The Plans We Made

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 7

Athens, Greece is beautiful in a very different way than Paris or London. It is the open skies, the bright whites and blues that invite you into your surroundings… in the early morning, that is. As my cab makes its way from the airport to my destination only mere blocks away, zigzagging through ever-growing traffic, the sidewalks fill with people. The cabbie pulls up to Syntagma Square before I can voice my weary opinions on his driving. There are no vehicles aloud in the square, only pedestrians, so it takes me a few minutes to work my way to my hotel.

Hotel Achilleas is a large concrete building set in cream and white tones. The sign goes vertically down the front with a white Greek block font set in deep sea blue squares. There are flags for several countries lining the first floor's overhang swaying slightly in the soft wind. I walk about thirty feet down a black and white checkered hall to a set of glass double doors with an oak framing and long gold handles. Above these doors, Hotel Achilleas is printed in gold lettering. The lobby has more checkerboard tiles with modern couches bordering the walkway, white on my left and black on my right, leading to the front desk where a heavy set older brunette woman stands staring at her computer. She doesn’t see me coming and I stop ten feet away, thinking about what lay ahead for me here in Athens.

My hotel room is generic; plain white walls, gray industrial carpet, a thick, but rough blue blanket on the twin bed. There are gold lamps with off-white cloth shades on a nightstand and desk, both a faux wood made of particle board. There is one window covered by a green, gold, and red swirl patterned curtain. The bathroom is as naked as the rest of the room, white and simple with just the necessities and too brightly lit. This room was not chosen for its amenities, but for its location, set in the center of all the sites I plan to see.

I spend a good portion of my first day at the National Archaeological Museum. The best parts are the sculptures. The talent that goes in to creating a human figure out of stone is unfathomable to me and yet here they are, hundreds of them, proof of the originality and creativity we are all capable of.

There are several of Venus nude, cloak in hand, as she is about to bathe to retrieve her virtue. She is elegant, using her arm to cover herself, marble face tranquil as though no one were around. I feel envious of her calm, peaceful demeanor.

One statue is familiar in a surprising way. It is the sculpture Diadumenos, a young Greek male athlete. Though he is made from a pale marble, I can imagine his hair black. The face is soft; cheeks rounded just as Nicolas’ were, with a prominent nose and kind eyes.

I have never met anyone as active as Nicholas; always jogging, hiking, surfing, playing sports in college. He loved to exercise and be outdoors, such an athlete. The tall form, with muscular shoulders and arms reflects that. There are differences, his mouth doesn’t fit with that of my Nicholas and this face is calm, serene, but there is not a hint of a smile there. Still, it’s too close for me and though it doesn’t have the effect on me that the willows do, I still decide to leave the museum.