At the outset of my second full day in Athens I identified the Basil and Elise Goulandris Foundation as the place to be. They gave me free admission on account of my special status in Australia - unexpected, but welcome. A collection of modern art characterised by bold lines and dramatic colour combinations unfolded. I noticed some familiar styles, and indeed the labels read Kandinsky, Picasso and Braque. Video dedicated to Van Gogh refreshed my memory on the extent of his imagination, and the depths of his despair. At the topmost level, a number of the local Greeks showed off the red in their palette. I chatted with a security guard about women's solo travel, happy to share my enthusiasm for taking off (and not waiting for a travel partner to do so).
It was a shiny space housing dynamic works, but the Foundation was not as big as I imagined it to be. I was thankful for the Orthodox church next door which gave me something pretty to look at while I pondered the day ahead. Its edifice was the colour of lemon meringue cake, complete with white arches and pillars. Unfortunately there were renovations inside, but the exterior showed three large images of saintly men in red, pink, green and white robes, so I lingered with my camera.
Still no idea what to do next, I fell back on Rolf Potts' time-tested advice: "Walk, until the day becomes interesting." Most of the traffic on the street was heading towards the main road, so I decided this was the direction for me. Once there I noticed signs for Syntagma Square and Plaka, and walked in that general direction until I came across an park-like area. A stylish grey building beckoned up some flights of stairs, so I ascended awhile and was rewarded with pleasant views of Athens. I couldn’t figure out what the building was for, but followed a sandy path around it, and eventually emerged into a courtyard. The single-storey Museum of Byzantine and Christian Art was now surrounding me on three sides. I considered going in, but speculated I could find something more interesting. (This was Athens, after all: history is around every corner.)
The courtyard was home to several species of charming flowers, and while I was photographing a creeping vine with an offshoot of magenta blooms, a ginger-and-white cat wandered by. I gave it my attention and it seemed to like that, jumping up on an upturned map of the complex near me and meowing expectantly. My new muse twirled for the camera daintily before bouncing off.
Crossing a busy road, my gaze fell on a pale, majestic-looking building which looked accessible to the public - a pedestrian had just walked through its gates. Drawn to the architecture, I discovered that this was the Museum of Cycladic Art, and felt a rush of gratitude and excitement. I felt like I had hit the jackpot because one of the most beautiful environments I had ever been in, Santorini, was located within the Cycladic islands. Not only was there a large collection of well-preserved artefacts (including vases) which would remind me of my time there, but they were curated in cutting-edge displays.
I learned a lot about the Cycladic way of life over many dynasties, and marveled over pearlescent drinking vessels, charismatic sculptures and mysterious figurines. Rites of passage such as marriage and death were explored in some detail, including through video installation. Settlements, some thriving through trade, some not so prosperous, rose and fell. The museum had a steady flow of customers, but I often had displays to myself.
I was lagging by the fourth floor, though, still sleep deprived and a little disoriented. As enjoyable as the experience was, I tumbled into the taxi ‘home’ with some relief, happy to call it a day.
[More Athenian adventures in the next post]
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