|
Briefly Noted_____________________________
It was snowing in Athens last week. I slithered down white and windy Markou Mousourou Street on my way to Syntagma Square; all buses, taxis and cars had come to an unusual but welcome standstill. The statuary outside the National Gardens was snow-draped, a muted hush greeted one’s ears, a white shimmering landscape greeted the eye. In front of the Parliament building the Evzones stoically stood guard wearing a chlena, a kind of protective cape. On the left, the Grande Bretagne Hotel, usually surrounded by cars and people, sat silent in the snow, like the elegant country mansion it once had been.
The G.B., as the hotel is fondly called by Athens residents, was designed and built in 1842 by Theophil Hansen, the Danish architect, as a villa for a Greek from Trieste called Antonis Dimitriou. It later became the French School of Archaeology before being sold to Stathis Lampsas, who turned it into a hotel in 1872. It served as the German Military Headquarters during the Occupation, and has also been a temporary headquarters for various Greek Prime Ministers. At one point in the 1960's it changed its name to 'Petit Palais', to show sympathy with the Cypriots during their struggle for independence from Britain.
Crossing Panepistimiou St., I headed for the Trojan Mansion, known in Greek as 'Ilias Melathron', now housing the Numismatic Museum. It was the former residence of Heinrich Schliemann, the archaeologist – adventurer who excavated Mycenae and Troy. It was built in 1870 by his German compatriot, Ernst Ziller; he chose an architectural form from the Italian Renaissance adapted to the neoclassical style. On the exterior, frontal columns and arcades within two-roofed verandas grace the structure. Inside, the wall and ceiling paintings are the work of Slovakian artist Yuri Subic; they depict themes from Pompeii and illustrations of Schliemann's finds. The tessellated floors of the ground level and the upper stories were created by Italian mosaicists, using geometric motifs and representations of artifacts from Mycenae and Troy. The museum contains about 600,000 coins from the ancient Hellenic world, the Roman period, Byzantium, and medieval Europe, as well as lead seals, medals and gems.
Opposite the museum, spanning a whole block, is a six-story pink structure known as the Tameion Building, 'Metochiko Tamio' in Greek. Two historic cafés, Zonar’s and Floca, used to grace the ground level. It was considered the height of elegance to have a coffee and cake at Zonar’s, and in the summer its outdoor seating was the 'de rigeur' meeting place for many Athenians. As a child I often went there with my parents and indulged in hot chocolate topped with whipped cream. Zonar’s at that time exuded a sense of luxury which in the early 1950's contrasted sharply with the poverty of a city recovering from years of conflict. As it was close to the Parliament it was frequented by politicians and their entourages, by political hopefuls, and by social climbers who could probably ill-afford the minimum 12 drachma charge for a coffee. In those days it was considered 'in' to be speaking French. As my mother was part German and often conversed in German, we frequently elicited inimical stares from the other people there. Across from Zonar’s was another popular gathering place, more of an ouzeri than a café, called Apotsos. It was a large room leading off an arcade, with ceiling fans, old Fix Beer posters on the walls, a long marble- topped bar and waiters in white aprons calling out their orders. In addition to the colorful Greek clientele, many foreigners, including resident poets, writers and travelers, partook of the noontime ouzo and meze; unlike Zonar’s, Apotsos was inexpensive and had no social pretensions. I used to drop in on occasion and meet the current crowd. I remember the witty conversation and repartee of Alan Ansen, Bill Finley, Peter Mayne, Thanos Veloudios, Chester Kaulman, Harry Blackmer, Jimmy Merrill, and many others who expanded my perceptions of Greece. Their conversations could sometimes end in personal diatribes against each other, especially after the first few glasses of ouzo. Passing the cross-streets of Voukourestiou, Amerikis, and Omirou, and the large Catholic Church of Aghios Dionysos, I come to the corner of Sina Street, with its eye clinic known as the 'Ophthalmiatrio'. I had spent a few weeks there as a child after accidentally spraying my eyes with insecticide one Sunday morning in our pistachio grove in northern Athens. Outside the clinic is the Athens bus terminal, usually filled end-to-end with vehicles, but today there was only one stray dog, all but sticking to the sidewalk in the frigid air. Ahead to the right was Hansen's trilogy of neoclassical buildings: the Academy, University, and Library, a harmonious marble complex built between 1859 and 1885 as an exquisite and lasting gift from Baron Simon Sinas to the Greek State. It was too cold to continue. I had enjoyed my walk, my observations and my memories. It should snow more often in Athens lest we forget our city in the swirl of traffic. |
Send mail to
info@athenscentre.gr with questions or comments
about this web site.
|
