Free Cathedrals of the Flesh by Alexia Brue Page A

carpet ride into a 5th-century
     B.C. cityscape. I tricked my eyes into believing that one of the ships approaching the port was a homecoming Theseus with
     an unconsciously murderous black sail hoisted. And there - high on a precipice - was Theseus' father, King Aegeus, hurling
     himself into the sea.
    My mythical fantasy was soon thwarted, however, by the apologetically ugly city of modern Athens. Archaeologists were expecting
     me in the city of Ancient Korinth by early evening, but the lure of the Acropolis and the urge to indulge my classics student
     curiosity was too great, so I stashed my bags at a luxury hotel near the base of the Acropolis and raced to the top of the
     citadel. I tried to exchange my Turkish liras for Greek drachmas, but there isn't a bank in the country that will swap these
     currencies. Two historic rivals spitting on each other's unstable money. En route, I dodged clusters of Greek, French, and
     English schoolchildren and families milling about in the heat: 'Can you identify this type of column, kids?' 'No, not euphoric,
     they're called Doric columns.' 'Can everyone say "Pentelic marble"?'
    I had always imagined from pictures that I would be able to climb the three temple steps of the Parthenon and wander around
     the pronoas. I wanted to press my tongue against the Parthenon's Doric columns (the surest way to make contact with an ancient building,
     according to Charles). But fences separate the Parthenon from would-be tongue pressers like myself. So I retreated to the
     tiny benched pavilion, the windiest spot on the Acropolis and the best place to survey Solon's gifts - the fifth-century B.C.
     Athenian statesman who presided over this building spree with his master architect and sculptor, Phidias. Only the structural
     shells remain of the once elaborate precinct buildings: the Parthenon, the Temple of Athena Nike, the Erechtheion, the Propylaea.
     Most of the good stuff, Phidias' sculptures and relief work known notoriously as the Elgin marbles, is stashed 1,500 miles
     away in London's British Museum.
    Staring down on these buildings I'd seen reproduced thousands of times, I was suddenly aware that I was in the middle of the
     physical embodiment of architectural innovation and the perfection of form. The very complex that still today is the international
     symbol of the classical ideals of proportion. Then I looked down, through the smog, to modern Athens, a city teeming with
     cabdrivers who audition you before stopping, a city blanketed by the insistent sizzle and lamb-led-to-slaughter smell of souvlaki.
     Block after block of gray, concrete crumminess posed the inevitable question: 'What happened?'
    It's as if the Acropolis were the epicenter of a volcanic eruption and lava drenched the city in gray detritus, leaving only
     the original crater of the Acropolis unscathed. The Greeks themselves, even the Athenians, are the first to admit that Athens
     is an armpit of a city. Of course, temples and museums preserve pockets of riches, but overall, in order to see 'the glory
     that was Greece' one must hightail it out of Athens. Henry Miller wrote in 1942, 'I am in Athens. . . People are asking me
     — have you been to Delphi, have you been to San Turini, have you been to Lesbos or Samos or Poros?' And today, too, Athenians
     constantly ask you where in Greece you are planning to visit, as if to say 'Don't worry, there's more than this.'
    My tour of Athens was truncated by a pressing need to reach Korinth before sunset. It felt strange to have places to go and
     people to see in a foreign country, not to be just a tourist with time to dillydally and sip iced Nescafe frappes, a vile
     concoction and the revered Greek summer beverage. After retrieving my roller suitcase from the left luggage area of the Acropolis
     Palace hotel (bellhops, as a rule, can't distinguish legitimate guests from storage freeloaders), I stood waiting for a bus
     that I only hoped would take me to the main bus