syntagma Square without a single scratch, we arrived, safe and sound. A couple times, truth be told, I did think of pulling over and telling the rental place they'd just have to come pick it up themselves if they wanted it intact. However, courage did not fail and we made it, by God's grace, only a half hour late. What should have taken us 30-40 minutes ended up about an hour and a half. Oh well.

From there, imagine our delight when the cab ride to Nikos' apartment was only 5 minutes away. We looked up to see Meredith-Maria's smiling face and hand wave to greet us as soon as we stepped out of the car. She grabbed bags and brought us up the elevator to Nikos' 4th floor main apartment where we were to stay. Two comfortable couches and a big double bed, a bathroom with a real live bathtub, albeit about 1/2 the width of the ones at home, a kitchen, and a nice deck. It was pure luxury for us. And to have both Nikos and Maria in shouting distance above and below in the apartments they are renovating, it was positively blissful.

I think Grandma really loved Meredith. Throughout the entire trip, Meredith-Maria was really the only truly American (not just English-speaking) woman past college age that she'd had to talk with besides me. And the added bonus was that Maria understood how a nice glass of red wine would comfort Grandma and how she really needed a little downtime and girl-talk to unwind a bit. The chocolate helped, too. After a couple hours, we were all happy as clams. The kids had found some cartoons, Grandma and Maria had made a dent in the bottle of wine, and we'd all had more than our fair share of some excellent extra-dark chocolate.

Nikos came up after finishing some work and the kids went crazy (they really love him). After awhile, Basil was showing signs of total defragmentation and Nikos got him to crash in the bedroom. One of my goals for the last day was to visit a bookstore suggested by the nuns in Lavrio where I could hopefully find some icon books. They are very difficult to find, even online. After spending usually about $100, it's hit and miss whether all the valuable color plates within will be from the right centuries or not. It's much better to see them in person.

Nikos decided he'd drive me up to a store that might have something like that. We went to a great shop full of theological books and icons. I was able to get many gifts for people and Maria got a beautiful silver icon of the Theotokos for Nikos' office. Unfortunately, the bookstore they suggested for icon books was already closed.

Leaving the little street, Nikos said he had a treat in store for us. As the car climbed crazily up steep streets, I realized he was driving us up Lycabbetos Hill. This is the tallest hill in Rome and has a church to St. George on top. I had read about how one solitary monk went up to the crumbling church (when there were no stairs, as there are today) and began to repair and rebuild St. George's. No one even knew he was there, until someone noticed a candle burning from up on the hill during the night. Eventually people began to come and seek him out.

The view from the top was stunning. You don't really appreciate how large Athens is until you see it from that hill. The sun was beginning to set and it was huge, golden, and then reddish, sinking towards the mountains. Obscured by the steam (probably) and fathoms of dust and smog from the city, you could look right at it square. What a magical night.

We climbed many steps up to the top, passed through the restaurant that is embedded in the hillside, and entered the church of St. George, venerating the icons, lighting candles, and offering prayers. It was a small church with icons and frescoes in a variety of styles, none of them particularly remarkable to me. But the thing I felt there was the layers of prayer. It held a sweetness and comfort, and I remembered that monk alone here all those years and what his life meant. Other faithful filtered in around me, crossing themselves, wiggling their lit candles into the sand, kissing the cloak of the saint.

I went back outside and we all stood looking at the amazing sunset, largely keeping quiet, the breeze blowing Maria's hair about. Emma climbed on the ledges and walls that she could. I stood near Nikos, glad to be here with him, looked at Maria's beloved smile, and her profile with Athens all around her far below.

We climbed back down and headed back to Grandma and Basil, Nikos and Maria both pointing out landmarks along the way: the Olympic Panathenic Stadium that was, in ancient times, the gathering place for all the Athenians, the great Arch and National Park, different ruins and wonderful churches all around us. I think I saw more in that drive, perhaps, than I did in the two days we'd been there previously.

The next morning Nikos again offered to drive us around, so I abandoned my plans to take the subway in different directions. They dropped me off near the bookstore I wanted, and all went down to Monastiraki where they finished up some shopping. I had Maria's cell phone and instructions to call them after I walked back down to Monastiraki from the Public Square where I was. I relished my freedom from everyone else the moment I stepped away from that car. Though I love my family, it had been a very long time since I could take off on an adventure in a city full of wonders for a few hours all by myself.

I found the store and some books. I didn't realize there was a 2-volume set by Kontoglou on the technique of icon painting. Unfortunately not translated, I wished again and again that I could read it. The shop owner said it would be good incentive to learn. I ended up buying the second volume with more pictures along with a beautiful book of Theophanes the Cretan.

My walk back down was great. Two things were particularly interesting. One was the huge covered meat and fish market I walked by. It looked like a picture out of a book. A huge long building open on one end was lined with stalls of butcher shops. All manner of animals and body parts were on display from hooks or thrown atop boxes of ice shavings. I mean, it was amazing. I walked through this building and into the adjacent one filled with fish. I've never seen so many varieties of fish, nor squid that big. Anything you could want: sea urchins, octopus, I'm sure it was all there. The other thing was a tiny church you could almost miss among all the shops. Dedicated to St. Kyriaki, I went in and said some morning prayers, had a nice chat with someone else doing the same.

As I approached Monastiraki I suddenly knew exactly where I was, as we'd previously staying in this section. I headed for the little church Kapnikarea, wanting to try and venerate the relics of St. Philothei and St. Gregory in the Metropolitan Church Christopher and I had found on our midnight walk, but hadn't been able to visit during the day. I stopped to check my phone and make sure they hadn't been trying to reach me. I decided to wait until after I went to the church before I called them, afraid I might miss the opportunity otherwise.

Entering the massive church after passing through the wide marble square, I made my way to St. Gregory's relics on the right. I had read his life that morning and felt a reverence for his labors for peace, his gentless and patience in guiding his people as a good shepherd through some of their darkest times during the Turkish occupation. I was completely surprised to feel a tap on my shoulder and arms around my waist. There was Emilia!! Everyone else was on the other side venerating St. Philothei. How funny that we all convened here together. We couldn't have planned it better.

From there, I wanted to explore the liturgical shops a few block away. Nikos was familiar with the area and after stops through a few touristy spots he took us to an incredible little alcove. He was like a little kid grinning on Christmas morning, knowing that what he was about to show me would delight me no end. And he was perfectly right. A tiny alley filled with liturgical artisans. In one shop, we marvelled at the tiny miniature ivory carvings of saints. They looked to me like molds used to create the metal icons for sale all over, absolutely exquisite, with each tiny detail perfectly formed. These were true works of art that will someday end up in a museum, no doubt.

Another shop held a working icon studio and although it was closed we could see the huge wall covered in odd paint strokes, the same thing I do all over my clothes to get off excess paint. Half-finished icons leaned against the walls and all the paraphenalia of painting adorned the tables. Through another doorway, Nikos pointed out the man working in a bindery, telling me that the pile of manuscript waiting to be bound was a copy of the Gospels. Rich red velvet strips and carved brass icons waited to adorn the books. I saw a massive cast iron machine that reminded me of Christopher's hand press in our basement.

And to my greatest delight, there was a pigment shop that was actually open. After careful perusing, I bought five bottles of color, mostly greenish ocres that I can use to experiment with the Greek style of executing faces. But just for fun, also a very small expensive amount of pure red!

Delight is the perfect word to describe my mood at this place, but not so for Grandma. Alas, this was where she discovered, on necessity, another of the most grievous things she loathed with a pure disdain verging on hatred: the Turkish toilet. Needless to say, it was not visited by more than a glance from her.

We visited one more bookshop where I struck gold: a painter's manual full of step-by-step photos of various elements of Greek icon painting. Now all thoroughly worn-out by our morning, we groused our way over to the same restaurant we had eaten at while staying at Hotel Tempi. I was too tired for hot food and contented myself with a salad and fried cheese. Nikos got a shish kebap (no, that's not a typo!) and Grandma had a gyro. Emma had dolmathes. I hiked off to the internet cafe, Nikos collected his parking ticket and the rest all piled in the car to go home and rest. I arrived a couple of hours later via the metro, which was also fun to do all by myself!


That night Maria and Nikos took the kids on their promised trip to go swimming. They drove way out in the direction of Lavrio, stopping for a seafood dinner on the way home and arriving back at close to midnight. Grandma and I had stayed behind trying to fit all our things back in our bags like a bad jigsaw puzzle. Actually, she had her stuff under control. I was the one with the problems, but those books were worth it!

The next morning we got up at 5AM and again Nikos drove us out to the airport, even though we'd planned to take the cab. Grandma was very proud of herself for thinking of the perfect hiding spot for the 50E we would have otherwise spent and which she'd budgeted for: underneath the wine bottle in the refrigerator. She was sure Maria would not be able to find it and return it to her before we left. And she was right.

It was with more than a tinge of sadness that I said goodbye to Athens as it sped by my car window in the gathering dawn. At the end of our pilgrimage, looking over all the hills and valleys we'd made it through, I could see most clearly the hand of God's grace. I could see the many jewels and gems we would all have inside to contemplate in the years to come. Thanks be to God!

Most of our flight home was pretty uneventful: Athens to London, London to Vancouver Canada, Vancouver to Seattle and the drive home in just about exactly 24 hours. Having an individual TV on your seat can do wonders. The 9 hours on that longest flight passed relatively quickly. The only glitch was in Canada, where the directions were not too clear and we got going the wrong way for a long time. Having lost a half hour for being late then more from our own mis-guidedness, we had to almost run to catch the plane and left a bag behind in security. It looks like Christopher will be able to pick it up on his pass-through.

Now on the other side, having been home for a few days, we are finally working through the jetlag and are anxious to have Daddy back home again. He and Fr. Nicholas and Gabriel arrive tomorrow night and we will be there to meet them. I've been extremely cold since I've been home, but it sure beats the sizzle of frying in Athens. The normal routine returns more easily than I'd like it to. But I am profoundly grateful for the experience we had.

Macrina signing off almost at midnight in cool quaint Port Townsend