Greek Myths

Greece is back on the front pages and a tragedy again, where is Midas and his golden touch?

When I was a little girl I was handed The Bible Stories, The Arabian Nights and The Greek Myths. It was obvious to me that I was a Greek. In Latin class all the stories started “erat olim in Graecia” Once upon a time in Greece.

As an adult I looked forward to visiting the monuments and the shrines I had only seen in history books or in the case of the Elgin Marbles in the British Museum ripped from Praxiteles’ frieze and carted off for “:safekeeping “ in a northern clime, or the Victory of Samothrace and the Venus de Milo ensconced in the Louvre.

I lied to Elliot and told him that the Mediterranean would be like a lake in March. No stories of Ulysses taking ten years to return home on storm tossed seas. We were drawn to the Shrine at Delphi to see the Omphalos of the ancient world where the Oracle sitting on a three legged stool predicted the fate of Oedipus. We visited Corinth and stood on the bema where St Paul preached to the unruly crowds. It was said that in ancient Corinth one could hear a dozen tongues spoken in the agora. One could see a neolithic shrine still here 6000 years later or the Corinth Canal where British airmen had jumped to their death hoping to escape from German occupied Greece.

The most exciting if unplanned and unpleasant was our stay in Athens. The first day or two were fine, even though a general strike had been announced. By Friday the strikers were full to the brim with ouzo and antipathy, many “Americans go home” chants. We went about our tourist business in all innocence., We had no idea what a general strike meant. Our bus downtown stopped running and we learned of another a few blocks further from the hotel. We arrived at the Binacki Museum. They let us in and locked the door behind us which was comforting, sort of entering a safe womb. When we had finished viewing the fabulous gold we left the museum..and they locked the doors behind us which was less than comforting. The street was eerily empty although one could hear the strikers in the distance and see the gray painted school bus full of gray uniformed soldiers. Then they tear gassed us. Our friend the professor knew we were being tear gassed because he had been at Kent State. Then it was bedlam, no buses no transport at all. A taxi pulled up and I got in with another couple. We were six and I assumed another cab would come and take the remaining three. The cabs only held three passengers. I had the passport. Elliot arrived at the hotel three hours later much the worse for wear. No passport, no Greek language he walked back to the hotel through the street fires and tear gas. When he arrived he was furious I had deserted him in his three hours of need.