Walking to the Parthenon

With one-third of the Greek population below me, literally, I look up to my destination. Perched majestically atop the Acropolis sits the ancient temple. Rays of sun squeeze between heavy, dark, water-laden clouds directly onto the Doric columns of the Parthenon. It's as if the gods have been anxiously awaiting my arrival and were illuminating my path home. The overcast sky and the smell of rain cast doubts as to when I may make my pilgrim's ascent to the top of the Acropolis. The anticipation is unbearable. I need to go now. Foregoing by best meteorological judgement, I take on the task without my fellow travelers. They choose to wait until the morrow and finer weather. I know I will not sleep with that ancient mecca looming above me and just out of reach.

The grade of the walk is noticeable, but my adrenal glands are producing enough energy to make the walk easy. I worry about the rain and the warnings from the others concerning my foolish behavior. The weather looks more ominous than only fifteen minutes earlier when I separated from my clan. Thunder cracked! Rumbling from every direction like some sort of theatrical earthquake sound effect or maybe, Thor was welcoming me. I turn back look at Athens below. It is raining in the Old Town, but not where I stand. I am basking in an amazing elevator shaft of sunlight. So much for my fellow travelers. I'm sure they are ducking into a cafe to avoid the cloud burst and will drink plenty of Ouzo while making sport of my stubborn ways. Ha!

I continue my journey up the same stone pathway once traversed by throngs of Greeks as part of an annual rite, known as the Panathenaic Procession to the site of the grandest of the grand temples around 500 B.C. I look around and I'm almost alone. Eerie; not spooky, more like mausoleum eerie. More thunder crackled farther away. I looked for lightning along the horizon, but only see a small group of undaunted Scandinavians. Weather is not gonna scare them off. Those crazies are from the fjord and frozen tundra lands. Mediterranean rain showers are fabulous touring conditions to them.

I over and clamor past the ruins of the Propylaia, the formal entrance to the sacred place and what stood before me took my breath away...the Parthenon. Other than the eerie solitude that had washed over me even as I began my ascent, I was overwhelmed by how much of the edifice was still intact and the otherworldly significance of the sun shining solely on the the temple. I was moved to tears. I don't know where they came from, they just appeared. Suddenly, I'm glad I came alone. Some people are moved by poetry, or art, or music, or architecture. While I enjoy each of these, I am truly moved by its history or historical gravity. I sense history everywhere. I visualize the statue of the goddess Athena that once stood here. I imagine Socrates holding court on the steps of the Agora, the political center of ancient Athens. And I look across at the remarkably intact statues of women supporting the Erechtheion. A lifetime of reading and studying and, in worst cases, memorizing, this place, this ancient democratic city-state, did not prepare me for this life-altering moment.

I never got wet. No kidding.