Breathing in History: The Acropolis

Geo McKevitt

8:00am on a Thursday morning, fuelled by hortopitas and a couple of kourabiethes from the bakery by our accommodation, my partner and I stepped off at Acropoli station. We had booked in to enter at the earliest available time in hope of escaping both the heat and the crowds. The morning air felt damp and a bit chilly from the previous evening’s showers, but the forecast predicted a high of 29℃ by midday. Beams of sunlight filtered through the clouds as we passed through the entrance, water bottles in hand and AirPods in.   

 

The first site, as announced by our audio guide, was the Theatre of Dionysus. Considered the world’s oldest theatre, nestled into the southern slope of the Acropolis, the tiered blocks of stone looked down upon an open stage where ancient playwrights presented their works. The sudden exposure to human history filled my chest with awe and triggered a tear or two. I could see the grandeur of this place through the eyes of an ancient Athenian. Anxieties of modern existence dissipated as I pictured a trail of citizens climbing up towards the theatre, excited chatter bouncing between friends, sandals kicking up dust as they await a seat under the eye of the Parthenon. Oh, how distinctly human, to design and create a space to celebrate storytelling: a cultural epicentre for entertainment and exploration.  

 

On our way up, we passed many more beautiful remnants of ancient Athenian civilisation: the Stoa of Eumenes, the Temple of Asklepios, and the breathtaking Odeon of Herodes Atticus, where past and present collide in a timeless celebration of art. Standing witness to structures like these assisted the imagination in piecing together the magnitude that was Ancient Greece. Toppled marble and broken pillars only touched on the affluence and might of the city. Painted floors that once reflected light and ceilings that reached for Mount Olympus, now diminished into barren, exposed earth. Statues of heroes and Gods towered over civilians trading and selling their wares while teachers and thinkers rambled their philosophies in the streets. Picturing what it all really looked like is difficult until you approach Beule Gate and the Propylaea. The gateway to the crest of the Acropolis stood tall and steadfast against the weathering of time. Raising my eyeline up, up, I could feel the spiritual energy humming along my shoulders and down my back. A song of welcome, a hymn from humanity.  

 

The heart of the Acropolis opened up before me as my body was drawn further over the threshold. A ceiling of cloud casted bands of light down over the Parthenon, spilling out between its pillars. The sun hid behind the proud giant, illuminating its outline, creating an ethereal glow. The morning could not have been more perfect. Wide eyes and open mouths took in the scene, mutterings of amazement floating amid the growing crowd. Phones were held high as gawky tourists battled to get the best angle. Families gathered together for their future mantlepiece picture. I closed my eyes and breathed in gratitude.  

 

Further up, on the other edge of the Acropolis, was the belvedere where the Greek flag proudly waved down at Athen’s inhabitants. Standing there, looking out over a rich valley of white, cream and terracotta, one can see thousands of tiny specks going about their lives, making decisions and taking action. Much like I went about my own life, making decisions and taking action. Such big things that from there looked so small. Mount Lycabettus and other hills of green broke the surface of the city. It was all so incredibly important, and not, at the same time.  

The Temple of Athena Nike was positioned on a steep bastion at the south-west corner of the Acropolis. The most captivating aspect of the temple was the porch of maidens that supported the rear of the Erechtheion. Dresses of stone were draped over their legs and hips. Despite their eroded faces, the women maintained a dignified air of elegance as they watched over the Parthenon. The olive tree of Pandroseion, a gift from the goddess Athena herself, sat quietly beside the temple. Under its shade, I studied the intricate carvings made by ancient hands. Stories of courage and beauty, a place of prayer and of giving thanks. How many souls had been laid bare here? Tear-stained soil, blood and clay, arms in arms and shouts of praise. Life reverberated on this peak. I understood why so many people come to see the glory of the Acropolis, not just as it stands as an architectural feat, but because of the ghosts who sing from the stone, I was here. 

Author: Geo McKevitt

Artist: 

 Edited by: Lara Madeline Rand and Ariya Sokhara Say